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spookwriter-xo · 1 month ago

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Coppélia

Chapter 8 - The Lightening King

Chapter Summary - A storm hits, igniting an unexpected fear from one of the boys, and bringing him a little closer to Y/N. Y/N decides to investigate Hongjoong's office while home alone.

warnings: trauma-induced fear, oral (f receiving)

Series Masterlist

MINORS NOT ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT

It had been a long time since I'd had company during a storm. However, it was still the same as it was before. I had no one to turn to.

I had been in the kitchen since about 2am, waiting for the storm to pass while sipping on some water to calm my nerves. It was worse when I was alone living in that crappy apartment, I'd usually cower in my bathroom until the storm would pass.

I was sitting on the kitchen counter, far away from the window by the sink. I was usually calm this time, like something supernatural was comforting me. As I sat, another crack of lightning illuminated the room, revealing a silhouette in the doorway.

I let out a yell, luckily muffled by a boom of thunder. The silhouette steps out of the dark, revealing Jongho watching me with a puzzled expression.

"You scared me!" I snap.

"Why are you awake?" He asks, his voice rough from sleep. He steps a little closer, I notice he glances at the window briefly before moving away from it. "I went to check on you-" He shuts his mouth quickly.

"What?" I ask, raising my eyebrow. Did he go into my room?

He stays silent, avoiding eye contact. He sighs, hopping up onto the counter beside me, not looking at me as I just stare at him dumbfounded. This is probably the longest we'd stayed in a room alone together.

He glances at my wrist, his eyes scanning over the healing area. "Does it hurt?" He asks softly, looking at me.

I glance at him before looking down at the cup in my hands. "Not anymore," I answer. The bruise had died down after a few days, I kept it uncovered on purpose so I could rub it in Seonghwa's face a little.

He refused to look at me, not even in passing. Wooyoung and Hongjoong had tried to speak to me, but I'd ignored them. That's what they get for doing nothing. Wooyoung had gotten pouty once he realised I was ignoring him, whining whenever I'd walk away from him if he wanted to talk about his day. Hongjoong seemed to not care, his infuriating grin visible even in my peripherals.

I missed Seonghwa a little, which was strange considering what he had done. Maybe I missed the idea he had fatuated for me.

"Y/N?" Jongho calls out softly, causing me to snap out of my thoughts. "I am sorry... About all this."

"Why are you apologising?" It wasn't his fault, I was the one who agreed to do this, I wasn't forced.

"We should have warned you about things." He says, staring down at his feet that dangled. I took a moment to take in his attire. Rarely did I see them in something as basic as a shirt and sweatpants. Jongho only wore a baggy shirt and grey sweatpants in that moment, a look I could have never imagined on him up until this point.

"I knew I was getting into something shady." I say, "So don't feel bad for me."

Jongho hums softly, glancing at me briefly. "Why are you up so late?" He asks, looking me in the eye for the very first time. His eyes were so calm. Something about them made me want to fall into them and never return to this world.

"I'm scared of thunder." I say, causing him to raise his eyebrow. "You better not laugh." I huff.

"No, it's fine." He chuckles. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't like lightning."

I stiffle a snort. Big, gruff and scary Jongho is scared of lightning? Who would have guessed.

"I'm not laughing at you!" He complains, a small smile spreading across his lips.

"Is there a reason?" I ask, placing my cup down on the counter.

"I suppose." He says, face dropping. "Does your fear of thunder have a reason?" I nod in answer.

The night I left, my father chased me up the stairs in rage. I never thought he'd actually cared that much about my presence to be so angry that I had made it into the Society. I managed to lock myself in my room, but the banging on my door went on for hours. The profanities, the promise of my death, every possible name or slur under the sun was thrown at me that night. I managed to pack a bag and sneak out of my bedroom window, not even bothering with goodbyes.

My mother never came to help. No one did. My sister was too weak at that time to plead with him, and as far as I knew, Chalita was dead. I had no one.

I told Jongho the part about my father, I'd never told anyone about it before. But something about the boy next to me made me want to open up to him, to tell him everything.

He listened, his eyes never leaving my face as I talked for what felt like hours.

"I'm sorry." He says softly, hesitating for my hand before pulling away. "No child should ever go through something like that."

I nod in agreement. I'd come to terms with my shit childhood long ago, like most children of abuse do at a certain age. Though it sticks, you grow from it and vow to never repeat those actions again.

"What about you?" I ask suddenly.

"Me?"

"Why're you scared of lightning?" I ask.

Jongho looks around the kitchen for a moment before speaking. "When I was little, my house caught on fire. Electrical wire in my dads workshop caught on fire while I was at school. My younger brother decided to stay home that day too." He explains.

"I wasn't even there... Yet, for some reason, whenever I see lightning or wires just laying around, I get scared." I nod in understanding, and unlike him, I don't hesitate to take his hand. He looks at me, somewhat shocked before squeezing slightly.

"How old were you?" I ask.

"11." He answers. "I didn't grow up in this life. My families riches was nothing compared to this." He says, gesturing around, referring to the house in general.

"How did you get here then?" I ask.

"Yeosang found me." He says, looking towards the centre island. "I was working as a bouncer for a bar back in college and dealing with these two guys tryna get in without ID. Guess he liked me." He chuckles. I smile at his story. "By the time he convinced me to meet Hongjoong, everyone was almost here. Well, except Wooyoung." He states. "Wooyoung was the last to join."

I listen intently, picking up the small crumbs that I could about these men.

"They aren't that bad." He says, noticing my analysing. "They just... We all have our issues."

"Issues that involve threatening me?" I say, giving him a deadpanned look.

"Well, that was a bit much, I agree." He says with a sigh, looking down sheepishly.

"I just want to be accepted properly." I say, hopping off of the counter to stand in front of him. "I want to know you guys, I don't want to be an outcast or some woman that will one day give Hongjoong an heir." He flinches at my last sentence. I guess they didn't know that I knew of their true intentions.

Asami had laid it out for me during the brunch. I could respect her bluntness in all honesty.

"I don't want to be just an incubator."

"You're more than that." He blurts out. "Mingi can see it. I can see it." He hops down from the counter also, standing in front of me. "Look, I don't want to make excuses for them because what Seonghwa did was wrong." He says, gently tilting my chin up to look at him. "But that doesn't mean that they aren't trying."

"Well... They're not trying very hard." I grumble, causing him to chuckle. A rumble of thunder, which makes me jump in surprise, gripping Jongho's forarms tightly.

"Come on." He says, taking my hand and tugging me along. I follow mindlessly, as he leads me back towards the stairs and to my bedroom.

"I'll stay until you fall asleep." He offers, closing my door behind us. I head to my bed, not hesitating to jump onto the soft sheets. He comes to sit beside me, his feet still firmly on the floor as I sit up to look at him.

"You don't have to." I say softly, but he doesn't get up, only shifting a little closer.

"I want to." He whispers. "I know I don't talk much." He starts, his breath fanning across my face. "But I think you are one of the prettiest women I have ever laid eyes on."

In an instant, I feel his lips on mine, his tongue running across my lower lip seeking entry. I grant it, much to my own surprise, humming softly as he gently moves me to lay down against the soft cushions.

A heat stirs inside me as he pulls away, his hard gaze boaring down at me so intensely my skin felt on fire. I pull him down again, tangling my fingers in his hair, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. He grinds his hips down on mine, desperately seeking friction as his hands scrunch up the sheets around my head.

"Do you want this?" He whispers, his lips hovering close to my ear.

"Yes." I say, voice could barely be heard over the thundering of rain outside. But, he heard me. His lips moved to my jaw, then to my neck, then finally his fingers unbuttoned the first button of my pyjama top to reveal my collarbone and top of my cleavage. He left soft bites and sloppy kisses there. My hand stayed behind his head as he went, my fingers tugging on his hair lightly with every little nibble he punctured into my skin.

He looked up at me through hooded eyes before moving down, his hands spreading my thighs further apart to make space for him before his hands found the waistband of my shorts. A flicker of question flashed into his eyes, darkening once more when I nodded.

He pulls my shorts and panties down together, throwing them towards the end of the bed before lifting my thighs to rest on his shoulders. I could feel his breath, cold against the searing heat of my core.

I laid my head back, waiting for contact with bated breath. He moved his head forward, pressing his tongue flat against my clit to test the waters. When my body jolts, he moves to my core, groaning at the taste before beginning to devour me like it's his last meal.

The storm outside is forgotten. All I can feel is the way Jongho explores and brings me pleasure I have never felt before with only his tongue. I look down, my eyes meeting his as he watches my every reaction, my bodies movements, and facial expressions with every flick of his tongue. He reaches a thumb up to gently circle my clit, causing me to let out a soft gasp.

My moans are soft and high pitched, only stirring him in more as he presses his face impossibly closer, practically smothering himself with my slick.

I can feel my orgasm approaching, the cord in my stomach tightening as I neared the edge. I knew he could tell, the way his thumb moved faster over my clit, bringing me closer and closer as if coaxing me towards release.

I felt something snap, letting out a soft cry as the pleasure washed over me. He helped me through it, not pulling away until my body fell limp and my breathing steadied. He slowly moves back up my body, pressing a gentle kiss to my forhead before laying down beside me.

"What about you?" I ask softly, my voice hoarse.

"I'll be fine." He answers, his strong arm pulling me closer. "You can return the favour another day."

Feeling watched wasn't an odd thing. It had started since the first time I noticed Aurora's portrait, and I found a comfort in it.

The presence didn't feel hostile, despite the lack of affection from the men I lived with, making this odd prison feel a little warmer.

I heard a call of my name on the breeze as it flowed through the winding halls of the estate. It was as if it was beckoning me towards Hongjoongs office, one of two places I was forbidden to go. I knew if he'd found out I went in there, Seonghwas threat would become reality. However, that didn't deter me.

I waited until I was home alone, which was normally between 7am and 5pm on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, giving me plenty of time to snoop. I had no idea what I was looking for in hindsight, but someone wanted me in there. Or something.

Hongjoongs office was a mess. Books staked to great heights and pushed away into corners of the room, his desk covered with so many papers I could only get a glimpse of the desks surface.

I move around the office, careful not to trip on anything as I look at a specific bookshelf full of folders. The folders had names written on the side, all members of high society. I stopped briefly when I saw my own name, the dust on the shelf indicating it had been recently taken down and put back. I looked for others with similar dust patterns. Kim Namjoon, YangYang Liu, Lalisa Manoban. I paused when I saw it, my breath hitching and heart stopping briefly; Chalita L/N. My sister.

Hongjoong had a file on my sister? The one I pursumed dead over 10 years ago. Why?

I take the file, staring down at the cover for a moment before opening it. There were photos from our childhood, of her, myself, and our youngest sister, all smiles without a care in the world. She was 7 years older and was a firecracker, to say the least. I missed her.

I heard the front door open and close downstairs, making the hairs on my arms stand up. Did one of them come home? I glance around, noticing Hongjoongs laptop still sitting on his desk. Shit. I stood my ground despite the fear coursing through my veins. He knew something about my sister, I had to know what.

When his office door swung open, he stood there in shock. For once, I had him by surprise, and it had me thrilled.

"What are you doing here?" Hongjoong snaps, his eyes turning into a glare.

"What do you know about her?" I ask, ignoring his question and holding up the file. "What do you know about my sister?"

"Put it back. You shouldn't be in here." He snaps, stepping closer, but I raise the file in defence.

"Don't tou dare tell me what to do when you've done nothing but lie to my face!" I yell, causing him to step back.

"Okay. I'm sorry." He says gently, holding his hands up.

"Cut the act." I scowl, causing his face to relax into a teasing grin.

"You're picking up fast, Princess." He chuckles, stepping closer and gripping the file and ripping it from my hands. He walks towards the window, gazing down at the cover.

"Chalita is a topic of interest right now." He says simply. He glances at me for a moment, studying me. "So it's true you thought she was dead?"

"How did you-?"

"I know a lot of things." Hongjoong says. "Everyone my men come in contact with, everyone you know, everyone that you will know, I know them all." He says, walking to stand in front of me again.

"How did you know I thought she was dead?" I ask.

"Your father did that. Told everyone that she was years ago." He explains. "Said he found her mutilated, like a victim of The Cobra." He says, noticing the flicker of familiarity in my gaze.

"But she's alive?" I ask.

"Yes." He answers simply, sliding the file back into its place. "Now, should I tell Seonghwa you snuck into my office?"

I scoff. "Do it, when he comes raging, I'll already be out the door." I say, turning on my heel before he stops me, taking my wrist gently.

"He is sorry." Hongjoong says, but I don't turn around.

"It's not an apology if it comes from someone else." I say, ripping my hand away and walking out into the hallway. I stop for a moment. "Maybe you and the others should take notes from Mingi and Jongho. Or have they not told you of our time together?" I ask, turning to see his puzzled expression.

"What?"

"I see they left details out." I laugh, turning once again and heading back towards my room with a skip in my step, knowing full well Hongjoong is watching my every move.

By 8pm I was hiding away in my room once again. I hoped Mingi or Jongho would join me, my stomach feeling giddy at the feeling.

When I heard someone knock on the door, a smile spread across my face. I jumped up and shuffled hastily to the door, only for my smile to drop when I realised that it was neither.

Seonghwa stood there, one hand behind his back and the other reaching out to stop the door from slamming shut in his face. It backfired, his fingers getting wedged roughly in the door causing him to let out a grunt of pain. I swing the door open again in shock, staring at his fingers and then at him.

"Guess that makes us even." He jokes through gritted teeth, cradling his hand against his chest. That's when I noticed it, a box clutched tightly in the hand that was hidden. "Can we talk?"

I blink for a moment, processing his words before foolishly stepping aside. He enters slowly, making his way to my bed and sitting down on the end. I stay standing, opting to sit on the loveseat by the window.

"I'm sorry." He says, breaking the awkward tension. "I shouldn't have reacted that way."

"Yea, you shouldn't have." I say, crossing my arms. He huffs softly, a smile spreading across his face.

"I promise I'll do better to keep my anger in check. I did not mean to hurt you. Understand that." He says, moving now to kneel on both knees in front of me. "You were right with what you said with Jongho. You don't deserve to be just a woman to us when you've accepted us so kindly and without much complaint." He says, flattening my palm and placing the box in my hand.

"What is this?" I ask.

"A peace offering." He says, gesturing for me to open it. I do, shocked by what I find inside.

It's a ring, but not an engagement ring. It was an exact replica of the one each of them had on their finger. Signifying their bond to each other, that they were a family. This ring would mean they were recognising me as one of them. How good did Jongho talk me up?

"Seonghwa.."

"You don't have to accept it right away." He says. "Just- Know that we're trying."

My gaze softens as I look at the ring. The details are so much clearer now, every dent and engraving.

"I know." I whisper, looking up at him. "And I'm trying to."

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theplotmage · 2 months ago

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50 Supernatural Entities to Haunt Your Halloween Night for Paranormal Fantasy Writers:

1. Vampire

Description: Blood-drinking creatures of the night.

What They Do: Feed on the blood of the living, sometimes charming their victims first.

Appearance: Pale skin, sharp fangs, often dressed in dark, old-fashioned clothing.

2. Werewolf

Description: Human by day, wolf-like beast by full moon.

What They Do: Transform into violent wolves and hunt at night.

Appearance: Muscular, covered in fur, with fangs and claws; halfway between wolf and human.

3. Ghost

Description: Spirit of a deceased person.

What They Do: Haunt places they have ties to, usually in a restless state.

