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mortemoppetere · 1 year ago

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TIMING: sometime before this. FEATURING: various npcs written by the lovely @ohwynne & @mortemoppetere LOCATION: the shores of moosehead lake! SUMMARY: emilio investigates the aftermath of wynne's departure from their home. CONTENT WARNINGS: child death, sibling death, child abuse (cult + hunter variety)

It was funny, the way his heart was in his throat. There was nothing scary about the job he was imparting on now. There were no punches to be thrown, no real threat of bleeding out over someone’s blad, something’s teeth. And yet he never felt nerves like this when heading into a vampire’s den, never felt this uneasy outside of a pit of undead things. This was a farmer’s market; he had no idea why his nerves were telling him it was the gates of Hell.

Well… all right. Maybe that wasn’t entirely true. He had some idea. Wynne’s face flashed in his mind, sad and desperate. There were answers to be found here, he knew. And he didn’t know if those answers would be good or bad, but he knew they needed to have them. He understood that much. He thought of the massacre back home, of Juliana and Rosa and Edgar and Jaime and Flora. He’d lost everyone, but at least he’d known what had happened to them. Even if he could never get the image of it out of his head now.

Mind made up, he squared his shoulders and walked into the market like a man marching into battle. He flittered around for a while, using his minimal people skills to give his best impression of a man who knew how to socialize. He wasn’t very good at it. He was stilted at best, awkward at worst. But people seemed to accept him as a man without much experience in the people department. A few well-placed questions here, a few sly inquiries there, and he was standing in front of a booth. There was a woman sorting fruit behind it, looking distracted.

“Uh, hey,” he greeted, letting his accent hang heavy on the words. People underestimated immigrants; Emilio used it to his advantage sometimes. “Isn’t there usually another booth next to here? Thought I remembered them from last time.”

—

The farmer’s market in Greenville, Maine was a place of rhythm and routine. Though the produce and products changed with the seasons and whims of their sellers, there was still something about it that remained the same. Similar faces. Similar scents. People knew not to stand on the East corner of the market, because that’s where Meg Bushway always put her stall — and you did not want to piss her off. Emily was fond of it all.

She had worked with the local fruits and vegetables for quite some years, her first job having been helping set up and her current one being one of the smiling faces that helped customers. She liked the old, familiar faces, with their growing-wrinkles. When they asked for recipe ideas, complimented last week’s wild blueberries.

Emily even liked the booth next to her, which tended to house the people from up north who were a little strange. One time, she had caught one of them slipping a clean, shining bone in her bag. They sold produce, much like her, as well as cuts of meat and a fair amount of eggs. They had been pretty absent as of late, though, and when they’d appeared they had not had much to offer. The man she liked best – Rhys – had looked tired, harrowed. Emily had offered him some fresh strawberries that she hadn’t sold at the end of the day.

But life went on. She had sales to make. So when a stranger – which was strange, as there were mostly familiar faces here! – addressed her, she looked up with a bright smile. He didn’t ask her about the sweet potatoes though, nor the cranberries. “Oh! You mean the one from the estate up north? No, they’ve been here a bit more sporadically. Don’t really know why? Seems they have been having less stuff to sell.” Emily stopped rearranging the apples. “Were you lookin’ to buy something of them? Maybe I can redirect you to an alternative.”

—

His intel that Wynne’s old community tended to set up in this spot was good, then, though Emilio wasn’t sure he liked the implications that they’d been around less and less lately. At first, he hadn’t been sure he believed the ideology they’d sewn into Wynne’s worldview. The idea that there were demons out there who were so concerned with the goings-on of humanity that they might demand the occasional human sacrifice had seemed absurd, even if demons themselves were things Emilio had always believed in.

But then came Levi. Then came Teddy. And, suddenly, demons with a vested interest in humanity hadn’t seemed so far-fetched after all.

So he was nervous about the implications here. He didn’t want to go back to Wynne and tell them that something terrible had happened when they’d left, didn’t want them to carry the weight of it. Emilio knew about survivor’s guilt. He bathed in it every morning, wrapped it around him like a blanket at night. It was heavy, it was suffocating, and it wasn’t something that Wynne deserved. Not in the way he did. Unlike Emilio, Wynne had done nothing wrong in their survival. They didn’t deserve to be punished for it.

“Ah, not really looking to buy. Actually hoping to reconnect with someone from there. Guy named Rhys? I spoke with him last time I was here, wanted to follow up on a few things. You know when he might be back?”

—

Emily thought about Rhys, that bearded and funny man. A little gruff, rough around the edges. Sweet. “Yes, yes, I know him,” she said. “He was here a week ago? Might be here again next week.” It was hard to imagine any of those people having connections to those in the larger world — even with Emily, they were reserved. As if they tolerated her. They always glared at her phone, as if it was offensive to them. “They’ve not been coming weekly for a while now, but they tend to do more of a biweekly schedule. Monthly, sometimes, you know? Ah, but I’m sure he’ll be here next week. It’s a good month for harvesting.”

She smiled brightly, gestured at the fruit on display, “Meanwhile, maybe you’d like –” But the look on the other’s face made it clear that he would not be nibbling on any blueberries soon.

—

He was tired. Rhys somehow chalked it up to his age, but maybe it was something else entirely. He’d spent over five decades with the Protherians, having been born into its confines and not wanting to know much else. He’d seen four young people lay down on the altar, one of them a friend of his, someone his own age, the next three all seemingly younger as the years passed — and three times all had gone as it should. But this last one, where the wrong kid had let himself be tied up and down, it had been wrong.

Not wrong in regards to the demon – never that – but wrong, because Iwan had not been prepared. Iwan had cried, because he had not been primed and groomed as his sibling had. Wrong, because gythraul had not thought it enough. He had expected one soul and gotten another. And so he’d taken. Iwan. All the lambs, and the rams too. Half of the hens, and their trusty rooster. Gythraul had made Itself a bloody feast and left Its community reeling, once more afraid to step a toe out of line. Even he, who thought himself as hard as stone, had become scared.

This was reprieve. Greenville, that ugly town where people came to gawk at the people dressed as if they came from a time long gone (as if their neons and microplastics were any better). Rhys was glad for them, though. They reminded him of why he was here. He polished one of the eggs, one of the very few the remaining (and traumatized) hens and laid. At least with spring long past them, there were new hatchlings. He was disrupted from his steady work by a new arrival, a customer with a face wholly unfamiliar. “Afternoon,” he hummed, voice a gruff rumble, “What can I help ye with today?”

—

A week in the cheap motel room he’d gotten for himself was better than going home empty-handed, because Wynne would have questions. They’d want to know what he’d found, and Emilio didn’t want to tell them that the answer was nothing. He didn’t want to go back until he had something to give them, some kind of answer to the questions he knew plagued them. So he hunkered down, he watched bad TV, he took out things that went bump in the night a little farther away from his apartment than he was used to.

And, a week after his conversation with the woman at the farmer’s market, he went back.

This time, when he returned, the booth Wynne had spoken of was there. The offerings were sparse. A few eggs, some crops, but nothing bountiful. Nothing that seemed to sing of a community so blessed by a demon that they didn’t mind sacrificing their children to it. (As if any amount of blessing could excuse such a crime. Emilio thought, as he had been all week, of Flora. Of the ache that her death had burrowed into his chest, of how he would have given anything to save her. There were things not worth sacrificing. He wondered why Wynne’s parents hadn’t known that.)

There was a man behind the booth, and he seemed to match the description Wynne had given well enough. Emilio nodded at him. “You Rhys?”

—

People that he didn’t know, didn’t know him. It was a simple thing. Rhys’ word was small and limited — there were the people at home, known well and deeply, those deserving of his loyalty. There were the people in Greenville, the locals he sold to and dealt with, with whom he traded. And there were patrons, who didn’t know his name but perhaps remembered his face. This man belonged in none of those categories.

His defenses spiked. Gythraul was supposed to keep them protected from outsiders, from people that came sniffing in their business. Their traditions were theirs, not to be meddled with by local authorities — and it never had been. But maybe the demon had become less invested in that, too. For how long would the ripple effect of y dewisedig’s betrayal continue? Rhys nodded. He was not a man who lied, generally speaking. To himself, though, he did so very often.

“Yeah, that’s me. Who’s asking?” He placed the egg he’d been polishing back on the carton, which only counted about three dozen.

—

He could see it, the way the man’s defenses went up. He’d known this would happen. People who lived their life in seclusion didn’t often respond well to strangers saying their names. Emilio would know — he would have been just as on edge as Rhys was now, had their roles been reversed.

But that was all right. He’d had an extra week to think on this now, and he’d come up with a plan. It was deceitful, it was manipulative, it wasn’t nice, but what did Emilio care about any of that? Not one of these people, Rhys included, had stepped in to stop Wynne from being sacrificed to a goddamn demon. If they hadn’t saved themself, they’d be long dead now. Rhys didn’t deserve an ounce of kindness from Emilio; none of them did. So his plan was a little cruel. So what? They deserved much crueler.

Leaning forward, he glanced around as if to ensure no one was listening. “I think you know,” he said lowly, “who’s asking.” He glanced to the eggs, noting how few there were, and he thought about how Rhys hadn’t been at the market at all the week before. He made a gamble, a guess. He was good at those. “Been short lately, haven’t you?”

—

Frankly, he did not know who was asking. His jaw set at the other’s movements, at the way he leaned forward and lowered his voice. Rhys looked at him, trying to deduce something from his face. Was this a family member of someone who had joined their community, who had left their previous life behind for a better one? It could certainly be, but the face didn’t remind him of anyone at home.

“Not sure I do know,” he said gruffly, though there was a tenseness to him. Not fully hidden, either, as his tiredness made his defenses lower. Eyes continued to scan the stranger’s face, who didn’t ask him a question directly but in stead commented on the amount of eggs that were present on the stall. Not a lot. Not nearly enough. Rhys’ mind flashed to the dead chickens, the smears of blood. The way some of the ones not killed by the demon had died all the same, from fear.

His head shook. “Nah. Sometimes the hens just don’t wanna lay. We don’ make ‘em. It’s part of the philosophy we practice.” Sure, the chickens were free creatures — but there had once been plenty, and now there were few, with many of them stressed still. “Did you want to buy any or …?”

—

Unfortunately, Rhys was a little slower on the draw than Emilio would have liked. Ideally, this would have been more subtle. He could have implied something without telling a direct lie, let Rhys’s own assumptions work against him. But it seemed not everyone was as paranoid as the detective. Not everyone was as on edge as he sometimes banked on. That was all right, though. He could use the details Wynne had shared with him to his advantage. Lack of paranoia was a hurdle, but it was a good thing, too. If Rhys wasn’t paranoid enough to assume a stranger was with the demon, he probably also wouldn’t be paranoid enough to assume Wynne had sent someone to scope the compound out. Emilio could work with that.

Scowling, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Gythraul,” he said simply, and though he stumbled over the pronunciation with his accent, he was confident he would be understood. When you molded your entire life around an entity, you recognized its name no matter who was saying it. Emilio knew that. Maybe a little better than he’d like to.

“I don’t want to buy anything, no. I need to talk to you. All of you. So I can tell It that what happened was a one-time thing… or so I can tell It it wasn’t.”

—

A stranger knowing his name was one thing. A stranger knowing the term Rhys’ community used to refer to the entity they all owed their life to — now that put fear into the old man’s bones. His back straightened and he took a closer look to the other, now really trying to put a name to the face. But he came up empty, again.

There was no logic to it, but when had logic ever applied to his ilk? Protherians followed an entity and the doctrine surrounding it blindly, not questioning the youths that were ritualistically sacrificed time and time again. What the elders and patriarch said went. Rhys was born in that doctrine, that approach to life — he did not have an instinct to question, just an instinct to follow and fear. And maybe one to sell eggs, but that one wasn’t coming in so handy these days.

Besides, this man, he referenced the failure. The source of gythraul’s wrath, the common cause to the lack of produce on the stall right now. “Lower your voice,” he hissed in stead, eyes flicking around the pair of them. Privacy, that was one of the pillars on which his society was built. Outsiders keeping their nose out of their business. Rhys bent closer, voice lowered. “What … are you?” Then, not wanting to come off like perhaps he wouldn’t trust someone who spoke for It, he continued, “You want to talk to us today? You can — I can give you directions. A ride, even, if you ... I need to clean this up, of course.”

—

“I tried to do this subtly,” Emilio pointed out, shrugging a shoulder and putting on a mask of nonchalance. In reality, he was relieved. Glad that his shot in the dark had worked, happy that he could do this without doing something Wynne might not like him for later. He was bound and determined to get them the information they wanted, but he’d rather do it without hurting anyone. This allowed him a chance to do just that.

He leaned in as Rhys spoke, trying to determine how best to answer the questions. “It doesn’t matter what I am,” he replied, voice just as low as the other man’s had been. “That’s not for you to worry about.” Levi and Teddy both looked human, which told him demons were capable of that, but he had no idea if Rhys knew this information, so… claiming to be another demon was probably a no-go. Letting Rhys decide what he thought Emilio might be was a better shot, especially now that he’d said enough to convince the older man he was with the demon. If he had to guess, he’d wager that Rhys wasn’t going to question him too much. If they were in the business of questioning the demon, the community wouldn’t have been sacrificing kids to it.

Emilio immediately discarded the offer of a ride. No way in hell was he getting in a car with this guy behind the wheel. Even if he had Rhys on the ropes, he couldn’t trust the guy not to get scared and do something stupid. Besides, thanks to whatever the hell Nora had done to get it for him, he had a car of his own now. It was parked nearby, just waiting for this. “Directions will be fine. And it will be today. I’m sure you know what might happen if It’s kept waiting.”

—

Though entrusted with the responsibility of going out of town and talking to outsiders (something not all Protherians were permitted to do), Rhys was still a mere cog in the machine. Low-ranked, nowhere near the status of mentor or elder. So he listened, he followed, he nodded his head, and most of all — he didn’t question. Not Siors or Alys or Padrig, none of them, and not this man either. “Right. Understood.”

He didn’t know the specifics of what might happen, but he knew enough. The stories of a century ago, when the youths had all been killed in one fell swoop. The blood in the chicken shed. He nodded. “Directions it is.” As there was no map to use, he ended up giving the stranger verbal directions. North, pass between the lake and Spencer Pond and then dip South again. Rhys had driven it a hundred times, if not more. Besides, if there was one skill he had working in his favor, it was his memory.

With the instructions given, the stranger trudged off. Rhys stared at him, the muscles in his arms tense and the hairs in his neck standing up. Had they not offered enough? Suffered enough? For a moment, he closed his eyes, and then looked down at the little bit of harvest he still had yet to sell. Though instinct demanded he return home, the lack of sales he had made demanded he remain.

—

The verbal directions, along with the things Wynne had already told him, were more than enough to get Emilio to the compound. Parked his car near the entrance, hiding his limp as best he could as he trudged in. It made the walk more painful, but it also made him more nondescript. When he left here, it would be better if none of the people who saw him had anything to identify him by. He doubted they’d come looking for him, but on the off chance that they might, it was his job to protect Wynne from all of it. He’d failed to protect them from so much already. He wouldn’t add to that.

They seemed to know he was coming, which wasn’t a surprise. He’d given Rhys enough time to finish up at the farmer’s market, gone back to the motel to prepare himself for the situation ahead in the meantime. He’d convinced one person he was in contact with the demon; let Rhys convince the rest. Save Emilio the trouble. So they were waiting for him, when he got there. The two that led him to meet with someone named Padrig were younger. Close to Wynne’s age; he wondered if they’d played together as children, if they’d been friends. He wondered if they’d all been just as okay with what was expected of Wynne as the adults in their life had been. He’d never resented kids before; for a moment now, he found that changing.

They stopped just outside the door. Emilio didn’t know if they weren’t allowed inside, or if they just preferred not to enter. He said nothing to them as he ducked in the door, critical eyes finding a man who could only be Padrig standing there, staring right back at him. “Pleasure,” he said flatly. “How about we skip to the meat of it?”

—

Padrig Conway was a tired man. A failed man. Siors had told him as much, but he had also told him he was a man capable of redemption. That was the road they were all to take now, after all — one of redemption. Pave the road with good intentions with gythraul and all the rest too. So this message Rhys had brought could be promising, but it could also be something else entirely. Padrig had looked at Siors’ face as he’d called his elders together to inform them of the news, and he had looked steadfast. But even so, there had been an edge.

There was always an edge. Always a surprise. Wynne Hughes had been the perfect lamb, so docile and sweet and ready for the slaughter. He had made it so, or so he thought — but then on the morning of the blue moon they had been nowhere to be found. Left them all to scramble to find the next best option, someone unprepared and just as youthful. Someone It would still be satisfied with. It had left them all to watch Iwan weep as he bled out, had left them all to cower in front of the demon that showed Itself this time.

If he couldn’t predict what the child he’d prepared for their inevitable sacrifice might do, it seemed nothing in life was predictable. So this might as well happen. An outsider, who knew some of what had occurred, who knew their word for demon. It works in mysterious ways, he reminded himself as he waited. Eirwen and Fionn brought the man to him, and he thanked them both for their duty. They stared at the stranger, because outsiders were strange. “Leave us,” he said to the youths, his gaze then falling on the newcomer.

Padrig was a pious man. Dutiful. Strict, when he needed to be. But part of him had been undone when his mentee had ran. Still, he was straight-backed when he faced the other. Proud. The book he’d been reading (old scripture, written by Corwyn’s own hand) was abandoned. “Sure. Sit, if you must.” He gestured to a chair, waited to sit himself. “Rhys has informed me that you and It need an ensurance of sorts, that what happened won’t again.” Hands folded in front of him. “Right?”

—

Anger swelled up in his chest at the sight of Padrig. It was a familiar feeling, more familiar still the more people from the compound he met. How many were here? Wynne had spoken of a few, and he’d seen evidence of a fairly large community as he’d been led to Padrig’s home. And it was infuriating. Here was this entire community of people, and not a single one of them had stepped in to help Wynne when they’d been a calf fattened up for the slaughter. None of them had so much as called out just how wrong it was. It had been one thing with the kids who led him here, or with Rhys who seemed to be little more than a foot soldier. But Padrig? Padrig had power in this community. And what did he use it for? Nothing good. Nothing decent. He hadn’t saved Wynne; no one had.

Luckily, he thought, anger made sense for his cover, too. Let these people think their demon was angry with them. Let them cower in fear, let them mourn their own deaths in advance, let them feel a fraction of what they’d made Wynne feel for their entire goddamn life. Emilio’s only regret was that he wouldn’t be able to instill them with all of it, that there would be no laying Padrig down on an altar when all was said and done to give him a real taste of what Wynne and children like them had been forced to face. Wynne wouldn’t want it, but he thought it might make him feel better. He was selfish enough to wish he could feel better.

He didn’t sit in the chair Padrig offered him, though his leg screamed with a yearning to do so. Let it ache, he thought. Let the whole world ache. He would take nothing this man was offering, and this man would find no comfort in believing he’d made Emilio’s stay easier.

(They both deserved that discomfort, both earned the pain. After all, hadn’t Emilio failed to save Wynne just as much as Padrig? He’d tried harder, at least, but how much did it matter if the end result was the same?)

“Yeah,” he replied, tone hard and full of a righteous anger. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that It isn’t happy. So tell me everything that happened. Your version. And I’ll decide what happens next.”

—

The man who didn’t offer a name didn’t sit and Padrig watched him. It seemed something radiated off him, something like anger. Warranted, perhaps: there had been a failure, one that the community had not seen before, and there was no excuse for it. He’d said as much to Siors. There is no excuse for this, and I’ll search for an explanation within myself, so I can rectify my shortcomings. He had said a demotion would have been warranted. But Siors hadn’t made him work in the field.

He was a grateful man, too. Grateful for the forgiveness of Siors, of gythraul. Because this was forgiveness, even if they had had to burn more animals than ever before, even if something seemed undeniably shifted in people’s attitudes.

He was, above all perhaps, a scared man. And this stranger who refused to sit, who spoke with anger that he felt was warranted, made Padrig waver. He tilted his chin up, slightly and remained standing himself. “Right.” He had hoped all of this was in the past. That the slaughter, the replacement sacrifice — that it would be enough. A bad mark on their record, a slip-up, just once. Hadn’t they been punished and forgiven? It seemed not, and that made this demon-fearing man afraid.

His hands remained folded in front of him, thumb rubbing the skin of his other hand. Chink in the armor. “Everything was set up, as always. According to plan — there were no signs that something was to go amiss.” But the bed had been empty. I don’t want to die, the child had written. Padrig remembered them saying such a thing before, but it must have been years back. He’d taken their chin, ensured eye contact. It is the most beautiful thing you could ever do, he’d said. If there had been signs, they had stopped years ago. He thought he’d taught them better than to be a liar.

“Y dewisedig ran. We woke up to them having abandoned us all, leaving no hints as to where they’d gone. Took money, papers … it must have been planned, but we missed it. Some of us searched, but the main focus was on the ritual itself — preparations, you know, to ensure all was ready.” Lips pressed together in a fine line. “It was me who suggested the replacement. If not the child, why not their sibling? Similar blood, similar lineage – a signal to the parents, as well.” Where was his punishment? Padrig wondered that. Maybe this was it. “Which doesn’t take away the fact that I am to blame, too — I should have noted the signs. If It is cross with me … I’ll do whatever, to make it right.”

—

He had to focus on his anger in order to avoid giving in to the nausea tugging at his gut. The way Padrig spoke — it was clinical. As if Wynne was not a person, not a child, but an object. Emilio fought to keep his mind from wandering, fought to keep himself from thinking of his mother’s firm hand and the way she’d spoken about Victor after his death. Not as a mother who had lost a child, but as a woman whose favorite knife had broken off at the handle. As if the death of her oldest son was an inconvenience instead of a tragedy.

And Padrig was the same. Wynne wasn’t a person in his mind — how could they be? If he’d let himself view them as they were, as a child over whom he held a position of authority, would he have let himself go through with what was expected of him? Was it necessary, somehow, for him to separate himself from the reality of what he was doing? Did that make it okay?

Emilio thought of Flora, of the way he’d been unable to do with her what Padrig had done with Wynne. He had put no form of clinical distance between himself and his daughter, had allowed himself to see her as a child instead of a weapon. He’d doomed her with it just as Padrig had attempted to doom Wynne by doing the opposite. Were they both irredeemable, then? Was it just as bad to make a child of an object as it was to make an object of a child?

And then, Padrig continued. He spoke of a replacement, and Emilio felt sick long before he delivered the fatal blow. If not the child, why not their sibling? He remembered how Wynne had spoken of their brother. He remembered that they loved him. And he thought again of Victor, thought of being twelve years old and wondering why him? He thought of being an adult, of standing in his living room across from Rosa as she looked at him with tears in her eyes. I wish you had died instead of Victor. He remembered thinking that, every day of his goddamn life. Victor died, and he was supposed to. Victor died, and it would have been better if Emilio had instead.

And now, Wynne’s brother had died in their place. Bloody and afraid and unnecessary. Why hadn’t their parents stepped in? Why hadn’t they burned the place down? Why hadn’t Padrig? Why had no one protected these children, why had they let what they needed eclipse what their children did? What kind of parent put anything above their children’s own lives?

He didn’t realize he was moving until he was already across the room, face inches from Padrig’s. His hand was fisted in the man’s shirt, his other raised and trembling. He wanted to bash this man against the wall until he stopped moving, wanted to do for Wynne and their brother what no one else had ever done even if it was too late now. They were children, he wanted to scream. How the fuck could you do that to children?

But what good would it do? Wynne’s brother was dead. He would have to tell them that. And if he killed this man, if he did what he so desperately wanted to do and ripped his throat out with his fucking teeth like a rabid animal, he’d have to tell Wynne that, too. They might already hate him for the first; he wasn’t sure he wanted them to hate him for the second, too.

“You are a shitty person,” he told Padrig, voice quivering just a little. “With shitty views and shitty ideals. And when this compound burns, the world will be better for it.” He let go of the man’s shirt with a shove, sending him into the wall. “I need to speak to their parents.”

—

It was an age old equation. Even Padrig knew of the trolley problem, that philosophical question that kept being repeated, that kept being altered as if the answer would ever be the same: you would sacrifice the few to save the many. What was one body in the face of it all? What was one less youth if it meant all the rest of them could live into old age? It was an equation, a mathematical problem — one of ethics, even. Kill the one, save the rest. It wasn’t pretty, but cold logic hardly ever was.

This was why he had been able to climb the hierarchy of the commune. They claimed that there was equality amongst all members, but they all knew of the way there was an order. It was mentors, then elders and then the patriarch — and all the rest of them fighting it out underneath them. Padrig had gotten this position, one of a mentor, of a wiseman, by applying a levelheaded and pragmatic mindset to all he did.

It helped that the late Corwyn Prothero’s blood moved through his veins.

So no, he felt no remorse, not for the death of Iwan. Not for that of Jac. Not that of Evan, which was to come in a decade — it was necessary. All of this mess had proven that much: it was necessary. Even offering a replacement had not been enough to please the demon, who had in turn taken more. It wasn’t a farce, a figment of imagination, it was real. The dead chickens had been real. The dead lambs, the beheaded ram. Real. What was real too, was that it could have been worse. There had been a bigger massacre, once.

Maybe that’s why he told it all so calmly, as if it was nothing but a math problem. Lose one, you find another. Give the suggestion. Be willing to take off your shirt for flaying, if such retribution was still on the menu. Endure the sacrifice, with the wrong child.

The one thing that shook him – that even shook him now, faced with this stranger – was his own failure. Not because he felt for Wynne Hughes, but because he was angry. They had given. The community had given that wide-eyed lamb all, from reverence to the best cuts of meat to the softest plaid. They hadn’t had to do the labors did. Their hands remained soft. They had been given comfort, the kind that not many saw in this place — they had been given it all, and they had turned on their heel all the same. Selfishness was an ugly thing.

As was this. Whereas Padrig kept his composure, despite his unease, despite his willingness to go on his knees for forgiveness, the other man burst at the seam with emotion. With violence, even. He was too slow to back away, and so he was on him, a hand hovering in the air. He breathed in, tightly and limited, and exhaled just as fast, staring at the other and waiting for the punishment that didn’t come.

The words, they didn't align, they didn’t quite make sense. “Whatever do you mean? We paid our debt — It got the boy, It took the chickens and sheep, too. If there is more to collect, collect it. I’ll offer it.” He’d do it. Get on his knees for that forgiveness. “There needs to be no burning. The future – we can have a bountiful future together, no?” Padrig inhaled sharply once more, still waiting for that punch, scared in the way he thought was holy. Fear like this could be beautiful. To have something this powerful to be afraid of — it was privilege. He let himself be shoved into the wall, caught his breath.

