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foreverwayward · 1 year ago

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Supernatural: The Series Rewrite

S.1. Ch.2. “Bloody Mary”

Series summary: As Sam and Dean begin the search for their father, a chance encounter with another hunter will change the roads ahead. Riley Munroe is a hunter, raised by her father after her mother tragically died when she was an infant. Brought together by loss, grief, and the family business, Sam, Dean, and Riley join forces. They’ll find that their stories are intertwined and lean on each other as they search for answers and to avenge those they’ve lost. They’ll face evil, darkness, and Hell itself…as a family.

*NEW SERIES*

SERIES MASTERLIST

Word Count: 9k

Content Warning: language and violence

DISCLAIMER: any words or phrases in bold in the story are not my own and are credited to the writers of Supernatural.

**GIFS AND IMAGES ARE NOT MY OWN*

It had been about two months since Riley, Sam, and Dean had left Lawrence together. The trio had already handled three cases; a Wendigo, the ghost of a vengeful spirit, and a demon that was hell-bent on crashing planes full of innocent passengers.

Riley still had a small cut on her forehead from taking a hit during the insane turbulence aboard the flight.

Needless to say, the hunters had kept plenty busy.

Riley was sound asleep in the back of the car and Sam was in his own dreamland in the front seat, leaving Dean to drive.

------

As Sam opened his eyes, Jess laid sprawled out on the ceiling, her stomach slashed open. Her dead eyes stared back at him and he gasped in horror.

Jess’ terrified voice rang out.

“Sam!”

Sam shot out of his deep slumber, trembling and practically gasping for air. Nightmares and constant memories of Jessica’s final moments and the horrors of watching her unspeakable death were strangling the life from him. Her soft voice in his dreams still echoed like the firing of a gun.

It woke Riley and she looked at Sam. “Hey, you okay?"

“Yeah...bad dream I guess.” He tried to compose himself.

Dean glanced at Sam. “You’ve been having a lot of those lately.”

“I get ‘em too, Sam.” Riley pulled her hair into a bun and out of her face. “Yet another hazard of the job, I guess.”

She let out a nearly inaudible gasp as a tidal wave of emotions came over her, nearly knocking her back. Riley had no idea what was happening or how she was being consumed by emotions that didn’t even feel like her own. She was engulfed in such profound heartbreak that it felt as though something was tearing into her chest. It took all she had to not break down and sob from the pain.

A tear fell from her eye and Riley quickly wiped it away, hoping Sam and Dean didn’t see. Overwhelmed with emotions she couldn’t understand, she tried to breathe through it, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

“I miss her so much. It's all my fault...”

She had watched Sam’s face and his lips had never moved.

“This can’t be happening,” Riley thought to herself.

These moments had been happening more and more frequently since that day with Deb in the diner. Possibly hearing the thoughts of others and sharing their emotional experiences sounded like something Riley should keep to herself.

“...am I going crazy?”

Dean finally decided to speak up. “Ya know, I was gonna bring that up. You both have got to try to relax.” He had heard Riley cry in her sleep even in the next room more times than he cared to recall. Not wanting to embarrass her though, Dean kept it to himself.

He tried to focus on the road ahead. Dean couldn’t stop constantly worrying about them both, no matter how hard he tried not to, while Sam anxiously chewed on a toothpick from their previous stop.

As they pulled into an old fill-up station on the highway, Baby’s engine purred softly before coming to a stop in front of a gas pump.

“I’ll grab the snacks,” Sam said as he hopped out of the car and headed to the small convenience shop. His hands were in his pockets with his head hung low.

Riley knew where Sam’s head was at. She and Sam had become close in such a short amount of time and had shared countless stories. In their second week, after a few too many beers, Sam opened up to her about Jessica and what had happened that awful night. Even drunk, it seemed as though Sam was breaking all over again when telling Riley exactly how he had lost the love of his life.

Riley laid her arms across the top of the front seat and rested her head on them. “Dean, I’m worried about him.”

Dean sighed while watching his little brother through the store windows. “I know. I just don’t know how to help him, ya know?”

“I don’t think you can.”

Dean turned his head towards her and a look of empathy and understanding was staring back at him. Looking into her eyes was like watching the ocean, tranquil and inviting. His heart ached a little less from that one look alone.

“I know,” Dean nodded, trying to make peace with the fact that he couldn’t fix Sam’s pain.

“You’re a good brother, Dean.”

Disagreeing but not knowing how to respond, Dean simply nodded his head in thought.