Appearance: Translucent, often resembling the person they were in life.

4. Banshee

Description: A female spirit who forewarns of death.

What They Do: Wails loudly to signal someone’s impending death.

Appearance: Gaunt, with long hair and wearing white or gray robes.

5. Poltergeist

Description: Mischievous, noisy spirit.

What They Do: Throws objects, slams doors, and causes disturbances.

Appearance: Invisible but known for chaotic energy and moving objects.

6. Revenant

Description: Corpse risen from the grave for vengeance.

What They Do: Seeks revenge on those who wronged them in life.

Appearance: Decayed and skeletal, with tattered clothing.

7. Wendigo

Description: Cursed, cannibalistic spirit.

What They Do: Feeds on human flesh and spreads madness.

Appearance: Tall, emaciated with antlers and pale, cold skin.

8. Zombie

Description: Reanimated corpse, often mindless.

What They Do: Wander in search of living flesh to consume.

Appearance: Rotting, decayed, with vacant eyes.

9. Ghoul

Description: Creature that feeds on the dead.

What They Do: Raids cemeteries, feasting on corpses.

Appearance: Grayish, decayed, with sharp claws and teeth.

10. Shadow Person

Description: Mysterious dark figure, often seen in peripheral vision.

What They Do: Follows or observes humans, inducing fear.

Appearance: Tall, dark silhouette without detailed features.

11. Lich

Description: Undead sorcerer who achieved immortality.

What They Do: Uses dark magic to control other undead beings.

Appearance: Skeletal, with tattered robes and glowing eyes.

12. Mummy

Description: Reanimated, embalmed corpse from ancient tombs.

What They Do: Seeks vengeance or protects their treasures.

Appearance: Wrapped in bandages, often missing pieces.

13. Grim Reaper

Description: Personification of death.

What They Do: Collects souls of the deceased.

Appearance: Hooded figure in a black robe, carrying a scythe.

14. Succubus

Description: Female demon that seduces men.

What They Do: Drains life energy through intimate encounters.

Appearance: Attractive, sometimes with bat wings and horns.

15. Incubus

Description: Male counterpart to the succubus.

What They Do: Preys on women, draining their life force.

Appearance: Handsome, often with dark or demonic features.

16. Dullahan

Description: Headless horseman from Irish mythology.

What They Do: Rides a black horse, heralding death.

Appearance: Carries their own head, glowing eyes, wearing dark armor.

17. Necromancer

Description: Sorcerer who commands the dead.

What They Do: Raises and controls undead creatures.

Appearance: Dark robes, carrying a staff or book of spells.

18. Hellhound

Description: Fiery, demonic dog from hell.

What They Do: Guards the underworld, hunts souls.

Appearance: Large black dog with glowing red eyes and flames.

19. Draugr

Description: Undead Norse warrior.

What They Do: Guards treasure and attacks intruders.

Appearance: Bloated, decaying corpse with armor.

20. Chupacabra

Description: Beast that preys on livestock.

What They Do: Drains blood from animals, mainly goats.

Appearance: Reptilian, with spines and sharp teeth.

21. Djinn

Description: Ancient spirit capable of granting wishes, often with a trick.

What They Do: Manipulates wishes to harm the wish-maker.

Appearance: Wispy, ethereal, with sometimes human features.

22. Yurei

Description: Vengeful spirit from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Haunts those who wronged them in life.

Appearance: Pale, disheveled, with long, dark hair.

23. Headless Horseman

Description: Decapitated rider seeking revenge.

What They Do: Rides at night, often hunting for a head.

Appearance: Headless, in dark clothing, riding a black horse.

24. Gorgon

Description: Snake-haired monster that can turn people to stone.

What They Do: Hunts or curses those who look upon her.

Appearance: Female, with snakes for hair and a terrifying visage.

25. Kraken

Description: Giant sea monster, often attacking ships.

What They Do: Destroys ships, drags sailors underwater.

Appearance: Gigantic, tentacled beast resembling an octopus.

26. Nosferatu

Description: An older, monstrous version of a vampire.

What They Do: Preys on blood, more feral than elegant vampires.

Appearance: Rat-like features, bald, with elongated claws.

27. Shtriga

Description: Witch from Albanian folklore that preys on children.

What They Do: Sucks life energy from young children.

Appearance: Elderly, shriveled, with a long, pointed nose.

28. Jiangshi

Description: Chinese hopping vampire.

What They Do: Drains life force, hopping instead of walking.

Appearance: Rigid, dressed in ancient attire with a pale face.

29. Aswang

Description: Filipino shapeshifting creature.

What They Do: Hunts humans, especially at night.

Appearance: Changes from human to monstrous form with long tongue.

30. Noppera-bo

Description: Japanese faceless ghost.

What They Do: Terrifies people by erasing their face.

Appearance: Normal human but with a blank face.

31. Kitsune

Description: Fox spirit from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Plays tricks on humans, can possess or enchant.

Appearance: Fox with multiple tails or as a human with fox traits.

32. Rakshasa

Description: Demonic being from Hindu mythology.

What They Do: Devours humans, uses magic to deceive.

Appearance: Animal-like face, often with fangs and claws.

33. Wraith

Description: Malevolent spirit tied to a place of death.

What They Do: Harms those who enter their territory.

Appearance: Shadowy, with skeletal hands and a hooded cloak.

34. Ghast

Description: Larger, more terrifying version of a ghoul.

What They Do: Consumes living and dead flesh.

Appearance: Grayish, skeletal, with sharp teeth.

35. Kappa

Description: Water demon from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Drowns humans and feeds on them.

Appearance: Humanoid with a beak, webbed hands, and water-filled head.

36. Selkie

Description: Mythical seal creature that transforms into human form.

What They Do: Lives as human on land, as a seal in water.

Appearance: Human with soft features, seal-like in water.

37. Manananggal

Description: Filipino monster that detaches its torso to fly.

What They Do: Feeds on unborn children and blood.

Appearance: Upper body separates and grows wings at night.

38. Gashadokuro

Description: Giant skeletal monster from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Crushes and devours people.

Appearance: Enormous, skeletal, with fiery eyes.

39. Pontianak

Description: Vengeful female spirit from Malaysian folklore.

What They Do: Attacks men, especially those who wronged her in life.

Appearance: Beautiful, but transforms into a blood-stained, terrifying figure with long nails.

40. Strigoi

Description: Undead creature from Romanian folklore, precursor to modern vampires.

What They Do: Rises from the grave to feed on blood or energy.

Appearance: Gaunt, pale, with sharp teeth, sometimes bearing claw-like nails.

41. Demon

Description: Evil entity from various mythologies.

What They Do: Possesses or torments humans, spreading chaos.

Appearance: Often with horns, red skin, and menacing features, sometimes invisible.

42. La Llorona

Description: “The Weeping Woman” from Mexican folklore.

What They Do: Wanders near bodies of water, crying for her lost children.

Appearance: Pale, drenched in white, with a sorrowful, ghostly presence.

43. Kelpie

Description: Shape-shifting water spirit from Scottish folklore.

What They Do: Lures people, usually children, into water to drown them.

Appearance: Often a beautiful horse, but can appear as human.

44. Dybbuk

Description: Malevolent spirit from Jewish folklore.

What They Do: Possesses living people, usually to fulfill unfinished business.

Appearance: Invisible, but exerts dark energy around the possessed.

45. Hag

Description: Wicked, old woman often associated with witchcraft.

What They Do: Casts curses, manipulates people, sometimes feeds on fear.

Appearance: Elderly, with wrinkled skin, often carrying magical trinkets.

46. Mare

Description: Spirit that causes nightmares.

What They Do: Sits on the chests of sleeping people, creating disturbing dreams.

Appearance: Shadowy, mist-like figure, sometimes with a vague human shape.

47. Fenrir

Description: Gigantic, mythical wolf from Norse mythology.

What They Do: Destined to bring about Ragnarok, devouring gods.

Appearance: Massive, fierce wolf with powerful jaws.

48. Tengu

Description: Supernatural creatures from Japanese folklore, part bird and part human.

What They Do: Mischievous or malevolent; protect forests and mountains.

Appearance: Humanoid with bird wings, red face, and often a long nose.

49. Doppelganger

Description: An exact double or duplicate of a living person.

What They Do: Appears to forewarn misfortune or even bring harm.

Appearance: Identical to a specific person, but with an eerie, lifeless presence.

50. Nightmare Horse

Description: Fiery, demonic horse that haunts dreams and the night.

What They Do: Gallops through night skies, bringing fear to those who see it.

Appearance: Black horse with glowing red eyes and flaming mane and hooves.

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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months ago

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Dream A Little Dream of Me | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 6433

A/N:: There’s a Sherlock reference in here… let me know if you find it!! Lol I did a “New Girl” quote scavenger hunt once, and they’re a lot of fun! So… part 2 to movie/TV quote scavenger hunt.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Everything Ruby had told you was hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d been smoking a lot more regularly over the past few days, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that it was worrying Dean. The two of you were physically together, but you both knew your minds were elsewhere.

The reality of the situation was that there was no way for you to save Dean. It completely shattered your heart, but you knew it was true. As much as you were trying to enjoy the last few months you had with him, it was incredibly difficult knowing what he would be facing very soon.

However, you didn’t have much time to focus on your woes. Dean had gone out to find Sam who, to your surprise, was at a bar at two in the afternoon drowning in whiskey. You couldn’t blame him, really, given your similar condition. Dean was pacing and worried as soon as he got back to your motel room. His rampage at Sam’s poor decision making, though, was disrupted by a distressing phone call.

***

It was Bobby. The maid had found him in his motel room unconscious, and she’d feared him dead. Thankfully, he was alive, but he was comatose. The doctors explained to you that he was physically perfectly healthy but just… sleeping.

“Mr. Snyderson,” the doctor addressed Dean, “you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?”

Dean shook his head, looking a bit bewildered. “No, he- he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch cold.”

“Is there anything you can do?” you asked the doctor.

“Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep and didn't wake up.”

Your heart sank further into your stomach.

***

You helped the brothers search Bobby’s perfectly clean motel room where you eventually found his research and newspaper clippings hiding behind his clothes in the closet.

“Pittsburgh” was scrawled in big letters next to pictures of various foliage, maps, and newspaper clippings.

“Good ol’ Bobby, always covering up his tracks,” Dean chuckled, given the rack of clothes his research was hidden behind.

“You make heads or tails of any of this?” Sam questioned, looking over Bobby’s research.

You plucked a piece of paper off the wall. “ ‘Silene capensis’,”you read. “Oh, god, I know that name.”

“Well, you keep workin’ on that, sweetheart. ‘Cause that means absolutely nothing to me,” Dean commented.

“Here,” said Sam. “Obit.”

The two brothers read over the death of a doctor who’d fallen asleep and simply never woke up; just like Bobby.

You continued to think on the plant. Suddenly, you realized what it was. “Guys, African dream root. I couldn’t think of it immediately ‘cause it’s more commonly known as ‘silene undulata’. It’s supposed to induce lucid dreaming or something.”

“Alright, um…” Sam thought aloud. “So let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something that started hunting him.”

“Alright, stay here,” Dean instructed you and Sam. “See if you can make heads or tails of this.” He pointed to the closet.

“And where are you going?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself,” he smirked, referring to the first victim.

***

You and Sam were silent for quite some time. Both of you were too drained to speak, it seemed. Your heart was hurting, and you knew Sam’s was, too. You tried your best to focus on researching the news clippings in front of you, but your mind would always pull you elsewhere.

“You okay?”

You’d forgotten Sam was in the room with you if you were being honest.

You nodded halfheartedly.

Sam sighed. “Yeah, uh, I’m in the same boat.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore, man,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and throwing your notepad down. “I know there’s nothing we can do, and that almost makes it feel worse.”

“I get it,” Sam replied quietly. “And now, Bobby, and I just… why does everyone I love die, (Y/N)?” His voice cracked a bit and tears flooded his eyes.

“I wish I had the answer, man; I”m searching for it myself,” you said. “And it just… There’s nothing I can do to make this feel better. And I feel like I just got Dean, and now—” You dropped your head. “I’m sorry. Not trying to treat you like my therapist.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not.”

“And I think the worst part is that Dean is terrified. And there’s nothing I can do or say to save him from that,” you continued.

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d be a little more honest with me about that,” Sam remarked.

“I’m his girlfriend, Sam,” you reminded him. “He’s not gonna wanna talk sob-story with his little brother.” You could see you weren’t getting through to him. “Take it from an older sister: we’d rather get our gums scraped than admit fear or stress to our baby siblings. Trust me, if Steven was still around, and I was in Dean’s shoes, I’d be doing the same thing.”

“Well, it’s crap,” Sam argued. “You don’t have to protect us.”

“It’s not about protecting you. It’s about being strong for you. It’s keeping our emotions at bay so that you have all the room in the world to express yours.”

Sam hung his head low. You could tell he was frustrated, but he understood what you were getting at.

Then, your phone rang. “Hey, Dee. What’s up?”

“So,” he began, “Looks like our Doc was running freaky sleep experiments on his patients. Guy I talked to said it felt like an acid trip.”

“African dream root ‘ll do that to you,” you replied.

“Yeah, sounds like he was putting it in a tea,” he explained.

“What’s the move now?” you asked.

“Goin’ to see Bobby. Meet me there,” he instructed.

***

You and Sam did as told. You found Dean sitting beside Bobby’s bed.

“How is he?” you asked as you entered the room.

Dean rubbed a hand over his chin as he turned to look at you. “No change. What you got?”

Sam held files in his hands that compiled your and his research. “Turns out, dream root isn’t just for lucid dreaming.”

“Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey,” Dean snarked.

“No, jackass,” you deadpanned. “If you believe the legends, it's used for dreamwalking. Entering another person's dreams; poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends,” Dean nodded.

“When don't we?” Sam said. “But dreamwalking is just the tip of the iceberg. I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad.”

It was clear by the look on Dean’s face he understood what Sam was getting at. “And killing people in their sleep?”

You and Sam nodded solemnly.

Dean sighed.

“So, let's say, uh— let's say, this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim-Leary-style,” suggested the brunet. “Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby?” Dean questioned. “I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.” You stared down at the old man’s resting form. It was the only time you’d ever seen him without him seeming like he carried a tremendous weight on his shoulders.

“So, how do we find our homicidal sandman?” Dean questioned.

“Could be anyone,” Sam shrugged.

“Anyone who knew the doctor; had access to his dream shrooms,” the older one nodded.

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?” you suggested.

“Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean, I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were,” Dean replied.

Sam scoffed.

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison.

The brunet sighed. “In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean seemed to have a “eureka” moment, and a smirk crawled across his face. “You know what? You're right.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Let's go talk to him.”

“Uh, Dean, that conversation’s gonna be very one-sided,” you said, confused.

“Not if we're tripping on some dream root,” he smirked down at you.

Sam huffed. “What?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Sam,” you considered.

“We have no idea what's crawling around in there,” Sam argued.

“Well, how bad could it be?” Dean shrugged.

“Bad.”

“Dude, it's Bobby.”

The younger Winchester considered for a moment. “Yeah, you're right. One problem though. We're fresh out of African dream root, so unless you know someone who can score some…”

“We do, actually,” you said. “Not thrilled about it, though.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Bela.”

“Crap,” both brothers groaned.

Sam quirked a brow. “You're actually suggesting we ask her a favor?”

“I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but it’s our only shot,” Dean grimaced.

You turned out of the hospital room and began clicking buttons on your phone. The brothers took the lead, and you began to follow them out to the Impala.