“And we are — we are for It, because of It, in honor of It.” If this man spoke for the demon, then why talk of their ways like this? Padrig felt his guards rise, straightening his body. “No. I think you need to explain what it is you need and want from us. I —” Fear, that divine thing, demanded him to speak with more respect. “Please, that is what I ask, what I think is best — they have no answers for you. I can get you an elder to speak to.” Or, he thought, I’d rather have you leave.

—

Emilio searched the man’s eyes, looking for remorse, for doubt, for anything that made sense. Because there had to be something, didn’t there? There had to be some part of this man that understood what he and his community were doing was wrong, had to be some inclination that they might be in the wrong. How could someone believe, so wholeheartedly, in the slaughter of children? How could they excuse it, how could they enforce it?

There was no honor, he thought, in the way this commune operated. They didn’t give those children a chance. Hunters raised their children as knives, yes, but wasn’t it better to be the blade than the thing it was cutting? Wasn’t it better to be metal destined to rust and break and die on a battlefield than to be a lamb fattened and led to the slaughter? His mother gave him a chance, at least, trained him to take care of himself, to protect himself. If he failed, it was because he didn’t try hard enough. Wasn’t that love? Wasn’t it closer to it than whatever it was Padrig had given to Wynne?

But there was nothing behind those eyes. They weren’t even cold, the way he might have expected them to be. There was no malice, no rage. There was… confusion, if anything. A perplexed expression, as if he couldn’t understand why someone was angry with him. As if he had no idea what he might have done wrong. A child was dead. Many children were dead, generations of them who were snuffed out before they got the chance to live at all. Killed by people who were supposed to protect them, slaughtered in a way they were led to believe was love. And this man, this weary-eyed man who had seen to it that all of those children would die passive and bleeding, saw no issue with the things he had done.

It felt unjust, somehow. Emilio hated himself for his daughter’s death, carried that burden every day as if it had been his hands that had killed her. And these people, with generations worth of blood on their hands, felt nothing. They felt justified.

Emilio’s stomach churned.

He let out a sharp laugh as Padrig spoke of fetching an elder. “Now you choose to question what you are told? Now? Not when there are children beneath your blade?” He’d given himself away, he could tell. Padrig no longer saw him as an ally. He ought to feel worse about it than he did. It would make the rest of what he wanted to do here harder, after all, but… The idea of this man seeing him as a friend felt sickening. He’d rather fight his way out than shake a hand coated with the blood of children.

“I will find them myself,” he said lowly. Then, he reared back and hit Padrig hard on the side of his head, letting him crumple. He dragged the man’s unconscious form to a closed door, opening it and shoving him inside the small space. Some kind of a storage closet, it seemed; Emilio broke the knob once Padrig was inside to keep him there. It wouldn’t hold him forever, but it would keep him quiet and contained long enough for Emilio to do what he wanted to do.

A wiser man would have left then, knowing that he had what he needed to tell Wynne the truth. But Emilio had never been one to go with wisdom over rage. He ducked out of the house, spotting one of the kids who’d led him there and waving them over. “Padrig said you could take me to the Hughes house.”

—

Padrig was ill-prepared for this. Sometimes there were trespassers, certainly, but they were dealt with easily. To outside eyes, this place was nothing but a self-sufficient community that lived in a traditional manner. They received a tour of the place, could taste some of the produce and food and were often send on their merry way with a full belly. There were newcomers, people that heard of a naturalistic and close-knit community and wanted to belong, and they were welcomed into the fold after a certain amount of time and influence.

But this? No, none of them ever came in with knowledge that no outsiders were privy to. This man had known Its name, this man knew of the things that weren’t supposed to be public knowledge — and of course, they had assumed he was because of that a man sent by the demon Itself. Gythraul was supposed to keep them all safe from such outside sources, after all, and to question Its influence was unwise.

There was a hole in the net, though. Information was leaking. Padrig was ill-prepared for this, and as the other laughed, as the other berated him he knew he’d made a miscalculation. Again. (The largest miscalculation was, of course, the one he would never see as one: the one where he assumed all of this was right.) He got ready to jump into action, needing to find a way to raise the alarm bells — to make all alert that this stranger was an interloper, not a voice for the demon. That there was trouble, again. That perhaps gythraul had ceased Its protection of them, opening them up for trespassers.

Or, somehow maybe even worse, that his former pupil had started talking after their escape. That his failure would cost them again.

His mouth opened to retort but in stead was met with a fist against the temple, the move effective in its suddenness and swiftness. Padrig fell, slipped into darkness, his last thought of how it wasn’t by his hand, that the children died.

—

Zahra Hughes had no knowledge, thus far, of the man at the market who had approached Rhys, nor of his presence at the compound at present. Knowledge at the commune was contained, and she and her husband had been pushed to the sidelines where nearly no knowledge reached them. It had been different, once. No less than a year ago, she had been at the center of it all — enjoying the fruits of her child’s impending labor. And before that, she had been the newcomer, an outsider who had been invited into the fold. Gareth had held her hand then, his own lineage in the commune holding weight, the welcoming arms and words of all those around her making her certain that she would stay.

And stay she had. She had stayed when her stomach had swelled with the life that would eventually be known as Wynne. She had stayed when Siors had kneeled at her maternity bed and told her of her child’s destiny, the way that her little bundle of joy would save them all. She had stayed and watched her child grow, knowing that an expiration date hung above their head. She had brought another child onto this world, knowing that she’d get to keep this one, and so she had loved that one better.

Now, Zahra was a woman with no children left, and yet she stayed. Where could she go? After Wynne, who had abandoned not only their duty but their parents, their brother? Back to the family she had once had, the people she had been raised with who had offered no kindness and warmth — who might as well have driven her into the arms of the Protherians?

She stayed. In this empty house. In her shame and failure. In the rage she could not permit herself, because they were watching — they were watching. They had asked her if she had helped Wynne get out, and though they had said they believed her, Zahra thought they had taken Iwan as a repercussion all the same. Her boy: the one who was supposed to live. The one she hadn’t spent all his life mourning.

There was a knock at the door. She dragged herself from the potatoes and their peels, opening the door. There was Fionn, who’d ran around with Iwan. There was Eirwen, who shared a surname with her. And there was … a stranger. “Hello.” She wiped her hands, wet from the potatoes. Zahra looked at the man, confused. “How can I help you?”

Eirwen, the snotty wisenose, spoke up: “He’s here to talk.” Zahra deeply despised her niece in that moment, and not just because she was alive.

She let out a sigh. “Sure. Come in.” She was, these days, too fatigued to fight — whatever this was, let it happen.

—

She looked like Wynne. It was the first thing he thought when she opened the door — she looked like Wynne. Or, rather, Wynne looked like her. They had their mother’s nose, their eyes were shaped as hers were. Some features were different — he suspected those were the ones their father had given them. But he thought Wynne must look more like their mother, because he could see them in her features, looking back at him with an expression he’d never seen the kid wear themself.

(Flora had looked like him. Juliana had commented on it once, rolling her eyes. I carry her for nine months, I spend hours pushing her out, and she still looks more like you. A slayer, too. What am I, then? She’d laughed as she’d said it, nudging his shoulder. It had been in the early days, when Flora was still too small for Emilio’s hesitance to drive a wedge between him and his wife, when she was almost an infant instead of a blade. The early days hadn’t lasted very long.)

He couldn’t decide what he wanted to say, looking at Wynne’s mother now. Here was a woman whose child had been lost to her, but Emilio felt none of the empathy he normally might. He didn’t feel a connection to her the way he had to the weeping father outside Wynne’s hospital room, didn’t taste her grief the way he did then. Her child had been lost to her, but hadn’t she chosen that? Hadn’t she raised her eldest like a lamb for the slaughter, hadn’t she offered her son in their place when they protested their demise?

It wasn’t right, he thought, to compare this loss to his own. He would have given anything to save his daughter. He would have fallen on the blade himself. This woman might as well have held that blade in her hands, might as well have been the one to slit her son’s throat. Perhaps even calling her a grieving mother was giving her more kindness than she deserved. Mothers fought to save their children, didn’t they? The way Juliana must have fought to save Flora, the way his mother had tried to save him in the training she’d drilled into him. Mothers saved their children, but this one had killed hers. It wasn’t a crime Emilio knew how to forgive.

“Go,” he said to the kids who’d brought him there, and they did. They were afraid of him, he suspected. Because they thought he had a connection to the demon that loomed over them, because they thought he was a part of it. Would they fear him more or less if they knew the truth? Would they see him as a threat instead of a marvel once Padrig made his way out of that closet? He wondered, idly, if they were dangerous. He suspected they weren’t. At least, not to him. People who sacrificed children probably weren’t used to fighting someone who knew how to fight back.

He stepped inside the Hughes home, glancing around. Had Wynne grown up here, he wondered? Had they sat between these walls contemplating their life and how short the people who were meant to protect them were intent on making it? Had they loved the woman he was staring down now? They must have. Children loved their mothers, even when they shouldn’t.

The silence hung heavy between them for a moment, and Emilio was the one to break it with a question. One he’d been wondering, one that had been eating away at him ever since Wynne told him about their past: “Did you love them?”

—

The door fell shut behind them and Zahra had half a mind to simply turn around and wordlessly lead him to the kitchen, where conversations were better had. But even this house was no longer a place under her control, it seemed, with the newcomer posing a question so broad yet so narrow, so pointed and confrontational.

Did she have to ask who he meant? No — for all her shortcomings, Zahra Hughes did have some maternal instinct. He was asking after her child, perhaps children, as that was the only thing she couldn’t be certain of: whether the them referred to just Wynne or the two of them. Irregardless, he meant Wynne, the one that had gotten away, that had brought such shame and disgrace upon their family, the one who’d ruined it all, the one who had refused to stay.

Something about her posture changed, desperation revealing itself like a book opening. Did this man know Wynne? Had her child somehow found their way to a place outside of here, alive, where there were people? Or had they been like their mother, running into the arms of a community who’d entrap them, make everything seem like an impossible puzzle with no possible solution?

“Yes.”

What other answer was there to give? Mothers loved their children. Even when their children were destined to die, even when they were not given even a day of living in ignorance, even when their children skirted duty and ran. Zahra loved Wynne even in their absence, in their insolence, in their disloyalty. She hated them too — but that went better unsaid. That was an ugly thing to do for a mother: to hate their child. To not only envy them, but to despise them.

It was childish and weak, the fact that her child had thought themself capable of outrunning fate. It was a despicable, selfish act. Somewhere, Zahra must have fallen short, for something like this to happen. She knew that now, and she hated herself for it the same way she hated Wynne. Sometimes it was easier to focus on that rage than the actual grief she held.

Zahra still did what she had intended to do and walked to the kitchen, that question looming over her like a shadow, the same way the stranger might. She looked at the peeled potatoes and sat on her kitchen chair, that old wood beneath her old bones, eyes drifting up to the stranger. She hardly considered the knife on the table.

“Do you know them?” The question was asked with a certain level of hunger. Maybe she was not entitled to these things, but she wondered. She laid awake at night, wondering where Wynne had ran to. Where they were now, if they even were anywhere — the world was dangerous and treacherous, and they had no knowledge of it: to survive it alone would be quite something. Maybe the demon had taken them anyway, besides, and found it irrelevant to mention.

“What is it you want?” Best get it over with.

—

Yes.

Somehow, it was the worst answer she could have given. Yes, she loved her children. Yes, she’d doomed them anyway. The air in the house felt suffocating, like the goddamn world was on fire and he couldn’t see through the smoke. But there were no flames here; no heat, no crackling. There were only two parents with no children left between them, a mother who had sacrificed one child and driven the other away and a father who had done everything he knew to save his daughter and failed her anyway.

He wondered which was the worst crime. Was it more forgivable to fail to save your child, or to never try to begin with? It made no difference to the child, in the end. Flora was as dead as Wynne’s brother, regardless of whatever efforts Emilio had made. How much did it matter, what he’d tried and failed to do? He was in the same boat as Wynne’s mother now, was just as guilty. It was an irredeemable thing for a parent to outlive their child, an unnatural one. No one should do it.

Wynne’s mother had loved her children. Emilio had loved his daughter. And love, in the end, had saved none of them. So what was it worth? Was there any point to a love too empty to build a liferaft? This love, it was little more than an empty precursor to grief, a pointless prologue.

Had Zahra felt superior, he wondered, in the years she’d raised her child to die? Had she walked around this compound with her head held high, proud and mighty? Had there been dread there, or anticipation? Had she wanted to cling to the days she’d had with her child, or had she only ever been waiting for it to be over?

She moved into the kitchen, and Emilio followed without thinking, angry and grieving and a walking contradiction of a man who both wanted answers and desperately wanted to avoid them. She asked if he knew them, and it was almost funny. “Do you?” Had she ever? In all the years she’d raised her child like a thing already gone, had she ever bothered to get to know Wynne? Or had she distanced herself from them, held them at arms length to protect herself when she should have been protecting them instead?

And then, the unknowable question. What is it you want? Emilio didn’t know the answer. He never really had. He wanted better for Wynne, for Flora, for himself, maybe. He wanted to find something in this woman worth redeeming, because if he did maybe he could find something in himself worth redeeming, too. He wanted for her to have been a good mother, and he wanted for her to have been a bad one. He wanted them to be the same, he wanted them to be different. He wanted a thousand things that were at war with one another, and none of them mattered because none of them were possible.

He wanted a better world than this.

But how could he say any of that without sounding as insane as he felt? How could he communicate how he felt when the only language they shared still felt so foreign to him? He didn’t know the answer, so he turned the question around. “Is this what you wanted? For yourself, for your children? You let them kill your son. You would have let them kill Wynne. And — And for what? What loyalty do you have to these people that’s bigger than the one you should have had for your children? What kind of a person — what kind of a parent does this?” He was shaking. His hands, his legs, his voice. He was trembling like there were earthquakes moving up and down his bones, and he didn’t want to be, but he couldn’t stop it. He was louder than he meant to be; yelling without realizing it, hoarse with the force of the voice being ripped from his lungs. “You should have stopped it. You should have done a better job. You should have saved them.”

(And maybe part of him knew that it wasn’t her he was speaking to anymore. But maybe it was easier this way. To give your grief a face, to assign your rage to someone else… It felt better. It made it into something tangible you could hate, let you aim outward instead of inward. He liked that, sometimes.)

—

She hadn’t known Wynne and it had been purposeful. Gareth and her had fought about that sometimes, the favoritism she showed to Iwan — but then he had showed favoritism to their eldest, and the argument would hit the same wall it always did. Where her husband looked upon their child as their chance to make the Hughes line a more important one within the commune – one that would be immortalized upon Wynne’s passing, with their name among all the martyrs – Zahra had looked upon them as something dead.

It was a ghost in the crib, a ghost that yowled at the breakfast table in their high chair, a ghost that ran through the fields with their cousins and peers their age. Zahra had fed the ghost, had read them stories and sang them songs before bedtime, had taught them the things a mother was supposed to teach a child — but they had not gotten to know them.

Whenever Wynne had tried – and the child had tried – she had gotten harsh and cold, as if she was more wall than mother. The dead had no interests, no puns, no crushes or friendship squabbles. So Wynne ran to dadi and Zahra let them, coddling Iwan in stead. Iwan, who was flesh and bone and not destined to lay down like Jac and Enyd and all those before them. Iwan, who she could love without being afraid of losing all she got to know.

She had watched Gareth run around with Wynne in stead, their laughing faces blurring against the fields. It had been Gareth who would discipline Wynne too, who would take the brunt of parenthood — because Zahra couldn’t even be angry at this ghost-child. All she could be was the cold that was promised to come when they were dead. She watched them, father and child, and did not envy them. She thought her husband a fool and the child … well, the child was like the lambs raised for slaughter, the squealing piglets. It was a farm rule: you couldn’t get attached to the livestock that was destined for the slaughter. Save your affections for the hens and the cows. For the Iwans of the world.

But there had been such misplaced resentment there. What was one to do, though? She was a woman with nothing to her name, shunned from her former family and entangled with a man she loved, a community she served — she resented nothing but chance, that it had funnily enough been her to put a child on the earth at the wrong time. She didn’t resent the elders, nor Siors, nor Gareth. Zahra, at the end of the day, resented herself and Wynne the most.

Which left only one external target. A target who was supposed to die and take her resentment with them, but even that hadn’t happen.

Gareth would often ask her for more children, that two was too few — but she refused him time and time again. She wasn’t sure, now, if this had been the right or wrong idea. Would they have been taken, too? Or would she have a bunch of young running around, now? Would she be able to love them right?

She was taking too long to answer, she knew. She shrugged. “Does any mother really know their young, especially at that age?” It was a non-answer, a way to say no without really saying so. Zahra had failed as a mother in a multitude of ways. She could tell this stranger Iwan’s favorite color and animal, the names he wanted to give his children, his favorite song to hum while working, the way he laughed — but she could do none of that for Wynne.

She was tired. This man, in her kitchen, was an ugly and angry thing. He seemed to be bursting at the seams with it, and then he did. Didn’t he know? There is no room for rage here. You take your rage and you bury it. You put it in the labor. In the cooking, the work in the fields, the washing and the ironing. You do not get angry because that is like confessing there is something to be angry about and that simply would not do.

Zahra watched him, this outsider. He had to be an outsider. These weren’t questions the people in the commune asked. These weren’t things you spoke out loud. She watched him and then watched her potato peels, the rest of the unpeeled things that still had to be finished before the workday was done. His words kept going though, echoing violently through her mind, like a hand at the back of her neck pressing her down, forcing her to look at all her failures and sins. There were no successes to be found. She had not done her Protherian duty, had not done her motherly ones either.

Her hand splayed on the table, with hardly a slap but some kind of noise, “You — I don’t know who you are, but you come in here, in my house and you talk about want and should have and loyalty …” Her voice was a bristle. Instinct demanded she cowered, but this wasn’t an elder and this certainly wasn’t Siors. “What I wanted was no longer relevant – has not been relevant, and that is fine, there is a higher cause that I’m more than glad to answer — that they should have been glad to answer as well.” Zahra felt her voice grow venomous, but she remained seated. “This is larger than one child. I have known that all their life, so has their father — it is an ugly truth, but that’s the truth of it. This is larger than just one child. Every cycle a mother has to watch —”

She cut herself off, inhaling sharply. The image of Iwan on that altar had not quite left her. “I am no different than the women who have come before me — but you’re right! I should have done better, I should have made sure their duty was fulfilled … that we wouldn’t be in this situation, recovering still from their – their insolence.” Wynne was supposed to die and now they lived, outside her grasp, and Iwan was supposed to live and now he was dead, along with so much of their livestock. If there had been someone to save, it was her son, because her other child … well, she’d mourned them already. She’d never allowed them to be real in her mind. Which begged the question of who Wynne was now, out there, and if they had brought this man here.

—

Zahra, Emilio thought, was something close to what his mother had wanted him to be. The choice she had been given wasn’t entirely dissimilar from his own — like her, he had been handed a child and told that it was his duty to mold her into something else. Make her a weapon, they’d told him, fashion her into a knife. Don’t hold her when she cries; she needs to learn to be a thing with no tears to shed. Don’t read her to sleep at night; just put her in her sheath and turn out the lights. Feed her, clothe her, but do not love her. Love is the worst thing you can give a weapon. Love turns a hunting blade into a butter knife.

But love had burrowed into his chest the very first time he’d held his daughter in his arms all the same. Love had clung to his fingertips as he’d let her suck them to soothe her aching gums, had dripped from his chin when she’d thrashed and splashed and squealed as he bathed her, had hung from his neck when she’d wrapped her arms around him and draped off his shoulders like he was a tree and she was built only to climb. He loved her, and he wasn’t supposed to.

Would it have been easier, he wondered, if he were more like this woman in front of him now? If he’d built some sort of wall between himself and his daughter, would the story have ended differently? A toddler couldn’t have turned the tides of the fight that took place in his living room while he was absent. Even in all his unreasonable guilt, Emilio knew that. But if he’d taught her something, if he’d begun to shape her into the weapon she was supposed to be, could it have shifted things just enough to make a difference? Could she have survived long enough for Emilio to reach her? Could her limited competence have been enough to ensure Juliana was able to fight with no distraction? Could it have provided enough of an inconvenience to convince her murderers to go somewhere else and return again later?

Maybe he’d doomed Flora by loving her. Maybe Zahra had doomed Iwan by not loving Wynne. Maybe all parents were capable of, in the end, was finding new ways to make ghosts of their children. Raise a child as a lamb, and watch them kick the gate down and run away. Raise a child as a weapon, and watch him rust and dull until he was little more than a broken hunk of metal and rage. Raise a child as a child, and cradle her body where it fell on the living room floor. Was there any winning? Was there ever any hope for any of them?

Still, any camaraderie he felt towards Zahra refused to soothe his rage. If anything, it intensified it. He was angry at Zahra because he was angry at himself. He hated Zahra because he hated himself. It was a mirror that he desperately wanted to shatter, a reflection he wished to tear to shreds. If Emilio deserved what he deserved, so did Zahra. If Emilio had earned a quick trip to whatever afterlife existed for people like him, so had Zahra. And it spoke volumes, he thought, that part of him wanted to deliver her there now. It said all that needed saying about the kind of man he was that Wynne was the only thing that stopped him. They’d lost a brother. He’d have to tell them that. He wouldn’t tell them that they’d lost a mother, too, even if he thought Zahra didn’t deserve to have ever been called such to begin with.

So when she replied to his question with one of her own, Emilio’s laugh was bitter and brutal. “You are not a mother,” he told her. “You don’t get to call yourself that. Mothers protect their children. You offered yours up for the slaughter. Did your son beg for his life when you let them kill him? Did he look to you for help?” It was a cruel question, a twist of a knife he knew had probably been sitting in her chest since the day Iwan died. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He hoped it bled her dry. He hoped she choked on it.

But he didn’t think it would. She was more statue than woman, the outline of a mother drawn by someone who had never known one. If she ever loved her children at all, she’d loved them wrong. And maybe Emilio, who’d loved his daughter wrong, too, couldn’t judge that, but he was judging anyway. He was here, he was angry, he was a hypocrite, and he’d keep prodding at the bruises on her skin until one of them cried out for mercy because there was nothing else for him to do. It was a pointless act, he knew; no amount of sneering and screaming would bring Iwan back or soothe Wynne’s grief. But for Emilio, mourning and rage had always been synonyms. He didn’t know how to have one without the other.

“Nothing should be larger than one child when that child is yours,” he snapped, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was wrong. After all, his examples of parenthood were closer to Zahra than his own philosophy. His mother did what she did, raised her children the way she had been raised, and Rosa did the same. It was Emilio who was the outlier, Emilio whose love for his daughter was bigger than his duty to his family when he knew it always should have been the other way around. Zahra chose duty over love, the way Emilio was supposed to. His mother’s teachings would insist that she’d been right to do so, but how could she be? How could this be right? How could any of it?

“Your children,” he said, “deserved a better mother than you. They deserved someone who would fight for them. You should have gotten them out. The moment you were told to make a sacrifice of them, to use their body as a thing to make your lives easier, you should have gotten them out.” It was an echo of the thoughts in his own head, the ones that haunted him. You shouldn’t have waited. You should have left with her the moment it became clear that she was to be a weapon instead of a girl. You should have run without stalling, should have taken her far far away. You should have saved her. You should have saved her.

What was left for him now? For either of them? His daughter was dead. Iwan was dead. Wynne was alive, but to this woman, they never had been. They’d been born dead in the eyes of the person who’d brought them into the world, and Emilio thought of the way his mother never wept for Victor the way he couldn’t stop weeping for Flora. He wondered, for a heartbeat, if Elena and Zahra were the same, and then he shoved the thought from his mind so violently that it burned. This couldn’t be about that. Nothing could be about that. Not now.

His hands shook, because she still had it wrong. She thought her mistake was the child who had lived instead of the one who had died, that she should have done more to force Wynne to a fate she had allowed to be chosen for them. Like her greatest sin was not allowing one child to be bled dry, but allowing the wrong one to be. He thought of Victor, dead before twenty. He thought of Rosa, her words harsh and honest nearly two decades after the fact. I wish you had died instead of Victor. And he thought of Wynne. Wynne, who was kind and quiet, who made food for him even though they knew he didn’t eat it, who tried to make sure he was all right even when they were drowning. He thought of how many people had failed them, about how he was one of them. He thought of the mother and father who had refused to save them, of the community who thought them a means to an end, of himself and the blood he’d let flow from their throat because he was too slow, too stubborn, too stupid. He thought of what they deserved, and what they’d gotten instead.

And he was angry. He was so fucking angry.

“You should have been a mother,” he said, “instead of an executioner. Maybe you didn’t hold the knife that bled your son dry, but don’t kid yourself. It was your hands that killed him. Not Wynne’s, not some demon’s, not anyone else’s. It was you. It was just you.”

Swallowing, Emilio took a step back. “I hope you get everything you deserve,” he told her. “I hope this house burns to the ground. I hope you lose everything you’ve built here. I hope you bury everyone you love. And I hope you do it all knowing that Wynne is so much better without you in their life.”

—

This man was hurt and he was lashing out. It would be good for him to look within and see what was truly bothering him, Zahra thought, and then reconsider if it was worth getting this worked up over. These were hardly her own thoughts, but rather repetitions of the things she had been told and told herself over the years — part of the way emotions were treated when they reached levels like this. This was a community build on serene peace and togetherness. Making your emotions so big that they had to take up an entire room was not okay, and yet here the other was. Filling her house with it, with his hurt.

It might be her peeling knife on the table, but it was his verbal knives ending in her gut, attempting to splay her open and reveal all the twisted truths of the past twenty something years. The stranger – who had not offered a name, still – asked after Iwan, after that fated day.

What a day it had been, to wake and find Wynne’s room abandoned, that small note scrawled with their words of goodbye (I don’t want to die, I’m sorry) the only thing they had left behind. It hadn’t even been Zahra who had realized that their child had ran, but rather the elders — Alys had creaked open that bedroom door and found absence, had pulled the strings that had seen Zahra and her husband looking down not only Siors but a few elders as well, wondering how this could have happened. How they even knew where the money was.