“I’ll be right back.” Riley got out and jogged over to the restroom.

Dean never took his eyes off her just as he always did, soaking in every movement she made.

He got out and paid at the pump with a fake credit card under the name ‘Mark Smith’. The mid-December wind held winter in the air as a cool breeze blew against him. Dean shivered briefly and he popped up his jacket collar, nuzzling into it.

As he began to fuel up, Sam came back, a bag of snacks and drinks in hand.

Sam threw the plastic bag on the front seat and leaned up against the car.

Opening his new water, he looked at his brother. Sam’s eyes then followed Dean’s gaze that sat on the bathroom door. “So, what’s going on with you guys?” Sam knew there was no easing into those questions.

“Nothing’s going on,” Dean told him as he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets.

Sam scoffed. “Nothing? C’mon, Dean. You’re so into her it’s sometimes painful to watch,” he chuckled. When Dean didn’t respond, he went on. “So…are you going to do something about it?”

“Do what, exactly?” Dean asked as he turned in his direction, somewhat annoyed. “It’s not as simple as you think it is.”

“Simple? Dean, nothing in our lives is ever simple.”

Dean gave an agreeing look. “True.” He looked over again to where Riley had gone to make sure she wasn’t coming back yet before he spoke. “You were right, Sam. We gotta focus on Yellow-Eyes and finding Dad,” Dean said as he returned the pump and closed the gas tank cover.

“Okay,” Sam conceded. His attention shifted as he saw Riley head towards them. “But for the record, she’s crazy about you too--you both are too obvious,” he added, laughing to himself.

Dean couldn’t help but hope that Sam was right. No matter how much Dean tried to not have feelings for Riley, he seemed to be failing at his attempts to do so every day. Whether by choice or to his dismay, nothing had ever happened between him and Riley. Though, to be fair, neither had even tried to make a move on the other since they had left Lawrence.

Sam patted Dean on the shoulder with a smirk before getting back in the car. Once back in his seat, he sighed. He had never seen Dean bond with someone the way he had been with Riley, or even look at anyone the way he looked at her. The playboy Sam knew was falling for Riley, and hard. Sam could read it on Dean’s face.

Sadness swept back through him again. Something was growing between Dean and Riley and it reminded him of how he and Jess had started. His mind drifted off, willing to give anything to hold her one more time, to tell her how much he loved her.

As the others got back in the car, Sam decided to focus on work to keep himself from slowly losing himself in his grief.

“Alright, so we got a case. Toledo, Ohio. A daughter finds her father dead on the floor of the bathroom, covered in blood that had all drained from his eyes. And get this, they were almost completely liquidated.”

Dean made a face of utter disgust. “Well, that’s lovely. No sign of a struggle?”

“Nope. And no evidence whatsoever. No fingerprints, DNA, witnesses...nothing.”

“Well, it sounds like we’re going to Toledo,” Riley added.

The engine revved and Riley reached over the seat to grab a bag of chips out of the snack bag as they drove out of the station.

------

Riley, Sam, and Dean walked into the Toledo coroner's office. Dean tried to muster up a good excuse for the coroner’s assistant to let them see the body, but after they failed to get by while claiming they were med students, Sam decided to butt in. He handed the guy $100 and the assistant conceded, nodding towards the door for them to follow him in.

“Dude. I earned that money,” Dean barked under his breath.

Sam scoffed, “...at a poker game.”

“Uh...yeah!”

Riley stifled a laugh and patted Dean’s shoulder, somewhat condescendingly. “Aw, I’ll help you earn it back. I mean, let’s be honest, I’m probably better than you at pool anyways.”

He looked down at her and playfully mocked her words.

The room was cold and medical, it reeked of death. No matter how many years on the job, it’s never a smell that doesn’t still shock the senses. A harsh fluorescent light hung above them. Even covered in bright light, the room still sent a chill of unease up their spine.

The assistant examined the labels on the many drawers on the wall and pulled the handle of one out toward him. A metal clunk came from the drawer as it extended out towards them.

All three gathered around the slab as the assistant pulled back the sheet. Mr. Shoemaker’s hollowed-out, melted eyes seemed to almost stare back at them.

The medical assistant read over the coroner’s report. “Uh--Mr. Shoemaker--official cause of death was an aneurysm. Doc thinks it may have been a stroke.”

“Really?” Dean asked in disbelief. “You ever seen a stroke that made somebody’s eyes explode?” He looked down at the body searching for clues.