“Hi, darling,” Bela said. The phone had barely rung once.

“So good to hear your voice,” you sassed.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Bela replied.

“Flirting’s over, though, angel, mommy’s had enough now,” you smirked, and Dean gave you a both bewildered and lascivious look over his shoulder. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Aw, and here I thought you were calling because you missed the sound of my voice,” the woman replied.

“Promise I’ll check in more often,” you said. “Can you get your hands on some African dream root for me?” You sat down in the car, and Dean began to drive.

She sucked in some air through her teeth. “I think you know what’s coming next.”

“And here I thought you’d give me a freebie,” you sighed playfully.

“You are a stunner, love, but a lady’s got to pay her bills. Dream root’s a tricky thing to get my hands on.”

“Well, I haven’t really got much to offer you,” you said, feeling dejected. “And it’s not just for me to trip balls on. It’s for a close friend. Bobby Singer. He’s sick.”

“I wish I could help, really, but I can’t just fork it over for free. I’ll see you around, then, (Y/N).” And the phone clicked off.

You sighed.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean questioned sarcastically.

“Fuck off,’ you replied.

***

Back in Bobby’s motel room, Sam sat at the desk with his head in his hands. He’d likely fallen asleep about thirty minutes ago at this point, and you and Dean were reading through some of the doctor’s papers.

“Dean, I’ve been wanting to ask,” you whispered, “were you okay with what I was saying to Bela earlier?”

He gave you a confused look.

“I mean, we’ve never really had a conversation about exclusivity or anything, but my interest is solely in you. I love you, and I don’t want what I said to her to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you continued.

Dean thought for a moment. “It really didn’t bother me. Thought it was hot, actually.”

You snorted. “Always thinkin’ with your dick, huh?” Just then, Sam let out a moan in his sleep.

Dean gave you a surprised look and seemed like he was going to burst out laughing at any moment. “Looks like Sammy is, too.”

“Ew, gross,” you shuddered, scrunching up your nose.

“Sam,” Dean called over his brother’s broken moans. “Sam,” he called a little more forcefully. “Sam!”

The younger brother’s head shot up, and he quickly brushed his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Dude, you were out,” Dean snorted. “And making some serious happy noises.”

Sam looked incredibly uncomfortable, and he refused to look in the direction of you and his brother.

The latter kept teasing poor Sam. “Who were you dreaming about?”

“What? No one. Nothing,” he stuttered.

“C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?”

“No.”

Dean gave you a smirk before saying, “Brad Pitt?”

That got Sam to turn around. “No. No! Dude, it doesn't matter.”

“Whatever.” The older brother rolled his eyes. “Well, since Bela’s a no-go, we’ve been tryin’ to make heads or tails of the Doc’s notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do.”

Sam remained seated in his chair with his back to you.

Dean looked at him expectantly. “You gonna come help us with this stuff?”

Sam looked around, down to his lap, and then shifted uncomfortably to a standing position. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

You looked to Dean suspiciously and grabbed your gun from beside you. Pressing the barrel to the back of the door, you opened it a crack. To your surprise, it was Bela.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed.

You opened the door for her to come in, confusion etched across your face.

“You called me. Remember?” she said, raising a brow.

“And I remember you turning me down,” you replied.

“Well, I'm just full of surprises,” she smiled. Bela turned to Sam, who awkwardly waved over his shoulder.

“Hey, Bela. What's going on?” he said strangely.

Suddenly, it hit you. ‘Oh, my fucking god. He was dreaming about Bela!’ You were definitely going to give him hell later.

“I brought you your African dream root.” Bela handed a jar of it to you. “Nasty stuff and not easy to come by.” She dropped her purse next to the television and began to take off her coat which caused a hitch in Sam’s breath that you would have missed had you not been paying such close attention to him since your realization.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Dean asked her.

“What? I can't do you a little favor every now and again?” the woman replied, slipping her coat off.

“No. You can't,” was Dean’s gruff response. “Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them.” Bela turned to you. “You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you.”

That piqued yours and Dean’s interest. “Bobby? Why?” Dean asked.

“He saved my life once. In Flagstaff.”

Dean looked down at you and you, up at him, but you ended up just shrugging at each other.

“I screwed up, and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?” Bela huffed.

“Maybe,” Dean replied.

“So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?” she questioned, looking down at the jar.

“No offense, lovebug, but I don’t trust you enough to be in the same room with you for more than fifteen minutes, let alone Bobby’s head,” you told her.

Dean took the jar from you and put it in the safe with the Colt.

“And here I thought we were becoming such good friends,” she replied. “It's 2 AM. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Get a room,” Dean responded. “Ah, they got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it.”

“You…” she trailed off, grabbed her bag and coat in a huff, and slammed the door behind herself despite Sam calling after her, “Nice to see— Seeing you… Bela.”

When the door shut behind the woman, you turned to Sam with a wide grin. “You dirty whore!”

“What? What?!” he asked.

“Well? Does she give good head?” you smirked wickedly.

Sam’s cheeks immediately flushed, and Dean just looked between you and his brother completely bewildered.

***

Almost an hour later, you and the Winchesters were downing disgusting dream root teas with a strand of Bobby’s hair mixed in to enter the man’s head.

“Feel anything?” Dean asked you.

You shook your head. “Sam?”

“Nothing here.”

You looked down at your cup, a bit disappointed.

“Maybe we got some bad shwag,” Dean suggested.

Just then, thunder clapped and rain pattered the window.

“When did it start raining?” you wondered aloud.

Dean wandered over to the window, and you followed close behind. He opened the windows to find the rain not coming from the sky, but from the ground. “When did it start raining upside down?” he questioned.

Then, you noticed your surroundings were changing. Next to Sam was no longer two beds, but a couch; an old-fashioned one at that. You turned back to Dean, and the window you’d been looking out of had turned into a fireplace.

“What the fu—” you muttered.

“Okay, I don't know what's weirder: the fact that we're in Bobby's head, or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens,” Dean snarked.

“Wait. Wait a sec. Imagine the place, uh, without the paint job.” Sam started gesturing to the corners of the room. “More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place.”

“It’s Bobby’s house,” Dean realized. “Bobby?!” he called.

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up, and you felt as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around to the window above the kitchen table, but you couldn’t see anyone. Still, something didn’t feel right. You turned toward the stairs and whispered, “Bobby?”

Still, you were suspicious of what was happening outside. “Dean?” you called. “I'm gonna go look outside.”

Dean whispered, “No, no, no, stay close.”

“Dee, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, walking up to him to leave a kiss on his cheek. “Pinky promise.”

He rolled his eyes, his face turning ever so slightly pink, and a smile played on his lips as he locked his pinky with yours. You loved that you could pull that reaction from the Dean Winchester with something so simple as a kiss on the cheek.

“Don't do anything stupid,” Dean told you.

“C’mon, it’s me we’re talking about,” you smirked, walking backward toward the door and still facing Dean.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he remarked playfully.

You scoffed and headed outside. As soon as you opened the door, though, you found it was no longer raining. In fact, bright sunshine streamed down.

You were confused to say the least. Walking down through what would be the junkyard if you were in the real world, you found Bobby’s station wagon. However, it looked much newer and cleaner than it would in your real life. The walkway was well-manicured, and beautiful flowers lined the path leading to Bobby’s front door.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind you. You immediately spun around and tried to reopen it, but someone had locked it.

“Dean!” you hollered. You headed over to the window that overlooked Bobby’s kitchen table and banged on it harshly. “Dean!”

Despite the fact that you could very clearly see him through the window, he didn’t react to you calling his name or hitting against the glass. Still confused, you headed down the porch.

A beautiful little pond with flowers surrounding it came into view as you walked further into the backyard. You wished in that moment that you’d figured out a way to bring a gun or a knife into Bobby’s head before you drank the dream root tea.

When you walked past a line of washed sheets hanging out to dry, you got that feeling again; as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around just to get hit with a bat across your chest. Winded, you fell to the ground, heaving painfully. “Motherfucker,” you wheezed. A hand to your shoulder, you pushed yourself up on your elbow to face the college-aged man who’d hit you. “Who are you?” you asked in as tough a voice as you could muster.

“Who are you? You don't belong here,” the man replied.

“You're one to talk,” you scoffed. “You're in my friend's head.”

“You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defense. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me,” the man spat.

“Uh, if he was coming after you, it’s ‘cause you killed somebody,” you told him.

“You should be nicer to me. In here... you're just an insect. I'm a god.”

“You’re overcompensating,” you responded dryly. “The ol' two-incher not workin’ how you want it to?”

The man’s face twisted, and he raised his bat again. “Sweet dreams.”

Before you could react, you woke up with a start back in your motel room bed next to Dean. You were actually still holding your empty cup.

The older Winchester turned to you as soon as he realized you were back in the real world. “You okay?”

You nodded. “You?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “We found Bobby.”

“You did?” you asked.

“And his, uh, wife,” Sam added. “Looked like he had to kill her. I’m guessing it’s how he got into hunting.”

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Speaking of, we should probably go get him.”

***

With Bobby back in your motel room, he immediately began looking over the papers from the doctor’s research.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said. “That, uh— That stuff, all that stuff with your wife? That actually happen?”

“Everybody got into hunting somehow,” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Dean replied.

“Don't be sorry. If it weren't for you, I'd still be lost in there. Or dead.” He held Dean’s gaze with the most intensity and meaning you’d seen Bobby look at anyone. “Thank you.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward into a smile.

Sam burst back into the room at that moment. “So, uh, stoner boy wasn't in his dorm. My guess is he's long gone by now.”

“He ain't much of a stoner.” Bobby picked up a picture of the guy who’d attacked you.

“No?” You cocked your head to the side.

“No,” Bobby replied. “His name's Jeremy Frost. Full-on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ. Which is sayin' some, considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head.” He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Sam. “Here's Father of the Year. He died before Jeremy was ten.”

Sam grimaced at the photo. “Looks like a real sweetheart.”

“Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand. He hasn't dreamt since,” Bobby finished.

“Till his whole Freddy Kruger thing,” you nodded.

“How'd he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?” Dean questioned the older man.

Bobby shrugged. “Hey, he was rooting around in my skull. God knows what he saw in there.”

“Yeah. How'd he get in there in the first place? Isn't he supposed to have some of your hair, your DNA, or something?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “ 'Fore I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it. Dumbest fuckin’ thing.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Oh, I don't know. It wasn't that dumb.”

Your face dropped. “Babe, you didn’t.”

“I was thirsty?” he winced.

Sam huffed angrily. “That's great. Now he can come after either one of you.”

“Well, now, we just have to find him first,” Dean tried.

“We better work fast,” Bobby urged, “and coffee up. Because the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

***

Two days later, Dean was losing his mind. “I mean, this Jeremy guy's not a fuckin’ ghost. Where the hell could he be?” He was sitting at the wheel of the Impala twitching a bit.

“Dean, you sure you don't want me to drive? You seem a little…” Sam trailed off when his brother gave him a strong look. “...caffeinated.”

“Well, thanks for the news flash, Edison!” Dean grumbled. He tried to grab his ringing cell phone from his pocket, but his twitching hands fumbled.

You took the phone from him gently and answered it. “Tell me you got something,” you pleaded.

“Strip club was a bust, huh?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“That was our last lead,” the old man sighed.

“What the hell, man,” you wondered aloud. “What’s Bela got?”

“What do you got, Bela?” you heard him ask her.

“Sorry,” you heard her say distantly. “Sometimes the spirit world is in a chatty mood, and sometimes, it isn't.”

“She's got nothing.”

You repeated Bobby’s statement to the rest of the car.

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. “Great! Well, I'm just gonna go blow my brains out now!” He angrily grabbed the phone from your hands, and you did your best not to scold him. Dean began speeding back toward the motel, but after a few minutes, he pulled off to the side of the road in the woods. “Alright, that's it. I'm done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned.

Dean slid down in his seat, resting his head on the back of it. “Taking myself a long-overdue nap.”

You lurched forward putting your face next to his. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Dean, Jeremy can come after you,” Sam reminded his brother.

“That's the idea,” the older man replied nonchalantly. “Come on, guys, we can't find him, so let him come to me.”

“On his own turf? Where he's basically a god?” you mimicked Jeremy’s words from when he beat you.

“I can handle it,” he shrugged.

“Not alone, you can’t,” you stated firmly.

Sam reached over and pulled out some of Dean’s hair.

“Ow!” His hand flew up to rub where Sam had plucked from. “What are you doing?”

“We’re comin' in with you,” Sam said plainly.

“No, you’re not,” the other Winchester scoffed.

“Why not?” you asked him. “At least, then, it’ll be three against one.”

“ 'Cause I don't want you digging around in my head.”

“Dean, what am I gonna find up there you don’t want me to see?” you asked. You’d always trusted him, but you were worried about what his response would be.

“Not you, (Y/N). Sam. There’s some things my kid brother shouldn’t know about me,” Dean grumbled.

To say you were relieved was an understatement.

“Too bad,” Sam responded. He had already mixed the teas and handed you a cup.

You took it and chugged the whole thing; desperately trying to ignore the foul taste. However, nothing changed.

“Dean,” Sam said, hitting his brother on the arm forcefully.

Dean jerked up. “For the love of god.” He looked extremely tired and confused. “What are we still doing here?”

“No idea,” you answered.

Suddenly, you heard a sound outside the car.

“There's someone out there,” Sam said, on high alert.

You walked around to the front of the car, and to your surprise, you were sitting on a little blanket with a picnic basket. She— well, you— smiled at Dean, not seeming to notice you or Sam.

“Hey. You gonna sit down?” the dream version of you asked Dean.

He didn’t move, he just gawked.

“Come on,” Dean’s dream-you said. “You know how I feel about you keeping me waiting.”

Dean turned to the real you, a bit embarrassed.

You smiled up at him as his dream-version of you said, “Dean. I love you.”

Suddenly, the whole scene began to shake. Everything disappeared.

“Where'd she— you— go?” Dean asked.

Just then, you spotted Jeremy coming out from behind a tree. Sam took off after him, and you and Dean soon got separated from him. The two of you called out to Sam, but it was no use. You turned back to see that the woods you’d run through had disappeared. Instead, the hallway of an unkempt motel laid before you.

“Stay close,” Dean instructed you, beginning to walk down the hallway. The door at the end of it opened just before you and Dean reached it. An equally gloomy room appeared behind the scratched-up door.

You could hear a clicking sound coming from within the room, and then, you saw the light on the desk clicking on and off. “Jeremy?” you asked.

The clicking stopped, the light remaining on, and you finally got a good idea of who you were looking at. “Dean,” you breathed out.

“Hey, Dean,” the dream version of your partner said.

“Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun,” your Dean smiled.

“We need to talk,” said dream Dean.

The two began to circle each other, and you remained in the corner.

The real Dean nodded. “I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it? Huh? Kind of like the Superman III junkyard scene? A little mano y mano with myself?”

“Joke all you want, smart-ass. But you can't lie to me. I know the truth.”

The real Dean stopped by the desk, and the dream version stood by the door closest to you.

“I know how dead you are inside,” the dream version sneered. “How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see.”

“(Y/N), don’t listen. It’s not true,” your Dean assured you when he saw how your heart broke for him. However, you knew that the dream version wasn’t lying; how could he? After all, this was Dean’s imagination you were in.

“Why do you think I’ve got her here?” the dream Dean spat. “She’s gonna get to watch the show.”

“Sorry, pal. It's not gonna work.” Despite how visibly shaken the real Dean was, he tried to smile through it. “You're not real.”