What a day it had been, of groveling and claiming ignorance, because that was the truth. Zahra hadn’t known her child, so how could she have known that they would do such a thing? They were to keep their mouth shut, as a straggle of men went into the forest to search for the betrayer, Gareth among them. And eventually Padrig had come, with the news. Eventually Padrig had come and he had taken Iwan and there had been no room for arguing. But she tried. For Iwan, she had tried, to open her mouth and protest — but she’d been shut down. And she’d fallen in place.

I tried, she wanted to argue, but the words died on her tongue. Because Iwan had cried and he had screamed and struggled. He had not been as subdued as Wynne would have been, because he lacked the preparation — because he wasn’t supposed to be laid on that altar. He had begged. And Zahra had watched, digging her fingernails in her knees until the half moons bled, clenching her jaw until a headache formed.

She had screamed into her husband’s shoulder, who had held her tight and then forced her back upright again, refusing the comfort she seeked. Gareth had been all quiet anger, tightly-wound, with no direction for it to go. Zahra had been nothing but despair, and had sobbed in stead.

Maybe this man was right. Maybe she wasn’t a mother, at least not any more. What claim to motherhood was left, with one of them having turned their back and the other having begged for his life, while his mother watched and sobbed? The demon had taken the sacrifice and then some, proven that its wrath was a true thing to fear — but what did it matter, when it came to her? Was it regret she experienced, or was it just a bitterness at the powerlessness?

And he just kept going, raining judgment after judgment as if he lived in this world. Where a demon raged through their livestock if the soul it was given was slightly different. Where not even a century ago, it had killed all the youths just to repay an escape attempt. The rules were different here. They had to be. The rules weren’t as simple as motherly instinct saving its child here. They couldn’t be.

Zahra had abandoned her former life for this one. For herself. Then, for her husband. Then, for the demon, for the community, for all there was. The luscious fields. The euphoric celebrations. The closeness to death, the healthy awareness of it. It couldn’t all be beautiful. It couldn’t all be kind. But it had purpose.

Iwan, even as he had squirmed and wept, had had purpose. Wynne, in their betrayal, had discarded their purpose and only served to be a thorn in everyone’s side. I don’t want to die was a plea she could only answer with a motherly: we all do things we don’t want to for the greater good sometimes.

She watched him speak. She let him speak, her hard and angry, her walls growing higher. She lifted her hand, pressing it against her sternum to remind herself to breathe easily. In the back of her mind, the words of elders repeated. She couldn’t — no, she wouldn’t hear this and let it mean something. Zahra had loved and lost, had performed her duty. She had failed when it came to Wynne, but when it came to Iwan she had persevered and done what the mothers before her had done.

And when he was done, confirming that he not only knew Wynne but knew where they were, she opened her mouth. “Either you get out of my house right now or you tell me where they are.” Zahra pushed herself off from the table, raising to her full height (which wasn’t a lot, compared to the stranger’s). “You’ve said your piece, haven’t you? So go, get out — take your judgments and your opinions and get out of my house. As if – no, I don’t need to justify myself. I don’t need to explain myself to someone so – so blind, so —”

She inhaled. “You speak so easily of things you don’t know. So get out. I don’t need to hear it. It’s wasted breath.” Her arm raised, limb trembling, and she pointed at the door he had come from. “Get. Out.”

—

She was upset. It was clear in the way she was looking at him, the way she pressed her hand against her chest, the way she tried and failed to breathe easy. She was upset, and some bitter part of Emilio was glad for it. Why should she know peace? Why should she get to sit here, safe in her home, and peel potatoes? Her son was dead, her eldest child broken by the life she’d forced them into, and she had the audacity to look at him as if he was the monster, as if his intrusion into her home was a heavier thing than the rooms that she had emptied, the blood that she had spilled.

He didn’t know what he was looking for here. He had the answers he’d promised Wynne he’d bring them, even if those answers would weigh heavy on him as he carried them back to Wicked’s Rest. He’d had those answers even before he came to this house, even before he’d started this conversation. He could have left after Padrig told him what he’d needed to know. So why hadn’t he? Why was he here, why was he screaming at this woman, why did his chest feel so tight?

Emilio was not a man who understood his own emotions. The fact that he had them at all was a failure, a sign that he’d messed up somewhere along the line. He was meant to be a blade, a weapon, a wooden stake: something someone held in their hand to use and discard when it was too dull to function properly anymore, an object designed to spill blood and do nothing else. Emotion was useless, but it was something he’d struggled with all his life. At some point, his mother had recognized that she couldn’t remove it entirely, so she’d taught him to utilize it instead. To take grief and confusion and uncertainty and to turn it into anger instead, to let rage be the only thing that made his heartbeat quicken. Anger was useful. Everything else was pointless to keep around.

He no longer knew how to recognize if the anger burning inside him had another name. He couldn’t color code it, couldn’t call it what it was when what it was wasn’t something he had a name for. Let it be rage, then. Let it be a fury that burned instead of a grief that ached, let it be something he could make use of. If you have to be anything, his mother used to say, be angry. And so he was.

But useful wasn’t the same as productive. Useful let you slide a knife between ribs, but it wouldn’t ease the pain that radiated up your wrist from the force of your grip on the hilt of it. He could scream at this woman until his lungs ran out of breath, but he couldn’t put the blood back into her son’s body, couldn’t save Wynne from decades of living knowing they were only alive to die. No amount of screaming would change her mind, no amount of venom would make her realize she was wrong. If her son’s death didn’t turn the tides, what would? If years of watching her child grow hadn’t convinced her that their sacrifice was not worth whatever ‘honor’ it would bring her family, she was lost already. Let the demon have her. Let it all burn.

The idea that she carried some pain within her that he couldn’t understand was a laughable thing, a joke without a punchline. As if she should be allowed that pain, as if she’d earned it. You weren’t allowed to grieve something you’d chosen to slaughter. You weren’t allowed to hold your head up high and claim victimhood for a situation you’d gotten yourself into all on your own, for something you could have prevented if only you’d tried. It was her fault, what happened to her son.

(It was his fault, what happened to his daughter.)

She didn’t deserve to mourn.

(Neither did he.)

She deserved whatever grief tore her open, deserved to spend the rest of her life with her son’s cries and pleas echoing in her ears.

(The image of his daughter’s corpse would lurk behind his eyelids until the day he died. He deserved it as much as she did.)

“I know,” he said lowly, “more than you could imagine. But there is a difference between us. I would have died for my daughter, but you asked your children to die for you. You’ll never see them again. I’m going to make sure.” She wouldn’t make sacrifices for Wynne, but Emilio would. He would have died for Flora. He would have died for Wynne. A blade could be used to protect, too.

But she was right about one thing, at least — he was wasting his breath here. He shot her one last disgusted look, anger still burning in his chest. He made his way over to the door, and it opened a heartbeat before he reached for the knob. The man who stood there looked surprised; Emilio could see Wynne’s features reflected in his face the same way he’d seen them in Zahra’s. Their father, he realized distantly. This is their father.

There was little thought behind it. It was rage that clenched his fist, rage that reared his arm back, rage that collided his knuckles into the stranger’s face without saying a word. He didn’t feel better as Wynne’s father stumbled back, didn’t find relief in the blood that gushed from the man’s nose. Everything felt painfully empty as Emilio shook out his hand and stepped out the open door.

The sun was shining; he thought it shouldn’t be. No one said anything to him as he sulked towards the same gate he’d come in, though a few people whispered as he passed. He didn’t know if it was because they still thought he had some connection to the demon or if it was because they now knew that he didn’t. It didn’t matter much one way or another. No one tried to stop him, and part of him almost wished they would. His knuckles yearned to meet more flesh, the fury burning inside of him begging for an outlet. But when he got to his car at last, all that was left to do was drive.

This had been the easy part. The worst, he knew, was yet to come.

#ohwynne #protherians: cult classic #wickedswriting #child death tw #child abuse tw #sibling death tw

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thezanyarthropleura · 2 years ago

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The Not-March Ones (1 of 5)

It’s St. Patrick’s Day, or so I’ve heard, and what better way to celebrate than with the Gamera film about a monster crocodile(?) that shoots rainbows? Enjoy this, the first of the reviews for the five Gamera films not released in the month of March.

Gamera vs. Barugon actually was released on the 17th of the month, just in April of 1966, so its actual 57-year anniversary is next month. It’s the second film in the Showa era, and the only Showa film not directed by Noriaki Yuasa. It’s also one of the scant few mainline Showa films (i.e. the seven original Daiei films produced from 1965-1971) to have a female protagonist of any real plot importance, so let’s talk about her—

…Wait wait wait wait wait, hold up, her name’s Karen? All this time and I’ve never picked up on that? She doesn’t even get a last name? A classic Japanese kaiju film and I have to talk about a character who’s just named Karen? *sighs* Fine, here we go…

Karen, a woman living in 1966 blackface New Guinea, who positively radiates step on me energy in every scene she’s in and may or may not be a vampire, joins the film relatively early on and is easily distinguished among the islanders by her seductive death glare and lack of racist makeup. She tells the three treasure hunters not to go into the cursed cave, but when they, of course, do it anyway only for one of their number to betray the other two, she helps nurse the surviving man back to health. She then agrees to accompany him back to Japan to help track down his attempted killer and retrieve the stolen giant monster egg.

She fills a stereotype fairly common for women in these films, an island native who serves as an exposition character, but she has a far more commanding, rational presence than most examples. Throughout the film, she relays the legends told in her village about how they’ve defeated the enemy monster, Barugon, in the past, which get put to use as the standard slew of soldiers and scientists work on various (ultimately ineffective) plans to stop the one that’s now hatched from the stolen egg and has been set loose on Japan.

There’s a background romance arc between her and the redeemed treasure hunt survivor, which like most relationships in these kinds of films, is conveyed more subtly than overtly. I’ll admit it’s kind of cute at points, especially in a scene cut out of one, and possibly both of the English dubs, in which Karen expresses her frustration and distress at being taken less seriously by the military than the 10-year-old boys in the other movies. The hero is slow and careful in offering her comfort, which she takes to like a lifeline, then boldly and firmly defends her expertise on the problem to all the old men in the room. I don’t really like het romance in my movies but this one doesn’t bother me too much.

Also, the scene where she rushes to drink the blood from his bleeding injury after a fight with the villain is… weird, and kinky, but is presented entirely as a sweet and genuine act of affection. The technicality of her drinking blood feels like it definitely has some unfortunate, probably racist connotations, but the film seems to see it as a positive way to acknowledge the different culture she was raised in while establishing her feelings of love and care.

Unfortunately, despite looking like she could carry all the human fights in this film by herself, Karen is relegated to the stereotypical “breaks one bottle over the bad guy’s head while the man does the actual fighting.” It’s a scene in blatant contrast to how her character is presented otherwise, to the point of being completely ridiculous when she just… stands there confusedly in an extended wide shot while the two dudes are beating the shit out of each other. She does look a bit like she’s looking on in disbelief and silently judging them, so there’s at least that.

For comedy’s sake I’ll also mention that one guy on the boat trip back from New Guinea, who keeps unknowingly complicating the villain’s plan to pretend he went to the island to exhume a relative’s bones by latching onto him as a fellow war orphan and making grand, genuine gestures of respect and comradery for the made-up relative – up to and including saving the fake bones as the ship is sinking and finding the villain afterward to return them. You can’t help but feel a little bad for him when the villain brushes off his sympathies and finally yells the truth at him in frustration.

Barugon himself is probably the closest thing to a crocodile/alligator kaiju ever depicted in a classic kaiju movie. He doesn’t exactly look it when he’s walking around like a cross between a lizard and a dog, but the resemblance really shows in the fight scenes, whenever his huge jaws are opening and snapping shut next to Gamera’s much smaller head. Unfortunately, there aren’t many fight scenes. The first one is a bit longer than you think it is if you’ve only watched the MST3K cut, but still consists mostly of the two monsters sizing each other up with few actual hits exchanged. The ending fight at least has the good heroic vibes going for it, as it’s the first time Gamera is shown to hunt down and kill a monster that threatens humans where it can’t be explained away as being done for personal gain.

The warnings here will mostly concern the death toll, which I believe is the second-highest of any Gamera film in terms of major characters. First, we have the third member of the treasure hunting expedition, who is left to die from a fatal scorpion sting moments after mentioning he has a wife. Then, the two human fight scenes of the film concern the main character and his brother, both individually confronting the villain because they believe he’s killed the other brother. Only one of them ends up being right, and the other is tragically killed before he can learn the lead brother survived the attempt on his life (thus leading into the second fight). Also, the brother who dies is disabled and uses a crutch, and both he and his wife are left either beaten to death or to the point of immobility while their home is destroyed from Barugon’s attack on the city. You know, in case you were still convinced there was a chance for this film to have a good look after the New Guinea scene. Aside from that, a closeup of Barugon’s tongue when it captures and draws in the villain may be a mildly uncomfortable visual.

Yes, when all is said and done, the villain is eaten by Barugon, after a long spree of murder and world-endangerment done all for the sake of greed. He specifically dies thwarting a plan that almost manages to kill Barugon, stealing Karen’s diamond right before it can be used to lure Barugon to drown in the depths of the lake and instead, getting it swallowed along with himself. When I bring up this film’s and Gamera vs. Gyaos’s similarities to Ishiro Honda films, it’s these larger moral themes that complete the comparison – just about all the evil of this film, including Barugon being set loose in the first place, is squarely the fault of the villain’s greed and disregard for others. And all the while, through his actions, the heroes continue to suffer and have their efforts undone, ultimately requiring an unforeseen assist from Gamera to save the day (after the most long, grueling, drawn-out, preemptive literal justification for Gamera’s title of “the last hope” that’s ever been put to cinema).

Does this film have flaws? Yes. Is it generally considered the absolute best the Gamera Showa series has to offer? Also yes. Is it my favorite Gamera Showa series film? Definitely not, but it’s one of very few that I appreciate for its themes and characters instead of lmao look Gamera’s doing gymnastics! Still, it remains to be seen whether that will give this film an edge over several close competitors in the middle-tier bracket.

Enjoy this movie with skittles and grape Kool-aid.

#gamera #gamera vs barugon #barugon #karen gamera #i guess that's her last name now #gamera march #a lesbian reviews all the gamera movies

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charlie-minion · 4 years ago

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Could the same SPN finale make a little more sense with some additions/changes?

I’ve had the idea for this post stuck in my head for days now, but with every new conspiracy theory and every new eventuality in the fandom, it became difficult to cool down enough to write something less ship-related and more narrative-focused.

What Supernatural and non-SPN fans have to understand is that a lot of us have expressed disappointment and frustration after 15x20, not because of Destiel (that’s just one part of the whole problem), but because the finale doesn’t make sense. Everything was leading up to something beautifully crafted until the end of 15x19. Beyond that, it’s hard to understand what happened. The story rendered all the character growth irrelevant, invalidated the themes of free will and “family don’t end in blood”, regressed to the original brother codependency they spent 15 years trying to overcome, made a queer non-binary character in a male vessel and a deaf female character basically disposable, and kept the show’s reputation of queerbaiting and misogyny until its very last breath.

That’s not going out with a bang! At least not a positive one. We all were ready to mourn Supernatural, but we wanted to feel proud of its legacy, and somehow TPTB managed to tarnish that legacy in less than 45 minutes. What a way to ruin the other more than 13,600 minutes of story!

It doesn’t matter who is to blame (The CW, Robert Singer, Andrew Dabb). It doesn’t matter why it happened (homophobia, censorship, marketing for Walker, bad writing). What matters is that at the end of the day, the finale that aired is what we got and that’s going to hurt for a long time. It hurts even more when we realize that the same finale could have easily made more sense, even without being perfect.

That’s what I want to do in this post. I want to show you how things would have been less jarring (for the fandom), while still keeping the goal to please the general audience.

Before I begin rewriting 15x20, I have to mention that I talked to my conservative boomer sister about the finale. She hasn’t watched the second half of season 15 yet (she’s waiting for Netflix to have it), but she’s been watching the show for a long time (she introduced me to it 8 years ago). She’s the perfect example of a viewer from the general audience. Loves the show but doesn’t give a second thought to it and definitely isn’t paying attention to character development or themes. Doesn’t engage with fandom, actors, or any of the show’s social media. Pure GA! When I told her the series finale had aired, she asked me about it and I refused to give her spoilers. Because of that, she told me the ending SHE wanted. She said she would be happy with either of two possibilities: the boys retiring and finally living a normal life OR they going to heaven and finding peace at last. She saw Sam and Dean as a unit, which means: both retiring or both going to heaven. AND she saw Cas as part of that, too. She wasn’t so sure about Jack. And for her, we could use the “Eileen who?” and it wouldn’t be a joke. She didn’t remember her.

NOW IT’S TIME TO WRITE A NEW VERSION OF 15X20 (KEEPING 15X18 AND 15X19 EXACTLY THE SAME AS THEY AIRED). This will be a very long post:

The opening remains almost the same. No “Carry on my wayward son” to induce feels. Too soon and too predictable! (Reasoning: Everyone was expecting it to play right there, so it would bring more tears at the end)

In the opening, after the scene where Jack says “People won’t need to pray to me or sacrifice to me”, we also see the scene from 15x19 where he says “I won’t be hands on”. Then we see the rest of the opening as it was. (Reasoning: People needed to be reminded that Jack would NOT intervene and that’s why later on, he would NOT save Dean).

We get the same montage, but when Sam takes a break from his morning run, we see him reading a message on his phone. A simple: “Hey Sam, what’s new?” from Eileen. Sam smiles fondly and begins to type a response we don’t get to see. The next scene continues the same, Sam making breakfast. (Reasoning: A text was a very simple way to show that Eileen was alive and still in communication with Sam).

The montage slowly ends as Sam enters the library (not after he sits down). He seems to be talking on the phone but we only hear an “I’ll tell him. Bye”. As he walks towards the table, he tells Dean: “Charlie says hi. Mentioned something about Stevie’s perfect scrambled eggs we have to try.” Dean’s answer is “Awesome!” (Reasoning: Just ONE line was needed to unbury Charlie and her girlfriend. ONE LINE).

Sam sits down, opens his laptop and everything continues the same. The title card shows for the last time.

YOU SEE? In the first 4 minutes they could have acknowledged that THREE WOMEN were alive and safe: Eileen, Charlie and Stevie. It wasn’t hard! Don’t blame bad writing on Covid! Now let’s continue.

Sam and Dean arrive at the Pie Fest just the same. Dean goes to get some “damn pie” and Sam takes out his phone. He dials and when someone picks up, he says “Hey, Jody, how are ya?” We don’t hear the rest of the conversation. The scene moves to Dean coming with his 6 portions of pie. Dean sits down and Sam tells him, “Talked to Jody. The other hunters haven’t had much work lately.” “That’s good, isn’t it?”, Dean says. All we get from Sam is “Yeah.” So, Dean looks at him and asks “what’s wrong?” like it happened in the episode. (Reasoning: Again, a couple of lines to make sure the people that were killed in 15x18 are safe and remembered by the boys in 15x20. Why is this important? Because they’re family!)

The conversation about Sam’s sad face happens the same. Sam is the one that mentions Cas and Jack. (Reasoning: Because this episode was so Sam-centered, it’s obvious he was the protagonist in the finale. If we see him communicating with Eileen, Charlie, and Jody, then it’s NORMAL, even expected of him to be the one to bring up Cas and Jack). Without these additions, it’s harder for people to understand that most of the finale was NOT from Dean’s POV but from Sam’s.

Dean’s “if we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing” stays the same. (Reasoning: I believe it’s necessary that the show sticks to the importance of “letting go” and “what is dead should stay dead” for the first time ever because the message is “even when you lose someone you love, you can still find some form of happiness and keep living, for you and for them, because that’s what they would have wanted”. Bringing someone back means “I can’t live without you”, and that’s just more codependency. It’s how the demon deals began in the Winchester family –Mary being the first one to do it. This would explain why Dean didn’t ask Jack to bring Cas back, as he asked Chuck. He understood Jack was NOT going to interfere anymore and accepted it. Besides, when Cas saved Dean from hell, Dean thought he didn’t deserve to be saved. This time that Cas saved him, Dean finally feels worthy enough to accept that YES, HE DESERVED TO BE SAVED ALL ALONG, just as much as he deserved to be loved by that angel of the Lord. In this scene, Dean also says that the pain is not gonna go away, which means that from HIS PERPECTIVE, it still hurts that Cas is not there. The problem is that the finale is not showing his POV but Sam’s.

Sam pies Dean on the face just the same. (Reasoning: That part was just to avoid ending the scene on a sad note).

Everything related to the case happens exactly the same. (Reasoning: At this point, people don’t really care about the MoTW, they care about Sam and Dean).

NOTE 1: The case is important to show that even when the Winchesters are finally free of Chuck’s influence, they CHOOSE to keep hunting. It isn’t something they do out of revenge or because it is their destiny anymore. Maybe they were forced into the life at first, but they’ve learned to find joy in saving people. Being hunters is who they are. However, the fact that a job application was shown on Dean’s desk is also important because it means he was willing to explore what else was there for him besides hunting. Maybe he could find a balance? Maybe he was thinking it was time to quit? We will never know! The thing is that Sam only finds out about it when he goes into Dean’s room after his brother is dead, so maybe that’s when it hits him that Dean wanted to explore his options, and Sam starts to think it’s time for him to do the same.

NOTE 2: I believe the masks the vampires are wearing is something we can blame on covid. If they had their faces covered, it was easier to use people from the SPN crew for some scenes, instead of using more actors unnecessarily.

NOTE 3: When Sam and Dean arrive at the barn, we get 3 visuals to remember Cas in the same scene (those are for the fandom, not for the general audience): a) the barn, obviously; b) the bag that resembles Cas’ trenchcoat so much that many people thought that’s what it was; and c) two feathers hanging on Dean’s right when he opens the trunk.

The scene with the throwing star happens the same. (Reasoning: The episode is still told from Sam’s point of view, so it makes sense that he fondly sees his brother as a man child).

Jenny the vampire? Uhhh… I mean, it’s not the best piece of writing I’ve ever seen, but it’s not the worst, so okay. That stays the same. (Reasoning: There is none, but she’s not what really ruined the finale, so whatever!)

Dean still dies impaled on a rebar. (Reasoning: OK. HERE ME OUT!!! I hate as much as everyone else that Dean is killed. I think it’s lazy writing, but that’s what we got and I can’t change that in this re-write, so if killing Dean is what we have to work around, then, memes aside, death by rebar is better and here’s why. There’s no one to blame for Dean’s death: no Chuck (the boys were willingly hunting even after Chuck was defeated), no vampires (they were all killed and were no real threat, so it was impossible for Sam to begin a quest for revenge against all vampires. What was Sam going to blame? A rebar? Can you kill it? Hunt it? NO. It was an ordinary death, a stupid accident. Just like any person can die at any moment by slipping on a banana peel. Is it a good death? No, but it’s good to know he doesn’t die trying to save Sam or Cas, because Dean Winchester is NOT willing to give up his life in exchange for anyone else’s anymore.

Sam takes out his phone and says he’ll call for help, but his phone is more visible to the audience. He dials and it’s almost to his ear when Dean stops him and Sam hesitantly hangs up. (Reasoning: People have complained that Sam didn’t call an ambulance, but actually he tried to. It’s just that people missed that part, maybe?)

After Sam puts his phone back in his pocket and says “OK” to Dean, he adds, “I’ll pray to Jack”. Dean’s immediate answer is: “No hands on, remember?” “But Dean”, Sam says, and Dean interrupts him with “OK listen to me” and tells Sam what to do with the kids they rescued. (Reasoning: Jack is God now and how come Sam didn’t remember? The viewers remembered, so it was necessary to include a line that ruled the option out and that showed Dean didn’t want Jack to intervene. The rest was fine).

The lines “You knew it was always gonna end like this for me. It was supposed to end like this, right?” disappear completely from Dean’s monologue. (Reasoning: This is the most problematic part of Dean’s dying speech. He fought God and earned free will, he is no longer controlled by fate or destiny. Accepting that he is supposed to die on a hunt regresses his character development and denies his desire to keep living. This was a total mistake and should be removed).

Instead, if going to heaven is the ending TPTB wanted to give Dean, at least he should say something more empowering. Sam tells him that both of them are going to take the kids somewhere safe. Dean answers and the scene follows like this: “No. Sammy, we made our choice, didn’t we?”, he smiles with difficulty. “We were free to write our own story and we did. We decided to keep saving people, hunting things. Because it’s what we love despite the risks.” (Reasoning: If Dean’s going to die it doesn’t have to feel like it was always meant to be that way. He should die knowing that he exerted his free will until his last breath).

The rest of the dialogue between Sam and Dean happens almost the same. Except that instead of Dean saying “‘cause when it all came down to it, it was always you and me. It’s always been you and me”, he says “’cause when it all came down to it, we’ve always had each other’s backs. Always.” And instead of Sam saying “Don’t leave me”, he says “I still can try to save you.” (Reasoning: It sounds way less codependent without diminishing the importance of their love and support for each other).

Besides, let’s change Dean’s “I’m not leaving you” for “You don’t have to be alone. You’ve still got family.” The rest stays the same word by word. (Reasoning: Dean reminds Sam that “family don’t end in blood” and there are still lots of people out there who love Sam and will be with him).

“I love you so much, my baby brother” stays exactly the same. (Reasoning: Dean always had trouble to express the big L word. I always believed and said many times that before Dean could say “I love you” to Cas or any other character, he had to say it to Sam. So, this is important as part of Dean speaking his truth).

The last part when Dean insists Sam tell him that it’s okay stays the same. (Reasoning: It’s the final moment when the codependency cycle breaks. No more running in circles).

The forehead touch between them stays the same. (Reasoning: I think I would do something similar if my sister were dying. I know there are w*ncest shippers out there, but it shouldn’t matter because the moment feels appropriate for that kind of goodbye).

See? There are changes but not too many. That’s why I’ve been saying that it was easier to get it right, yet they still managed to screw it up.

The second montage stays the same. (Reasoning: Life goes on, but of course Sam has to mourn).

The call about a case in Austin remains the same. (Reasoning: It’s the only part of the episode where someone from the found family is mentioned, so I think that Donna’s name is perfect in that moment. However, without the other additions I’ve made in this re-write, that off-hand mention feels too little. Its purpose was to tell the viewers that if Donna was alive, so were the others, but the way the episode was executed gave us an isolated Sam, incapable of having friends and a family without Dean).

After 30 minutes of Sam’s POV, let’s finally see the last bit of Dean’s POV that we’ll ever get.

Dean arrives in Heaven and Bobby receives him. All their conversation stays almost the same, except that after mentioning Rufus and before saying “and your mom and dad…”, Bobby adds an “Ellen and Jo let me borrow their place”. (Reasoning: If you’re gonna put the man outside the Harvelle’s place, at least mention them for Jack’s sake!).