“We’re gonna need to see the police report.” Riley leaned in as well to get a look for herself, feeding her morbid curiosity.

The assistant shook his head. “I’m not supposed to show you that.”

Riley looked up at him and bat her lashes. “You know,” she said slowly walking towards him, her voice in a sexy coo. “It would mean a lot to me if you could help us out. We have a paper due next week and it’s half our grade. I can’t afford to not pass this class. Could you just show it to us for just a couple minutes? It would mean so much to me. Please?” She placed a hand gently on his arm and he swallowed hard.

“I--I guess it would be okay for just a few minutes.”

“I seriously can’t thank you enough.” Riley smiled as she slid her hand softly down his arm, slowly pulling away.

The assistant walked away with a ridiculous grin, stumbling as he went.

“See boys? Just gotta know how to ask nicely.” Riley winked to add to her saucy response before returning her focus to examining the body.

------

Mr. Shoemaker’s funeral had brought countless people to his home. The Shoemaker house was filled with mourning friends and family. It was warm and inviting even with the sorrow that filled every room. Everyone was dressed in black evening wear as they made sad conversation.

Dean looked to his partners. “I think we’re a little underdressed.”

Walking respectfully through the family room, they found their way to the backyard. Mr. Shoemaker’s teenage daughter was sitting on a wooden bench that rested on the edge of the grass on the stone patio.

She was crying, her friends trying to console her. She had short brown hair that flipped up at the bottom and was in a black dress that stopped at her knees.

As they walked closer, Riley began to feel the emotions and hurt that radiated from the young girl. Again, she tried to ignore whatever was coming over her and attempted to shrug it off.

“Hi, I’m Sam. This is my brother Dean and our friend, Riley. We’re sorry to hear about your dad. We knew him through work.”

“We’re so sorry to bother you,” Riley added. “We heard it was a stroke. Did your dad ever talk about having any symptoms? Headaches or anything like that?”

“No--never. Dad was always really healthy. I just don’t understand.” Mr. Shoemaker’s eldest daughter, Donna, muffled her cries.

She wiped her face with the bundled Kleenex in her hand.

“It was Bloody Mary,” a small voice to the side said. The youngest Shoemaker, Lily, was no more than nine years old. She had long, dark blonde hair that fell over her shoulders, tied half up in a bow. “Before he died, I said ‘Bloody Mary’ three times. It’s my fault--she takes your eyes. That’s what she did to my dad.” Tears welled up in her eyes, matching her sad and reddened face.

The hunters looked at each other curiously.

Dean knelt next to Lily. “Hey. It wasn’t your fault, okay? Bad things just happen sometimes. You can’t blame yourself when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

She looked at him and slowly nodded her head, trying to believe the words of the kind stranger.

Riley watched as Dean consoled the little girl. She could feel his sincerity with Lily. After practically raising Sam himself, Dean was great with kids.

Before he stood, Dean took her hand and cupped it in his, giving her a little smile.

“Thank you for your time. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Sam looked to the others and they walked back into the house.

Sneaking up the stairs, they found the hallway bathroom that had become a grisly crime scene only days before.

Upon opening the door, they saw bloodstains spread all over the floor. Even after a thorough cleaning, the tile grout remained stained by the blood of Mr. Shoemaker. The crimson color reflected the horrors that would forever haunt that small space.

“I don’t get it,” Riley said, walking towards the mirror. “Everyone plays ‘Bloody Mary’. Nothing ever happens. Why now?”

Dean crouched to the floor to get a better look at the blood splatter patterns. “I don’t know. Maybe everywhere else it’s just a story. Maybe here, it’s actually real. The legend may have started here.”

“But it just doesn’t add up.” Sam took a closer look at the mirror, only to find nothing of note, and closed it again.

“Bloody Mary only goes after the ones that summon her. Legend goes, you say her name three times and she scratches your eyes out.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Except this time, someone else says it and it’s Shoemaker who takes the hit. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror.”

“Well, looks like it’s time to find proof of the legend. Who’s up for a day of research?” Riley gave Dean a look knowing how much he hated it.

His eyes rolled and his head fell back as he groaned.

------

Back at the motel, everyone was working through anything they could find. There was little to no information on Bloody Mary or her connection to the town.

Sam worked diligently at his laptop as he sifted through endless websites.

Dean sat in a chair propped up against the window, his boots crossed over each other on the chair in front of him.

He was rubbing his temple trying to be patient with what felt like the millionth book he’d read. “Alright, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town. There's gonna be some sort of proof—like a local woman who died nasty.”