“Sure I am. I'm you.”

“I don't think so. 'Cause see, this is my siesta. Not yours.” The real Dean raised his arm. “All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye.” He tried it once. Then, a second time, and then, a third, and still, nothing happened.

“I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Neither is she,” the dream version smirked wickedly. The door slammed shut and locked behind him.

The real Dean’s face hardened into sincerity. “Let her go,” he commanded.

“No, Dean,” the other version said. “She deserves to know the truth. She deserves to know what kind of monster she’s involved with. Like I said, we need to talk.” He raised his hand to reveal a sawed-off shotgun. “I mean, you're going to Hell, and you won't lift a finger to stop it.”

The two began to circle each other again, and you stayed frozen in place.

“Talk about low self-esteem,” the other Dean continued to taunt, chuckling. “Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?”

Your Dean muttered to himself, “Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up.”

“I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of Sam and pretty little (Y/N) here.” The other version of Dean stopped walking by the desk, and your Dean stopped next to you. Your version gave you a pleading look, although you weren’t sure what he was asking you to do in this situation.

The dream version continued his assault. “You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”

The real one tried to smile through it, and you knew the brave face he was putting on was mostly for your sake. “That— That's not true.”

“No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's,” the dream Dean stated. “Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?”

The real version scoffed.

“No. No, all there is is, ‘Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!’ You can still hear your dad's voice in your head, can't you?” the dream version pressed. He motioned with the gun toward his head. “Clear as a bell.”

“Just shut up,” the real Dean gritted through his teeth.

The dream one lowered the gun. “I mean, think about it.” He stalked toward your Dean, and you were still frozen in place; undoubtedly by the dream version’s doing. “All he ever did is train you, boss you around. But Sam? Sam, he doted on. Sam, he loved.”

“I mean it. I'm getting angry,” your Dean growled.

The other version of himself refused to stop, though. “Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument.” His voice had gotten hard and angry now. “Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?”

“Son of a bitch!” the real Dean shouted angrily, shoving the other version into the wall above the desk. “My father was an obsessed bastard!”

The dream Dean tried to get up, but the real one knocked him down again. Your Dean picked up the weapon and hit the other with the barrel across the face before pinning him to the wall with it.

“All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He—” the real Dean had gotten so choked up, and you wanted nothing more than to run to him. “He's the one who let Mom die— who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!” the real Dean had beaten the other so hard, it looked as though he was dead. Blood was splattered across his face, and his eyes were closed.

Suddenly, the dream version awoke again. His eyes were completely black upon reopening them. “You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this? This is what you're gonna become!” He stood up and began to stalk toward the real Dean, but just like that, you woke up.

You shot up from your seat in the Impala frantically searching for Dean; demon or otherwise. You were relieved to find him in the front seat.

The sun had begun to come up some time while you slept. Dean was completely silent for the drive back to the motel while Sam informed you and Dean what he’d done to stop Jeremy.

“How’d you do that, Sammy?” you questioned.

“I don’t know, I just sort of concentrated, and it happened, y’know?” he replied.

“What happened?” you pressed.

“I made him see his dad. And, uh, some kind of way, one hit from his dad was enough to kill him.”

“Damn,” you breathed out as Dean rolled the Impala to a stop in front of the motel.

Sam walked ahead of you and Dean toward Bobby.

You hung back with Dean.

“(Y/N), I don’t wanna talk about what you saw in there,” he said as soon as the two of you were alone.

“We don’t have to,” you replied. “But when you’re ready— if you ever are— I’m here. And I still love you. No matter what.” You smiled up at him lopsidedly with your hands in the front pockets of your jeans.

To show you he loved you, too, he pulled you forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You responded by leaning up and kissing his cheek. And then, he pulled you into a kiss on your lips. Your arms wound around his neck almost like a reflex, and Dean’s arms went around your lower back, holding you tightly to him.

Sam then interrupted your kiss by asking, “Uh, guys? Come see.” When you entered the motel room, Bobby was pacing angrily.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Bela’s not in her room. She’s not answering her phone,” Sam responded. “She must’ve taken off or something.”

“Just like that? It's a little weird,” Dean said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, what's weird is why she helped us in the first place,” Bobby replied.

“I thought you saved her life,” you said. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach suddenly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bobby questioned.

“The thing in Flagstaff,” Dean continued.

Bobby turned to look at you and Dean, who were still idling by the door. “That thing in Flagstaff was an amulet. I gave her a good deal, that's all.”

Dean’s face dropped, and the panic you were feeling was beginning to set in for him as well.

“You kids better check your pockets,” Bobby said, an edge in his voice.

All three of you began to feel around your jackets and pants.

“Not literally.”

You then followed Dean’s gaze toward the safe in the closet. Dean immediately headed over, muttering, “No, no, no, no.” He opened it, and it was empty.

“The Colt,” Sam breathed out. “Bela stole the Colt.”

Dean slammed the safe shut angrily.

“Damn it, kids!” Bobby huffed.

“Pack your crap,” Dean asserted, stomping over to his bag on the couch.

“Why? Where are we going?” Sam asked.

“We're gonna go hunt the bitch down,” Dean said.

Your anger was simmering just below the surface. You were angry at yourself for beginning to build a friendship with her and for not thinking she’d find a way to get something over on you.

You followed Dean out to the Impala where Sam was putting his bag in the trunk.

“Hey, Sam. I was wondering. When you were in my head, what did you see?” Dean asked.

“Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out that way, I guess.”

Dean scoffed.

“What about you?” Sam asked. “You never said.”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.” Sam looked to you as you began to put your bag in the trunk, and Dean moved around to the driver’s seat. Despite not enjoying lying to Sam, you just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly.

When you got down into the car, Dean looked thoughtful. You were expecting him to take off immediately, but he hesitated.

“Sam,” he began.

“Yeah?”

You were intrigued as to where this was going.

Dean couldn’t look at his brother. “I've been doing some thinking, and... Well, the thing is... I don't wanna die.”

You closed your eyes, your heart saddening.

“I don't wanna go to Hell,” Dean continued.

“Alright. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you,” Sam said softly.

Dean looked up at him, and you searched his expression. It was another one of those confusing looks you couldn’t quite read; somewhere between pensive and saddened, frustrated and resigned. “Okay, good.” His voice was shaky, and you weren’t sure what you could do to make him feel better; if anything.

All you could hear was what the dream version of himself had said; “And this?” he’d spat, eyes black. “This is what you’re gonna become!”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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five-and-dimes · 1 year ago

Text

Mountain Sound

Hob and Dream are a rare werewolf/vampire couple. Some people take offense to that. Luckily, some people are idiots.

AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hob would be more embarrassed by his capture if he wasn’t so used to his own clumsiness.

There’s also the worry-induced rage taking up most of his emotional space, so there’s not a lot of room for embarrassment.

“If you let me go, I might consider showing some mercy,” he growled lowly.

What had started as a peaceful evening with his husband had turned into a coordinated attack against the both of them. Dream had been relaxed for once in his life, his pale, bony body draped over Hob’s lap, one hand idly playing with the thick hair on Hob’s arms, occasionally reaching up to the bit of hair peeking over the neckline of Hob’s shirt. In return Hob rubbed one of his thumbs in soothing circles against the sharp jut of Dream’s hip, smiling when Dream lovingly pressed his own fingers against Hob’s softer, more abundant body.

They had been so blissfully content that neither of them were prepared when the door to their small home had been shattered. They lived deep, deep in the forest, occasionally traveling to the closest town, which was close enough for a vampire and werewolf to get to comfortably, mostly for Hob to socialize and keep up with news of the surrounding kingdoms, but distant and inconvenient for any humans to get to them in return. As such, they had, apparently, made the mistake of letting their guard down.

Because as they both leapt up, what they were faced with was not human hunters, but rather a pack of werewolves. Using the element of surprise fully to their advantage, Hob barely had a chance to react before he was grabbed and dragged outside by three pairs of clawed, furry hands.

If that had been all, they probably would have been okay. But Hob and Dream were not exactly known for their good luck. Dream had immediately followed outside, snarling, and as soon as he was past the threshold of their home, the vampires had pounced.

It didn’t make sense, the two groups seemingly working together. Hob and Dream had been infamous for their coupling, whispers and rumors among humans and supernatural alike about the werewolf and the vampire who ran away together. It was why they kept to themselves, traveling far from their homelands and settling in this remote mountain forest.

Hob had opened his mouth to scream- in shock, in fear, in pure burning rage- but before he could make a sound, he was dragged in front of a young woman, a long trench coat and belt filled with an assortment of artifacts and supernatural protections. She crushed something in her hand, and suddenly Hob’s eyes grew heavy and his body slumped.

The last thing he saw before succumbing to unconsciousness was Dream collapsing from a similar spell.

Which brought him to this moment. Standing in the center of a large cage in the middle of a vast cavern, surrounded by close to a dozen werewolves.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making threats,” the leader smirked. They are tall, imposing, standing with obvious authority. Short, curly blonde hair frames a sharp face that betrays nothing but absolute control. Hob would think nothing of them, assume they were just a random werewolf who saw a target and went for it, if it weren’t for their apparel. The leather outfit is dark and iridescent like an oil slick, and strapped across their back, dried and hardened and the same colors as their armor, was a single black wing. Even as isolated as they were, it was impossible not to hear the tales of the werewolf who ripped the very wings off a mighty dragon, turning one into their armor and the other into a shield, worn as a blatant symbol of power.

Everyone knew the tale of Lucifer.

“Those bars are pure silver,” they continued, “courtesy of our hired associate here,” They gestured to the woman who had knocked Hob out, who he now recognized as human.

Hob blinked at the words, glancing at the cage around him slowly.

(A little ways away, Johanna Constanine watches with equal curiosity.)

He kept his face carefully blank as he asked, “What do you want, Lucifer? You don’t seem the type to work with vampires.”

“I do find it distasteful,” they drawled, “but it is a necessary means if the end is to rid the world of something far more grotesque.”

“What are you talking about?” Hob furrowed his brow.

“They’re talking about you and that bloodsucker!” another woman snarled, stepping up from behind Lucifer.

Lucifer raised a hand. “Stand down, Mazikeen. Perhaps he can be reasoned with.”

(Johanna looks between the restless pack of werewolves and the man in the cage, frowning in confusion.)

The rage had taken a back seat to Hob’s pure confusion. “I repeat- what the Hell are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows about you and that corpse you keep in your bed,” Lucifer sneered. “How you abandoned your pack in order to lay with your natural enemy. Disgusting and unnatural,” They stepped forward, looking down their nose and circling Hob’s cage like the predator they are. “It is tempting to kill you just to rid the world of your deviancy. Even now you reek of vampire, your own scent just a whisper.” They curled their lips in blatant disgust. “But,” they smoothed their expression deliberately, “I’ve decided to give you the chance to see the error of your ways.”

Hob followed them with his gaze, lips pursed together when they stopped in front of him.

“Join us,” they declared. “Be part of a pack once more, run beneath the moon with your true family.”

Lucifer is clearly trying to look welcoming and generous. But there is no hiding the hunger in their eyes, the way their claws extend as they spread their arms in invitation, snow white fur growing on their hands and the sides of their face.

Hob stays silent, clenching his jaw.

At his silence, Lucifer’s face drops into a scowl. “Your so-called lover is being offered a similar deal,” they spit out. “Do you truly believe he will not betray you? Sell you out like the soulless husk he is? How often does he drain you in the night?” They screech, stepping closer in their rage and disgust. “He is an abomination. An empty shell that should have been sent to Hell ages ago. You are a fool, a disgrace to all werewolves for letting him taint you!”

By the end they are yelling, snarling, their face sharpening and limbs lengthening as their rage and revulsion pulsed through them.

There is a beat of silence. And then, Hob simply can’t keep his jaw clenched any longer.

And he bursts out laughing.

~~~~

Meanwhile….

~~~~

Dream awoke in a dark, frigid room. Deep gray stones surrounded him, a few wall torches flickering throughout the room. There is one large window behind him, covered by a thick black sheet, preventing even the slightest outside light from entering. Despite its barrenness, Dream knows this is not just any room. He is clearly in a castle dungeon.

His suspicion is confirmed when he looks up and sees the group of vampires surrounding him. Most are in dark, flowing robes, but there is a man in the back, striking for his pure white suit amongst the shadows, arms crossed and leaning against the wall looking amused, but not trying to call attention to himself. The vampire in front, however, is clearly trying to make an impression. He is dressed in his finest, tailored suit, ruffled silk shirt, and a red velvet single-shoulder cape to ensure that no one mistakes him for anything other than the leader. He grips an ornate cane in his hand, and he looks down at Dream with contempt.

It’s the cane that lets him know he has been taken by Roderick Burgess and his coven.

“I see the spell has worn off,” he drawls. “So good to finally meet you.”

Dream goes to stand but stops suddenly when he realizes he is naked. He crouches, and his head whips up to glare at the head vampire.

“Ah, yes,” he waves a hand dismissively, “afraid we had to burn your clothing. They reeked of that monstrosity.” He sneers. “I can still smell it on you now. To lay with a dog so long it buries your own scent.” He shook his head as his lips curled. “Disgusting.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dream’s muscles coiled as he prepared to leap, but he freezes when Burgess laughs coldly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He flicks his cane to gesture to the circle around Dream. He sees he is in the center of a ring of flowers, long green stems with orbs of tiny lavender-colored flowers at the end, a few roots and bulbs ripped up among them. Beyond the first circle is a mote dug into the floor, the water flowing sluggishly and unnaturally.

Dream tilted his head in confusion.

“Garlic flowers,” Burgess grins maliciously, “and a moat of holy water. My familiar isn’t completely useless,” he mutters, glancing at a figure behind him, his hood down so he can’t hide the way he ducks his head in shame. The man in white snorted with cruel laughter.

Everyone knew of Roderick’s youngest son, whom he refused to turn into a vampire until he could “prove himself”.

Not many people pitied vampires. Most people pitied Alex Burgess.

Dream is not most people.

“You’re not going anywhere unless we allow it,” Burgess continues.

In front of him, Dream remains silent, crouched and waiting with a blank face.

“What’s the matter? Wolf got your tongue?” Burgess sneers. “To lay with a beast, a mere animal. I should turn you to dust just to teach everyone else a lesson,” he hisses.

He steps forward. “But I know you could be great. There is power in you, I can feel it! You belong with your own kind, to be a part of a coven as is intended. No vampire should sink as low as you have,” he looks down his nose, pure judgment in his eyes, “but perhaps you can be saved. By us.” He spreads his arms out wide as he grinned maliciously. “Here, in the darkness.”

Dream is silent still, and it does not take long to break Roderick’s patience.

He lowered his arms, scowling. “You have nothing to say? No gratitude for my offer?” He stalked forward, getting as close to the circle as he dared and slamming his cane against the ground, “Speak to me!”

The man in white steps forward lazily, eyes roaming over Dream, “Maybe he can’t. Maybe all he can do is howl now,” he taunted.

“You are a disgrace! A waste of our gift of life after death!” Burgess ignored the other vampire, raging at the silent figure. “Do you think he will do the same for you? Do you think that stupid animal won’t betray you for his own kind? Just to roll in the dirt with the other dogs? You are a fool, and I should leave you here with the window open so you burn with the sunrise!”

His words echo in the chamber, his face twisted in righteous fury, panting and with hands shaking so hard at his side that his cane rattles against the stone floor.