Besides, after Bobby tells Dean that Sam will be along and that time in heaven is different, Dean gives a small smile and says, “Well, there’s no rush. I want him to have a long, happy life.” Bobby answers with: “I would expect nothing less from you, boy” and tells him he got everything he could ever want, etc., just like it happened in the episode, and finishes by asking “What are you gonna do now, Dean?” (Reasoning: It’s important we know for sure that Dean is NOT codependent anymore and that he doesn’t expect to have a miserable afterlife just because his brother is not there yet).

Instead of saying “I think I’ll go for a drive” Dean says, “I think I know what I want” and walks towards baby. Bobby still tells him to have fun. (Reasoning: “Know what I want” is ambiguous enough to help us introduce the last piece of the puzzle, the one thing Dean’s wanted for many seasons and has never been able to express).

The biggest change is coming:

Dean gets on the Impala and has a moment of silence while he contemplates the wheel. He begins to pray: “Hey, Cas, you got your ears on? I hear you’ve been busy working on this updated Heaven with Jack. You were right about him, Cas. You had faith in him and he saved us all. You could always see the best in everyone, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. Even when I couldn’t see it myself. There’s so much I want to tell you. Maybe you can visit sometime. I hope prayer’s still a thing up here.” (Reasoning: Dean’s side of the confession was unaddressed and that was terrible writing. If there was no way to get him to speak his truth textually, at least take him as close to it as possible).

We listen to a flutter of wings and a “Hello, Dean” from the back seat. We don’t see Cas, but the camera shows us Dean’s cocky smile and he says “Took you long enough.” He turns around slowly. End of scene. (Reasoning: The flutter of wings confirms that angels have their wings back and ties that loose end. The final “hello, Dean” was highly anticipated and it made sense. If Misha couldn’t be there to film, for whatever reason, or if the problem was the kind of conversation Dean and Cas would have, then don’t show it, but leave the door open. Let us know that the two characters were reunited and will talk, but whatever Dean has to say is so private that it’s not for us to hear, only for Cas.

We finally hear “Carry on my wayward son” and get a montage that begins with Sam playing with his kid. Then we see Dean driving, super happy, and Sam living his life to the fullest. We still get Sam’s Blurry Wife, BUT… we see pictures of Eileen in the living room (not just of John, Mary, Sam, and Dean). We also see photos of Jody, Donna, Charlie, and AU!Bobby. (Reasoning: FAMILY DON’T END IN BLOOD).

The scene where Sam is wearing the party wig and looks miserable inside the Impala is cut and nobody talks about it ever again because it never existed. We get a scene of Sam teaching his son how to fix the car instead. (Reasoning: First of all, don’t give Sam a life where years later he’s still in pain. Second of all, the fucking wig was a crime).

Sam’s dying scene stays the same. The only thing is that his son signs a couple of phrases to him before actually speaking. (Reasoning: More confirmation that Dean Jr. is Eileen’s son).

We hear the final “Evanescence-like Carry on my wayward son”. Again we see the photos and there’s family other than the Winchesters there. (Reasoning: Obvious at this point).

The rest is exactly the same. The show began with two brothers and it’s okay if the last scene is with the two brothers reunited in Heaven. At this point, the other parts of the story are acceptable enough for us to feel happy that they get to see each other again after years of a happy (after)life.

Now look me in the eye and tell me this was too hard to execute. I still think that bad writing is a thing we can’t deny here, adding to the possible meddling of the Network. Maybe Dabb wanted us to hate the finale because he couldn’t get away with what he truly wanted. If that was his intention, then kudos to him. He and The CW really gave us a finale that only 30% of the fandom liked.

I hope you guys have enjoyed this and it helps to give you some peace of mind. In my heart, this was the finale we got. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t drop the ball either.

#supernatural #15x20 #spn 15x20 #spn finale #rewrite #dean winchester #dean deserved better #cas deserved better #destiel #the characters deserved better #we deserved better #it was easier to get it right #yet they screwed up big time #alternate ending

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bangtanloverboys · 3 years ago

Text

found again // jhs

summary - forever was a very long time to be alone, but it was the safeest way to save yourself the heartache of losing loved ones. despite that, you still find yourself falling in love with hoseok

pairing - hunter!hoseok x immortal female!reader

genre - fluff, angst; reincarnation au

word count - 5.0k

warnings - strangers to lovers, hisorical inaccuracies, reader is centuries old, takes place in late 1700s, “i can fix that”, falling in love, kissing, proposal, mentioning of harming self, major character death, dogs die, im sorry everything i write of hoseok is sad but happy ending!!

author’s note - another fic inspired by ABC Forever, because i love the concept and i miss it

After nearing three centuries of life, one would think they’d get used to being alone. To the quiet still air of an empty home, void of a family. But it never did, you could never get used to it. It wasn’t that you purposefully chose to live a life of solitude, but rather found it the best way to live. If you were alone, you couldn’t get hurt. With no roots, it made moving from place to place easier. The only thing that got you through it all was thinking back on your family.

They were long gone by now, but that didn’t change the fact you still thought of them often. More than once, you would dream of what they would have thought with each place. How your mother would move every bit of furniture until it looked just right, how your father would go on about how far it was from the village, or how your little sisters would run about the cabin entirely, claiming it was perfect.

Several times you would get so caught up in your daydreams, you would even call out to them, only for your voice to die out before their names could even fully fall past your lips. Each time you’d wince at your own foolishness, before sighing, returning to the task you were doing.

That was simply how you lived until the day that Hoseok arrived.

You were deep into the woods, picking wild berries when a rustling was heard from across the clearing you were in. Cautiously, you made your way over to the rustling bushes. Right as you were about to peek behind them, a young man popped out from behind them. You let out a scream as you stumbled back, tripping over your skirt and sending you tumbling into the dirt.

“Oh my- I’m so sorry!” The young man spoke as he rushed over to you, helping you back to your feet.

“What were you doing? Were you watching me?!” You exclaimed, pushing him away from you as soon as you stood up.

“No! I promise. I was hunting when my dogs stopped.” It was then you were suddenly aware of the two dog heads that poked out from the branches. “I thought they caught a scent of maybe a deer but uh, seems like they found you,” he chuckled nervously, before his eyebrows shot up. “Where are my manners, I’m Hoseok,” he said, holding his hand out for you.

You stared at it for a moment, before you gave him your name, placing your hand in his. Your hand in his grip, he raised your knuckles to his lips for a kiss.

“Pleasure to meet you.” You swore your face grew hot at those words. It had been years since any man had shown you any sort of affection, even if it was the smallest bit. “What are you doing out here?”

“I- uh, berries.” You gestured to your basket that you left across the clearing. “Collecting some for a pie.” You’re unsure why you felt nervous all of a sudden, but with Hoseok’s gaze on your, it made it difficult to not feel shy.

“Berry pie? Oh that sounds delicious.”

Before you could even comprehend what you were thinking, you found yourself asking, “Would you like some?”

“Pardon?” He furrowed his brows at you.

“I mean,” you cringed at yourself before you started over, “would you like to come over? It should only take a few hours?”

A smile lit up his face, and you swear you don’t think you’ve ever seen a more beautiful smile. “I would love that.” The both of you walked across the field, picking up your basket as you reentered the forest, heading into the direction of your cottage. Glancing behind you, you saw the two bloodhounds following close on his heels. No doubt noticing how you kept glancing behind him, he introduced them. “Their names are Mickey and Ann.”

“They’re beautiful,” you complimented.

The rest of the journey back to your cottage was in silence, but it was not uncomfortable. Reaching your small little property, you felt uneasiness wash over you as you motioned to your small cottage. It was already several years old by the time you moved into it, windows didn’t shut right and it took a couple nudges to fully close the door; but it was home. If Hoseok thought any less of it, he didn’t say anything, besides ordering the two dogs to stay put at the front door.

Once inside, you began to prepare the pie crust. On occasion, you’d glance up at Hoseok who was staring at the small things you had collected over your life, mainly assorted coins from each country you visited and a few books. Picking one of them up, he began to flip through it.

“Do you actually understand this?” He asked, gesturing to the words on the page.

“Italian? Yes.” No doubt it was probably one of the first languages you learned when you discovered your affliction. Over the past few centuries, you found out you had quite the knack for picking up languages.

“You must’ve had some fancy schooling,” he whistled as he set the book down.

“Not really,” you flushed as you kneaded the dough. “Just knew someone who taught it to me.”

“Family?” He asked.

You shook your head no. A small Italian artist took you under her wing for a handful of years, deeming you her muse. In return for being the source of her inspiration, she taught you her language.

“Where is your family?”

The question had you cease your kneading. You should have known the question would’ve been asked at some point or another. Not to mention, you were somewhat of an enigma to the nearby village. A young well read woman from far away living in a small abandoned cottage, what could you possibly be doing all the way out here? No one ever said anything to you about it, but you knew they certainly thought something of it, judging by the stares you received when you’d walk into town. If he’d ever been, there was a strong possibility he knew of you already.

“Gone,” you answered, resuming your kneading. “Just me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that.” His voice was soft as he apologized, like he regretted asking.

“Not your fault, they’ve been gone for a while.” A long while.

The comfortable silence was gone, replaced with an air of tension. Like a string held so taught that the smallest movement would cause it to snap. The topic of your family always stung, no matter how much time had passed.

Quite possibly wanting to ease the awkward atmosphere he created, Hoseok quietly made his way over to you in your small kitchen. Standing beside you, he smiled.

“What can I do to help?”

Pushing down the butterflies that had erupted in your stomach, you stepped to the side and handed him the basket of wildberries you collected. “Make the filling?”

The rest of the afternoon consisted of both of you struggling to make the pie. Hoseok apparently wasn’t all that good with following directions as whenever you turned your back to do something, he would try and sneak a nibble at the filling. On occasion, he’d inquire about your knowledge of languages; curious to learn different phrases. It was only when you put the pie in the oven did Hoseok finally cease his linguistic questions. Sitting on a stool, you allowed yourself to catch your breath as you watched the young hunter, who’s gaze was fixated on your roof.

You were well aware of the shape your cottage was in, due to its old age it was in constant need of repairs. The most important one being the leaks in the roof, thankfully it was the dry season so you didn’t have to go about fixing them just yet, but you knew you’d have to get to it eventually.

“I can fix that.” He gestured up to the roof.

“Can you really?” You raised a brow at him.

“Consider it my way of repaying you for the pie.”

And that was the beginning of your friendship with Hoseok. He’d stop by every other day, tools in hand and work on sealing up your roof. A few times, he’d even bring in a few of his kills, offering it to you to make some dinner. Each time you refused, but he always insisted.

“A lady needs her food.”

A little over a week had passed and Hoseok finished the roof. It was then you realized how badly you hated being alone. You’d missed having someone to talk to, to cook for. Having grown so used to his presence in that week, you pointed to the old busted chicken coop that resided on your property. It had been empty since you’d moved in and you thought having fresh eggs from a nice chicken coop would be nice. Without hesitating, he agreed to fix the coop. And your front door, and your windows, and your fence. Each time he completed something, you found something new for him to fix.

While he worked on repairs, you’d either read or cook up dinner, not only for you and him, but for his dogs as well. Mickey and Ann were complete sweethearts, waiting patiently by the front door for their owner to come in and join you all for food. When he was working on your windows, more than once you saw him peeking through as you sat at your kitchen table reading as Mickey laid his head on your lap.

Eventually, the cottage was practically brand new. There was nothing else to be fixed and you had to prepare yourself to say goodbye to Hoseok. Your heart ached as he walked away from your home for the last time, his dogs trailing behind him. The following morning, you resumed your usual chores and activities; tending to your (new) chickens, work in your garden, and reread your books.

You’d been fighting off tears all day, and it was as you were preparing supper that the tears began to fall. Perhaps it was foolish of you to get attached to him anyways. No matter what would have happened, it would’ve turned out the way it usually did: with you disappearing.

A knock on your door, pulled you from your thoughts. For a moment you were confused, no one ever from the village ever came up to visit, you wondered what could’ve happened. Quickly, you wiped the tears from your eyes and made your way over to the door, where the unknown visitor knocked away.

“Coming, I’m coming!” You called as you swung the door open, revealing- “Hoseok?”

The young man was at your door, a handful of freshly killed quails in hand, and both hounds standing behind him, panting happily. “What, I’m not late am I?”

“No, no,” you shook your head, “that’s not it at all. I just- I wasn’t expecting you?”

“Why wouldn’t you be expecting me? I thought we had a nice little arrangement going on?” He questioned.

“We did, but I have nothing else for you to fix so I assumed-”

“Y/N,” he cut you off. Cupping your cheek, you had no choice but to look up into his sweet, adoring face. “I thought it was pretty obvious you wanted me around for some other reason besides being your handyman.”

Feeling your face grow hot, you slowly nodded.

He chuckled at you softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “So is it alright, I come over for supper?”

“Of course,” you breathed out. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so happy in so long.

So the two of you fell into a routine of sorts, he would stop by some meat for you to cook for your supper. Over the meal, you’d catch up on your day to day activities. By the time the food was gone, and you were with full bellies, Hoseok would excuse himself.

“Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning,” was what he would say as he left your cottage for his own home, somewhere in town. A few times you’d stayed up so late that it was well past midnight, so you offered him your place for the night. Purely because you didn’t want him out so late, but each time he refused; saying it wouldn’t be right.

Slowly, your dinner meetings would begin happening in the day time. The last few days of summer were upon you and you wanted to spend it with Hoseok, having a picnic with him.

You dragged him up a tall grassy hill, basket full of bread, cheese, and jam. He laughed as he allowed you to pull him up towards the top, Mickey and Ann trailing behind at his heels, barking happily. Hoseok allowed the dogs to wander around the area, occasionally calling them back if they went too far.

All set up, you both sat down and enjoyed your lunch. It wasn’t long after you finished that you scooted closer to him, and closer until your hands were almost touching. You were about to slip your hand underneath his when Hoseok’s hand moved, taking your’s and placing it in his. His hands were rough to the touch, small calluses riddled his palms. A smile playing on your lips, you rested your head on his shoulder.

Neither of you moved for hours as you watched the day go by from that little spot on the hill, relishing in the late summer sun. Out of all the years you lived, you had to think that that moment there was the most peaceful. There was no need to run, no overwhelming sense of loss, just you and Hoseok.

“What was your family like?” He questioned.

Taking a deep breath, you began talking about your late family. “My father was a miller, he’d often take me on his runs to deliver flour, giving me a little sack to carry as well,” you smiled fondly at the memory, the villagers chuckling at you as you teetered behind him. “When I was even younger, I used to lay down by the fire and watch my mother sew. . . scolding me for growing up so fast.”

“Did you have any siblings?”

“I had two younger sisters, parents weren’t able to have anymore after the youngest,” you sighed, remembering how hard your parents tried. “They adored flowers, wanting to cover the cottage we lived in with honeysuckle and wild flowers.” Your vision started to get blurry as tears welled up in your eyes.

“They sound wonderful,” Hoseok murmured.

“Yeah, they were. . .” You sighed, blinking back the tears.

“Hey,” he pulled his shoulder away to look at you. “You’re okay, it’s okay.” Hoseok’s hand moved to cup your cheek, brushing the stray hairs from your face. “Your parents are looking down on you, so proud of the woman you are today.”

Meeting Hoseok’s eyes, you’re overwhelmed with the love and adoration pouring from his gaze. Never in your three hundred years had a person ever looked at you that way. As much as you wanted to give into his love, you were scared of the inevitable. One day Hoseok would begin to age and he would notice you still look the same as the day you met. He would grow old before your eyes, leaving you no choice but to leave him broken hearted. To love him would be selfish of you.

The sound of his voice calling your name pulled you from your spiral. You watched as his eyes flickered down to your lips for a moment, before he slowly leaned in. For the first time ever time felt like it stood still. There was no inevitable ticking clock, no fear or thoughts of the future. Just you and Hoseok, on that grassy hill on a late August day.

You should’ve known better than to have let him kiss you, as you knew as soon as you felt his lips on yours, there was no way you’d be able to let him go. Being alone for so many years, perhaps this time you could allow yourself to be selfish. One day you’d tell him about your curse, but until that day came, you were going to let yourself be with him.

As the seasons changed, your relationship with Hoseok only grew stronger. He’d visit you daily, bringing gifts of flowers, baked goods, and other assorted courting gifts. The two of you would spend all day together, reading or he’d help you take care of your chickens. Each night, he would leave, despite your insistence on him spending the night.

“I’m courting you, let me do this right,” he whispered once as he kissed you goodnight.

While you appreciated the sweet sentiment, he should’ve known your relationship was anything but orthodox. If your mother was still around, she surely would’ve been scandalized to hear you kissed him before you even married him. In fact the more you thought about it, the more horrified your mother would be at what you’ve done before marriage. But despite everything you may have done in the past, everything with Hoseok felt like a first.

Whenever Hoseok was with you, never did it feel like time was passing. Like it was only the two of you in your own little bubble of the world, frozen in time. Thoughts of your curse were far from your mind, but each time he left for the night, you knew you had to tell him eventually.

As the days grew colder, that ache you felt in your heart only became more apparent. Soon, you’d think to yourself, I’ll tell him soon. But it couldn’t come soon enough.

Snow soon covered the land, leaving you and Hoseok nothing much but to huddle yourselves inside your cottage. Both of you were huddled in front of your fireplace, desperate to keep warm. Hoseok’s dogs were curled up beside you as well, Mickey’s head resting on your lap as you lazily stroked his fur with one hand. You were rereading one of your novels, simply enjoying the warmth of the fire when you could feel Hoseok’s eyes on you. It wasn’t uncommon that he would stare at you as you did any sort of task, but there was something different about him. Behind his eyes, there was a particularly soft warm glow, making your body feel a thousand times more warmed than the heat of the fire in front of you.

“What are you staring at me like that for?” You finally asked, setting your book down.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

Within an instant you felt your cheeks warmed by his words. “Yes,” you responded shyly, avoiding meeting his eyes.

Scooting closer to you, he took the book out of your hand, placing it off to the side. Both hands now free, he took them in his as he said your name. “I don’t know how else to say this but, I love you. I don’t know exactly when I fell for you, but I don’t think I ever want to stop.” Removing one hand from yours, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a delicate copper band.

A gasp escaped your lips as he held out the ring for you.

“It would give me the greatest pleasure, if you were to be my wife.”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, yes!” You repeated as he slipped the ring onto your finger. Not even looking at it, you threw your arms over his shoulders. Unprepared for your sudden movement, you both went tumbling to the floor, the dogs whined as they rushed to move away from your colliding bodies. You pressed your mouth to his, smiling into it as he returned your kiss.

Until that moment, all your kisses had been brief. Fleeting kisses of hellos and goodbyes, never lasting more than a second. This kiss was different. His hands held your gently at your hips, keeping you in place on top of him. A fire ignited deep in you as you kissed him, you didn’t want to let him go now, not tonight. Keenly, you began peppering Hoseok’s entire face with kisses. His grip on you tightened as your lips traveled lower along the side of his jaw, nibbling at his neck.

“Wait,” his words came out in a groan. Calling your name, you only responded by moving back up to his lips, wanting to kiss him again. “No, not yet.”

“Hoseok, please,” you whined, breathless from the kiss.

“I know, I know, my love,” he panted as his hand came up to cup your face. “It’s getting late,” he sighed, noticing how dark the sky was outside once you were both sitting up again.

“You could stay the night,” you offered once again. Before he could protest, you continued. “Besides, we’re engaged now. What difference would it make?”

Hoseok rolled your eyes at the logic. “The difference is I would like my first time with you, to be with you as my wife.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you huffed as he stood up, gathering his things for him to leave.

Once all his things were together, he lowered his head down, kissing you one last time. “Goodnight, my love. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, Hoseok and his dogs left just like they would any other night.

You stared at the door, waiting for the faint crunches of his footsteps in the snow to disappear. Now alone, you knew you had to tell him. Hopefully his love for you would trump any doubts he would have. While you could try to hurt yourself as proof, you doubt he’d want to see you harmed. Death was a jarring thing, no matter if you were to come back or not. Regardless of the outcome, you knew you’d tell him tomorrow.

The following day, you got up like you would any other. You got yourself dressed, and began your daily activities. Everything was the way it normally was, but something felt off. You couldn’t place what was, but you knew deep down that something wasn’t right.

Covering yourself with a thick shawl, you made your way over towards your chicken coop. Picking out the eggs from your hens, ready to make something for breakfast. Once you had enough, you made your way back over to your house. It was then you heard barking.

Turning your head, you saw the familiar faces of Mickey and Ann, but there was no Hoseok. Setting the basket down, you lowered yourself to the ground, ready to greet the hounds.

“Hey, hey,” you cooed as you pet the dogs, both of them clearly very distressed. “What’s going on? Where’s Hoseok?” As the mention of his name, Mickey barked at you while Ann whined, pulling at your skirts.

“Excuse me, miss.” A new voice called from across the way. Looking up, recognizing the face as the innkeeper. You’d seen him a few times in town and Hoseok spoke of him often, as he had been renting one of his rooms the past few months. “You knew Hoseok, correct?”

“He’s my fianceé,” you responded cautiously as you straightened up. You hugged your shawl tighter around you as the innkeeper’s eyes saddened at your words. “Why? What happened?”

“I’m very sorry for your loss, miss.”

“What?” That moment, you could’ve sworn your heart stopped. Deep down, you wish it did. No, Hoseok couldn’t be gone. It couldn’t be. You wanted to accuse the innkeeper of lying, or perhaps he mistook someone for Hoseok. But the look in his eyes was clear: Hoseok was dead.

A ringing started in your ears as you stumbled back into your cabin, the dogs following after you. Barely able to hear any other word the innkeeper might’ve said, but it didn’t matter anyways. Hoseok was gone. There couldn’t be anything else to be said.

Alone once again in your home, you collapsed onto the ground. Opening your mouth, a deafening wail passed your lips. You had died a number of times by now; you’d been poisoned, stabbed, hung, shot, drowned. You’ve felt almost every measure of pain there was, but nothing compared to the pain you felt when you’d lost your beloved Hoseok.

You became a ghost of yourself after that day. Simply going through the motions of each day. Your only company was Mickey and Ann, who too missed their late owner. They were your only comfort, knowing that taking care of them was something Hoseok would’ve wanted you to do. Every night, they slept on your bed, curled up beside you as you lazily pet their aging bodies.

Ann was the first to die. 10 years have passed since you lost Hoseok. You’d moved out of that cottage a few years prior, knowing it was only a matter of time before the village had caught on to your affliction. The move was particularly hard on the two hounds, not wanting to move far from the only town they’d ever known. But you had no choice. It became very apparent that Ann wished to return, always sleeping by the door, hoping you’d change your mind. That’s how you found her one spring morning, lying quietly by the door, having passed in her sleep.

You buried her in your garden, under a bed of roses.

Having lost both his sister and Hoseok, Mickey followed soon after. He rarely left your bed, only getting up to eat or to go outside. It was only three months later did you bury him beside Ann.

The only reminder you had left of Hoseok was the ring on your finger. You rarely took it off your finger, fearing that one day you might forget it or Hoseok. Often you’d find yourself staring at the copper band. It was simple, bearing no special engravings or jewels, but it became your most prized possession.

Unfortunately, time didn’t stay still for you to wallow in your misery. You had to keep moving forward. But as time moved on, so did the world around you. It was strange how fast technology advanced, but as helpful as it was to the people around you, it became your worst nightmare. It became harder and harder to disappear, small towns and far away cabins no longer felt like the safe haven they once were. Which was how you found yourself deep in the city.

It was strange how easy it was to disappear, to simply become another face in the crowd. No one spared you a second glance, no matter how many times you may have seen them over the years, no one recognized you and your lack of aging. As long as you kept to yourself, you managed to stay hidden in plain sight.

Off the corner of 3rd street, you had your own little hole in the wall bookstore. You purchased the store from a sweet old couple a few years back, it was a quaint little bookshop, already having its own group of loyal customers. On occasion, you would get a few new faces, but it was usually the same ones everyday.

Until today when you saw a face you hadn’t seen in almost 300 years.

Per your usual morning routine, you were taking inventory of the store when you heard the bell over the front door ring. “I’ll be with you in just a moment!” You called out, trying to finish the last few rows of books. Finished, you made your way back towards the front of the store, dusting your hands off. “Well, is there anything I can help you with-” You stopped dead in your tracks as you saw the man you had entered your store. His eyes were cast downwards and he looked over the titles of the front shelves. Hearing your arrival, familiar dark eyes faced you.

“I’m just browsing,” he said, lips curling into a smile you swore you almost forgot.

In front of you, was Hoseok. It was, had to be. He looked every bit the same as that cold winter night when you last saw him. Your mouth opened and closed several times, before you finally gained your senses.

“Well, just, let me know if there’s anything specific you had in mind,” you responded, smiling as you spun around on your heel, wanting to make a break for your back office.

“Actually, there might be something.”

Swallowing thickly, you turned back to face him. “Oh?”

“I’m thinking of getting into cooking, do you have any cookbook recommendations?” He asked.

“Y-yeah, follow me.” Quickly, you walked over towards your cookbook section, feeling his eyes on you as you walked him over to the shelves. Dragging your fingers over the spines, you pulled out the one you were looking for. It was an older copy, you recognized from the late 80s. Inside were recipes of different types of baked goods and other dishes. “This one, I think I’ve made just about everything in it twice,” you said, pulling it off the shelf and handing it to him.

As the man flipped through the pages, you found yourself fiddling with the ring that now hung around your neck. Long ago, you strung a chain through it, nearly losing it down the drain. You stared at him in front of you, still not able to wrap your head around it. After nearly six hundred years, you don’t think you’ve ever seen the same face twice. Maybe this was your second chance with him, to start over again. But at the same time, you knew it would be foolish. The man in front of you was a complete stranger, not Hoseok. For all you know, he could be completely different than your long lost fianceé.

Shutting the book, he nodded. “This is perfect.”

Shaking you from your thoughts, you nodded. “Great. I’ll ring you up over here.” Walking back towards the cash register, you both fell into a silence as you rang him up. “Alright, here you go,” you smiled, handing him the book.

“Thank you so much.” Cookbook and receipt in hand, he made his way towards the front door. He couldn’t go just yet, there was something you needed to know.

“Wait!” You called out right as he placed his hand on the door. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?”

That brilliant smile played on his lips again as he responded. “Jung Hoseok.”