Riley was sitting on the floor, papers and books spread around her as she examined everything through fatigued eyes.

She sighed. “Yeah, but this isn’t just a local legend. I mean, you said it yourself, Bloody Mary is played everywhere and there are countless versions of her origin story; one says she’s actually a witch, one says she was a mutilated bride, others say she’s a demon. There’s just too many to pin down.”

“Alright, so what are we supposed to be looking for?”

“Well,” Sam said, getting the others’ attention. “Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary and she always dies right in front of a mirror. Dean, did you get anything going through the records or newspapers at the library?”

“Oh, you mean besides a whole new fuckin’ level of frustration? No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, but, uh--no Mary. Basically? We got bupkis.”

Riley gathered her long hair and pulled it to the side over one shoulder. “Well, I didn’t really find any other strange deaths in the area either, so...maybe whatever this is, just isn’t Mary.”

"Great,” Dean added with a tired groan.

It went quiet again as the three resumed their work until Dean’s thoughts began to wander.

“God, I hate this shit. And how the hell am I supposed to focus with her looking like that?”

Riley looked up, thinking she heard Dean speak.

He quickly went back to his book, pretending he hadn’t been staring.

She smiled discreetly, but knowing that he was thinking about her made that discretion incredibly difficult.

Though Riley was becoming more used to hearing occasional thoughts and feelings, that didn’t mean she was ready to tell Sam or Dean about her secret. She had no idea how they would react, let alone how she would even find the words.

The phone rang and Sam got up from his spot on the bed against the headboard to grab it from the small side table. “Hello?” He listened for a few seconds and his face fell as the conversation went on. “Okay, uh--thanks.”

He ended the call and looked over at Riley and Dean.

“...a girl is dead.”

------

Riley stood in the corner of a cheap motel room. The wallpaper was a terrible green patterned print and the bedding looked worn and uninviting. A wooden pillared wall stood between her and the rest of the room.

"Have I been here before?" she thought.

Footsteps from outside grew closer just outside the door and she turned at the sound.

A man walked in the already ajar door, holding a pack of beer and take-out food.

Putting all the contents he was carrying onto the small table by the door as silently as he could, the man peeked in with trepidation before reaching for the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants.

Riley stepped hesitantly toward him with desperate and almost teary eyes. “...Dad?” her voice broke.

Jackson Munroe. He had dark brown hair that he could run his fingers through and soft blue eyes that were utterly hypnotic. He was tall and broad, his tense muscles snug underneath his shirt beneath his canvas jacket.

His eyes moved to the main room and he froze. There was blood painted across the room, some had even splattered onto the mirror hung over the large wooden dresser and across the wall.

Jackson’s heart sank in his chest. “Riley…?” His voice was soft and almost shaking with fear.

It was then that he saw his daughter’s boots on the floor, jutting out from the other side of the bed.

“Riley?!” he cried out with a heartwrenching gasp.

Riley’s face was empty and pale. Her blue eyes were slightly open and seemed to still be looking back at him. Riley’s throat had been slit nearly clean through, leaving her body barely intact.

Seeing the brutality his daughter had endured nearly caused him to vomit and he covered his mouth with a fist as he tried not to heave. His first desperate reaction was wanting to scoop her into his arms, but he knew her mutilated body would break apart if he did.

Jackson sobbed as he fell to his knees, causing her still warm blood to seep through his jeans. He reached out and pushed the blood-soaked hair out of her face. Even in death, she was beautiful.

“Oh, honey. No. Baby girl, no. Come back to me.” He grasped at her hand and leaned into her touch. “Don’t leave me, Riley!”

Jackson’s scream-like sobs filled the room. The sound of his pain was so real, it sounded as though he was dying alongside her.

“Dad!”

Riley shot up out of bed wide awake. Tears were running down her face, sweat covering her back.

She was in her motel room. It was silent and the light from the parking lot only illuminated a small portion of the room.

Riley grabbed her throat and looked down to check her hands for blood.

It was always the same dream and it had been happening ever since she had lost Jackson. No dream had ever been more vivid or real and she feared sleep for that very reason. The monsters in her waking moments never brought her the terror and pain she felt from her father in that dream.

Dean came in from the adjoining room, concern written all over his face. “Hey, you okay?”

She wiped the tears from her face before turning to him and cleared her throat. “Yeah. Damn nightmare again.”