And then Dream smiles.

~~~~

Lucifer looks torn between confusion and indignity as Hob laughs himself hoarse in front of them. Hob wipes nonexistent tears from his face, mostly doing the motion to piss Lucifer off even more.

Johanna takes a step back.

“Oh, dear,” Hob says cheerfully, “I’ve heard this speech before, but never received it myself. How charming. To know that even the great Lucifer, morningstar, dragon slayer, is prone to the dangers of gossip.”

He steps forward casually, closer to the walls of the cage.

And then Hob wraps both hands around the silver bars, and nothing happens.

~~~~

Still smiling, still looking straight into Burgess’ eyes, Dream reaches out and takes a flower into the palm of his hand.

~~~

Johanna bolts out the door as the cave suddenly fills with terrified and confused growls, the pack behind Lucifer retreating as far as they can away from Hob. Even Mazikeen takes a step back. Lucifer is not so much still as they are frozen in place by shock.

“You see, the thing about rumors is…” Hob leans forward, pressing his face against the bars as if sharing a secret. And when a smile stretches across his face, Lucifer sees his teeth lengthen.

Not all his teeth, though.

Just two.

“…sometimes the details get mixed up.”

~~~~

The cloaked vampires gasp in shock, and the man in white looks far less cocky as Dream crushed the flower in his hand.

His clawed hand.

Burgess stares in wide eyed horror as Dream stands slowly, pitch black fur sprouts along his spine, his forearms, his legs. His face turns sharp and angular, bones cracking and reshaping even as he steps forward to walk through the moat.

~~~~

Before any of the pack could break through their shock, Hob pulled at the bars in his hands, easily ripping them off and tossing them to the side as he stepped through the gap.

Then he lunges.

~~~~

Dream steps out of the more in his full werewolf form. Long and still bony, his muscles strong but slim and compact, his messy fur the deepest black. He is not a wolf of brute strength, as they are known for. Dream is made for speed.

So Burgess doesn’t have time to react before Dream is sinking his teeth in his neck.

~~~~

Hob has never understood why no one else, vampire or werewolf, seems to see the poetry in their being able to hurt one another. Humans need tricks and magic to do anything to them, but vampires and werewolves only need their own teeth.

Dream has never hurt Hob, and Hob has never hurt Dream. It’s trust, and respect, and love.

They’ve both been far more hurt by their own kind.

~~~~

It is no trouble for Dream to bite through the bone of Burgess’ neck. It only takes one more bite to have his head rolling on the floor.

Dream kicks it into the mote of holy water, and it sizzles behind him as he turns his attention to the rest of the coven.

~~~~

It is only Mazikeen’s devotion that saves Lucifer.

She tackles Hob mid-lunge, throwing him off course but not knocking him down. They both scramble, Mazikeen half transformed and Hob holding her at arms length to keep her gnashing teeth away. He cannot get his own teeth into her without risking her getting a hold on him as well, and the rest of the pack won’t be just standing in shock for long.

It is a quick maneuver to get behind her, one hand twisting her arm behind her back while the other clutches a fistful of the fur at the back of her neck. Then he shoved her forward to press her face against the bars of the silver cage they had made for him.

Mazikeen does not howl, she screams as Hob holds her against the silver, one side of her face burning and smoking.

Hob hears movement behind him and releases Mazikeen as he leaps out of the way, narrowly avoiding an attack from Lucifer. The rest of the coven seems hesitant to join the fray so close to the mass of silver.

Lucifer is strong- they earned their titles fairly, and Hob thinks on a different day the outcome may not have been so favorable. But the fact is, all these werewolves came here prepared to kill another werewolf. They are not prepared for a vampire. And them being caught off guard gives Hob the same upper hand it gave them earlier.

When Hob pins Lucifer to the floor by their neck, face inches away from the floor of the silver cage, Hob snarls. Whatever amusement he may have had at the beginning has been lost to the rage of an old wound reopened.

“You’re all the same,” he hissed, letting venom drip down his fangs to drip threateningly onto Lucifer’s armor. “You’re all the same, and you don’t even realize it. Always spewing the same prejudice and hatred based on absolutely nothing. Your pack is exactly the same as my old coven.”

Here he leans down, tightening his grip as he lowers his voice. “I want you to remember that. Remember that you acted just like a vampire. Remember that no matter how highly you think of yourself, you are just like them.”

He stands then, rising smoothly to his feet as Lucifer coughs to get their breath back. Turning, he moves to leave. He has no interest in a slaughter right now. He just wants to find Dream.

The rest of the pack give him space, staring in awe and horror, too taken aback to do anything more than watch him walk away.

“One day…”

Lucifer’s voice makes him pause. He looks over his shoulder to see they have moved Mazikeen to lay her head in their lap, hand carefully cupping the unburned side of her face.

“One day,” they promise coldly, “we will destroy you.”

Hob just smirked and nodded.

“Until that day, Lightbringer.”

And with that, he disappeared from the cave, sprinting through the forest to find his lover.

~~~~

The coven panics at the sight of their dead leader, the one who turned them. And now they find themselves locked in a room with a werewolf, with weapons nearby that will hurt them but not Dream.

The man in white curses, but pulls himself together to sprint for the window. He tears the sheet down, revealing a still dark night sky, and then punches through the glass.

Dream is right behind him, faster than most werewolves but still slower than a vampire, but catching up as the glass is broken. The man in white sneers, frustrated, and immediately bursts into a swarm of bats.

Most werewolves fear a vampire’s swarm. Too many teeth to keep track of.

But Dream is not most werewolves, and as the swarm begins to pour out of the window, he leaps into the mass of screeching wings and brings his jaws down around whatever he can reach.

There are only two bats in his mouth, but all of them are screaming, pain making the swarm clumsier as they fly out into the night, uncoordinated and staggering.

(When the vampire known only as The Corinthian reforms himself later, it will be without his eyes. He will cry tears of blood and the closest town will wake to the sounds of him screaming in the dead of a night he can no longer see.)

The rest of the coven, when Dream comes for them, follow their comrade’s lead and scatter into bats, keeping high and flying desperately through the open window. Dream snarls, whipping his head around to the only figure remaining.

“P-please,” Alex Burgess stutters, “I didn’t want to help him. I would have let you out if I could!”

Dream stalked forward. “Coward,” he backed Alex into a corner, “What would you have done to me, if you were promised the power your father held?”

“I-… you don’t understand,” he swallowed.

“Perhaps,” Dream rumbled, “but if I cannot understand why you would do the things you have. I will take comfort in it. I will take comfort in not being like you.”

He turned to leave, and Alex crumpled to the ground, knowing intrinsically that he had not been worth the trouble of being turned by his father and now he wasn’t worth being turned by this werewolf. He wasn’t even worth the trouble to kill.

Alex will have nightmares of this night for the rest of his life. Dream doesn’t care.