#btsghostie #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #bts x reader #bts fluff #hoseok fanfic #hoseok angst #bts angst

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katnip225 · 3 years ago

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So remember that au where the dream smp is a comic book in the manhunt universe. Well more of that. This is what manhunt!Dream thinks of each character. Now I will just be using the real names but in the comic the names are different. Not doing the tales of the smp characters. Might also get some backstory for Manhunt!Dream

Techno - As stated in my prev post, this is Dream's fav character. He has regularly copied ideas from him. He loves all the pets that Techno has. And how no matter what Techno always follows his beliefs. Might also remind him of his childhood rival.

Phil - finds the character very funny. The 3 months thing. Through does have some very good serious moments like Nov 16th and Doomsday. The guy is clearly not perfect but he really has a hard time hating the guy. Only time he did hate Phil was during Doomsday for letting Friend die and hurting Ghostbur.

Wilbur - easily his 2nd fav. The way his fall was done. It was so heartbreaking. Then his revival. To find out about being alone for 13 years was rough. Dream feels for the guy since being on the run is very lonely. The only people he talks to is when the hunters get close enough for banter. He really hopes that Wilbur gets the help that he needs.

Ghostbur (yes counting this as a different character) - loves the guy. so sweet and just wants to help. Through feels very sad because of the memory thing and the blue. Plus the speech that he gave on Doomsday.

Tommy - this kid can't catch a break. He feels so bad for the kid. Tommy is a good kid that overall does not mean harm. The only thing that Dream hates Tommy for is killing the cat. Dream likes animals and while can understand why Tommy did it, still found himself crying over the cat's death. Dream always wanted pets but his life before on the run was rough and now there is no way he will get one

Tubbo - another kid he feels sorry for. Dream feels bad for Tommy but for some reason Tubbo hits harder. Maybe it is because Tubbo reminds him of one of his neighbor's kid. They are pretty similar in personality from what he remembers. He was sad when the neighbors moved. The scene of Tubbo crying hurt so much. He really wanted to jump into the comic and comfort him.

Ranboo - Easily his 3rd fav. The memory book. The ender walking. The weird connection to main bad guy. The begging to be locked up in the prison. Plus love the marriage to Tubbo. Really hopes they can talk to each other. This comic needs one healthy relationship that lasts. Reminds him of this enderman hybrid that helped. Found the kid lost in the woods and badly hurt. So helped get the kid back to help then took it to the village with the nice baker lady. It was a nice village so hopefully the kid is okay.

Michael - yes doing their son. Super cute. The in comic reason for keeping Michael inside is for safety. I like to imagine there is a small mini series of Michael playing pretend or sneaking out to meet the other kids.

Fundy - neutral. Does not like him but does not hate him. Through is curious about the seeing the future thing. Wonders if this is his god's blood in work. (in the comic, Wilbur is confirmed to be a demigod. Only Phil and Techno know about it but it was confirmed)

Yogurt - cute kid. Hangs out with Michael when he sneaks out.

Puffy - a cool pirate and therapist. Kinda wish that she was his mom. He does not have any parents but he feels like Puffy would be a cool mom. She went feral when Foolish was killed.

Niki - reminds him of a baker he meet once while on the run. This was before he was well known so he could risk being seen. She gave him some free cookies and gave him a discount on the bread when she saw that he did not have much money. Super sweet and nice but also not one to be messed with. He saw how that baker handled an attempted robbery. Sad to see her wanting to hurt Tommy but was so happy that she is healing.

Jack: Feels bad for the character since he is put through so much. Even had to crawl out of hell.

Karl - love the guy. The time travel spin off series is super cool. feels bad for the losing memories things.

Quackity - flip flops between feeling bad and hating the guy. Quackity has been through a lot and Las Nevadas is cool. But he is just doing what the main villian did. Please just heal so you can be at peace. Hopefully him and fiancés will get back together

Jschlatt - great villian. hated the guy. Also reminds him of his neighbors. The father. Through was a much better person. Actually wanted to give a better life for his son (Yes in this au, DadSchlatt is a thing and he is a good father)

Purple - felt bad for the ufo being blowen up but does not feel anything towards him.

Punz - He respect the guy. Reminds him of a mercenary person that once was after him. Through stopped after realizing that the pay was not worth all the chase. Needed to be payed more

Ponk - felt bad for losing his arm but otherwise neutral for the character

Skeppy - over all neutral. Nice guy and feels bad for the possession thing.

Eret - liked the guy then hated the guy then went back to liking him. Glad the character was making up for the whole betrayal thing.

XD - does know what to make of this character. Through does not trust the god with George

Drista - a fun character that can cause a lot of chaos. Would want as a sister. Yes he might get attacked by a fork but hey he already has a younger brother.

Kristen - not much is known about her. Only that she is Wilbur's mom (in the comic, Wilbur does say his mom is a fridge but I am going on what Phil said. Which is that Wilbur got confused when Phil pointed to the fridge which had a pic of his mom)

MD - fun guy. So sad to see him die. Was really helping Tommy

Mamacita - another fun character through has not been seen since MD's death.

Sally - in the comic Sally is a shapeshifter through the writer wanted them to be a fish. Their editor refused to allow that. Not really shown much outside flash backs. I go back and forth on how good of a mom she was. So if she was good then Dream liked her. If not then he hates her.

Slimecicle - very confused. not like conflicted. Just confused.

Sam Nook - like him. Only one he trusts Tommy with. If he could becomes friends with Hunter!Sam would totally ask if he can build something like Sam Nook

Sam - really hates the dude. Does not care that the main bad guy asked Sam to build it. Sam has control so everything is Sam's doing. Plus the whole thing with Ponk. Part of him does remind dream of Hunter!Sam but that was earlier in the comic. Hunter!Sam would never hurt his partner (Yes Hunter!Sam is dating Ponk)

Ant - again the character remind him of Hunter!Ant. Through overall neutral. Does feel bad for the whole possession by the egg thing

Sapnap - hopefully gets back with Quackity. The dude really gets the short end of the stick. Also reminds him of Hunter!Sapnap. Through hopefully his relationship goes better then dsmp!Sapnap (yes Quaickity and Karl are his boyfriends)

George - reminds him of Hunter!Geroge. The weird dream comics were funny. feels bad that the character can't tell what is a dream and what is real.

Bad - again remind him of Hunter!Bad. Only reason why Dream does not hate dsmp!Bad is because he is being possessed by the egg. He did not like Foolish being killed. Also finds it sweet that the character was willing to do something for Skeppy. (yes. Bad and Skeppy have the same relationship as canon)

Dream - is a great villian. very evil. Through as stated before. Does not like the prison treatment. Does see himself in the guy but it is like all his more negative traits were turned up to 1000. Through Dream is lonely and does not make attachments, there is one he can't get rid of. Since that attachment is why he is doing all of this

Foolish - can probably tell he really likes Foolish. reminds him of his younger brother. Foolish being killed was the one time he needed to put the comic down and take a break.

that is everyone. There are a few more that I really don't watch so have no idea what Manhunt!Dream's opinion would be.

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maxineswritingcenter · 3 years ago

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You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 5

We back at it again because I love this right now

----------------

After smuggling Derek into my room via the window, the interrogation began. He sat in my computer chair, leaning over, resting his arms on his legs.

“Uh, first I want to say thank you for saving me again.” I began. He looked up and nodded.

“You’re welcome.”

“And uh, you’re a werewolf.” I said, starting to pace back and forth, “Is Scott a werewolf?”

“He is.”

“Did you bite him?” I paused, crossing my arms over my chest.

“No, I’m an omega. Only Alphas can give people the gift.” He said. You call that a gift? I’d like a receipt.

“Is there a cure?”

“There’s a legend that says if the beta, one of the pack, kills the alpha then he will become human again. But I don’t even know if that’s true.” He explained. That meant Scott’s odds were not looking good and this werewolf thing is permanent.

“Were you bitten by the alpha?” I asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

“No, I was born with it. My family was a pack. After…” He paused, “After the fire, my older sister became the alpha since she had been trained by my mother to be the new matriarch. I came back here because I hadn’t heard from her. Now we know why.”

“I’m so sorry.” I looked down at my socks. These questions were making him bring up what must have been incredibly painful memories and bringing up the fresh pain of the murder of his sister.

“The thing following you in the woods was the new alpha. He killed her for her alpha spark.”

“Alpha spark?”

“It can transform a beta, or an omega into an alpha. It’s taken when the alpha is killed by either of those. Or it can be transferred willingly.” This was a little more complicated than I thought. I knew that there were hierarchies in wolves, but who knew it translated to werewolves?

“Why is the alpha coming after me? You said it was following me.”

He leaned back in the chair, “Well, he’s either looking to eat you. Or he wanted to turn you.” At my shocked expression he added, “Probably the latter. He’s a new alpha so he’s trying to start a pack, probably why he started with Scott. Speaking of, you need to tell him to stop seeing Allison.”

“Why, what’s wrong with Allison?”

“Her family are a very old lineage of werewolf hunters.” He said seriously, “Chris Argent and I have an unspoken agreement. No deaths, I don’t end up dead. I can’t say the same for the rest of his family.” He was something in his eyes, a pain that couldn’t be described.

“I know I said I wanted answers but if its too painful-”

“It’s fine.” He interrupted. I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Derek, I understand what it’s like to lose your family in one day. It’s the most awful feeling imaginable. Because after the pain is the loneliness. I got lucky that I have Uncle Noah and Stiles. You had your sister and now she’s gone and you’re the only one left.” He chewed the inside of his cheek.

“It’s not just me. I have an uncle in a vegetative state at Beacon Hills long-term facility. And my sister Cora, I haven’t seen her since the fire. I think she’s gone too, but there’s always the chance that she’s still out there. She just doesn’t want anything to do with me.” He looked down at his hands. He looked so vulnerable right now, something I never expected from him. He had so many walls up. There were still things he was hiding about the Argents, but pushing him now didn’t seem right.

I gave him a small smile and kneeled down in front of him. Slowly, I reached for his hands, giving him plenty of time to pull away, but he let me touch him. I held his hands in mine, rubbing my thumbs over his knuckles. I titled my head to meet his eyes that he was hiding.

“Hey, grief is hard. Especially since we lost our families in the same way. Let’s help each other. Would that be okay?” I asked softly. He met my eyes finally, his stern expression was more loose than usual. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I want to. But I can’t.”

The sound of the door opened behind us, and queue Stiles meltdown. And with the position I was in, on my knees in front of Derek Hale, maybe it was a little justified.

“What is going on?” He asked. I quickly got to my feet.

“Uh, Derek was just leaving. Just a quick little visit.” I took Derek by the arm, brought him out of the chair and ushered him to the window, where he left without another word.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Stiles shouted.

“Will you keep it down?” I whispered loudly.

“Oh you can cut the crap, Dad isn’t here. Why the hell is a wanted criminal in my house?!”

I crossed my arms and shrugged innocently, “We were just talking.”

“Why was he covered in blood?” He pointed to the dry blood that was on the arm of my chair. I sighed and rubbed my temples.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to tell your dad.” I pleaded. He crossed his arms and looked away from me.

“As an upstanding citizen of Beacon Hills-”

“You cut the crap, Stiles. You have more priors than he does.”

“I wasn’t questioned about the murder of my sister.” He shot.

“He was acquitted of all changes due to his alibi.” I shot back.

He grumbled and shook his hands, “Fine, fine. Tell me.”

“Okay, so, Michael found me in the woods-”

“Michael-” He started.

“Hey, no interrupting!” He held his hands up in surrender, motioning for me to go on, “He found me in the woods and was probably going to commit a bunch of unsavory things on me when Derek showed up because the night before when you and Scott were arguing, I went to his house to get some answers of my own, he told me to go home so I did.” I paused and took a drink out of the glass of water on my nightstand, then continued, “Anyway, when Derek showed up he killed Michael because Derek is a werewolf.” I rushed out.

“A what?!” He shouted.

“Oh don’t act so surprised, you know Scott is a werewolf.”

He stepped back, pretending to be shocked, “Scott? A werewolf.” Clearly trying to cover for his friend, but no dice. Stiles was a terrible liar.

“Derek told me. And he also told me that Allison’s family are werewolf hunters. But I assumed you already knew that because you don’t look surprised at all.”

“Well, ahhh, her last name does mean silver in French.” He added. I shook my head, holding my pinkie out.

“Pinkie swear me you won’t tell Uncle Noah.” He sighed, tapping his foot, “Promise!” He grumbled, throwing his hands up in the air, but eventually he wrapped his pinkie around mine.

“Fine.” He paused, still holding my pinkie, his grip on my finger tightened, holding me there, “But you have to swear not to get romantically involved!” He pulled his pinkie away. I gasped loudly, staring between my pinkie and his.

“You can’t do that.”

He smirked, “I just did.”

“I am not romantically involved with Derek.” I blushed.

“Coulda fooled me.” He scoffed. I huffed.

“Okay, time for you to go. Goodnight Stiles.” I pushed him out the door and slammed it behind me. I leaned against the door and sighed. I wasn’t romantically involved with Derek, we just had a connection.

…

Maybe I was romantically involved. But could you blame me, he was my knight in shining armor twice. That was attractive. And he was far from ugly.

The next morning, I went downstairs and was surprised to see Uncle Noah in the kitchen making breakfast.

“Morning, I didn’t hear you come in last night.” I said, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

“That’s because,” He yawned, “I came in this morning.” He motioned to the table, “Sit, sit. Let me make you breakfast.” I sat at the table, pulling an apple out of the basket on the table. He placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of me.

I smiled up at him, “Thanks, Uncle Noah.” He nodded, sitting down with his own plate before eating. The few minutes were in silence, just chewing. I decided I should at least talk, make it seem like I was still scared that Michael would come back.

“I know you don’t want to bring up work at home, but is there any news on Michael?” He sighed through his nose, swallowing his bite of food.

“It’s okay. And I wish I had better news, but we still haven’t found anything.” He said. I nodded.

“It’s okay, I know you’ll find him.” Find his body? Maybe. But he was very much dead. The only thing I’m worried about now in the woods was the alpha werewolf and whether he wanted to make me lunch or one of them.

I was making my way out to get groceries when I saw Stiles Jeep whipping through the neighborhood. Being curious, I decided to follow, where I was led to Dr. Deaton’s office, the local veterinarian that Scott worked for.

“Is there a reason you’re driving like a bat outta hell?” I called, seeing Stiles get out.

“Oh great, you can help me carry him.” Stiles said, opening the back of the Jeep where Derek sat. He was pale, his eyes looked sunken in, and there was blood dripping down his hand.

“Jesus Christ.” I said, carefully helping Derek out of the Jeep. He grunted while Stiles and I helped him inside after Stiles unlocked the door with the spare key. Scott had gone to go find the bullet so that Derek could cure himself, he would have to steal from Kate Argent.

We brought him back into the operating area. I’m sure Stiles was chomping at the bit not to say something. Derek explained that he had been on the trail of the alpha when a hunter saw and shot him.

Stiles looked at his phone then Derek, “Does Northern Blue Monkshood mean anything to you?”

Derek was leaning on the operating table, “It’s a rare form of wolfsbane. He has to bring me the bullet.”

“Why?”

Derek looked from me to Stiles, “Cause I’m gonna die without it.” He said breathlessly. He took his jacket, then his shirt off to reveal the bullet wound in his arm which was bleeding, but the strangest thing was his veins around the wound were purple and crawling up his arm. I guess Monkshood must be deadly to werewolves, but then again, it is wolfsbane. Derek looked manic, he was getting warmer and sweat was dripping off of him in buckets. He looked around and grabbed an amputation saw.�� I grabbed a bowl filled with water and grabbed a couple paper towels. I wet the paper towels, and moving to touch his wounded arm, he pulled it away.

“Okay, if the Blue monkshood doesn’t kill you, an infection will. Let me help you.” I narrowed my eyes. He glared, his nostrils flared but he held his arm out. I lightly dabbed at it, careful not to apply too much pressure.

Stiles gagged when he saw it, prompting me to elbow his side, “Okay, you know, that really doesn’t look like anything, some echinacea and a good night’s sleep couldn’t take care of…?”

Derek swallowed thickly, “When the infection reaches my heart, it’ll kill me.”

“Positivity” just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?”

“Stiles!” I scolded.

“If he doesn’t get here with the bullet in time– last resort.” Derek grabbed an amputation saw from the table.

“Which is…?” Stiles asked.

“You’re gonna cut off my arm.” He rushed his words out, they slightly slurred together.

“Okay okay.” I grabbed the saw from his grasp and set it back down on a metal tray, “Let’s just be a little optimistic. Scott’s going to be here soon.” He glared at me, causing me to raise my hands in surrender. He grabbed a rubber tourniquet and tied it tightly around his arm with his teeth to stop any further movement.

Stiles held his arms out, “Oh, my God. What if you bleed to death?”

“It’ll heal if it works.”

“If it works?!” I snapped, not believing that any of this was happening still.

Stiles sight, “Ugh. Look - I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!”

“You’re not afraid of blood. You don’t faint.” I said, confused.

“No, but I might at the sight of a chopped - off arm!”

“All right, fine. How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I’m gonna cut off your head.” Derek glared.

“Derek.” I scolded.

Stiles shook his head, “Okay, you know what, I'm so not buying your threats any-” Derek grabbed him by the shirt collar and lifted him up, “Oh, my God. Okay. All right, bought, sold. Totally. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” Derek dropped him and Stiles looked back at his arm, “What? What are you doing? Holy God, what the hell is that?” His arm was oozing from the wound.

“It’s my body..” Derek breathed out, “Trying to heal itself.”

“Well, it’s not doing a very good job of it.” Stiles avoided his arm once again.

Derek grabbed the saw, holding it out to Stiles, “Now. You gotta do it now.”

“Look, honestly, I don’t think I can.”

“Just do it!” He shouted.

Stiles took the saw, “Oh, my God. Okay, okay. Oh, my God. All right, here we go!”

“I can’t watch this.” I covered my eyes with one of my hands, the other was on Derek’s uninjured arm. But like an angel’s voice, we heard Scott yelling for Stiles.

“Scott?” Stiles asked, looking at the frazzled teen who just ran through the clinic. I uncovered my eyes, still seeing Stiles with the saw pressed to Derek’s arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott asked, exasperated.

Stiles dropped the saw, “Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares.”

Derek stood up more without the help of the table but he was starting to wobble, “Did you get it?”

“What are you gonna do with it?” Stiles asked.

Derek swallowed thickly, “I’m gonna…I’m gonna…” His eyes fluttered shut, his knees buckled and he fell to the floor.

“Derek!” I shouted, grabbing his torso before he broke his skull open on the floor. When Derek had dropped, it had knocked the bullet out of Scott’s hand and it had rolled.

“No. No, no, no, no.” Scott pleaded as he watched the bullet roll and fall into the vent in the floor.

Stiles was down on the floor besides me, “Derek. Derek, come on, wake up.” He was tapping his cheek, “Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know! I can’t reach it.” Scott called from across the room.

“He’s not waking up!” Stiles said between his teeth, clearly in panic mode, but I wasn’t any better. I leaned my head down to his chest, trying to hear his heartbeat.

“His heart beats slowing down!” I called, I grabbed his shoulder, starting to shake him, “Come on, Derek, wake up!”

“Come on.” I heard Scott grunt.

“I think he’s dying. I think he’s dead!” Stiles looking back in Scott’s direction. I started to panic, shaking him harder. I can’t lose him. I can’t. No one else I care about is allowed to die.

“Just hold on! Come on.” Scott let out a restrained yell, then shouted “Oh! I got it! I got it!”

When Stiles heard that, he pushed me back and bowed his fist, “Please don’t kill me for this.” He swung and connected with Derek’s cheek, “Ugh! Ow! God!” He pulled his hand away, shaking it. Derek gasped and his eyes shot open, I helped Derek to feet and held his waist to steady him.

“Give me…” Scott gave Derek the bullet. He took the bullet between his teeth, and broke it open. He dumped the contents of it on the table. From his back pocket he pulled out a match book, he lit a match and dropped it on the contents. It burned quickly, an eerie blue flame. Once it went out, he pinched some of the ash in his fingers, then stuck his fingers in the wound. I winched and looked away.

“Ow, God.” Stiles gagged. But we all watched in amazement as the dark veins that had been growing up his arm disappeared. I was finally able to breathe properly, I let out a sigh of relief, back away and leaning against the wall. I placed a hand on my chest, feeling my heart slowly go back into rhythm.

“That - Was - Awesome! Yes!” Stiles cheered, throwing his arms up.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked.

Derek grumbled a bit, “Well, except for the agonizing pain.”

“I’m guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health.” Stiles smiled, feeling accomplished. He probably just was relieved that he didn’t have to cut anyone’s arm off.

“Okay, we saved your life, which means you’re gonna leave us alone, you got that? And if you don’t, I’m gonna go back to Allison’s dad, and I’m gonna tell him everything-” Scott started his threat. Which meant that I was severely out of the loop.

“You’re gonna trust them?” Derek cut him off, “You think they can help you?”

“Well, why not? They’re a lot freaking nicer than you are.”

Derek glared at him, the pain was back in his eyes, “I can show you exactly how nice they are.”

After the excitement was over, I decided to go to the Hale house to talk to Derek privately. I got there before him and waited for him in the driveway. I really shouldn’t have come unannounced. He would probably just tell me to get lost like he usually did. I was pulled out of my thoughts by his black Camaro pulling up beside my car. I got out as he did. Derek still looked pretty rough but his color was coming back to his skin.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” He said dismissively, walking towards his house. And we were back to this. Even after everything, it’s like our relationship reset itself every time we saw each other. I followed after him, hot on his heels.

“Why do you keep doing this?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

“Doing what?” He took his leather jacket off and hung it up.

“You and I, we talk, we get more comfortable with each other. I think I am finally getting through that shell of yours only for you to make another one.”

Derek turned to face me, “I don’t owe you any explanation. I am fine by myself.”

“No, you’re not.” I came closer to him, my face mere inches from his, “You’re not fine by yourself. I saw how you looked tonight when Scott brought up the Argents. You were hurt, and scared, and angry. You can’t just sit here in this house and pour yourself into finding this alpha, you’re going to kill yourself. You almost died today.”

“He killed my sister! He is killing people and now Kate Argent is back and she doesn’t follow the Code. She will do anything, no matter how awful it is, to murder my kind. She’s the reason my family is gone!” He barked back. I took a deep breath.

“I know you want justice for Laura. I do too. But you can’t do that if you’re dead. Is that what she would want? Her little brother dead trying to get revenge?” Derek avoided my gaze, looking through me more than at me.

“Derek.” I said softly, slowly bringing my hand up to his cheek. He inhaled sharply, becoming stiff under my touch.

I stood on my tiptoes to press my forehead against his and whispered, “This is selfish to say… but I can’t lose you too. I-I thought you were dead. You have to be more careful. Please.” His body became less rigid and he let out a shaky breath. He slowly brought his hand to my waist, the other sliding over my hand that rested on his cheek. In that moment, it felt like the whole universe stopped. It was only me and him. It was like our minds finally connected and our souls touched. There was silence, only the wind blowing softly through the trees.

“I can’t do this.” He whispered, closing his eyes.

“You can.” I laced my fingers with his against his cheek, “We can do it together.”

“I can’t let myself.” He opened his eyes again to meet mine, “When I’m with you I lose focus, you’re all I can think about. I get distracted from what I need to do. So I ignore you, treat us like it's nothing because I can’t open myself up again. Not after… not after what happened.” He was opening up, if not all the way, just a little. Derek had a good point. Finding the alpha and killing him was the only way to get justice for Laura. And if I was distracting him, maybe I should keep my distance. He clearly has been hurt terribly by someone, and hearing him bare his soul made me think about how to make it better. But what was I to do? My demons were killed, Derek deserved to destroy his own.

“Do you want me to go away?” My words were barely a whisper.

He licked his lips, “If I was allowed to be selfish, I would never let you go.” I took a deep breath, dreading the fact that I had to leave him.

“Okay.” I smiled, trying to ignore my burning tear ducts, “I’ll go home. And… I won’t come back unless you want me to.” I reluctantly slipped my hand out of his. But, I need one selfish thing if I was ever going to live with this. I leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. I pulled away, feeling his hand fall from my waist. I kept my eyes on the floor as I walked out of the Hale house, got into my car and drove away.

---------------------------

Read part 6 here!

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fictionalnormalcy · 4 years ago

Note

Can you recommend us some good whump fics? I especially love the stuff by evilwriter that author is pure genius.

Ahh yes evilwriter37 is one of the best whump authors out there.

Yes I do have some recommendations, and given you mentioned evilwriter, I’ll keep them HTTYD-based, as that is the main franchise he publishes fic for.

Firstly I would like to begin with: harrypanther They’ve written a great number of HTTYD fics, long fics mostly,and tbh I feel there’s whump in every single one, though not explicitly stated as whump. I’ll give you three of my favorites by them.

Riders of B.E.R.K - It’s a modern day AU long fic where dragons returned and there’s an organization which locates the eggs and raises the dragons, although there are enemies trying to get at those dragons as well. It is NSFW in that there’s rape mention, and though I haven’t read it in a while I don’t believe it actively happens in the fic.

The Blacksmith’s Apprentice - Long fic. It’s rather similar to the episode of Darkest Night from Race to the Edge in that Hiccup never shot down Toothless and stayed as Gobber’s apprentice. But is much more dark in that Hiccup is bullied by Snotlout who replaced him as heir to Berk.

Behind the Mask - Also a modern day AU, and long fic. Stoick went missing when Hiccup was young and Valka wound up remarrying, to Alvin, who physically abuses Hiccup, and coincidentally is the principal of his school as well.

Another author I have to recommend is: howtowhumpyourhiccup Their AO3 handle is aheartforstories, and her fics are so brilliant. She writes a mix of one-shots as well as some series. I’ll provide three story recs as well.

Scream - a one-shot where Krogan has Hiccup ingest dragon venom and watch as it wreaks havoc on his body. Not major character death, and a very sweet ending.

Ruin - It’s part of a series titled Winter Whumperland, and is part of various one-shots. A modern day AU where Hiccup is kidnapped by Viggo and kept imprisoned for months. It is NSFW in that Viggo eventually comes to sexually assault Hiccup.

I’ll Be Right Here, Bud - This one is of a separate series which is a HTTYD Zombie AU, set more toward the modern day. In this part Toothless and Hiccup are caught in a collapsing house and both sustain injuries, unable to move until they could be rescued.