“Okay, well...I’m, uh--I’m right next door if you need anything.” He lingered while turning to leave, wanting to make sure she was alright.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” he asked, turning back toward her in the doorway.

“Thanks.”

Dean offered her a gentle, tight-lipped smile in response as he returned to his room and closed the door behind him.

Riley sat up against the headboard and sighed. “Get it together,” she muttered to herself.

She thought over all of the secrets she’d been keeping. Riley felt torn between needing to hide the truth while also trying to make peace with all that Jackson had kept from her. Now, she was just as guilty as he was.

Debbie was right, hunters always have their secrets.

Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep after her horrific dream, Riley threw on her jacket before leaving the motel room. She went out into the parking lot and leaned against the Impala’s hood.

Riley looked up at the open sky and took a deep breath as she tried to soak in the fresh, brisk air. As she exhaled, her warm breath fogged in front of her face.

“I’m trying, Dad,” she said into the darkness. Her voice broke as her eyes welled with tears. “I’m trying…”

From one of the motel windows, Dean watched her with a heavy expression. He turned to see Sam practically whimpering in his stress-induced sleep.

Dean had felt responsible for Sam since they were little kids. He believed it was his duty, and his alone, to protect him. Still, Dean knew, he could never take away what Sam had been through.

Now, only a couple of months in, he felt it was his job to keep Riley safe too. The whole world always fell on his shoulders and that fact was something he had accepted 22 years ago as a 4-year-old little boy.

No one else could take care of Sam or Riley or keep them from harm, but Dean would.

------

The next morning, the team went to the house of the newly murdered girl, a teen named Jill. It was a quiet house on a ‘cookie cutter street’. With the funeral happening across town, no one would be home.

One at a time, they gently climbed the trellis against the house with vines growing around it.

Dean was the first onto the roof and pulled open the window on the second floor. He crawled into the dead teen’s bedroom, the other two following after him.

The room looked like any other teenage girl’s. There were posters of boy bands and pictures of Jill and her friends littered across the wall. She had strung lights around the ceiling of the room that softly twinkled.

Dean put their equipment down on the soft, white bed next to the lace pillow covers. He pulled out an EMF detector and went to work, though it was quickly clear it wasn’t finding anything.

Sam grabbed a video camera and switched it to night vision mode while facing Dean.

Dean made a ridiculous seductive expression as he looked over his shoulder.

Shaking his head, Sam walked into the bathroom.

Riley found nothing out of place as she searched. There was no sign of a struggle.

She picked up a picture from the desk of the girl and her family. Then, like a sudden bolt of lightning, heartbreak struck her in the chest. Riley felt as though she was mourning someone she loved. It was inflicting more pain with every passing second.

Quickly putting the frame back where she found it in hopes of ending whatever odd connection was occurring, Riley went back to studying the room.

“Alright, Mary. How are you choosing your victims?” Sam closed in on the bathroom mirror with the camera. Through the night vision, he could see something dripping out from under the mirror. He put down the camera, grabbed the mirror off the hook on the wall, and brought it to the bed.

Flipping it over and tearing the back cover of the mirror open, Sam asked Dean to hand him the black light from the bag. Names glowed bright enough to read as he ran the light over the ripped backing. Right beside the names was an eerie handprint.

“Gary Bryman and Linda Shoemaker.”

“Wait, Linda Shoemaker? That’s the dead guy’s wife. But I read her obit--she died a while ago.” Riley ran her hand over the names and felt immense fear and darkness consuming her. A horrific, angry, scream echoed in her mind and she instantly yanked away from it, not wanting to feel it a second more.

The brothers watched her jump for no clear reason and gave her a confused look.

“What?” she asked, trying to play it off, before going back into the room to avoid discussing it any further.

------

“Well,” Riley started as she stared at the computer screen, “Gary Bryman was an 8-year-old boy. He died a year ago from a hit-and-run and the driver was never found. But the description of the car matched the one that the dead teenager drove.” She turned to Sam and Dean. “Coincidence? Pfft. Not in this line of work.”

“So, Jill kills a kid, ends up dead herself.” Dean mindlessly cleaned his gun while working through his thoughts out loud. “Okay, so what if Mr. Shoemaker was responsible for his wife’s death? What if it wasn’t an overdose? What if she was poisoned?”

Sam had a realization. “Well, it’s said that mirrors can reflect your soul. They show your secrets and lies--hence, why it’s back luck to break them. What if Mary is punishing those whose secrets revolve around a death?”

The three looked at each other knowing they were on to something.