He gallops through the forest to find Hob.

~~~~

Hob and Dream were both already alone when they met.

When Hob let himself be turned, all he thought about was Eleanor. Of being able to live forever by her side, the mark of her teeth forever on his neck because she chose him, fell in love with him as much as he with her, enough to give him immortality.

He didn’t consider her family- her coven- and their disapproval.

Perhaps it would have been easier if they had disapproved of his relationship with Eleanor, if it had been born of protectiveness of some kind. But no. They just didn’t like Hob.

Didn’t like his thick, hair covered body that did not fit in their antique porcelain aesthetic. Didn’t like how easily he laughed, how casually he dressed, how much he enjoyed his undead life, how his only complaint was missing the sunshine.

To be fair, Hob didn’t like them much either. He hated their dank, cold castle and their insistence on constant formality. He dreamed of building a cabin near a lake, where he and Eleanor could be free to live as they wanted, without constantly having to keep their posture perfect.

Then Eleanor died, killed by hunters on one of her nightly trips into the town to search for orphans.

(“I wouldn’t turn them until they were an adult,” she promised Hob, her eyes wide and pleading for him to understand, “I won’t turn them at all if they don’t want to be! But… but a child of our own, to raise…” She took Hob’s hand and leaned her forehead against his, her words infinitely quiet with no chance of being overheard, “Not a coven. A family.”)

Without her, there was no reason for him to stay.

Hob learned very quickly that Eleanor’s family was not unique in their views. Every vampire he came across curled their lips at his rugged appearance, his extroverted nature, everything about his personality and looks seemed to offend them personally.

“Whoever turned you was cruel to do so while you look like this,” one vampire had told him, oblivious to their own cruelty. “You could shave the hair at least. It won’t grow back.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hob had excused himself quickly from the interaction. They were just strangers who met on the road, he had no obligation to stay and be talked down to and insulted like that.

Eleanor had liked the way he looked.

Hob liked the way he looked.

(In the privacy of his own mind, he was grateful for his lack of reflection.)

Then he ran into Dream. Literally.

Neither were paying attention, just sprinting through the woods trying to outrun their own demons, they didn't notice each other’s presence until they were crashing together, tumbling across the forest floor and felling several trees in the process.

When they untangled and got their bearings, they both spent a long moment simply staring.

Hob thought he’d run into another vampire at first, because the stranger looked like every vampire’s ideal he’d had pressed on him for centuries now. Slim and as pale as snow, pitch black hair artfully wild, wearing black head to toe, including a long black coat that he held wrapped around himself. His clothes were a little beat up and worn, but it didn’t make him look any less poised and elegant, and his eyes were a stunning icy blue as they stared back at Hob. He was gorgeous, and if this was what a vampire was supposed to look like, Hob understood he had no hope of ever measuring up.

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a vampire.

Dream had been wandering for a long time before he met Hob. He’d been alone even longer.

Even coming from a large, familial pack, Dream had always been isolated. He was the runt and they all knew it. Even his youngest sister, still a pup, was growing stronger than Dream ever had. Not brawny and strong like a werewolf was supposed to be, he was skinny, frail, weak, as much of his family liked to remind him. He wasn’t loud or rowdy, had no desire to wrestle and play fight with his siblings. He preferred to extend his claws and carve pictures and stories into the dirt of stones. Sometimes his older sister would indulge him and sit while he told her elaborate tales to go with his engravings. But inevitably she would be pulled away.

It was one night, when the pack was cuddled together in their den and Desire kicked him out of the pile again (literally, kicking at his ribs and back until he retreated from his family’s warmth) claiming as always that Dream was too bony and cold to sleep beside, that he decided to leave.

He spent much of the night just watching them. He curled up against the wall and took in the sight of his pack piled together, safe and warm and not missing him at all. It did not matter that Dream was cold. It did not matter that he was lonely, and hurt, and unloved. None of it mattered.

So it certainly wouldn’t matter if he left.

He ran as far and as fast and as long as he could. From night, through the morning and the high peak of the sun, only collapsing in a heap of sweat soaked fur once the sun had fallen once more.

At first, he traveled often in his full werewolf form, both for speed and as a precaution as he moved along the edges of the territories of different packs. Each time, a wolf would come to meet him, to ensure he was just passing by, and each time he was met with disdain.

“Are you sure you’re not a wererat?” a bulking werewolf had laughed at him, “You look like you belong down in the sewers.”

Dream began taking longer paths to avoid other werewolves. He began to only shift at night, and then only when he was forced to on the full moon. It did not matter that it slowed his travel. It did not matter that he felt vulnerable, and exposed, and that some nights his heart ached to curl up as a wolf and tuck his nose beneath his tail and pretend he was warm. It didn’t matter that he felt equally hideous in his human form.

None of it mattered.

So he was running on two legs when he collided with Hob.

They were staring at each other, and the man in front of him must have been the most gorgeous werewolf he’d ever seen. Even unshifted he was covered in a glorious pelt of body hair that Dream wanted desperately to run his fingers through. He was broad, heavyset, clearly strong but with a layer of padding that made him look soft and welcoming, especially coupled with wide brown eyes. He was everything a werewolf was supposed to be and everything that Dream would never, ever be.

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a werewolf.

“Uh, hi,” Hob spoke first, his voice breathless with something like wonder. “Um, shit, sorry for bowling you over like that, here,” he scrambled to his feet and held a hand out, “I’m Hob.”

At first, all Dream could do was move his gaze from his hand to his face and back again. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and allowed the stranger to help him to his feet.

(Dream had always been shunned for the coldness of his body. But holding this undead hand now, there was none of the jarring heat, none of the pulling away and complaining about his temperature.)

(Hob did not mind, because Hob was cold too.)

(They both kept their hands together for a little longer than needed.)

“I. Am Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob smiled, “It’s nice to meet you.”

There was a moment when they finally dropped their hands that they each remembered that werewolves and vampires were meant to be enemies.

Both of them looked at each other, and quietly acknowledged to themselves that they had been hurt far worse by their own kind than the other’s.

They ended up talking through the night. Carefully casual at first, before slowly opening up their wounds to each other, to see the ways they matched. When sunrise approached and Hob needed to find shelter, Dream shyly invited him back to the cave he had been staying in.

“Where are you going?” Hob asked softly, facing Dream where they were laying next to each other on a pile of deer pelts.

“Away,” Dream whispered, on his back and staring at the ceiling with a painfully blank gaze. “Far away. Away from everyone and everything. Where no one will have to look at me again.”

Hob swallowed thickly. It’s been less than one day, and his heart shatters in fear of losing this man. The first person who understands him. Who sees him. Hob thinks he is seeing his reflection for the first time in centuries.

So he summoned his courage and placed his hand over Dream’s, “Maybe I’ll come with you.” Dream turned to look at him, wary and disbelieving, and Hob smiled. “I like looking at you.”

In the morning, they picked a direction and started running. And they did it again the next day, and the next. Dream was skittish, and Hob was loud. Dream narrowed his eyes in suspicion whenever Hob showed him an ounce of kindness, and Hob laughed and waved away any of Dream’s attempts to show him kindness in return. Neither of them knew what they were doing.

“Who would want an eternity of this?”

Dream said it softly, mostly to himself, but Hob couldn’t not hear it. Couldn’t not hear the weight of the exhaustion in his voice. They were sitting side by side in front of the fire Dream had built, the cave sheltering them from the worst of the heavy rainfall. The weather might have saved them, though. No matter how heated their individual run-ins with others of their kind might have been before, it was nothing compared to being seen together. Something about it seemed to make werewolves and vampires alike fly into some sort of confused, offended rage.

But they always got away, and today the cover of rain washed away their tracks and scents, and in the morning they would take the harder mountain trail to avoid any more incidents. They sat in front of the fire, and as they always did after a chase, Dream sat in silence, lost in his own head, while Hob desperately distracted himself by rambling stories from his life, before, during, and after Eleanor.

This was the first time Dream had ever interrupted him.

And Hob… didn’t have an answer. He supposed he could say ‘me’ but they both knew that wasn’t what Dream was looking for right now. It isn’t what Dream is looking for every day that he wakes up and starts running. Werewolves can live for close to a millennia, and Dream was barely older than Hob. He was so young. He has so much time.

They both do.

So Hob did the same thing he did on the day they met. He reached out, and he took Dream’s hand.

“You could find out?”

Dream turned to look at him, not with suspicion, or distrust, but a disbelief that came from awe. And Hob thought maybe this was enough. Even if they never stopped running, at least they’d run together.

The seasons passed. Once a month Dream disappeared in the night, as close to begging as he could get for Hob not to look for him, promising he’d be back in the morning. Hob hated it, hated thinking of him out there all alone, with a howl that sounded like crying. But when he came back, worn down and shaky, he allowed Hob to hold him. After some time, he allowed him to kiss him, too.

“I want to see,” Hob whispered against his mouth. They had found a place. A clearing at the base of a mountain, far from cities and towns, no known vampires or werewolf territories, and Hob and Dream have been chopping wood all day.

They are going to build a home together.

Everything they’ve shared, all the past wounds pulled apart for the other to see, but here Dream hesitated. “I do not… look like other werewolves,” he whispered.

“Neither of us look how we’re ‘supposed to’,” Hob reminded him, “And we don’t care, remember?”

But Dream shook his head, glancing up at Hob through his eyelashes that did nothing to conceal his fear. “I am ugly,” he admitted, ashamed.

Hob kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, pulling him into his arms, “I don’t care. It’s you, and I love you. I want to love all of you.”

They waited until the next sundown, leaving their shelter and standing before each other. Hob held Dream’s hands as long as he could, until Dream pulled away, taking a few steps back as he allowed himself to shift. Hob watched his lover transform under the night sky, limbs contorting and elongating, black fur covering him, long in some places and shorter in others, wild like a hyena, eyes with a white shine to them, clawed fingers digging into the ground as he crouched down onto all fours.

When Dream raised his head, he still looked scared, his tail curling under his legs as he braced himself for whatever Hob’s reaction could possibly be. So Hob approached slowly, and hoped his face shone with at least half the love he felt right now. Kneeling in front of him, Hob raised both hands carefully and cupped Dream’s muzzle in his palms, letting his fingers run through the soft fur at the sides of his face.

“My Dream,” he breathed out, leaning forward to kiss between his eyes, “You’re beautiful.”

Dream’s lips curled, not quite a snarl. A disagreement.

“You are,” Hob insisted, kissing all over his face now, reaching down to take those long claws into his hands and press kisses to the sharp, furred knuckles, “You’re stunning. You’re perfect,” Hob rested their foreheads together, “I love every part of you.”

He pushed Dream gently onto his back on the grass and his form shifted under Hob’s hands. His more human face showed blatant terror, disbelief, defiance, his form constantly shifting between different ratios of wolf and man, as though he would eventually find the form that Hob did not love. Hob kissed every shuddering stretch of skin, every cracking bone, pet over him steadily even when his skin went from smooth to furred and back again. He took Dream in hand and kissed his neck and rut against him desperately and finally, finally, Dream settled. A bit wolf, a bit human, but all Dream, and he reached for Hob just as desperately, both of them pressing together as though they could become one. They were both wanted, and loved, and it was more than enough.

And it is more than enough now, years and years later, when the rumors have spread and the home they built has been attacked, and Hob and Dream burst through the forest and crash into each other's arms with as much force as they day they met, rolling through the dirt and holding each other close as they tumble.

“Dream, Dream, are you alright, are you hurt?”

He is still in his full wolf form, so he shakes his head where it is pressed against Hob’s shoulder. He lifts his eyes just enough to send a look that Hob understands effortlessly, “I’m fine, I’m fine, Love,” he reassures, feeling himself melt into the ground in relief that they are both safe and together again.

Eventually, Hob stands, and he offers Dream a hand. Dream takes it, and rises unsteadily to his feet, leaning against Hob for balance. His voice is gravelly as he speaks without shifting, “No… clothes…”

Hob feels a flare of fury, but tucks it away for later. Instead, he shrugs out of his outer shirt, which is just long enough on Dream for him to feel at least a little less vulnerable. He feels even better when, as soon as he is in his human form, Hob sweeps him into a bridal carry, grinning and kissing him one last time before speeding back to their home, making it back just before sunrise. It is bittersweet to see the place they built with the door kicked down and the living room in disarray from the scuffle, but it’s still their home. At least for tonight.

“Perhaps it’s time we moved deeper into the mountains. Maybe settle at a higher elevation,” Hob suggests that night, when they are barricaded in their room, Dream wrapped in a robe and buried beneath their blankets as Hob holds him close.

Dream frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, “But you like being close to the town.”

Hob shrugged, winding his arms over Dream’s shoulders. “Maybe, but I like you much more,” he grinned when Dream blushed, “And it’s not like it’d be too much trouble for me to travel down every now and then. I’ll just take longer visits farther apart. I’ll go on days when you need some solitude.”

Dream blinked at him slowly, and Hob found it so sweet and so heartbreaking how, even after all these years, Dream still had to hold back tears when Hob was kind to him.

“You truly are perfect,” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Hob’s, “and I love you so.”

“I think you’re the perfect one,” Hob smiled, “and I love you too.”

Tomorrow they will begin their move, and build a new home more prepared for the people who won’t accept them. And they’ll do it together.

And that’s more than enough.

#the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fic #my writing #werewolf/vampire au #planning on drawing some of these guys soon :3

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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago

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more literary & character tropes

Tropes - themes, motifs, plot devices, plot points, and storylines that have become familiar genre conventions

All writers manipulate language to create certain effects. At the level of individual phrases and sentences, the skillful use of tropes is key to creating writing that’s fresh, memorable, and persuasive.

Artifical Script - found mainly in fantasy settings, this trope is about fictional scripts invented by the author.

Busman's Vocabulary - when a character in a certain profession isn't on the job, they're going to still use jargon from that profession, basically to let us know what they do for a living. Mafia guys will use "whacked" and the like, chefs will use culinary language, and so forth.

Classical Tongue - a language that isn't typically known or used by the common man. It may be dead and mostly forgotten, or only spoken by educated elites such as nobility, scholars, clergy, or mages. A few words from it might be used to denote something special, or it is used for something or someone's name, or someone who knows it might drop a phrase here and there in an attempt to sound clever, but don't expect the common masses to use it (anymore). It's often an Expy of Latin, if it isn't Latin itself.

Dissimile - when you attempt to make a comparison between two things that can't be usefully compared, realize your problem, and then throw more words at the argument in an attempt to salvage it. This just undermines your comparison even further, to the amusement of anyone listening. ["Boxing is a lot like ballet, except there's no music, no choreography, and the dancers hit each other." — Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey]

Enslaved Tongue - certain types of monsters, wizards, and other supernatural or alien beings are able to control your voice, or otherwise replace your communications with those around you. They will use your voice to lie to teammates, friends and loved ones, or to deliver warnings or threats.

False Prophet - someone comes along and preaches a message about how they're going to make everyone's lives better. People will flock to them out of hope, or because they see an opportunity to increase their own power by aligning with the prophet. If they don't already have it, this figure will request assistance—physically, monetarily, or in some other way—so that their goals can be achieved.

The Grotesque - a character that induces both fear and pity in viewers because his deformities belie a perfectly normal — if not noble — personality. The pathos associated with The Grotesque is the implication that he could easily have been a well-adjusted member of society if not for the hideousness that he is powerless to remedy.

Higher Self - the aspect of a character which "knows better". More specifically, however, the Higher Self is the aspect which rises above whatever is going on in the plot and can see the situation in a way that's removed from emotional or melodramatic entanglement.

Inconsistent Spelling - when names and other terms are not spelled consistently in officially published materials (and not fan-made translations), usually because of transliteration issues.

Jeanne d'Archétype - a fictional character inspired by Saint Joan of Arc. This can incorporate various elements of the historical Joan's story. This character is Always Female, usually young, often an Action Girl, and often of humble origin. Her devotion to a religion, her country, or simply a desire to protect her loved ones causes her to assume an active role in liberating the oppressed from an overbearing force, eventually becoming not only a respected leader, but also a living symbol and a reminder of just how unjust the oppressors are if they bring out the warrior in the most unlikely of people. Therefore, her example directly inspires many otherwise ordinary people to follow in her footsteps and join the same cause.

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

More: Literary & Character Tropes

#writing prompt #writeblr #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #literary tropes #character development #literature #poetry #writing #fiction #lit #words #writing reference #writing notes #langblr #studyblr #dark academia #tropes #writing resources

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agatharkn3ss · 3 months ago

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The meaning of the Macbeth witches

As I continue raking the episodes for all the cool hidden messages, let's address the painting that Agatha has in her living room and, in her Agnes O'Connor delusion, she thought it was a one-way-mirror.

By now lots of people have identified the painting to be "Macbeth and the three witches" by Francesco Zuccarelli, based on William Shakespeare’s play “Macbeth”. I think it provides a fantastic insight into the characters and the direction of the show. Long post, but worth it!

(I am using lots of sources but not referencing them, because it would make this post a lot longer. Hope that's ok!)

The Three Witches (aka Weird Sisters, Weyward Sisters or Wayward Sisters) serve their mistress Hecate (nod to our Triple Goddess). They reveal to Macbeth his prophecy, which will eventually lead to his demise, and they hold a striking resemblance to the three Fates of classical mythology. The witches generally symbolize the supernatural in Macbeth and they call into question the nature of free will.

Why include this painting at all? There can be multiple meanings but I think the most obvious reason would be to continue the feminist theme of how witches/women are portrayed and therefore mistreated – highlighting the tendency to marginalize and discriminate women who uphold their individuality.