Next author I would like to provide recs for is: sinfulchihuahua0602 Also like the previous author they’ve written a myriad of one-shots and long fics. I have two I’d like to list.

a million reasons to let you go - This is a long fic, and follows how Hiccup was meant to be exiled from Berk as a babe, but Stoick neglected to do so. However once Hiccup was of age he did wind up sending him away, where he came to bond with a certain dragon we know and love.

Just a Dream - Hiccup has a nightmare when he is once again trapped in the underwater sub they created, water leaking in and his final gaze seeing Toothless trying to get him out

For the fourth author I would like to recommend is jettara Their AO3 handle is jettara1. They are also a well-known whump author, and I have two stories for you.

Inescapable - A one-shot where Hiccup and the Riders are captured and all the while Hiccup is experiencing phantoms pains, knowing no torture could be worse than what he’s already experiencing

Safe Place - One-shot set in a modern day AU where Hiccup escapes captivity from Ryker and Viggo, seeking aid in a shop owned by Eret. Unfortunately, Eret is caught in the Grimborn’s attempt to recapture their victim.

The final author who I would like to provide recommendation for is imaginativemind29 They’ve also got some pretty awesome fics, also mix of long fic and one-shots. I have to rec.

Kidnapping - A one-shot where Tuffnut has been kidnapped by the Dragon Hunters and Viggo intends to use him as bait to lure in the rest of the Riders

Know Who You Are - A fic in progress where Hiccup takes a hard fall and winds up with amnesia, and Viggo offers a remedy he doesn’t know to refuse

And also, I do write some whump as well. I have one to recommend as well. Hidden Away - A one-shot where Hiccup’s been captured and Viggo is interrupted, having to stow Hiccup away until he can interrogate him properly.

Well, this wound up longer than I expected lol. But I do hope they’re to your guys’ satisfaction. In all honesty, I would advise checking out their other works, they’re all magnificent authors. Thank you for the ask and hope it’s a good read for y’all!

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

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Home Bound (Part 2)

Summary: With some help from Samson, Dean makes it back to the bunker and starts to process everything that’s happened...

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,700ish

Warnings: language, angst, injury, mention of character death, mourning, supernatural events

A/N: Written entirely in Dean’s POV. Enjoy!

______

“Morning,” said Sam as I groggily sat up. He was cooking in the kitchen, humming a happy tune to himself.

“God, it’s barely seven in the morning,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“I’ve already been up for an hour,” he said. “Eggs?”

“If you’re offering,” I said, stumbling over to his bathroom. I changed back into my clothes, yawning as I sat down at the table. He put down a cup of coffee and plate of scrambled eggs along with some hot sauce.

“You got any money to get by?” he asked, standing at his counter eating.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, wolfing down my food.

“Here,” he said, pushing an envelope towards me. I leaned over and grabbed it, opening it up to find a wad of money. “It’s about five hundred. S’all I got laying around the house. That enough to get you home?”

“Samson I can’t accept this,” I said, putting the envelope back.

“I wasn’t really asking,” he said, setting it down on the table next to me. “I’d let you take my car but I need it for work.”

“Sam, it doesn’t look like you got much. I’m not taking your life savings,” I said.

“I have a bank account, jackass. It’s not my savings. Don’t worry about it. Go home, take care of what needs to be done and yourself. You’re getting closer to popping. Pay it forward some day,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, drinking down the last of my coffee. I tucked the envelope in my pocket and he set his mug down.

“I’ll drive you to the bus station,” he said. I put on my boots by the front door as he rummaged around in a closet. He pulled out a black winter coat and held it out to me. “For if you decide you need a walk again.”

“Write down your address,” I said, handing him back the envelope.

“Alright. I don’t want any money or the jacket back. Send me a Christmas card or something,” he said. He returned it after a moment and grabbed his keys as I slipped into the coat. “Better?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks man.”

“S’no problem. Let’s get you home.”

36 Hours Later

My hands were shoved in the fleece lined pockets as I walked up the dirt road to the bunker. The ice storm in Colorado had followed me all the way back to Kansas but the hooded winter coat made all the difference in the world. I couldn’t wait to take a hot shower and curl up in bed with one of Y/N’s blankets.

What happened after...I wasn’t going to be able to put off later for much longer. Now that I was home though, I could let go and get my head on straight in the morning to figure out what had happened.

With a deep breath I stepped down to the door and opened it up. The heat had been left on and the hallway was cozy. I stepped through to the other door inside and found the lights were on too, exactly as they were when we’d all headed out. Just in case, Y/N said. She didn’t want to come home to a dark house.

I headed down the stairs and cut into the library, the space feeling far too big for just me.

“I miss you,” I said. I pinched my nose and heard a creak behind me. I spun around, eyes wide.

“Dean?” said Sam. My Sam, the one that must have died, must have, was right there, in pajamas and with a bowl of chips in his hand.

“I die and now you eat the crap, Sammy?” I said. He set the bowl down and rushed over, giving me a hug. “I’m getting you all wet.”

“Don’t care,” he said. He squeezed me hard and I let out a tiny gasp, Sam giving me some room after that. He looked confused though and shook his head. “How…”

“Was gonna ask you the same thing,” I said.

“I didn’t die. You pushed me out of the way,” he said.

“I don’t remember that,” I said. “You were right there. Since I woke up I assumed…”

Sam was smiling at me still but the hunter in him finally kicked in. I nodded to the cabinet where everything he’d need to test me was. Three minutes later he was hugging me too hard again.

“Relax, Sammy. Gonna pop my shoulder back out,” I said. He immediately released me and I cradled my arm. “I fixed it already.”

“Still. You should wear the sling Y/N bought,” he said. We wandered over to the infirmary and he dug around in a drawer until he pulled it out.

“Is she…” I said, taking off my jackets and slipping it on over my head. Sam shook his head and I sighed. “You don’t know that for sure. Up until five minutes ago you thought I was dead too.”

“True but, you know,” he said. I nodded, staring at the floor. “Cas is alright. Billie got him back from the empty. He’s up in heaven trying to help keep that going. They’re trying out this new method or something.”

“Not your memories?” I asked, heading for the kitchen.

“No. I mean kinda. More like, collective afterlife? It uses a lot less power I guess,” said Sam. “They’re doing small test groups right now he said. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“How’s he alive again?” I asked.

“Billie brought him back,” he said as we walked over to the kitchen.

“How’s Jack?”

“He’s doing okay. He got pretty hurt during the fight. I took care of him for a few weeks before he headed out. New God and all. He’s still learning.”

“He bring me back?” I asked.

“He doesn’t know how to do that yet. He says he feels like he will be able to someday, like it’s in his bones but he doesn’t know quite right now how to pull it off,” said Sam.

“So how am I back?”

“I honestly have no idea,” he said. I took a seat at the table, catching Y/N’s mug sat at the end in her usual spot. “We gave you guys a hunter’s funeral. There’s a little marker up in the woods a ways, in that clearing you two used to go have dates in.”

“There’s no body then.”

“No. Where’d you wake up?” he asked, taking two beers out of the fridge.

“Middle of nowhere Colorado,” I said. “Any idea why?”

“No, not really. Any place we ever hunt?”

“No. I met a guy. Samson, apparently dad and I saved his folks back in the day while you were at school. But they didn’t live there. I never...I never met the guy,” I said. “He knew who I was but he’d never met me.”

“You think he was lying?”

“He was nice to me when I was an ass. I don’t think he was playing at anything. How would he know what I looked like though?”

“It’s possible I suppose that he reached out to other hunters and learned more about you? I mean the girls got pictures of us. Maybe Eileen?”

“Maybe,” I said, shaking my head. “Shit, Sam. How’s-”

“She’s good,” said Sam with a small smile. “She’s over in Lawrence at the moment actually. She’s looking at houses for us.”

“You guys deserve to finally be together,” I said. “She’s good for you.”

“I know.”

“Gonna stop hunting?”

“I don’t really need to anymore. We kind of turned them all human,” said Sam. I cocked my head and he shrugged. “The hail mary? It worked. No more monsters.”

“That’s great,” I said, forcing a smile. Great. I couldn’t even bury myself in hunting to feel slightly less crappy. I was worthless.

“I’m heading out to meet Eileen in a few days. Come with me.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna intrude or-”

“You can have some space but you’re not staying here alone,” he said.

“Y/N’s dead. I have no job now. I’m not gonna be the brooding mope sitting at the end of your couch when you finally get to be with your girl.”

“Dean,” said Sam as I stood up.

“I really want to shower and sleep, Sammy. I’m cold and exhausted. Please,” I said.

“You’re gonna come with,” he said. I clenched my fist and glared over my shoulder. “Y/N wrote you a letter for if she didn’t make it back. It’s in your room. When I thought you both...I read it in case she wanted something to be done after she was gone. You know the only thing she said? You need to go live your life. She loves you and wants you to be happy.”

“Easy for her to say. She’s not here,” I said.

“Dean. I know this is raw for you and I’ve had four months to deal you didn’t. Don’t disrespect what she wanted.”

“Oh fuck you,” I said. I stormed out, pausing around the corner. I heard him behind me and slumped my shoulders down. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” he said.

“She was supposed to live, not me,” I said. “Cause she’s stronger than I am and I can’t deal with her not being in that bedroom when I go down this hall.”

“Dean. Grieve. Please. For the first time in your life, grieve properly. When you’re ready, you and me will go out to Lawrence. I’m gonna call Eileen and make sure she finds a place where you got a big room and your own bathroom and garage and all that. Until then, I’m gonna stay here. Ignore me, yell at me, whatever. I’m staying. Alright?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I want a pool too.”

“Dean.”

“Hot tub.”

“We’ll put one in.”

“Fine,” I said. He ruffled my hair and I headed down to the bathroom. I slipped out of my clothes, pulling out the envelope with a few hundred dollars left. “Sammy.”

“What?” he called back.

“Figure out who this guy was,” I said, holding the envelope out the door. “That’s his name and address.”

“Whiltiston,” said Sam, making a face. “You sure this is his name?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You wouldn’t know. About two months back, the Whiltiston family was in the news. National news. They’d been reunited with their daughter who was kidnapped as an infant. She was safe. The people who took her pretended to be her parents. They were real sickos. I’d hunt ‘em down if they weren’t already dead,” said Sam.

“So this guy’s her brother?” I asked.

“Yeah, there was a brother Sam I remember mentioned at the press conference. They didn’t show anyone but the dad but they were all really happy to be back together,” he said.

“Still doesn’t explain how he knows what I look like.”

“They said the girl has a sketchy memory of certain things. I mean they were bad people, Dean. It’s possible we worked her case and didn’t know?” he said.

“See if you can dig up a phone number for me too,” I said.

“Yeah. I’ll see if...you know, we’ve been in the national news before too. It’s entirely possible that one of his parents saw us on the news and told him that was you.”

“Oh. That’s...a lot more likely,” I said, frowning to myself. “Forget about it. Could you just slip in some extra cash in there for me? I’ll send it back along with the coat. The guy didn’t have much.”

“No problem. I’ll get you the phone number too. I know you’ll drive yourself nuts if you don’t know for sure.”

“Sam,” I said as he started to leave. “I’m really happy you’re not dead.”

“Me too. Take your shower. I’ll put out some pajamas for you.”

I nodded and shut the door, resting my head against the back of it. After a moment I went to the shower and turned the water on, forgetting about the prickly heat until my skin turned a slight pink and started to warm up. Somehow I got through with washing myself before I saw Y/N’s shampoo staring back at me in the cubby. I swallowed and picked it up, flipping open the cap and taking a deep inhale.

It took awhile and one concerned knock at the door to realize at some point I’d sat down with my knees in my chest, Y/N’s shampoo sat on the ground beside me.

“Dean? You okay? You’ve been in there for an hour,” said Sam. I buried my head down and heard the door creek open. “Dean? Answer me or I’m coming in.”

“I’m fine,” I said, voice raw and cracking with every syllable. Sam didn’t open the door anymore but he was still there.

“Turn off the water,” he said. I reached up and hit it off, wiping the back of my hand across my nose. “You have one minute to dry off and put on a towel.”

The door shut and I forced myself to get up. I patted myself off and got a towel around my waist, trying to wash my face off before Sam saw me.

“I’m coming in,” said Sam. One look at him said more than enough and I looked away. “I told you to grieve.”

“Her freaking shampoo bottle,” I said. Sam looked over to the shower and saw it on the ground, running his hand through his hair. “Why can’t I shove it down like every other time?”

“You know why. There’s no chance of you getting her back and she wouldn’t want you to do something stupid. You loved her. You’re always gonna love her. Dean, I’ve been there with Jessica. It’s gonna fuck you up real good for a while. I thought I’d never be happy again, not like that, and then I found Eileen. It feels like the end of your life but it’s not,” he said. “It’s not going away if you shove it down so just feel it.”

“Yeah,” I said. I brushed past him and went to my room, shutting the door to change. I left it closed and sat on the edge of the bed, catching his shadow under the door. It moved away after a minute and I let out a sigh. The room smelled musty which I appreciated. It was something different to focus on.

I rolled over to Y/N’s side of the bed and saw the letter Sam had mentioned on her nightstand. I ripped it off and found it wasn’t as long as I’d expected. She probably did it last minute.

De, I love you. I’m always going to love you. I need you to try to keep loving and not shut the world out. Find some happiness again or I’m gonna haunt you like I’m your own personal Casper. Okay? You’ll get there someday. My big green flannel is in the closet if you need it. Be safe (I’ll keep an eye out for you though, promise).

My head glanced up and over to the closet, staring before I stood and opened it. At the end was her big oversized green flannel. She’d stolen so many of my clothes over the years she’d decided to get something of hers I could take for myself.

I pulled it off the hook and brought it back to bed, tugging it on before I lay back on the mattress.

It too was a little musty but there was the faint scent of her shampoo again filling the air.

“Fuck, I miss you,” I said. I shut my eyes and turned off the light, hoping exhaustion would put me to sleep quickly.

_______

A/N: Read the Final Part here!

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #dean x #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean series

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foolgobi65 · 4 years ago

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i really wish the writers of lucifer hadn't turned chloe and maze's friendship into such an afterthought! like ok:

- when they start in season 2, both of them are in pretty isolated places socially. chloe, already a pretty introverted workaholic, is just newly divorced and has exactly one (1) friend: lucifer. maze has finally split off from lucifer and has two (2) friends: linda and trixie, but for the purposes of this comparison linda really is maze's one friend. maze has just accepted that she's not actually going back to hell, that this time on earth isn't really just a lunch break before they go back to the real world (hell) and so she now has to figure out how to build a real life in LA.

- basically, both maze and chloe are kind of in similar positions in terms of being isolated and really only having a singular overwhelming relationship with someone as opposed to having a network they can rely on so that all their eggs aren't in one basket. you can see where this backfires on both of them throughout the series when linda spends the week not talking to maze after seeing lucifer's face, and when lucifer runs off to vegas and suddenly chloe is stuck with all these feelings she can't express (and crucially can't talk about to him, her best friend.) ofc lucifer and maze's relationship transcends friendship just based on their immense history and is its own weird thing that i also kind of wish they had given more thought to, but w/e.

- enter: maze and chloe's friendship! i think for both maze and chloe, the other person is as "far" as you could get from themselves, but is fascinatingly still someone they can like, respect, love, and be loyal to. for a good while (and this is something i REALLY wish they had maintained) chloe, maze, and dan are basically raising trixie together which takes so much respect and trust that the other person is someone you want having a hand in influencing a kid you love! i think what's interesting is that, unlike lucifer who is trying to answer existential questions about his place/purpose in the universe, maze is really just focused on the people she cares about and having a good time (which is rooted in her doing meaningful work as a bounty hunter.) chloe is someone who pursues duty to the point of self-sacrifice, and obviously her friendship with lucifer helps her loosen up, but the pedestal he places her on/reverence he sometimes feels for her prevents him from really popping that bubble in the same way maze does. also chloe and lucifer's relationship gets SO much more complicated around the time maze enter's chloe's life so the role that lucifer once had to shock chloe out of her comfort zone kind of goes to maze once chloe has to draw some personal boundaries with lucifer.

- i think the key to maze and chloe's friendship is that they're both people who desperately need someone who embodies the other person's best trait. while this tendency isn't always healthy, maze is fundamentally someone very loyal to those she believes deserves it. obviously she's also betrayed people a billion times but at her core she's deeply committed to those she cares about which is something that i can see chloe find really appealing. at this point chloe has spent so much of her life in this weirdly precarious position where, since her dad's death she hasn't been able to fully trust anyone or open up to them. obviously she loves dan, but its clear that even when they're still "good" he doesn't trust her instincts or potential like he should, and when he spent those months gaslighting her the issue for her even beyond the fact that he shot malcom would have been that he didnt support or trust his wife. the appeal of lucifer is that from the beginning he identifies that she's smart and moral with good instincts. he trusts her, and strangely over the season she begins to trust him too! and then he runs off to vegas, etc etc lol. maze's primary loyalty probably isn't to chloe, but we see that to the best of her capacity she wants chloe to be happy -- she gets the prison warden killed, she "tries" and then really does listen to chloe venting about lucifer, attends the parent night chloe was stressed about, sets aside her grudge with lucifer to find chloe.

- in turn, chloe's best trait is her ability to accept people as they are and see their potential. of course she doesnt really have that many friends, but the people she is attracted to are all works in progress (dan is obvious, as are lucifer and maze lmao, but there's also ella who confesses something very personal and scary to chloe and gets a hug in return, and even charlotte who chloe's had clashes with both as charlotte and Mom for years but still gets the benefit of the doubt.) maze does have to change when she comes to live with chloe and trixie, but we see trixie grow up heavily influenced by maze in ways that makes it clear that chloe must genuinely like maze, or those influences like the handshake and the passion for gore and the knife training wouldnt have been allowed. we know that the reason maze is so loyal to lucifer is that he was the first person to ever accept her for who she was unconditionally, without shame or judgment. we see that for lucifer chloe is that person, especially because she sees his potential for growth just as she sees maze's. because she doesnt have preconcieved notions of what they're supposed to be she only sees them as people going through a difficult period of growth and supports them as best she can: reminding maze that they're friends, worrying about her in canada, trusting her with trixie who is the most important person in chloe's life.

- of course, chloe and maze have lucifer and linda but narratively lucifer and linda become so much MORE for chloe and maze. the show sunk linda/maze lmao but linda's clearly the adult maze cares most about just as lucifer is chloe's. and for both in s3 this person they each place so much of themselves into suddenly hurts them and they both spiral. i think there was real potential for chloe and maze to become each other's support and develop into a really steady, enduring friendship in contrast to the chaos of their individual romances (you will NEVER convince me that triangle was about amenadiel rather than linda lmao.) even post s3, they don't really address that maze really hurt chloe by pushing her towards pierce, and that chloe hurt maze by lying to her. i really think there could have been a lot of growth from maze going back to living with chloe and trixie after making full ammends and chloe realizing that actually, yes she can deal with this and it isn't that scary and then the tragedy of her maybe missing her shot with lucifer becomes more stark. we see chloe and maze teaming up in the first episode of 5A but then they blow that up too! i get that chloe needs space and its clear they're both using the other as placeholders for the people they really want, but there's no reason that they couldnt have come back together later and re-established their friendship on screen. obv they wouldnt work together after lucifer comes back, but to me this is where i believe they should go back to living together. without that, maze's connection to trixie in terms of what they can show on screen becomes tenuous and chloe's home life just becomes less interesting/worthwhile to see bc it'd just be her or maybe her with trixie. without that, it feels like we just see a lot of chloe either at work or in relation to lucifer (bc thats the best bang for your buck in terms of interaction!) we do get to see maze with linda, which is nice, but idk just feels like a step back from early s3 when maze felt more embedded in a community of people who liked, accepted, and cared about her wellbeing.

- i think one of the issues is that chloe and maze's friendship might have seemed like a knock off of their "main" relationships with lucifer and linda bc they have similar dynamics with them, but idk! there's a sense of fun that we get from their friendship that we dont really see from the main pairings because those are so serious and passionate and the main mechanisms by which the 4 grow so there isn't as much room for the lighter stuff. i know i said that chloe sees the potential for growth but she's not really pushing maze to talk about her feelings. she's doing the dishes maze won't, smiling at maze and trixie's handshake, shrugging off the fact that maze is throwing knives at their rented walls. maze and chloe create space for each other to be seen as themselves, good or bad, in ways that linda and lucifer can't for whatever reason. they don't really push each other, just let the other person be. it wouldnt be the ideal dynamic if they were the only person in each other's lives, but i think its vital to have someone in your life who can, in chloe's case, gently push you outside of your comfort zone and in maze's case offer acceptance, friendship, and trust.

idk this is just going in circles as i repeat the same points over and over and over but i really wish they had put more thought into sustaining the maze and chloe friendship throughout s4 and s5 because it would have brought out notes in both of them narratively that i think are lost otherwise. also its just sad for trixie that someone who was basically part of her family who she was living with is just...not there anymore and that's never addressed. : (

#lucifer #maze #chloe decker #lol im just writing this here to avoid doing school work rip #back to pretending to do a reading!!!

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real-american · 4 years ago

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Supernatural: A dedication to its memory and how the show changed my life

Fifteen Years. 15 years and over 300 episodes of the greatest show on TV. 15 years of joy, heartache, tears, fun and inspiration; and for me, 15 years, two marriages one divorce, two tattoos and a show that brought me the love of my life. Supernatural has impacted us all on so many levels. I could easily write a 15 page academic paper on the seasons, the meanings behind each season and all the little things that made the show so great. Things such as the music, the brothers Winchester, the family dynamic, and the beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala (my dream car should I win the lottery. Black four door version of course). I could go on about each major and minor character, how they impacted the show and what each of them meant to me and the fans but this is not what this is about. This post is about how Supernatural changed my life and how it impacted me.

First a few housekeeping things to address regarding the final season and the series finale. I thought the pre finale show was excellent but definitely could have been longer and included more. However I do understand they only had 42 minutes or so to cram 15 years of memories and characters in so I understand they had to only hit the highlights. They should do a longer version for the Blue Ray 15 season collectors set which I'm sure they will make and that I am definitely getting. Regarding the final season, I thought it was excellent. My wife, who is also a big fan of the show (more on her later) didn't think it was as good as other seasons but enjoyed it none the less. The ending was good sort of expected with the two boys ending up in heaven together, but I was surprised they killed Dean in the sort of nonchalant way they did. Sort of anti climactic for the greatest hunter in the world. The final speech to Sam was heartbreaking and heartfelt and I loved it! I also loved the symmetry of how Sam's son Dean also gave him permission to leave this world as Sam gave (original) Dean all those years later. I'm glad they didn't show who Sam's wife was and she was just left as a mysterious place holder. Originally I thought maybe they should have had him with Eileen but in retrospect the way they did it was better and honestly I'm not sure if she (or the other AU folk) were even brought back with the rest of the world. Maybe someone can clear this point up for me. I was really surprised they didn't do the "carry on my wayward son" beginning but I soon figured out before it even happened they were going to do it in the end of the episode which turned out to be much better. All in all I give the last season an A- and the finale and how it ended an A+ Again there is a lot to say about the final season, the final episode, and all the seasons but I will leave that analysis to other people. This is about what the show meant to me specifically about how it helped me through my darkest days and ushered in my brightest of days which I am living now. This is that story.

I wasn't with Supernatural from the very beginning. The show premiered in 2005 and I honestly hadn't heard anything about it or did I know anything about it for a few years. I came off active duty from the Marine Corps in June of 2005 and after fighting my beloved country's wars for a few years I was out of the loop on many things. I first came across Supernatural on TNT catching a re run here and there but with no real interest and only getting bits and pieces of the story. In 2010 I met my first wife and was a casual fan at this point seeing enough re runs on TNT to get a general idea of the storyline for the first few seasons but again only as a casual fan. At this point of my life I was also falling down a dark hole. My alcoholism which is a result of my PTSD from my combat service started to get really bad. I was drinking more than most people could handle but as my father was, highly functional. This led to me staying with and eventually marrying my first wife which was a bad idea. She cheated on me constantly and probably didn't even really love me. We were also polar political opposites (you can figure out my political viewpoints from the rest of my blog) and not compatible really in the least. Why I ever stayed with her and married her is beyond me at this point in my life. So there I was drinking my life away in a bad relationship and trying to figure out how to manage my life. Then Supernatural came on Netflix and I decided to give it a real shot. This decision changed my life.

I quickly caught up on the first six seasons and started watching the show live starting with season 7. I was hooked. I loved everything about it. Dean and Sam, Cass the car, the brotherly love, the monsters, the angels, everything but I still didn't know how this show would impact me in the end. I continued to drink myself to death getting unhealthier fatter and no longer resembling the fit Marine I once was. I was in a constant haze drinking an entire bottle of whiskey every night to drink away the pain of my bad marriage and the pain of not being loved and cheated on by my wife. Supernatural was the one bright spot in my life.

In 2014 I finally divorced my wife but this was only the first step. I continued to drink and destroy my life causing me to get fired from my job. Fortunately I was hired on back into government work making much better money and with having no wife and no kids was finally able to live a little better financially but I was lonely and alone except for the alcohol. I continued to find refuge in the bottle but also in Supernatural. I watched every episode as it came on, re watched all the old episodes, blogged and facebooked about it to the point that I am sure I was annoying the one or two friends that I had. The rest of my life was a blur. Get up, stumble into work drunk or hungover, go home sick and jonesing for my next drink, bottle of whiskey till one in the morning, a few hours of sleep and starting the whole cycle back over. I was fat, ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside, and a bad human being. My drinking got so bad I destroyed my liver and was medically discharged from my job but was given retirement for all my years of service to the federal government. So now I was 33 retired with a pension and VA disability and really nothing to do but sit at home drink whiskey and watch TV. I had no love in my life, one or two close friends who didn't like being around me anymore because of my drinking, and my family was worried but couldn't get through to me. Even after my father died of alcohol abuse in 2015 I still continued down my destructive path. Finally in February of 2017 I was hospitalized and was told I would be dead in less than a year. I truly believe I was touched by God at this point because I went home dumped out three bottles of alcohol and never touched the stuff again to this day.

Now I had to learn to relive my life all over without alcohol. I started to exercise and lose weight (90 pounds in 5 months) I went back to church, and I started to try and find love again and of course needing distraction and something to occupy my mind I dove deep into Supernatural. I re watched and re watched again all the old episodes, I poured myself into analysis of the plot lines and characters, I got tattoos on my arms (the demon trap and the anti possession symbol), I obsessed with everything Supernatural. It helped me stay sober. When I wanted a drink I would watch an episode, when I was feeling lonely I would go hang out with Sam and Dean. When I wanted to give up I took refuge in the Impala. I became a super fan. So far Supernatural got me through my divorce, was my bright spot in my alcoholic haze, and helped me stay sober when I first gave up my demons. I cheered harder during the happy moments of the show and cried harder in the sad ones. I was an emotional wreck and my feelings only seemed to come out while watching the show. Although I had quit drinking, got rid of my toxic ex wife and started to improve my life, I was still not happy. I was alone and lonely but Supernatural came to my rescue once again.