“Looks like we might finally have something to go on,” Dean added as motioned for Riley to let him use the computer.

Once she handed it over to him, she stood and stretched. “Well, on that note, I’m gonna hit the shower. Though, I can’t promise there will be any hot water left for either of you when I’m done.”

The door closed and a few seconds later, the shower was on.

Knowing that she couldn’t hear them, Dean turned to Sam. “Sammy, I’m worried about you--about you and Riley.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam told him.

“Bullshit.” His voice was calm but firm. “You think I don’t know when you’re going through it?” Dean sighed. “Look, I know you miss Jessica…”

Unable to let the conversation go on, Sam interrupted, “Dean, just…please. I can’t, okay?” Wanting to do anything he could to escape the topic, Sam looked over to see the laptop screen while Dean scrolled. “Wait, wait, wait, you're doing a nationwide search for Mary?”

“Yep. The NCIC, the FBI database--at this point, any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me.”

“But if she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town.”

“Well, we’ve checked every local source possible and I got diddly squat. So, unless you got a better idea--”

“I think we’re onto something with the mirror lore. I just can’t quite place it. I mean, there seems to be a pattern, right? Mr. Shoemaker and Jill’s hit-and-run made good targets because they had secrets where people died, and then Mary came to punish them for it. ...whether they were the one who summoned her or not.”

“Hold on.” Dean stopped scrolling and pointed to an image. “Take a look at this.” The picture was a crime scene photo of a young woman lying dead in front of a mirror, drenched in a puddle of blood. On the glass of the mirror was a clear impression of a hand. “Look familiar?”

“The handprint.”

“Her name was Mary Worthington--an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana.”

The door to the bathroom opened and Riley peeked out from behind it, her hair still soaked. “Alright, which one of you jerks took the last towel?”

------

Later that night, Sam refused to sleep as his mind raced with haunting memories.

Dean was awake as well, his hands cradling the back of his head as he stared at the ceiling. He suddenly heard a soft melody begin to come from the connecting room and looked over to Sam who either didn't notice or didn't care. Sam looked broken, swallowed by his shame.

Throwing the blankets off and moving his legs over the side of the bed, Dean stood to walk towards the sound. The door was cracked open as he peered in. He pushed it further as the dim light from the room spread over his face.

Riley was sitting faced away from him on her bed, crossed-legged as always. Her guitar rested on her knee, the neck of it was in her left hand. She was in a hoodie with her long hair falling over her back.

She strummed to a beautiful acoustic rendition of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Simple Man’, as she sang along to it in perfect harmony.

Dean was in a trance. He usually hated covers of his favorite bands but hung on her every note and pick of the guitar. It was gentle and soothing as he melted into the tune. A feeling of calm came over him and he took a clean breath.

Somehow, Dean felt as though Riley always seemed to look even more stunning than the day before.

“She’s perfect.”

Riley stopped and turned to face Dean after hearing his thoughts. It had become something that no longer surprised her the way it had before.

Dean immediately froze in embarrassment thinking he had made a noise to give himself away.

She smiled at him and patted the spot on the bed next to her.

As Dean sat down, Sam’s snores could lightly be heard from the other room. They quietly laughed and Dean shook his head.

“So, you were spying on me, huh?” Riley asked with a brow raised, trying to mess with him.

“Oh, you didn’t know by now? I’m a total creep.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “Should have known.”

“Not gonna lie, that cover was awesome, Riley. You did Skynyrd proud.”

She blushed. “Nah, still a work in progress.”

“You know, you don’t give yourself enough credit. I’m starting to wonder if there’s anything you can’t do.”

Riley turned and stood the guitar on the base of its body, leaning it against the side table. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Nah...I was already awake.” Dean took his time going to sit beside her. From the day they met, she never ceased to make his heart race.

There was always a noticeable tension when they were alone together, though neither spoke of it. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, just a reminder that Riley and Dean felt something for each other that neither knew how to explain.

Dean cleared his throat as if anxiously trying to break the silence. "So..." he started.

"So..." she echoed.

"Do you ever sleep?"

She chuckled softly. "From time to time."

Moving her hair off her shoulder and onto her back with a gentle touch, he said, "wouldn't hurt to try and get some rest."

Riley tried to hide the gulp that she felt in her throat. Every time Dean touched her, she felt herself on fire.

"If only she knew what she did to me..." he thought.