In the painting the three witches are shown as repulsive and ugly, with one of them holding a stick with a snake wrapped around it. And in the play they represent pure evil, as they drive a “noble and heroic man” into a power-craving ruthlessness which induces him to betray his friends and nation. However, people start to catch on that the treatment of the witches reflects the oppression and misogynistic values women experienced in the past.

We could probably draw some parallels with our witches. Lilia is driven out of every village she passes through for accurately predicting tragedy. Jen is called an inconvenient woman and bound – likely because of being a successful midwife. Agatha is being thought of as the evil, “most infamous” witch-killer. Lilia even goes as far as saying that Agatha is the very reason why those stereotypes even exist. But as the layers peel off, we get to see that she is a much more complex persona than just your “black” or “white” character. It is becoming clear that both Agatha and Lilia have shared a huge amount of prejudice and backlash just because of their unique abilities – not only because they can’t control them, but also because they are different. Lilia hates this discrimination and eventually hides from it like a “coward” (as Agatha noted), even though she might enjoy the things that make her a witch (like flying on brooms), while Agatha embraces the negative perception and uses it to her advantage, to create this defence wall around her and make people fear her. In their different ways, they both end up being slaves to those stereotypes.

I think there is also a bit of foreshadowing here, because it is interesting to set up this narrative and then introduce the character of Teen aka Billy Maximoff – the boy who (as we saw in Wandavision) was named by papa Vision specifically in honour of none other than William Shakespear!

Shakespear is not only the author of Macbeth, but has also been widely criticised for his treatment of women characters in his plays – they are shown to be emotionally weak and inferior to men. Even women in power are portrayed by him as manipulative, not to be trusted and with questionable morals (sounds familiar?). There are so many papers that explore this, but I think this one illustrates is best:

“In Ancient Greece, Hecate was a Goddess, who used to bless people with good luck, health, wisdom and victory. People often used to put a statue of her at crossroads or entrance-ways to scare the evil spirits. In other words, she was a goddess of ‘positive energy’. (...) In Macbeth, Shakespeare too presents Hecate as leader of the negative force who hatches a plan with the three weird sisters to misguide Macbeth towards a deadly end by keeping him in illusion. (...) Doing so, he denounces her godliness and demeans her stature by using the male centric religious perspective that causes much harm to women’s body and mind across time and space.”

While I don’t at all want to suggest that Teen is in any way set up as a misogynist, there is still that moral superiority complex - we see a glimpse of it in episode 5 when he essentially says he is better than them: “So that’s what it means to be a witch? Killing people to serve your own agenda? No, not for me.” Then of course he completely contradicts that in the next moment, when he literally buries the witches in the ground.

He seems to completely ignore the fact that it was him who wanted the Witches Road in the first place. The initial reaction of every single witch in the coven was always the same: “The Road will kill you.”, “The Road is a death wish”, “It’s a dead end. Literally”. Billy CHOSE to ignore this and actively pressured each of the witches to join. He needed them to serve HIS own agenda, knowing fully well that some of them could die. I hope he will soon realise that he is no different than the rest.

We can immediately see how he really is “so much like his mother” who chose to trap the Westview citizens, then when they got their identities back and told her about their torment, she literally tried to gaslight them by telling them they were fine and “at peace”. Then had the cheek to excuse her actions and show her superiority to Agatha by showing her the bodies of her original coven saying “You see the difference between you and me is that you did this on purpose” – the irony being of course that Agatha clearly couldn’t control her powers in that moment, so I doubt this was on purpose - same in Alice’s case

(sidenote: I think the reason Wanda thought that, was because she entered her mind and saw that Agatha probably blamed herself for it, maybe even believed that if she tried a bit harder, she would’ve been able to control it).

So…. Why use that painting in the interrogation scene? I’m sure there are many possible hidden meanings, but my interpretation is that in that moment Agatha/Agnes are playing exactly to take advantage of the stereotypes. Billy claims to know who she is. But really, he just knows those stories that she allows people to believe. He calls her out for not having “respect of her peers” or a “fulfilling home life” – as if that is what every “respectable” woman should want. Instead of feeling embarrassed, she immediately latches onto that and reminds him that this is exactly what makes her dangerous. “Hey, you know those three ugly witches? They brought Macbeth down just with their words!”. I am sure there could be further meanings if you really look deep into it. Could Teen be interpreted as Macbeth himself, surrounded by witches and relying on their help?

Another element here is of course Rio, standing on the other side of the “mirror”. The painting itself has allusions to death: the witch in white is often compared to a ghost and “the dark sky above the mountains is a metaphorical representation of death lurking around the king, around Macbeth, around every man confronted with his own destiny.” Yet again, we might be getting another hint as to Rio’s true identity (let’s face it – is there anyone left by now who doesn’t think she’s Lady Death?)

It is not entirely clear where Rio is at this point (she can’t be standing behind a painting?) and Billy doesn’t acknowledge her presence – he likely hasn’t even realised Rio intervened when Agatha kicked him to the floor. At one point he asked why she was looking at that painting (although, he might have said it as a misdirection, to bring her to reality). So maybe in this “Agnes of Westview” show, Rio really is equal to a ghost, hiding in plain sight and lurking through a window of Agatha’s mind. She is the only one who appears to actually SEE what Agatha is seeing (“Is this really how you see yourself?”), even goes as far as provide her with more “evidence” (fake victim/flower photos). She seems to know Agatha’s thoughts on the case even before she voices them – sometimes it looks as though she’s actually putting those thoughts in her head (what was that about the three witches defying the concept of free will?...) . Finally – Rio times it to perfection when she shows up at Agatha’s doorstep, (mis)quoting Pride and Prejudice and clearly aware of the sad scene Agatha had just experienced. So maybe Agatha is the Macbeth of the story? Is she destined for self-destruction?

I have yet to form my theory on Rio' involvement and her intentions. But I can’t help but think that her appearance is not quite as it seems – that we are “looking at it the wrong way” - is it a painting or a mirror?

To finish this off (phew!), I particularly like this one analysis of the Macbeth painting that points out the different sublime elements – the repulsive witches, the grandeur of nature and the loneliness of the hero. I think it fits Agatha's position as it concludes:

This theory of the sublime opposes the sublime with beauty as two exclusive concepts (like light with darkness) while recognising that both can provide pleasure. Sublimity may evoke horror, but the knowledge that the perception is a fiction can be pleasureful.

Edit: I have also spotted the clock in that scene states 3.33. There are more nods in the show to number 3 and Shakespeare uses the symbolism of trinity throughout the Macbeth play as an idea that tragedy/death comes in threes (3 witches, 3 apparitions, 3 murders etc.). So I feel there is some foreshadowing here as well (e.g. Agatha's wearing a jersey with no3 in the same episode that Alice dies).

Witch 1: Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed. Witch 2: Thrice and once the hedgepig whined. Witch 3: Harpier cries “’Tis time, ‘tis time.”

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza #rio vidal #agathario #agatha x rio #lilia calderu #teen #billy maximoff #macbeth #hecate #three witches #zuccarellli #agatha all along spoilers #fate

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ayamari-no-goshi · 6 months ago

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Weird things I’m thinking about at 3am again

You know, I’m aware that Batman and at least some of the Batfam have the mental fortitude to shake off types of brainwashing/drug induced hallucinations.

-> off the top of my head, I know both Bruce and Jason have overcome fear toxin, and I know Dick basically made a telepath cry cuz mental training

But, with all the crap that happens in Gotham and the fact it is canonically cursed, it does surprise me they don’t have wards against supernatural possession (at least to my knowledge). While we don’t tend to see too much in the way of the supernatural in the main Batman comics, we do know Gotham is a city who has a spirit from one of the Hellblazer comics.

Like, my brain is telling me that it wouldn’t be surprising for Gotham to try to manipulate her heroes. Or stronger ghosts trying to possess or at least influence the vigilantes in hopes of getting avenged. Or evil spirits/demons openly trying to possess those in the city.

And it as a result, I could see the vigilantes of the cities carrying a ward with them or painting it on their skin for protection.

Look, I know Bruce seems to naturally intimidate a lot of supernatural things, but they do exist in DC. And with Gotham being Gotham, it honestly surprises me the heroes of the city don’t encounter it more.

#Goshi’s thoughts #Batman #bruce wayne #Gotham city #Gotham #dc comics #dick Grayson #Nightwing #Jason Todd #red hood #robin #I need to stop having 3am thoughts #I know this post is kinda rambling #but it’s hard to articulate what I want #(I am also recovering from food poisoning and thoughts have been weird today)

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stnkiconverse · 2 months ago

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Creepypasta HCs no one asked for!!

Brian Thomas / Hoodie

Brian

- Tech nerd. I said it. Idc.

- Uses humor as a way to lighten the mood or avoid vulnerability.

- Quick on his feet, finding solutions for anything really fast.

- Used to be skeptical about the supernatural. I guess not anymore.

- Avoids confrontation of anything RELIGIOUSLY.

- Fear of losing control over his life and the situation around him.

- Memory gaps, again.

- Struggles with guilt. (of what he does remember)

- Trust issues. Only trusts one person in the manor, but still doesn't tell him much.

- Often reflects over his life, constantly contemplating the events that led him here.

Hoodie

- Focused and single minded, always focused on his objectives.

- Once again, just like Masky. FEAR INDUCING PRESENCE.

- INTELLECTUAL FIGHTER. Relies more on instinct rather than strategy.

- Extremely cold and detached.

- EXCELS IN STEALTH. Uses the cover of darkness to his advantage and slips through shadows unnoticed. (Yes ik he has a bright yellow hoodie, but tell me, would he not be a stealth master if he didn’t know how to get around with a bright ass hoodie??)

- He doesn't trust the other two proxies even though he has to work with them.

- Uses his surroundings to his advantage.

That's all I could come up with, and still don't like it😭😭

Happy Halloween!!

#creepypasta #jramblesaboutsoap #fandom #slenderman #slender mansion #creepypasta headcanon #tim masky #marbel hornets #hoodie #hoodie marble hornets #mh

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creative-classpect · 2 months ago

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Prince of Blood

One who destroys blood and bonds, often with blood and bonds.

The power of friendship and incredible violence

Prince- destroy their aspect and destroy with it. They are incredibly active and a bit unstable due to their destructive nature.

Blood- major themes of literal blood, connections, bonds, and unity. Minor themes of perseverance, authority, and tangibility.

Abilities

Disruption

The Prince of Blood destroys bonds, connections, and stability with bonds, connections, and stability. The Prince is a roadblock, a social wall, that separates others and cuts off connections. They stand firmly in the way as the only remaining option, strong-arming others into submission through a mix of incredible persuasion, intimidation, and deception, even backed up by their own network of those forced to rely on them from blackmail, dependency, or any other number of reasons.

At lower levels the Prince of Blood understands that unity is what allows success to become achievable. By sowing dissent, creating disharmony, they are able to stress test and destroy any power structure, relationship, and bond, no matter how close or concrete. The Prince is backed up by their own connections and bonds, a host of minions ranging anywhere from mindless robotic servants to undead vampire thralls to hapless gangster goon or a cell of extremists. The connections of this group are ironclad and unquestionable, for better or worse. While other Blood players may seek to integrate their enemies into the fold, the minions of the Prince stand in stark contrast, an eternal in vs out group, an us vs them mentality made manifest.

As the Prince of Blood progresses, the strength of their convictions and the unity of their minions would greatly increase. With a more closely unified force, their abilities would increase, becoming professionals and experts, a black ops squad able to handle any mission the Prince leads them on. Likewise, the Prince would become a more capable leader, a more cunning manipulator, and a force of social dynamism, breaking apart movements, friendships, romantic relationships, etc to progress their goals.

At medium levels the social pressures the Prince can inflict become supernatural, more than just authoritative and overriding. The Prince of Blood is capable of inducing doubt, fear, disdain, and other alienating emotions, so far as inducing states of depression or mania, to incite anything from intense loneliness to neglect of their allies to treason. They are also able to scramble speech or even censor it entirely, cutting off lines of communication and interaction. Emp bursts to electronics, jamming radios, even disrupting speech like a living Tower of Babel. As the Prince divides their enemies, they are able to quickly conqueror as they and their minions operate with a level of efficiency and communication others simply can not compete with, sharing all of their senses and even their thoughts. When the enemy is all alone, weak and separated, the Prince and their minions will be there to finish the job.

At higher levels the Prince of Blood is a thronebreaker, a dictator, a revolutionary, a firebrand. With their legion they are able to tear down nations. They would be able to drive out and banish the Black Queen and King themselves. There are few fighting forces capable of combating the Prince of Blood and their forces. The Prince of Blood embodies the destructive power of the collective, even when alone they embody the unified force of an army, a riot made manifest. Like a many handed wear god, the Prince of Blood is Legion, able to exist in multiple places at once in synchronicity with their forces, capable to achieve more than what any one person should be able to achieve. Wherever the Prince goes, they bring the force of hundreds, and wherever their legion marches, they bring the power of countless warriors.

Bleed out

The Prince of Blood can destroy with physical, literal blood, using their own blood as a weapon. This can take the form of manifesting various weapons, such as swords, whips, or projectiles, as well as something deadly about their blood, such as a disease or it being corrosive. They are a master of homokinetic combat, using their own pulse in stressful situations to greatly increase their physical abilities and combat prowess.

At lower levels the Prince has a talent for survival in life and death situations, using the tension of the moment as fuel. While weaker hearts may not be able to withstand the pressure, the Prince of Blood is able to take pulse pounding stress, anxiety, and fear to grant themselves increased speed, strength, and agility. This stems from a unique quality of their blood, something unnatural allowing it to handle a far greater effort than the already superhuman players of Sburb. This may be a rare blood mutation, a curse, perhaps their blood has been replaced by Something Else. Regardless, their blood is a weapon all on its own, empowering the Prince and being capable of poisoning, cursing, blinding, or otherwise impairing those it makes contact with.

Princes, starting their sessions with overpowered weapons, would be quick to utilize their quirk of their blood. This could be using game systems to infuse weapons with the qualities of their blood, using it as a volatile building material. As a replenishable resource, access to their blood could be used to coat weapons like a poison or acid, act as nitro for engines, and allow weapons to glide and flow with far greater speed and power.

By the medium levels the Prince of Blood has progressed past enchanting and infusing weapons with their blood, instead able to conjure powerful weapons from their bloodstream entirely. This may operate as a sort of secondary inventory system. Any items connected to their blood could be conjured up in an instant, regardless of distance. These weapons are not merely enhanced by the Prince's blood, but are overwhelmingly bathed in its properties. An effective poison becomes even deadlier, a potent acid becomes capable of dissolving bodies almost instantaneously, etc. While the Prince was capable of moving with increased abilities before, their weapons, now a literal living extension of themselves, would grant them a level of finesse, impact, grace, and speed unparalleled. Few can wield a weapon with more skill and power than the Prince of Blood with their own body.

At higher levels the armaments of the Prince of Blood are not relegated to simple hand weaponry, able to evolve into any number of warmachines for the Prince to store within their body. As the Prince engages in the all too common hyperviolence of the game, their weapons may gain an awakened state, drawing on the blood of enemies to empower their weapons. The Prince of Blood is capable of creating artillery cannons, tanks, fighter jets, and other large scale war machines, all fabricated from the ravenous tide of blood.

As the Prince of Blood reaches full enlightenment of their powers, Prince of Blood can achieve the ultimate state of their legendary weapon. A weapon that can cut anything, regardless of durability, that will ruin and bring rot and ruin to everything connected. The Prince’s weapon sends harmful reverberations through everything connected to the target or metaphysically severs connections to the target. On the Battlefield, the Prince of Blood may slay a single soldier and all those in its legions suddenly fall gravely ill. In a duel, the Prince of Blood may strike the Black Queen and before they hit the ground, the Black King has forgotten their existence entirely.

Skills

Bad blood- your blood is deadly. When a creature makes contact with your blood, they take a set damage type and have a chance to contract a matching condition. Fire and burning, poison and poisoned, acid and dissolving, etc.

Best way is through- things almost always move out of your way when you push forward

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This post was commissioned! If you want to commission me or support my content, you can find me @ https://ko-fi.com/kesscal !

#homestuck #classpect #prince of blood #prince class #blood aspect

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t-0ne25 · 10 months ago

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[C] — THEIR APARTMENT

Perhaps caused by anxiety reasons, you’ve always been someone who needs to discuss things as soon as possible. Otherwise, you won’t be able to stop worrying and just fall down a drain of confusion. It’s a curse and a blessing at once. After packing all your stuff, you head to one of the cafés on your way to your friends’ shared apartment, getting three drinks for the trio.

Luckily, the subway isn’t as crowded as it was two days ago, making it easier to balance the beverages without the fear of spilling even a single drop. One less problem. At least something. You wonder now how stupid it was to get a caffeine induced drink for yourself, when your heart is already threatening to burst out of your chest. You push the worries aside—as best as possible—and (im)patiently wait for the station you want to get out.

Once you reach it, you sprint out the vehicle and basically run to the building your friends live in. Your heart is pumping at lightning speed, your head is spinning, making you wonder if it’s such a great idea, first, to turn up here uninvited and, second, to talk to them about the confusion inside your head when you yourself don’t know yet what you actually want.

Well, if you’re completely honest... The best decision would be not to choose at all and just be close with both of them—both physically and romantically speaking. This is the disaster you’ve caught yourself in. Great. Who on earth has a crush on both their friends and said friends also happen to be roommates? This is ridiculous.

Your palms are sweaty when you enter the house, climbing up the stairs with weak knees but you manage to get to their floor. You count to ten inside your head—a strategy you always use when you’re caught in anxiety induced moments like this one. You make it to number eight, nine follows. Nine and a half. Nine and three quarters. Wishing to find a magic spell that will help you out of this.

Ten.

You’ve got this.

You ring the doorbell.