Throughout 2017 and the first part of 2018 I managed to be in two relationships. I poured myself into them grasping at them as if they were my reward for turning my life around and ignoring all the signs that they were not good relationships. I was still learning to relive my life as a sober person. I never integrated back into society after I left the Corps in 2005 and finally I was doing so but it was a hard journey. Inevitably those relationships failed and I was utterly heartbroken each time, but Supernatural was always there through the good times and the bad. When my heart was broken I would go find refuge in my favorite show forgetting about my problems and trying to help Sam and Dean solve theirs. Finally in May of 2018 I decided to try and find love again. This time it would be different and this time it was Supernatural that helped me get there.

As part of my recovery and daily routine I started to eat at my local diner everyday. Everyday from about July 2017 to the present time in this story I would go in, order 2 eggs over easy, hash browns, sausage, and toast. Everyday I would sit in the same spot at the counter (counter 6 was the name of the spot) order the same thing and even had my own special coffee mug. I knew everyone who worked there by name and they all knew me by name. They knew my order and had it ready for me when I came in. It felt like a magical place, a place that would forever change my life. There was one waitress/cook that I didn't see very often. She mostly worked the night shift but occasionally I would see her if I was there later in the day than usual or if she occasionally worked a morning shift. I was drawn to this woman. About the middle of May in 2018 I decided to maybe try and work up the courage to ask her out. I would always look for her when I went in hoping she was working that day hoping she wasn't too busy so that I could exchange a few words with her and hoping she would even notice me. Then one day in July I went in and she was there. I said hello and ate my breakfast but we didn't talk much. When I was paying for my meal the other gal working there asked what my plans were for the day and I said oh nothing much just gonna go home and watch Supernatural. Then she turned around. The woman I had been trying to talk to, the one I wanted to ask out, Michelle was her name. She said, "I love that show I'm watching season 13 on DVD right now". I perked up a smile came across my face. Nervously I said, "oh cool yeah its my favorite show" Michelle nodded and turned back to work, I went to my car got in and smiled. I knew how I was gonna break the ice now next time. A few days later on my daily visit to the diner I went in a little later than usual. It was about 3 in the afternoon. It was dark and gloomy, raining, and cold. It felt like a Supernatural episode. It felt like a 67 Impala should have been in the parking lot and two good looking hunters should be in the corner on a laptop researching their current case. It felt like a magical moment. Turns out I was the only customer in the whole place. It was just me the waitress and Michelle who was cooking that day. They took my order without asking as the usually did and I could already see Michelle had already started cooking it. She finished and brought it to me herself. We exchanged a look and a feeling of confidence I have never had in my life overcame me and I said to her, "So are you enjoying season 13?" That is how it all began we started talking about the show. How we started watching it who our favorite characters were, how much we loved this season or that one. The conversation was seamless. We got into other get to know you topics around our conversation about Supernatural and it was like we were old friends talking about a show we loved. Eventually I got up and went to pay the waitress and she turned to go back to the kitchen in the back. Feeling an opportunity slip away I said "hey Michelle, maybe we should go get some dinner some time and watch some Supernatural together". I held my breath. She would surely smile and politely say no. She probably gets asked out all the time by the customers, beautiful woman that she is. Then she smiled and said "sure that would be great" I must have smiled so big and my heart skipped 10 beats! I got her number which she wrote on a order ticket and the rest they say is history. Ten months later I wrote ,"will you marry me" on the back of that order ticket and gave it to her at counter 6 at the diner where we met, where we first started talking about Supernatural, where my life finally changed for the better forever, and she said yes! We were married two months later on our one year anniversary and we just watched the final episode together yesterday. We both had tears, we both smiled when Sam and Dean, soulmates, were finally together at the end because we both know how it feels to be with each others soulmate. We held each others hand and said goodbye together.

Supernatural has forever changed me. It has been with me through every major event in my life over the last 15 years. Through the dark times, through the hard times, and finally through the current happy times. I guess it is ok that Supernatural is over now. I no longer need it. I have my wife, my Michelle, my soulmate. I am finally happy. I have Sam and Dean's permission to move on and they have mine. Good bye Winchesters. Good bye and thank you. You have taught me to carry on and find my peace when I'm done, and to cry no more. This is but one man's story, one of so many. How many lives has this show changed? How many people have found comfort in the adventures of Sam and Dean? I'm not sure the answer. Too many to count I would wager. 15 years and 300 episodes of the greatest show ever on TV. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

#supernatural #SPN #spn spoilers #SUPERNATURAL SPOILERS #Supernatural ending

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teenwolffan-with-nolife · 4 years ago

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The Witch and The Wolf Pt.28

Word Count: 2,581

Characters: Derek Hale, Cora hale (brief), Isaac Lahey, Chris Argent, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent (brief), Reader

Pairings: Derek Hale x Witch!Reader

Warnings: angst, some fluff

A/N: this part took a turn with my okay writing oof sorry peeps

Masterlist Series Masterlist

“We’ll split up into two, okay? Me and Isaac, you and Derek,” you looked at the hole in the wall, remembering a few minutes ago as Boyd and Cora escaped.

There was blood dripping from Scott’s mouth, as he leaned against the vault door, Allison next to him.

“Can you even walk?” Scott asked you.

“I’m fine,” you replied, taking a deep breath as you leaned against the walls.

Scott could smell the blood dripping from you.

“It’s not the worst I've had,” you breathed heavily as you stood up, looking around.

Derek wasn’t there. You frowned, wondering where he went.

Cora was alive. Peter really did save her.

“Where did Derek go?” you asked.

“I’m here,” he appeared behind you, holding Erica's body in his arms.

“God,” you closed your eyes, looking away from her.

She was dead.

“(Y/N),” Derek walked to you, holding your hand.

“Yeah?” you cleared your throat shakily as you looked up at him.

He began to take your pain as you exhaled shakily, watching as the black veins went throughout Derek’s arm.

“You don’t have to-” you started.

“I know. I think,” he looked at Scott and Allison before lowering his voice and looking back at you.

“I think you should go home,” he said softly.

“What? Why?” you frowned.

“You’re hurt,” he started.

“I’ve had worse. Derek, I’m fine,” you said.

“I know, (Y/N), please. They're not just werewolves on a full moon, they weren't able to shift for months. They’re basically rabid,” he said.

“Which is why you’ll need help in the first place,” you raised an eyebrow.

“No, what I need is for you to be safe. Please, I’m begging you,” you looked into his eyes, looking as they watered slightly.

“I can help,” you said softly.

You felt a pit in your stomach as you looked at him. Like he didn't want you there.

“I know you can. But I want you to be safe. Please,” he begged.

You nodded your head softly, looking down. He lifted your head up, pressing a kiss to your lips as he stroked your cheeks.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” you bit your lip as you walked out of the vault.

---

You were on your way home, spotting Argent’s car in front of you, parked. He must’ve been getting groceries. An idea immediately came to your head, knowing he could help.

You took a deep breath, walking into the store as you looked for Chris.

“Chris,” you spotted him in front of you.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” he asked you.

“Looking for you. I need help.” you started.

“Yeah, walk and talk,” he motioned, as you walked alongside him while he did his groceries.

“Okay, a few months ago Erica and Boyd were kidnapped. By some alpha pack,” you started explaining.

“What does it have to do with me?” he asked.

“I’m getting there. We found them. Well, we found Boyd. Erica’s dead,” you exhaled shakily.

“Yeah, hold this,” he began to hand you a tray of eggs and milk.

You rolled your eyes, holding them.

“Boyd’s alive, and so is Derek’s sister, Cora. But they were kept from shifting for the past three full moons,” you said.

“How?” he asked, barely paying attention as you began to get frustrated.

“Chris, will you just look at me for like two seconds? I need your help here,” you stood in front of him.

“(Y/N), I don't hunt anymore,” he replied.

“That's a lie, Chris,” you rolled your eyes.

“No, it's not. We’re out, (Y/N). Me and Allison. I lost my wife, my sister, my dad. No more,” he shook his head, giving you a sorrowful look.

“But you’re not like them, Chris. You’re better than them. That’s why we need your help,” you said softly.

“I can't. I’m sorry,” he sighed.

“Chris, please,” you begged.

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” you sighed in defeat, looking down, not able to help but feeling useless.

You finished helping Chris with the groceries, getting into his car as you looked out the window.

“Are you okay?” he asked you.

“Yeah, fine,” you rubbed your forehead, sitting up as Stiles called you.

“What’s up?” you asked, picking it up.

“Boyd and Cora killed someone,” Stiles said.

“What?” your eyes widened.

“Can you meet me at the community pool?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be there,” you hung up the call, turning to Chris.

“Can you drop me off somewhere else?”

---

You pulled up to Stiles, surrounded by police cars and ambulances, along with a crying family holding each other as they looked at their kid’s body.

You looked at Chris, while he looked out the window, looking at the body.

“Did they do this? Was this Boyd and Cora?” he asked you.

“Yeah, it was,” you replied.

“Damn it,” he sighed, before looking at you.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do…”

---

You texted Scott, telling him to meet you and Chris by the preserve, while the two of you waited anxiously for their arrival.

“What are you doing here?” you heard Derek’s voice behind you.

“Me and Argent have a way to help with Cora and Boyd,” you started.

“Yeah, one second,” he pulled you away from the rest of them as you frowned.

“What is it?” you asked, looking up at him while keeping your voice low.

“I told you to go home,” he said.

“But I can help. We have a way-” you tried to speak before cutting you off again.

“I don’t care if you have a way! I need you to be safe! Why is it so hard for you to listen?!” he raised his voice as he began pacing around, rubbing the back of his neck. Your eyes watered slightly as you looked at him.

“Me? You’ve basically ignored everything I’ve been trying to say! For weeks! I’m trying to help, Derek! Erica was my friend, Boyd was my friend, Cora was my friend! I’m not letting you deal with all of this by yourself! Why are you getting mad at me for this!?” you frowned, tears in your eyes as you looked at him.

“I don’t need your help,” he exclaimed.

Before you replied, Isaac walked nervously to the two of you, handing you a bag.

“Uh, we decided to split. You and Derek are gonna go together. Here are the light things,” he gave you an awkward smile before dropping the bag in front of you, running off.

“C’mon, let’s just get this over with and trap them in the school,” you looked away from him as you wiped your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“(Y/N),” Derek started, his voice softened as he walked toward you.

You shook your head, as you ran ahead, avoiding him as you felt that pit in your stomach. That never-ending pain. Why was love so hard?

---

After placing all the light emitters around the woods, creating a path to the school, you and Derek made your way to the school, in silence.

None of you had said a word to each other since earlier.

“I can hear something. I think they fell for it,” Isaac shook his head.

“Good, so how exactly are we leading them to the boiler room?” you asked Chris.

“Well, we have three wolves, a hunter, and a witch. We can figure out something,” Chris replied.

“Not good enough. We need an actual plan,” you shook your head.

“Yeah, I agree. How are we gonna lead them to the basement?” Scott asked.

“Okay, well obviously someone needs to be at the front to keep them closed in. We need people in the back too,” you bit your lip as you paced around.

“How about you and Derek keep watch for them from the front?” Isaac suggested.

You turned to him, glaring as you gave him a death look.

“Actually,” you started.

“Yeah, we’ll lock the doors from the front,” Derek nodded as he held your arm, pulling you to his side. You smacked his arm, pushing away from him.

“New plan. How about Isaac and (Y/N)?” Scott shrugged.

“Yeah. Let’s go,” you linked arms with him as you pulled him with you, running off.

“Why’d you offer me and Derek?” you whisper-yelled at him, pulling him out of the school.

“Well, if it’s not obvious, you two are clearly having problems and need to talk it out,” Isaac said.

“We’re not having problems,” before you could finish your statement, Isaac interrupted you.

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. I live with you two, in case you forgot,” he said.

“Shut up. I hate it when you’re honest. You’re gonna chase away any girls or boys interested in you,” you crossed your arms.

“Well, you’re supposed to be truthful to those you love. If someone dumps me for being truthful, then they don’t deserve me,” he replied, making a face.

“If you go home right now, I won’t say anything,” Isaac said.

“You’re joking, right?” you scoffed.

“No, actually, I agree with Derek. Look, you’re my best friend, you mean the world to me, but you can’t heal like us. No one wants to see you get hurt, you mean too much to us,” Isaac said.

“Chris is human, in case you forgot,” you argued.

“Well, Derek isn’t dating him. He’s dating you. He doesn’t love him. He loves you,” he said.

You sighed, looking away from Isaac before hearing a noise, as your head peaked up.

“Tell me you heard that too,” Isaac said as you nodded.

“Duck!” The two of you ran to opposite sides of the school, hearts beating fast as you heard Cora and Boyd run straight in.

You ran back to the front, quickly shutting the doors as you wrapped the chains around them.

“Bloquear,” you recited a spell, your eyes glowing purple as chains fell, turning to dust as Isaac looked at you.

“The doors won’t open now,” you shrugged.

He pulled at the door, opening it as he raised an eyebrow.

“No one will be able to get in or out if they’re in wolf form, and it’s gonna last till the sun comes up.”

“It was just that easy, huh?” he mocked.

“Yeah. C’mon, let’s go,” you pat his back as the two of you walked in.

---

You made your way to the boiler room, as Scott and Derek leaned against the door, out of breath.

“They’re trapped,” Scott said, breathlessly.

“So, we did it,” you walked to Scott, holding his hand as you led him to the stairs.

“Wait,” the three of them froze, turning to the boiler room.

“Someone’s in there,” Derek said.

“Oh god,” you felt your heart stop out of fear.

“I’m going in,” Derek said, about to open the door.

“What? No! That’s suicide!” you yelled at him.

“Whoever’s in there needs help,” Derek turned to you.

“What if Cora and Boyd hurt you? Or worse,” you said.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

“Derek, no. We’ll figure out something else, we have to,” you shook your head, walking to him.

You could feel your heart beating harshly.

“There’s no time,” Derek replied, holding your hand.

“Derek,” you started. He pressed a small kiss to your hand, before motioning to Isaac.

“Isaac?” Derek nodded his head.

“Derek, no please,” you begged.

You felt as Isaac wrapped his arms around you, holding you as he began to pull you away.

“Isaac, stop. Please, Derek, don’t do this,” you begged him.

He looked at you, smiling softly before running into the boiler room, locking the door behind him.

“(Y/N), come with me,” Scott started, holding your arm as you pushed away from him and Isaac.

“Both of you are insane! I’m not going anywhere,” you yelled.

“(Y/N), I’m staying right here. I’m staying here with Derek. He’ll be okay. But right now, Scott needs you. Stiles needs you. You have to go with Scott,” Isaac said softly.

“Isaac, I can’t just leave him,” you sighed, taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes for a second.

“He’ll be fine. Go,” Isaac gave you a small smile.

After looking nervously between the two of them, Scott reached for your hand, nodding softly before the two of you walked away.

---

“Okay, look. These are the three bodies. Look carefully. They were all killed the same way,” Stiles pointed out a ligature mark around their necks.

“So what does it mean?” you asked.

“It means Boyd and Cora didn’t kill anyone. These bodies are sacrifices. Three sacrifices,” Stiles explained.

“For what?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know, but sacrifices are always bad. And on top of that,” Stiles took a deep breath as you and Scott looked at each other, then at him.

“(Y/N), will you have sex with me?” As soon as Stiles spoke, you immediately curled your fist, punching him harshly in his arm.

“Ow!” he yelped.

“What is your problem?” you rolled your eyes.

“Well, the people who are being sacrificed are all virgins! Meaning me! So yeah, I’m a little scared for my life. Besides, you won’t even have a boyfriend in a few hours, so,” Stiles jumped back as Scott took his arm, holding you back as your eyes glew purple.

“If Scott wasn’t here this morgue would’ve gotten another body,” you clenched your teeth.

The two of them looked at you, before looking away.

You rubbed your head as you leaned against the table, sighing.

“I’m going home,” you said softly.

“Yeah, we’ll see you later,” Scott said, waving as you walked away.

---

You walked through the night, noticing the sun rose as you took a deep breath. Derek would be okay if he was still alive.

You felt sick in your stomach as you continued walking to the loft, taking a deep breath.

You heard leaves rustling, feeling that uncomfortable feeling once more. Like someone was watching you.

You froze, feeling your heartbeat as you turned around quickly, staying alert. But there was no one there.

You’re tired, no one’s there

You shook your head, opening the door for the loft as you took a deep breath, walking in.

“(Y/N),” Derek stood in front of you as you walked in, tensing up.

You looked at his ripped clothes, dried blood all over his body, as well as his face. Your eyes watered before you walked closer to him.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly.

“I’m okay. I didn’t mean to get mad at you. All I care about is you being safe because I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he immediately apologized, stroking your cheek.

“We’re always fighting now,” you said, barely above a whisper.

“I know, we can fix this,” he nodded softly.

“Yeah,” you sniffled.

“Cora’s alive,” he smirked.

A smile crept up your face.

“Where is she?” you asked.

“She’s right here,” you felt your bones jump as you heard Cora’s voice from behind you.

You turned around, laughing as tears fell from your eyes.

“Cora,” you exclaimed.

You ran to her, wrapping your arms around her tightly as she hugged you back.

“(Y/N), I missed you so much,” you heard her sniffle.

“Can’t believe you’re crying you baby,” you laughed softly, wiping your face.

She laughed, as the two of you held each other tightly, reunited as one. Your second half was back, she was alive, she was okay.

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who-talks-first · 4 years ago

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Okay I'm having trouble finding everyone's posts from Friday. But I just watched chapter 9 and I have some thoughts.

Opening the episode with Din saying he doesn't gamble then ending it with him making a massive gamble was interesting. Although I genuinely don't think he ever does anything he doesn't believe he can do.

The fights in this episode are amazing. Just stunning:

The fight at the arena. The Child ducking when he sees the Birds activate. "I'm not." Really. Din, stop being so goddamn fucking hot, I'm trying to watch the damn show! The whole dangling the gangster part. "You won't die by my hand." (one of the best parts of the character Din Djarin is he is both viciously ruthless and honorable to a fault. I love it!)

The fighting at the end. Both men flying in sync to kill the beast. The Raiders and townsfolk grudgingly working together. But it would have worked better just leaving the loaded bantha in the valley, luring the best out, and detonating it. Fewer civilian deaths but what do I know, I wasn't raised in the fighting corps. And god at the end when Din soars out of the monster's mouth! I that was how the episode would end as soon as I saw the explosives. But still so fucking cool! Is there a name for that trope? I call it the Hercules.

Can we talk for a second about how Din looks in this ep? The strides, the poses and posture. He exudes so much bde that it physically hurts me. Clearly a lot of that is Mandalorian in nature, if those images of Boba Fett from the comics tell us anything (Fett sitting spread in his ship and Din doing it on the wagon at Sorgan have p much the same energy). Just looking fine as hell through the whole thing, even covered in deadly dragon stomach acid.

And can we talk about how much he says this episode? He explains the Tuskens' behavior, translates, plans, barters, smooches doggies, etc. He talks a lot. And I think that's interesting. Din has this reputation as being awkward in social situations and quiet. And like, it's one thing feeling shy around the beautiful widow who's hitting on you. But he says what he means clearly and more or less concisely, including some one-liners and sarcasm. I think he could be described as "laconic" (my character does describe him as such in the thing I'm writing), which means they use as few words as possible to get their point across. Din has no hesitation in speaking, he just prefers to only speak when he has something to say, if that makes sense.

So happy to see Aunt Peli! And Din being like "eh let them work" That's what we call growth.

The casting. I nearly lost my shit when Timothy Olyphant was under the helmet, looking like a whole ass meal. Like that is the most flattering haircut and beard combo I've ever seen on him. Don't @me but he could get it. And poor typecast Leguizamo. Still great tho. He was fun little asshole.

I love when this show doubles down on the western themes:

Vanth's name, accent, role, and general appearance all line up with a small town wild west sheriff. Just showing up and saving the town, so they're like, you're the Lone Ranger now! Olyphant has played western roles before, including voicing The Spirit of the West (an avatar of the legends and ideals of the wild west modeled on Clint Eastwood's western characters) in the animated film Rango (a lot of the Mandalorian's aesthetic comes from Eastwood's movies).

The Mandalorian theme but softly strummed on a Spanish (nylon string) guitar is very evocative of a border town.

The tuskens represent an Indian tribe. The abandoned mining town. The mysterious stranger who comes to town and saves it. Vanth and Din nearly have a quickdraw shootout! The child is hiding in a spittoon for chrissakes!

It really echoes the 7 Samurai theme of chapter 4. I know it's an overlapping, repeating theme in western film. I guess I was surprised to see it again so quickly.

I don't know how I feel about Din speaking Tusken. Signing was one thing. But I just giggled uncomfortably the whole time feeling it was kinda silly (and I had assumed the reason he signed was because humans couldn't speak Tusken). Was that our big hero, heartthrob, and favorite actor Mr. Pascal sitting in the studio making those noises? Rrrhehh rheh rrhehh! I dunno I'm just. Reeling.

Isn't interesting that Din would annihilate the entire populace of Jawas without batting an eye, but he would do almost anything to protect the Sand People? I know there's something to that, about marginalized/eugenicized groups versus like colonialism and whatever vulture like construct you would attribute to the Jawas. But I'm not smart enough to articulate it.

Okay, so the obvious: Boba Fett. Really shocked to see his armor on someone else. I'd already seen the casting of Morrison, so I wasn't like, "is he dead?" and I knew right away this hick didn't take it off him. I wonder if the Jawas stunned him and removed it. Either way, there's going to be hell to pay. I can't wait to see Din and Boba interact; I wonder how they'll respond to each other. And even though Fett should be in his early 40s (I think) he really looks like hell. I mean, I know he's seen some shit. But I wonder what's been up with him in the last decade or so.

Some stuff I thought I noticed, but I need y'all to help me confirm:

Was that Anakin's podracer engine?

Was that C-3PO graffitied on the wall in the dirty city?

Were we supposed to recognize R5?

There's a couple others but I forgot em. I gotta watch it again.

Some questions:

What was the spherical thing the Tusken Raiders recovered from the beast's remains? The scene mirrored the Jawas and the mudhorn's TSUGA! Tsuga tsuga! Tsuuuga! But that didn't look like an egg. If I didn't know better I would swear it was a pearl. (which almost makes sense if you take into account that this guy eats dirt for a living and could have an organ or extra stomach in there like those gross hard balls they used to pull out of ox bellies) Or was it mentioned earlier and I didn't catch it? There was a lot going on.

What are the sand doggies? They're so cute! And that totally establishes our mans as a dog person. Writers, start your fics!

I'm a bit confused about the town's history. How have the people survived for so long with the beast there? Was it the Krayt dragon that wiped it literally off the map? How does the slaving mining guild fit in there?

It really looks in chapter 4 that those krill are native (it's not explicitly stated tho). If no one even knows where Sorgan is and it doesn't have a big export economy, how do these people in the middle of buttfuck nowhere have spotchka?

On that note, how did that city gangster hear about Fett/Vanth? I mean, I dig that he's a collector of beskar'gam, but like, that's still way out there.

The jingling spurs sound in chapter 5 is deliberately obvious when that mysterious figure comes upon Fennec Shand. Can we assume that's Cobb Vanth there? Because clearly, Fett has been without his armor for a while. If it was Vanth, what did he do with her? I don't believe for a second that she's dead. He's not a bounty hunter and he wouldn't have any idea she was valuable since the Guild had abandoned Tatooine. Barter for help/transportation /goods/labor /etc? Also, if it was Vanth, did he witness the whole thing? If so, he knows who Din is. Maybe knows Toro. I dunno. Lots of thoughts. Did he just stumble upon her while traveling back to his village? I forgot the name already lol Mos Pelegrino?

Okay it's nearly 4 am. I genuinely can't remember if I had anything else to say. Please continue to tag your spoilers cuz I will again not get to view the episode until after y'all do next week. But until then, please come yell at me about our favorite show and space boyfriend. I like crazy theories too.

Love y'all. 😘😘😘

#cobb vanth #The mandalorian #The mandalorian spoilers #Mandalorian season 2 spoilers #The mandalorian season 2 spoilers #Mandalorian spoilers #The child #boba fett #Fennec Shand #pedro pascal #timothy olyphant #temuera morrison

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magneticmage · 3 years ago

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A Web of Betrayal

This is an excerpt from yet another fic I will probably never write. I have a lot of those. Anyways, enjoy!

Cw for sexism, plans of poisoning and Canon death of named characters. Also a discussion of how Orzammar's sex-based system is stupid and artifical binaries do not work in real life because nonbinary and transpeople exist. And enforcement of such a binary system hurts people who do not fit within its demands.

Valda Aeducan was lucky.

She was a princess in Orzammar. Daughter of the King and his noble Queen. Noble Caste and wealthy. Desirable and beautiful.

And yet she felt strangled in unseen webs at times for it.

She had seen her father's favoritism from a long time ago. He favored his sons, particularly his eldest two. It was not that surprising in retrospect, she supposed. Bhelen had been born from a casteless concubine-which had further soured her parents' then already-strained relationship. She had been born a woman, and thus should have inherited her mother's noble caste, not her father's royal one. But her mother had convinced the King to break from tradition for her daughter's benefit. Perhaps with the potential a future alliance of marriage could bring him.

The whole caste system was sexist, really. She had recalled the few times her cousin, Firenze, had broken down in her arms sobbing because they had not fit between their mother's noble caste and their father's casteless one since they did not wish to be male or female. Their brother, Rethan, had been assigned their mother's caste as a noble and he lived in fear for the discovery of his true self and being forced down amongst the casteless, to live in squalor and disease and refuse until he died. Both had gone off into the Deep Roads one day and neither returned. Rumors said that Rethan had escaped to the surface and Firenze had joined the Legion. But they were only rumors.

The caste system was killing them, bit by bit.

Even when one's gender did not affect things, one's caste certainly did. She was a noblewoman and was expected to be chaste and honorable. She had more bodies hidden under her stone caverns to be fed to her spiders and spilled more dwarven blood than quite a few members of the Warrior caste. She had been denied male lovers unless her father had approved of the match. Gorim was proof of that.