She turned to him in response with a small smirk.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Nothing." Riley wanted to tell Dean how she felt about him, about the secrets she had been carrying. But as she looked at him, her smile faded as fear grew inside her, not knowing how Dean would react if he knew all she was going through. Riley believed that the truth would ruin everything and she would lose Sam and Dean.

"You know," Dean started. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

"You can't help me..." she thought to herself. Riley forced a small smile. "I'm okay. I'm just exhausted. Maybe you're right, maybe I should try to get some sleep."

Dean knew she was keeping something from him but wouldn't push it.

The two stood up from the bed side by side and let out tired sighs. They looked at each other briefly before they both came together for a gentle embrace.

Riley closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of leather and mint gum. It soothed her, grounding her back into reality.

Not wanting to let her go, but not wanting to get too close, Dean kissed the top of her head. "Get some sleep," he told her.

It felt as though their hands lingered on each other as he turned to head for the door.

"Goodnight, Dean."

"G'night, sweetheart." Dean then closed the door behind him and reluctantly returned to his bed.

------

Inside the police station of Fort Wayne, Sam, Dean, and Riley were able to get the Sergeant to speak with them. They inquired about Mary Worthington and the Sheriff was taken aback.

"Mary Worthington. Yeah, that was a rough one. I still lose sleep knowing we never got the guy. Poor woman’s eyes had been cut out, almost surgically. I always thought it was a guy named Trevor Sampson--a doctor. She was having an affair with him and was going to reveal their secret to his wife. I think he killed her to stop that from happening. But, uh--he’s dead now.”

“Where is Mary buried, Sergeant?” Riley asked.

“She wasn’t. She was cremated.”

Sam stepped towards the desk. “What about the mirror? Was that possibly kept for evidence or something?”

“No. It was returned to Mary's family a long time ago.”

“Do you happen to have the names of her family by chance?”

------

Back on the road as they headed back to Toledo, Baby drove the hunters through the dark night. Rain was falling in buckets and pounded on the Impala’s roof. The sound of splashing water tapped loudly on the windows.

Sam was on the phone hoping for some new information while Riley and Dean waited quietly.

“Oh, really? Ah, that's too bad Mr. Worthington,” he told the person on the other line. “I would have paid a lot for that mirror. Okay, well maybe next time. Alright, thanks.” As Sam hung up, he turned to the others. “So, that was Mary's brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques--a store in Toledo.”

Riley nodded through her thoughts. “So, basically, wherever the mirror goes, Mary is its constant hitchhiker.”

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow.”

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” Dean asked, his eyes still on the road.

“Yeah, there is. Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped.”

“So, Mary dies in front of a mirror and it draws in her spirit.”

“Okay, I’m with you so far,” Riley interjected. “But she’s moving through random mirrors at this point. How?”

“I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it,” Dean answered.

Fiddling with the phone in his hand, Sam finally said what was on his mind. “You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean, she moves around from mirror to mirror so, who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So, maybe we should try to pin her down, you know--summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Okay, so who’s gonna summon her?” Riley asked as she leaned onto the front seat from behind the brothers.

“I will,” Sam said plainly. “She'll come after me.”

“You know what, that's it.” Fed up with his brother’s way of thinking, Dean pulled the car over with a screech. He killed the engine and turned to Sam with a frustrated look on his face.

“This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret--that you killed her somehow?”

Sam remained quiet, his eyes never looking back at Dean while Riley sat back again to give them space.

“Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night--it's gonna fucking kill you. Now, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the fucker that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean, I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.”

“Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done.”

“I could've warned her.”

“About what?” Dean asked, desperately trying to get through to Sam. “You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret. I mean, Riley and I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway.”

The car fell silent before Sam uttered, “no...you don't.”

“Don't what?”

Riley couldn’t help herself as she chimed back in with a soft-spoken voice. “Sam...is there more we don’t know?”

Finally lifting his gaze, Sam turned to his partners with a pained expression. “Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?”

Dean shook his head adamantly. “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.”

“Dean, people are going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now, we're doing this.” Heartfelt and full of certainty, Sam told him, “you've got to let me do this.”

Both Riley and Dean looked at each other, fearing the worst.

------

It was close to midnight. All the shops had already closed and the streets were empty. The rain had calmed and left a soft drizzle in the wintery air.

Parking the Impala a block or so away, in a nearby alley, Riley, Sam, and Dean snuck up to the antique store.

The street lights were dim and it seemed as though the bulbs were on their last legs. Dean took a moment to appreciate the city’s lack of care to fix things, as it worked in their favor.