Half a minute passes before the door swings open, revealing Minho who is only wearing a towel around his waist. You cling onto the drinks you brought with you. An accident of three iced beverages hitting the floor and making a sticky mess should be avoided at any cost.

“You’re here to see Jisung, hm?”

You’re startled to say the least. “No… Well, actually, I wanted to talk to both of you.”

Minho grins, stepping back and gesturing towards their apartment, telling you to enter. “Then come in, princess. Make yourself comfortable.”

You follow suit, getting inside, all shyly handing him the beverages. He thanks you and places them on the couch table. His roommate is already sitting on the sofa but stands up when he notices you. And Jisung’s mischievous smirk is even more present.

Why the hell do they act like this?

“Look who’s decided to show up, Ji,” Minho says and you know that he’s smiling brightly. Have they expected you to come to their place?

Jisung chuckles, “Oh, our girl is here to see us, hm?”

Their girl? You don’t quite get what he means with that. What is going on?

“Were you guys… waiting for me?” you dare to ask now.

The younger one is wearing that tank top again, his muscles on full display and you barely notice your gaze wandering towards them, as if some supernatural force is dragging your eyes to them.

“You could say that, yeah,” Jisung giggles.

“You wanna explain why you’re here?” Minho asks and when you turn around he’s suddenly dressed in some sweatpants and a shirt similar to his roommate’s. How the hell did he manage to change so quickly? Or were you perhaps zoned out because of Jisung’s arms? You wouldn’t be surprised, to be honest.

But what are you supposed to tell them? Hey, I’ve got a crush on the both of you and impulsively decided to drive all the way to your place just to tell you that I don’t know who I want either.

Not your greatest idea.

On top of that, at this point you believe it’s just best to leave things as they are—you probably shouldn’t decide for any of them (if they even like you back) and destroy a lifelong friendship with this, right?

“Oh, I wish I knew… well I do know why and how I ended up here but… I’m sorry. For all the mess,” you admit.

Jisung looks at you confused, one of his eyebrows raised up, “What mess?”

Maybe you should do it in the same way you rip off a bandaid. Quickly with the least pain possible.

“I… I think I have a crush on both of you and I’m sorry about it,” you admit. It’s out. You said it. But you don’t feel any better.

“You’re sorry? Why would anybody be sorry about having a crush on me, Lee Minho?” Minho says with a scoff, crossing his arms in front of his chest which brings your focus right back to them. Shit, what you’d do to have them wrapped around your throat, being in a chokehold, while Jisung is in front of you, kissing you. Being sandwiched between these two is one of your darkest fantasies after all.

Get it together, Y/N. You’re talking to your friends.

“Because I like both of you. And I’m putting you in a shitty situation.”

Jisung gets a bit closer. “Why is that?”

“Because, well, sooner or later I have to choose, so it’s probably best if I just leave you two to stay best friends and not opt for any of you,” you explain.

The younger one is standing in front of you now, big puppy eyes looking at you. He reaches for a strand of your hair, just to tuck it behind your ear. Your heart does a flip, a turn, a whole pirouette. Fuck. What the hell is going on?

“Why would you do this if you can have us both?”

Minho’s voice is close. Dangerously close. Then you feel his breath linger on your neck, realising he’s standing right behind you.

“Are… a-are you guys serious?”

Minho snickers, “I’m usually not the type to, but I would share you with my best friend.”

Earth stops. Your eyes are widening and for a second you believe your heart gives out.

“Hm,” Jisung starts, “same for me. You’re too precious to the both of us. We like you too, Y/N. More than just a friend.”

“He’s right, princess,” you hear from behind you. Suddenly, Minho’s hands are on your waist. “We will find a way to make this work, yeah?”

“Okay,” you breathe out as if you’re functioning on autopilot. “Yeah, we can. But… can we start where we left off… I-I mean, where I left off with the two of you?”

Jisung grins, “Of course, darling. Just tell us who you’d like to kiss first.”

“Why don’t we make a game out of this, hm?” Minho suddenly suggests. “How do you feel about being blindfolded, baby? And you’re gonna tell us, who is kissing you?”

You nod, before you consent with words and five minutes later you find yourself in Minho’s bedroom with him and his roommate. You’re sprawled out on the mattress, your vision blinded, caused by the black fabric that’s covering your eyes right now. The atmosphere is tense, your heart is beating out of your chest—nothing new by now.

“Is it okay if we touch you?” you hear the older one speak.

“Yes, please,” you say, sounding even more desperate than what you’ve anticipated.

You feel hands carefully grazing over your thighs, your skirt riding up in the process but not too much to reveal anything hiding underneath. The person comes closer, until you sense their hot breath against your nose. Two fingers tilt your head upwards and then you suddenly feel lips pressed against your own. You immediately give in, enjoying the kiss you’re granted.

The man smiles against you, before a chuckle slips out of him, divulging his identity.

“Jisung?” you ask with the same smirk on your face.

“You’ve got me there. Wanna go further? And guess again?”

You know exactly what he means. And the idea arouses you, to say the least, so you tell them to keep going. You sense another pair of lips on your own, soon realising it’s Minho since he’s a bit more gentle. You can’t lie, you enjoy how eager Jisung was but it also made it easier to find out who was behind that first kiss.

Meanwhile, it must be the younger one whose hands are currently wandering under your skirt, lifting it upwards and you let him, even parting your legs for him. He makes quick work when his fingers come closer to your very much drenched panties, grazing over the ruined fabric. Minho is still kissing you, getting a bit more passionate, while his hands are on your sides, wandering upwards to squeeze one of your tits lightly.

Jisung’s fingers wander underneath your laces, before he slides them aside and adjusts his position. You keep kissing his roommate, still very much blindfolded but this electrifies you even more. Two digits dip into your wet hole, spreading you open, preparing you for what’s yet to come.

And then Minho’s tongue slips inside your mouth, while Jisung’s brushes over your aching cunt.

You can’t believe it either, what’s happening here. But you allow the sensation to take over you.

Immediately clenching around Jisung’s fingers, a loud moan passes your lips, getting caught by Minho who’s still kissing you as if he’s gasping for air and you’re his oxygen.

“Ji– Fuck–“ you whimper, when he finds that very certain spot inside you.

Minho stops kissing you. His fingers wrap around your throat. “You’re moaning his name, while I’m kissing you?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Min, but he’s making me feel so good,” you decide to tease your friend. You feel Jisung chuckle against your heat and in an instant, the mattress shifts and suddenly both men are between your thighs. It’s impossible to differentiate now. You believe it’s still Jisung’s fingers inside of you and perhaps Minho’s tongue making out with your clit, but it could also be the other way around.

You enter a state of trance, arching your back as you allow the sensation to captivate your entire body and soul. It’s like you’re tasting heaven, reaching a new level of spirituality.

And then, as if they’ve planned it—they pull away from you. Just leaving you there. You obviously let out a whine, already on the verge of complaining, before one of them scoots closer again, placing the softest kiss on your forehead, letting you melt into a puddle.

The man scoots away again and then you hear one of them speak, “Ji, condoms are inside the top drawer.”

“Wait–“ you interrupt them.

“You wanna stop, angel?” the younger one asks, getting back on the bed

“N-No, it’s just… I’m on the pill… we can also not use condoms, if you are alright with that,” you tell them because you mean it. You trust your two friends so much.

“Absolutely,” you hear them say at once.

“The blindfold stays on?” Minho asks.

“Yeah…” You’re a bit ashamed that this is arousing you so much.

“Good. What’s your colour?” he adds.

“Green, one hundred per cent green.”

You hear them chuckle, before one of them—you still don’t know who—positions himself between your legs. You suppose they must have taken their clothes off by now. Two hands are caressing your thighs, before you feel your drenched panties getting guided down your body, leaving you naked underneath the skirt.

“Are you ready, baby?” the younger one speaks and you wonder if that’s a sign to tell you that he’s gonna be the one to start.

“Please… just one of you, fuck me already.”

They laugh again and you suddenly feel the tip of someone’s cock circle around your entrance, teasing you further. Perhaps it’s truly Jisung. He enters you, centimetre after centimetre, stretching you out wonderfully. He’s definitely above average, you can tell once he starts thrusting into you.

“And, who is it, hm?” Minho asks.

“How about we turn this into a game, Min?”

You try to pay attention to their breathing, trying to figure out which one of them is filling you so well.

“Sure, tell me what you mean,” the older one says, while all movements suddenly come to a halt.

“Only if Y/N manages to guess correctly, she deserves to cum.”

Oh, God. You sure hope you’ll win this game. You are sure you won’t be able to handle another one of their edging games.

“Tell us your colour, princess.”

“Green. Green, Green, Green.”

They chuckle, before you sense your body moving again, getting railed into oblivion as you try your best to find out who is making you feel that good.

You’ve always expected Minho to be on the bigger side but then again you’d also think of him to be someone to allow Jisung to go first. Fuck. How are you supposed to solve this riddle?

Feeling yourself getting closer to your own high doesn’t make this any easier, especially when the other man gets closer and starts playing with your clit.

Take a guess, Y/N. It’s a fifty-fifty chance.

“Minho?”

None of them answers in order to not reveal who’s who.

“It’s you, Min, isn’t it?”

You hear the man who’s inside of you chuckle, “Whenever you’re ready, cum for me, princess.”

And oh, you do. All over his cock, while your legs are shaking like crazy, as you come undone. They both help you through your climax, praising words entering your ears while this indescribable sensation takes over you.

Minho feels himself twitching inside of you and after you encourage him, he spills his seeds into your warm wet hole, marking you as his. He slips out and you suddenly feel two hands tugging at the blindfold. The fabric gets pulled off.

“You’re so good for us, angel,” Jisung says, smiling at you. “Another round?”

You smile back, as you reply, “I’d love to.”

The younger one positions himself between your legs, while you notice Minho getting closer. He’s lying next to you, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“You’re such a good girl for us,” he encourages you, as his friend slowly enters you, pushing Minho’s seeds back inside.

You let out a gasp, accompanied by a moan, as you beg him to start moving. He follows suit, doing as he’s told, when he stretches you out so deliciously. Jisung is a bit faster from the beginning but you don’t mind. Of course, he’s even carrying that mischievous look on his face again.

His roommate begins kissing your neck, while his hand wanders between your legs, two fingers finding your clit. You’re sensitive to his touch, allowing pleasure to take over you, while his friend keeps pounding into you.

“I’ve always known that you’d be a whore for our cocks,” Jisung grunts, his hands reaching under your thighs, before he’s hovering them over his shoulders to rut even deeper into you.

Minho grins, while he keeps touching and kissing you, “Greedy little thing, couldn’t even decide, hm? One cock isn’t enough for you, huh?”

Tears are pricking on your lower lash lines because they’re making you feel that good.

“She always needs more, Min. Can’t ever get enough,” Jisung teases you.

“Ji– fuck, Min–“ is all that makes it past your lips, brain completely shut off by now.

“That’s it baby, scream our names like that. Let everyone know who’s making you feel that good,” Minho whispers, as his kisses turn softer again. The duality of this man is unbelievable.

“It’s you, Minho a-and Jisung, it’s you,” you manage to let out, before your second orgasm takes over you. It’s even more intense than the first one but both men help you through it once more.

Jisung asks as well, where you want him to cum and he receives the same answer as his roommate, before he fills you up to the brim with his juices, letting them mix together with your own ones and Minho’s.

He glides out of you, watching the liquids run down on the bedsheets and everything that happens after this is a blur. They take care of you, run a warm bath and clean you. All while being so gentle your heart threatens to combust for real this time.

Thirty minutes later, you’re put into pyjamas and tucked under the blankets, both men lying next to you.

They kiss you goodnight, before you doze off to sleep.

Thank you lots for reading 🩷 ENJOYED THIS STORY? Go back to the main part and leave a comment, reblog or send an ask my way if you feel like it! I’d appreciate it so much. 🌷

#give me your tmi options —🌷#option C: their apartment

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the-mortuary-witch · 3 months ago

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INCENSE PROPERTIES

ACACIA: burned with sandalwood to stimulate the psychic powers.

AFRICAN VIOLET: protection and to promote spirituality within the home.

ALLSPICE: attract both good luck and money.

ALOES: attract good fortune, love, spiritual vibrations, and strength.

ALTHEA: protection and to stimulate the psychic powers.

AMBER: love, comfort, happiness, and healing.

AMBERGRIS: burn for dreams and aphrodisiac.

ANGELICA: protection, harmony, integration, insight and understanding, stability, and meditation.

ANISE SEEDS: meditation and emotional balance incense.

BASIL: exorcise and protect against evil entities such as demons and unfriendly ghosts, and to attract fidelity, love, good luck, sympathy, and wealth. This is also an excellent incense to use when performing love divinations. Also burn for concentration, assertiveness, decisiveness, trust, integrity, enthusiasm, mental clarity, cheerfulness, confidence, and courage.

BAY: facilitate the psychic powers, and to induce prophetic dream-visions.

BAYBERRY: attract money and also burned for protection, happiness and control.

BENZOIN: purification, astral projection, clears negative energy, emotional balance, eases sadness, depression, weariness, grief, anger, anxiety, and to attract prosperity.

BERGAMOT: money, prosperity, uplifting of spirits, joy, protection, concentration, alertness, confidence, balance, strength, courage, motivation, and assertiveness.

BISTORT: burned often with frankincense as a powerful incense to aid divination.

BRACKEN: burned in outdoor fires to magickally produce rain.

CARDAMON: mental clarity, concentration, confidence, courage, enthusiasm, and motivation.

CARNATION: protection, strength, healing, love, and lust.

CEDAR: purification, to stimulate or strengthen the psychic powers, attract love, prevent nightmares, and heal various ailments, including head colds.

CEDARWOOD: healing, purification, protection, money, balance, grounding, clarity, insight, and wisdom.

CHAMOMILE: harmony, peace, calm, and spiritual and inner peace.

CINNAMON: protection and to attract money, wealth, prosperity, business success, stimulate or strengthen the psychic powers, and aid in healing. Also burned for stimulation, strength, and lust.

CITRON: burned in rituals to aid healing and also to strengthen the psychic powers.

CITRONELLA: cleansing, warding off, healing, and exorcism.

CLOVE: dispel negativity, purify sacred and magickal spaces, attract money, and stop or prevent the spread of gossip. Also burn for pain relief, intellectual stimulation, business success, wealth, prosperity, divination, exorcism, protection, eases fears, and improves memory and focus.

COCONUT: protection.

COPAL: purification, uplifting spirits, protection, exorcism, spirituality, and to attract love.

CYPRESS: strength, comfort, healing, eases anxiety, stress, self-assurance, confidence, physical vitality, willpower, and concentration.

DAMIANA: facilitate psychic visions.

DITTANY OF CRETE: conjure spirits and to aid in divination, astral projection, especially when mixed with equal parts of benzoin, sandalwood, and vanilla.

DRAGON’S BLOOD: dispel negativity, exorcise evil supernatural entities, courage, purification, attract love, and restore male potency. Many witches also burn dragon's blood for protection when spell casting and invoking. When added to other incenses, dragon's blood makes their magickal powers all the stronger.

ELECAMPANE: strengthen the clairvoyant powers and scrying abilities-divination by gazing.

EUCALYPTUS: healing, purification, and protection.

FERN: burned in outdoor fires to magickally produce rain. Also used to exorcise evil supernatural entities.

FRANKINCENSE: dispel negativity, spirituality, purify magickal spaces, consecration, protect against evil, exorcism, aid meditation, astral strength, induce psychic visions, courage, protection, attract good luck, and honour Pagan deities.

FUMITORY: exorcise demons, poltergeists, and evil supernatural entities.

GALANGAL: breaks the curses cast by sorcerers.

GARDENIA: peace, love, and healing.

GINGER: wealth, lust, love, and magical power.

GINSENG ROOT: keep wicked spirits at bay, and for protection against all forms of evil.

GOTU KOLA: burned to aid meditation.

HEATHER: conjure beneficial spirits, and to magickally produce rain.

HIBISCUS FLOWERS: attract love, lust, and also used for divination.

HONEY SUCKLE: attract money, happiness, friendship, and healing.

HOREHOUND: burned as an offertory incense to the ancient Egyptian god Horus.

HYACINTH: happiness and protection.

JASMINE: attract love and money, and also to induce dreams of a prophetic nature, purification, and wisdom and astral projection.

JUNIPER: stimulate or increase the psychic powers, and also to break curses, exorcism and hexes cast by evil sorcerers. It is also burned for calming, protection and healing.

LAVENDER: induce rest and sleep, and to attract love-especially of a man. Also burned for cleansing, healing, happiness and relaxation

LEMON: healing, love, and purification.

LEMONGRASS: mental clarity.

LILAC: simulate or increase the psychic powers, and to attract harmony into one’s life.

LOTUS: elevate mood, protection, spirituality, healing and meditation.

MACE: stimulate or increase the psychic powers.

MASTIC: conjure beneficial spirits, stimulate or increase the psychic powers, and intensify sexual desires. The magickal powers of other incenses are greatly increased when a bit of mastic is added.

MESQUITE: magickal powers of all healing incenses are greatly increased when mesquite is added.

MINT: increase sexual desire, exorcise evil supernatural entities, conjure beneficial spirits, and attract money. Mint incense also possesses strong healing vibrations and protective powers.

MUSK: aphrodisiac, prosperity, and courage.

MYRRH: burned (often with frankincense) for purification, consecration, healing, exorcism, and banishing evil. Myrrh is also aids meditation rituals, and was commonly burned on alters in ancient Egypt as an offering to deities Isis and Ra.

NUTMEG: aid meditation, stimulate or increase the psychic powers, and to attract prosperity.

OAKMOSS: money and attraction.

ORANGE: divination, love, luck and money.

PATCHOULI: attract money, love, growth, mastery, sensuality and also to promote fertility.

PEPPERMINT: energy, mental stimulant, exorcism, and healing.

PINE: purification, and to banish negative energies, exorcise evil supernatural entities, and attract money, as well as to break hexes and return them to their senders. Also burned for grounding, strength, cleansing, and healing.

POPPY SEEDS: promote female fertility, and to attract love, good luck, and money.

ROSE: increase courage, induce prophetic dreams, house blessing, fertility, healing and attract love. Rose incense is used in all forms of love enchantment and possesses the strongest love vibration of any magickal incense.

ROSE GERANIUM: courage and protection.

ROSEMARY: purify, aid in healing, prevent nightmares, preserve youthfulness, dispel depression, attract fairy folk, and promote restful sleep and pleasant dreams.

RUE: help restore health.

SAGE: protection against all forms of evil. It is also burned to purify sacred spaces and ritual tools. Plus it is great for promoting wisdom, clarity, attract money, and aid in the healing the body, mind, and soul.

SAGE BRUSH: aid healing, and to banish negative energies and evil supernatural entities.

SANDALWOOD: exorcise demons and evil ghosts, conjure beneficial spirits, and promote spiritual awareness. Sandalwood incense is also used by many Witches for protection, astral projection, healing rituals and in wish-magick.

SOLOMON’S SEAL: mainly as an offertory incense to ancient Pagan deities.

STAR ANISE SEEDS: stimulate or increase the psychic powers.

STRAWBERRY: attract love and for luck.

SWEETGRASS: conjure beneficial spirits prior to spell casting.

SWEET PEA: friendship, love and courage.

THYME: purification of magickal spaces prior to rituals, to aid in healing, and to attract good health.

VANILLA: attract love, increase sexual desire, and improve the powers of the mind.

VERVAIN: exorcise evil supernatural entities.

VETIVERT: break curses, exorcism, for protection against black magick and thieves, money, peace and love.

VIOLET: break curses, exorcism, for protection against black magick and thieves, money, peace and love.

WILLOW: avert evil, attract love, and promote healing. It is also used by many witches as an offertory incense for Pagan lunar deities.

WISTERIA: protection against all forms of evil.