It rankled her. Coated her veins in venom and she was not surprised to find her growing disdain was matched with an increasing skill in actual poison and its antidotes.

She saw how Bhelen held the same doubts and frustrations. He was chided and ignored by their father, only gaining attention when he failed drastically. While she was praised for her own combat skills, it was because it was rare and often discouraged for women to become warriors due to the looming threat of broodmothers. Or so her father had explained when she had picked up her brother's sword to practice. She had batted her lashes and played on her father's soft spot as his only daughter and the family's precious jewel, to be safeguarded in Proving fights and not in true Deep Roads expeditions, when she was allowed to fight at all. She had been forced to maintain that image for years. She was as harmless as a nug as far as many nobles were concerned when really all she had been doing was weaving webs of influence and manipulating court intrigue to her family's benefit.

It had only been a matter of time before she had learned of Bhelen's ambitions. He had begun to be more reserved at family meals. But Trian was busy being groomed for heirdom and Barran-her own twin- was focused on both supporting their brother and learning the ways of war for the day he became Commander of Orzammar's armies. Whatever was left of them. No one else noticed the growing frown in their younger brother's expression. The faint hint of mockery in each laugh. The deep exhale of relief the moment he had a moment away from his brothers' shadows.

But she did.

And so she waited.

She did not strike when he took that lovely redhead as his lover. Trian had scoffed and demanded she be kept to her rooms like the dirty casteless woman she was. Barran had scowled and offered to find him a better match when he had time. Bhelen did not listen. Valda did not need to see the tender looks and small touches they hid before each parting to know how deep the affection ran. She even helped the woman by sending her gifts of food and small trinkets in passing over the years-always discreet, of course-and let her presume Bhelen had been the one to send them or whatever she wished to think of them. And her little brother did notice and gave her a questioning look between meals every once in a while after each present arrived. But she only smiled and went back to discussing the ways the various Houses were quarreling again as she cut delicately into her bronto steak.

She did not strike when she saw Bhelen begin to make moves in Dust Town. To ally with the Carta bosses to do his dirty work in exchange for some of the wealth and finer adjustments in life. Trian did not notice a few of his silver buttons went missing and blamed it on the servants as thieves. One poor girl had been beaten so badly that Valda had stepped in and offered the girl a new job instead of cleaning her brother's laundry: to make sure her spiders were fed. She had agreed and despite the healing wounds causing her some delay in being able to work, she had grown extremely adept at managing the caves and the spiders had learned not to harm the girl, even when she took a few of their eggs and venom for herself. Valda did not mind nor ask after her blatant thefts. Being a woman of any rank was hard enough when the men of the noble caste were as inconsiderate and selfish like her eldest brother.

Still she did not strike when Bhelen began to put his plans in motion. He had quietly orchestrated small quarrels between a few noble Houses, pitting them against each other in Provings to test his skills at coercing the upper classes. Barran had bested them all and drawn himself as a target after he ended the conflict through diplomacy. Their father had held a feast in celebration. Trian had all but secured Lady Helmi's daughter's affections by then, bolstering the traditionalists' favor in the Assembly despite Barran's rising own status and favor amongst the reformists and Warrior castes. Bhelen seethed over his wine that night. Until she had slipped him a note with the location of a warehouse full of food and medicine and scraps of old unused fabric and metal from her many, many gowns and armor. He had put the warehouse to use and it was empty within a fortnight, it's contents gutted and distributed amongst his followers.

He had thanked her but did not reveal his plans further.

But they both knew where the rot lay. And they both knew what measures would be needed to remove it.

Still, the entire system did not need to be torn down like he wished. Rebuilt and reconstructed, but not demolished.

So she struck at last.

It was the eve of the expedition and the feast was in full swing. Trian was complaining until his eye had wandered to some lovely noble women wishing to dance and flirt with the heir to the throne. Barran glowed with pride and swagger as he roamed the hall before disappearing with a pair noble-hunters, one on each arm. A third had been sent to Gorim's quarters and Valda did not pretend to hide her jealousy when the woman left with a smile later that night. Luckily, her handmaidens had been more than happy to help calm her anger by giving her tasks until it was time to move. She was still human, after all. She still held regrets sometimes.

If she were not who she was, she might have been able to have him. But the castes were absolute and the Assembly and her father and Harrowmont all valued tradition. Some more than others.

She was waiting alongside his concubine when Bhelen returned to his room, the two of them happily chatting about various skin and hair care regimes and the frustrations of the world's expectations with her future sister-in-law and herself. There was no doubt Bhelen would do anything for his loved ones.

And so would she.

"Sister, I....I did not expect you." He frowned and crossed his arms as he made his way across the room towards the two women.

"I know," She savored her last sip of wine for the evening before setting the glass down, "And I have a proposal, dear brother. I will be blunt since it is time we be honest to, at least, each other."

Bhelen's brows furrowed and the canny intelligence he took great pains to hide gleamed bright and open in his eyes then. "I'm listening."

"I know some of what you have struggled with these past years," She ran a finger around the rim of her glass, letting the sound breathe into the air for a moment before she continued, "Our struggles may not be the same, but we understand that our home is being destroyed by more than the darkspawn. It is being destroyed by ourselves."

Bhelen sat down across from her, gently taking Rica's hand and kissing her knuckles, "Would you mind preparing a bath for me, love? I need a moment to discuss some things with my sister."

Rica nodded and curtesied, "Course. My lady, excuse me."

Valda waved her off, "None of that, my dear. You will be Queen one day. Bow to no one but the ones you love."

Bhelen blinked in surprise and Rica smiled, as pleasant and easy-going as ever, "I will keep that in mind."

As Rica left the room, Bhelen leaned forward, fingers dipping out of view to no doubt reach for his knife sheath. "Queen, sister? Whatever gave you-"

"Honesty," She reminded him simply, "You and I both wish to change the face of Orzammar in our own way. And I believe we can help each other do that."

He leaned back and lifted his hand to stroke his beard for a moment. The gesture was so very much like her father and brothers that she had to bite back a swear. Bhelen, of course, noticed the slip in her mask and smiled, "Yes. Let's be honest, sister. Tell me how you wish to change Orzammar for the better."

"I believe you've had enough of listening to others tell you their goals, brother. " She smiled and set her hands on the table, palms up, "Tell me yours."

There was a pause as Bhelen seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he shook his head, "You will not help me. You do not have the heart for it."

"I have no more heart than you." She countered, "Our brothers are fools, my twin included. If they must be removed to ensure we get where we need to go, then so be it. That is what you planned for with that ex-warrior caste, isn't it? To move the Aeducan shield so you can set them up against each other."

He frowned, "Why would I wish them dead?"

"Because Trian does not respect you and would never change what needs to be done. Barran attempts to help but does not understand the causes of our sufferings."

"And what sufferings are those?"

Valda let her eyes drift towards the screen that separated the running water room of the bath, "You and I were not meant to be what we wish, Bhelen. Your ambition is to do better for the dwarven people, for your lover and your child."

He scowled, "You seem to know a great deal, sister. However did you come across such things?"

"People talk about interesting rumors all the time," Valda responded crisply, "Beyond that, we both know that I cannot name my sources without risking their lives, now can I?"

He chuckled and waved a hand, "You are such a spider queen, sister. If I did not know better, I would say you would much prefer the throne yourself!"

"No." She said.

There was a pregnant pause.

He arched a brow, "Truly? You could have all the power you wish. Any man you want. The Assembly would happily support you."

"The Assembly are old and do not speak for all of our people," Valda looked at her nails. The paint had chipped away a bit somewhere. "I wish to remove the caste system where it harms people. But I cannot be the one to do that."

"And why not?"

"I do not want power, Bhelen. I want people to be able to choose what they are in this world. What we Dwarves become. We cannot do that if a symbol of the old ways does that."

"Elaborate." His brows furrowed as he turned his head to the side to glance at the baths.

"Many people view me as either a copy of my mother or an extension of my brother as his twin." She smiled bitterly, "It is how I have managed to go unnoticed on my own all these years. So, no, I cannot be the one to change our people, but I can help the one who does."

Bhelen shook his head, "You want me to be King?"

"I want to help my brother," Valda corrected quietly, "Because I believe that he will do what he needs to in order to better help our people. All I ask is that I am listened to and my requests are accepted when I have them."

Bhelen met her gaze, "And what requests would you have?"

"A voice of my own to say what I wish, agency to decide things for myself be it marriage or other life prospects, and the dignity of any dwarf has been granted in your new rule."

"That's vague," He pointed out, "What will you do with these favors, if I grant them?"

"Serve our people by ensuring the old nobles do not interfere too much with your work, for one," She brushed aside her ringlets from her armored shoulders, "Ensure the casteless are fed and respected and the darkspawn driven back. Forge alliances and trade. All the same things you are already planning. And a few you haven't accounted for."

"Like?" He questioned.

"You'll find out eventually. You're smart enough, brother. And we promised honesty to each other." She held out her hand, "Now, do we have a deal?"

Bhelen glanced at her hand and seemed to think it over a moment longer. Then he clasped her forearm and they shook, "Very well, sister dear. I will do what you ask so long as you do not betray me."

#Valda Aeducan #my writing things #cw sexism #my ocs stuff #bhelen aeducan is smart and kinda hard to write so i hope i did it write?

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yszarin · 4 years ago

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seen people on twitter talking about what got them through 2020, but twitter scary so I’m just gonna ramble about podcasts here. I’ve loved audio fiction since I was little, when my brother used to bring me big finish doctor who to listen to when I was sick, and they’ve really been great for me this year in terms of... want story but too tired to keep eyes open? podcast. need to do a mundane task but can’t stay on it? podcast. need something on before you sleep because if you leave your brain to its own devices it’ll eat itself? podcast. looking for queer rep? podcast. below the cut I’ve stuck 10 of my favourites of the shows I started listening to this year, and I promise they’re not all from Definitely Human.

Down - fiction, horror - a state of the art submarine with a less than state of the art crew descends into a newly-discovered Antarctic trench, “The Bottomless Pit” for the purposes of exploration and science! This goes about as well as you would expect. Episodes are super short and it’s entirely possible to listen to the whole thing in less than a day, although unfortunately it’s currently unfinished due to covid, so I guess it’s more that in less than a day you, too, could join me in unintentional hiatus hell. It is worth it.

Enthusigasm - nonfiction, talk - Rusty Quill patreon exclusive show in which Helen Gould talks to people about things they enjoy. It just has the loveliest energy, and is exactly what I’ve needed this year. They’ve done episodes on subjects including baking, the horror genre and trash tv, and every one of them has been a joy, even when it’s about stuff I’m not into personally. How RQ manages to consistently produce The Best Content I don’t know, but by god do they do it.

Everything is Alive - interview - Gemma Amor recommended this and she’s usually right about such things. It’s a series of interviews with inanimate objects, all of which are animate now and have things to say. I’m particularly fond of the gay subway seats and was emotionally distraught by the cuddly toy. Very good to listen to to fall asleep.

Marscorp - fiction, sci-fi comedy - Station Supervisor E. L. Hob is awoken from suspended animation on Mars and must do her best to restore the colony’s original purpose of terraforming the planet. If you teased Jonny Sims for naming his main character after himself and also playing him please get ready to forgive him for everything, as you meet Tom Dalling, David Knight, and Dave Price, played by Tom Dalling, David Knight, and David Price, and written by Tom Dalling, David Knight, and David Price. I’m furious.

Pax Fortuna! - actual play, adventure - a rotating group of characters leaves a horrified and occasionally maimed trail of NPCs behind them as they adventure in and around the prosperous island city of Fortuna. The shifting cast works really well, allowing for some PCs who are just objectively terribly people, while keeping the whole thing feeling really fun. Particular favourite PCs are Selwyn Bloodstorm, half-orc in search of gold accidentally ending up with friends, Alfonso Boyo, a necromancer but only in the most bureaucratic and horrifying way possible, and Almira Q Appleby, gnome inventor presenting such items as The Potato Peeler (may contain combat setting) to an unsuspecting public. The series comprises six interconnected smaller stories, each with multiple episodes, all of which are around 25-30 minutes long, which has been a particular joy for me, as someone who has difficulty with episode lengths of over an hour and is so often “I love AP podcasts. love to actually listen to one someday”. Pax Fortuna! is the caramelised nut bowl of actual plays, in that I found it very difficult to stop consuming it, now it’s all gone, and I’m sad. There are only two fics on AO3. Please listen to Pax Fortuna!.

Shadows at the Door - anthology, horror - A collection of quiet horror stories, mixing older tales, both classic and less well-known, and modern ones. The soundtrack is by Nico, one of the editors on TMA and Good Egg, and it turns out, also Skilled Egg at soundtracks. Each story is followed-up by a discussion of its themes, and some tangents. Also very nice to fall asleep to, lots of suggestions of new things to look for, and the stories themselves are well-dramatised.

The Monster Hunters - fiction, comedy - It took me a bit of time to settle into this - I have a tendency to bounce off comedy, apparently - but once I had I was very settled. Roy Steel and Lorrimer Chesterfield are there with fists and brains respectively to hunt monsters and be anything from vaguely to pointedly sexist because it’s the 60s/70s (it is intentional and ludicrous). If you’re familiar with John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme, you can listen out for Simon Kane as Sir Maxwell House. Some nice spooks, especially in the Christmas specials.

The Amelia Project - fiction, comedy - Need to disappear? The Amelia Project will help you fake your death and reappear in a new life. Each episode takes the form of an interview with a new client, in which they tell their story, and the circumstances of their death and next life will be decided. The creators had a stall at PodUK and gave me some Malteasers which it took me approximately 10 months to eat because I didn’t feel like I’d listened to enough of their show to deserve them. Fun fact! There are plenty of chocolate foodstuffs that will take this length of time in their stride and still be as new when you eat them, but Malteasers are not one of them. Luckily finishing off S2 of The Amelia Project has been its own reward, and I still have plenty to go!

The Infinite Bad - actual play, horror - a slowly-forming found family leaves a traumatised and usually dead trail of NPCs behind them despite their best efforts, as they are embroiled in a globe-spanning investigation of horror and mystery. Uses a modified version of the d20 modern system, set in the inter-war period, and, it should be noted, contains depictions of period-typical racism. Other CWs (this list is not exhaustive) include child death, pet death, gore, disease, misc death (so much misc death), so please be careful if you choose to listen. Also contains stairs, the inherent malevolence of citrus products, and things which are viscous.

These Flimsy Rituals - actual play, fantasy - I’m not very far into this one, due to episode lengths, but when I have the spell slots to do so I always enjoy listening to it. I’m in the first bit, which follows a group of people fleeing a living storm. They have some really lovely lyrical bits at the starts of the episodes that I could listen to for hours, I’ve found those of the characters that I’ve met very engaging, and I’m interested to see how it unfolds.

#duck listens to podcasts #I'm sure all of these are already on reclists #from people who are far cooler than I am #and are far better at telling you things are good #but #ALL OF THESE ARE GOOD #also pls rec me things #no thoughts only podcasts

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sxveme-2 · 4 years ago

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blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Fourteen: The One With Her Brother

Warnings: Mention of childbirth

Word Count: 2644

The cool air around the waiting room shrouded a twelve-year-old blonde by the name of Lily Osborne. Wrapped in her cardigan-covered arms was a five-year-old Rose, the younger sister of the eldest Osborne. Just to the right of her sat two conservative grandparents, only moments away from learning if their third grandchild from their daughter would be a girl or boy. So far, the two had only been gifted with granddaughters, two from their other son William, and two from their daughter, Alicia, the mother of the two girls awaiting their newest sibling. Lily had already been through the grief of a new sibling with the little girl that sat in her arms, but it sadly didn't transfer over to the second blonde born from Alicia and Abel Osborne.

The small creek of a door just beside the many uncomfortable chairs stationed behind a small half wall and all four of the family member’s blonde heads popped up. Lo and behold though, it was merely a group of nurses seemingly leaving from their shift. Four collective sighs created harmony throughout the robin egg blue maternity wing waiting room. A heavier head leaned back onto her shoulder and Lily placed a gentle kiss on the bright blonde curls that sat atop of Rose's young head like a mop. Glancing down, Lily saw her little sister’s eyes flutter shut and she let out a gentle sigh, running her fingers up and down the child's thin arms. Just moments later, however, the doors opened once again and a panting Abel Osborne came shooting out with a bright smile plastered on his rugged features.

"Do you guys want to come to meet your new baby brother?"

-----

For as long as Lily could remember, being Cedar's older sister was one of her most sacred pride of joys. Or just being an older sister in general. Especially being so much older than the younger two. Her parents were amazing, sure, and they always did their best with raising the three children. But when it came down to more personal issues and handling things like bullying, friends, or middle school, Lily was their go-to. And she cherished that fact. It was like having her own child, but without a majority of the responsibilities, the mother faced. It helped scratch that maternal itch Lily had since a baby.

Whenever her parents weren't able to, Lily walked Rose and Cedar to school. She was even his emergency contact for high school after their parents, same with Rose. when Cedar began high school, Lily was in her last year of university before beginning med school and handling a one-year-old baby boy and an unhelpful husband, she travelled down to Long Island with Hunter, and joined Cedar for his orientation day when their parents were on a business trip. Everyone thought she was his mother, and the two made a bit of a joke out of it.

Just below a year before that, when Lily and Scott were scrambling together a wedding, it was Cedar who had helped her choose a wedding dress that made her feel beautiful, even while she was four months along in her pregnancy. She was tempted to try and convince Scott to elope, feeling as though she wouldn't find a dress that gave her that moment that made her face light up when she saw herself in the mirror. Luckily, Cedar helped her achieve it.

-----

She didn't want to go, really. It was the last place on earth that Lily wanted to be. Every morning when she looked in the mirror she felt huge. She thought her thighs were getting too big. That her cheeks were getting larger and she felt puffy. All because of the beautiful life growing inside of her. It wasn't her fault. She was four months along in the pregnancy she was handling at the age of 22, all while planning a fairly rushed and impromptu wedding to the father of her unborn child. Even though, if she would admit it to herself, she knew deep down this wouldn't work, and that he wasn't good for her. But she'd never say it out loud.

But today, well, today she just felt awful.

Today was the day that she would be picking a wedding dress. After a whole week of yelling at Lily, her fiancé, Scott, managed to get her to drop the idea of eloping, and instead, funnelling money into a wedding. On top of handling pregnancy and her last year of university. Lily had originally planned to handle this feat alone, feeling self-conscious about having anyone else there. But with her parents and brother now living in her basement, with her brother staying with them over the summer before he would go back to Long Island and stay with his grandparents until Lily gave birth, and their parents would move back home, well...her brother was the only one she couldn't get to stay at her home when she went out.

The boy had just turned 11 and was a pretty stereotypical pubescent boy. But with a much closer relationship with his sister than most kids with the age gap that the two had. Lily depended a great deal on her relationships with her siblings, for she never really talked or even spent time with girls or boys her age outside of school when she was younger. Of course, moving to New York City and over the past few years, she had expanded her bubble.

As the youngest and oldest Osborne sibling arrived at the quaint wedding dress shop in Soho, Lily wished to turn around and avoid any sort of questions about the growing bump that was prevalent on her stomach. Being at this store was the last place Lily wanted to be spending her Saturday afternoon. But alas, the tug of a boy’s hand on her sleeve persuaded the blonde to enter the shop alongside him.

After answering dreadful pregnancy questions from the shop owner, Lily had found the dress. But her hands cupped the growing belly of hers, and those green eyes grew sad as she looked in the mirror. The dress was a spaghetti strap, heart-shaped neckline, lace flower decals dancing across the organza type material, and sliding from her waist in an a-line style. it was loose, flowing, and hid any real evidence of a pregnancy. But Lily knew. She knew what was growing inside of her. What she would look like within two months when the wedding would be taking place. Her stomach even more swollen.

Cedar slowly stood from the couch and walked towards his older sister, taking her hand and looking up at her with the eyes that made Lily realize just how lucky she was. And with a shy nod towards the owner, Lily had found her dress. All thanks to the young blonde boy she called a brother. And those soft eyes.

-----

Ten years later, the two were still as close as ever. Or so she believed. He stood at her wedding party at her and Scott’s wedding when she was twenty-two. He was there when she gave birth to Hunter. God, she remembered the day she went into labour so vividly. And the boy who had informed her distracted parents, and who pushed through the labour alongside his sister, before the actual birth began. She remembered that day so vividly.

-----

Her hand gripped onto the pen she was using to take notes from her online lecture. Being the top student so far in her first year at Medical School had its perks. The professor's offered her online lectures and videos, while she handled the pregnancy. Her brother and parents had taken over the basement, as they came down from Long Island to take care of their daughter, who was very obviously in a neglectful marriage. The cool winds of November whispered secret thoughts to Lily, the window of her office allowing them in.

As Lily went to finish off a note about the fetus in a woman growing, her own decision to take a different approach. A popping deep within her set off a relay of gasps as water trickled down her leg, staining the loose dress she wore over top of her swollen stomach. her hand smacked itself across her lips as a small squeak escaped from her throat. A pair of footsteps ran themselves into the office, catching Lily's eyes as he spotted the water dripping down onto the floor.

"Mom! Dad! Start the car! Lily's water broke!" Cedar exclaimed, holding onto his sister’s hand. The same hand he'd be holding for the next few hours.

—————

Maybe it was the feelings of betrayal that hit Lily the hardest. Before her then sat one of the most important people in her life, handcuffed to a table, waiting to be interrogated by police officers for attempting to break into her ex-husband’s apartment where her child sat, scared to death of the somewhat familiar tone of voice. Or it may have been the disgust that churned deep within her stomach as she came to the realization this was not the same sweet and innocent boy she had last seen a mere few weeks ago when visiting her parents. A boisterous and somewhat playful smile far gone from his face that was now carved full of deep stress lines, with bruises evident on the thin skin below his eyes. This wasn't Cedar Osborne. This was a mere shell of him.

"Sir there must be some sort of mistake," Lily laughed softly, gesturing towards the glass, "That's my brother he would...he would never hurt my son or try to. He's a nice kid how would he—"

"Ms. Osborne, I know this is a shock but this is the man that was caught trying to break into your ex-husband’s apartment." The detective said in a calm tone, "He confessed to it. We just can't get any evidence as to why he may have done it out of him...which is why we called you."

Lily stared at the man in front of her. Her crossed arms dropped to her sides as a look of pure shock took over her previous exasperated and confused face. He wanted her to interrogate her own brother? Try and get him to confess information about a crime he tried to commit against her son. Why Lily wanted nothing more than to smack the living daylights out of the police officer. But then again nowadays she has had this happen often.

"You did not just ask me that!?" Lily exclaimed, "He is my brother, and I know my brother, officer. There has to be a mistake. There has to be! And until you figure out what that is I will not be questioning the same boy that sat by my side at my son’s birth when my husband wouldn't. He is not capable of this. My son is the most important thing to that man and you dare think that he would scare him?" Lily exclaimed, chest heaving.

The officer fell silent. The look in his eyes said it all: he knew this woman wouldn't be interrogating this man. With a curt nod, the police officer spread his arm to guide Lily from the room. Her shoulders moved up and down at a rapid pace as she stormed from the building, her heart racing inside of her chest and pounding in her ears so loudly she couldn't even hear the loud noises from the New York streets. Typically, Lily would wait for an opportunity to cross the sidewalk to her car, but today, she bulldozed through the group of people, fumbling for her keys. The moment the ignition turned on, the tears fell.

The tears ran down her face non-stop as she drove through the streets of New York. Sobs wracked her body as she continued to shake. Lily had no way of comprehending the fact that her own brother was the culprit arrested for attempting to break into her ex-husbands home. Sure it was known that the entire family had a distaste towards Scott Harvey, but the Osborne's were a far from violent family. Docile and subservient almost. It was only when Lily pulled into her driveway when a memory fell on her like a ton of bricks.

-----

'Here Comes Santa Clause' played over the speakers as the Osborne family bustled around the cozy home of Lily's parents’ home. Children played and adults laughed over wine as the previously mentioned woman and her brother slaved away in front of the stove as they prepared Christmas dinner. The two quietly chatted while working on their respective side dish, patiently waiting for the turkey in the oven to finish so they can begin to eat.

"Hey, how's work been going for you?" Lily hummed, working her arm as she continued to mash potatoes.

"Oh yeah," Cedar responded in a gentle tone, "I actually just left the company." he continued, failing to elaborate to Lily as to why on earth he would have left the job as an electrician at a power company that supplied most of Long Island's power.

"Really?" the eldest Osborne huffed, halting her movements and turning to her younger brother, "What happened to your dream of being an electrician?" she wondered, head tilting to the side a bit.

"Offered a different job, better pay," he stated abruptly, turning his back to Lily as he finished mashing the yams that he had been working on.

"I see...where are you now?"

"Dinner's ready!" Cedar yelled, ignoring his sister’s question and pulling the freshly finished turkey from the oven.

-----

Lily felt her heart sink as she recounted the events of the Christmas that had just passed close to a year ago. Her hand slapped itself over her mouth as she came to the realization that her sweet and innocent brother may have very well found himself in a sticky situation. Her mind ran to the worst place she could think of...what if he was working for a hitman agency? No that couldn't be right. HE may be sneaky but Cedar wouldn't be capable of murder.

Shaking her head, Lily pulled her hair back from her face and allowed her breathing to regulate itself once more. God, she felt like everything she knew to be normal was crumbling around her. Everything that she had become accustomed to was falling to pieces and there was nothing she could even do about it. If Cedar was getting invested in solicit and illegal activities, Lily knew she would be the last person he would admit it to. The two had a relationship based on kindness and loyalty...and it broke the blonde's heart, the idea of her baby brother falling into the traps of something horrible.

Stepping from the car, the cool and brisk air of the season chilled the raging heat the flared in Lily's face. Locking her car, the young mother unlocked her front door to hear music playing and the dog going wild. Furrowing her eyebrows and stepping out of her shoes, the blonde made her way down the hall towards the living room where the loud noises were coming from. When she rounded the corner, the sight made all of the pain and sorrow she was just wallowing in mere moments ago fade into distant memories.

Hunter was stationed on Bucky's back as they flailed around to an outdated Justin Bieber song that the blonde boy sang at the top of his lungs, igniting the howls of Joey. With a giggle, Lily dropped her coat and bag and made her way towards the pair, joining in on the singing and dancing. For once, Lily allowed herself to step away from the burden of anxiety and enjoy the moment in front of her.

Her eyes locked with Bucky and she knew, that maybe, just maybe, things could work out.

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