Riley put her cupped hands to the glass of the antique shop in an attempt to see inside, her black hoodie under her jacket caved over her face. It was too dark in the shop to see much of anything.

Sam knelt at the door and picked the lock while Dean kept a lookout. The door opened and they went inside, making sure to be quiet when shutting the door behind them.

The three hunters turned on their flashlights and looked around the shop.

The entire place was covered in countless mirrors; their search was not going to be an easy one.

“Well...that's just great,” said Dean in sarcasm as he looked around.

They studied the printed picture of the mirror from Mary’s crime scene photos. It was large, surrounded by a flourished frame in a darkened and faded brassy color.

They all split up to cover more ground. Dean stayed at the front of the shop, Riley went to the back, and Sam ventured into the storage area.

As Sam walked into the darkness, he pushed a hanging plastic barrier out of his way. He shined his flashlight to check each mirror, waiting for a flicker of movement. The light bounced back and forth as it danced in the reflections of the many mirrors. He had almost given up on finding it, when finally, Sam turned and saw Mary’s mirror. An unsettling feeling radiated from it and Sam knew.

“I found it!”

Lights from a patrol car shined into the shop and Dean stopped to look outside.

Riley hurried back to the front after hearing the approaching car as well. “Cops.”

“Yeah. Shit. We must have tripped the alarm coming in. I’ll go handle it.” Dean told Riley before he turned off his light and walked towards the entrance.

Opening the door, Dean stepped out to see a law enforcement officer get out of his car. “Hello, officer. Sorry, I’m the owner’s son. I came in to do some late work and I must have tripped the alarm.”

“You’re Mr. Yamashiro’s kid?” the officer asked accusingly.

Not knowing how he was going to get out of the situation, Dean gave a look of ‘I’m sorry, what?’

Realizing he was being played, the cop put one hand on the cuffs that sat on his belt. “Alright, you’re gonna have to come with me.” He then went to take Dean’s wrist.

“Man, I didn’t wanna have to do this.” Dean turned and punched the man square in the face, sending him to the concrete, unconscious. He shook his fist lightly, recovering from the impact. “Sorry, buddy."

Back inside, Riley saw Sam staring into the mirror and slowly made her way to his side. He took a deep breath, looked into his reflection, and spoke. “Bloody Mary...Bloody Mary…” He hesitated. “Bloody Mary.”

Ready with crowbars in their hands, the two waited for Mary to appear.

“I don’t like this, Sam. Swing at anything that moves.”

They were both on edge, their hearts racing. Sam stared down at the mirror and Riley scanned over them all. She could feel the rage that reached out from the original mirror. It scared her in a way she’d never experienced before. The energy was strong and ran through her like a current. The spirit was twisted and evil after her incredible suffering; it made Riley sick to her stomach.

Eerie whispers swirled around them in the darkness, bringing the two into a state of fight or flight. The surrounding mirrors had their eyes on the hunters, with Bloody Mary watching from behind the glass.

That blood-curdling scream Riley had heard in the teenager’s room rang again in her head. The wrath in that shriek made her tremble. “Sam,” Riley said with worry. “Sam, she’s here.”

Suddenly, Sam’s reflection changed. It was him, but it wasn’t. A maniacal grin grew on the reflection’s face and a voice that only Sam could hear slithered out at him.

“It’s all your fault. You killed Jessica. You’re why she’s dead.”

Sam watched the reflection as it spoke to him, breaking his heart with every word.

Riley could feel his pain and she clutched at her chest.

“You had dreams of it happening for days before her death. You said nothing. You killed her.”

“I know. It’s my fault," he thought. Sam’s eyes began to drip with blood and dark veins were protruding from his face. It felt as though his insides were being slashed apart. He fell to his knees groaning in agony. “I deserve this.”

“Sam, no!” Riley rushed to the different mirrors where Mary’s haunting reflection bounced across the room. She smashed every one of them with all her might.

The spirit finally appeared in the original mirror and Riley ran to break it, sending shards of glass everywhere. She covered her face and when the glass fell, Riley ran to Sam’s side as Dean rushed back in.

“Sammy! Are you okay?” Dean slid into his little brother, his eyes scanning him for more injuries.

“It’s Sam,” he said, correcting his brother’s nickname for him with a faint voice.

As Riley and Dean helped to pull him up off the ground, a snarling sound came from in front of them. Riley picked up her flashlight and aimed it at the broken mirror just as a dead hand darted out from the frame.

Slowly, something began to crawl out of the broken mirror. Its skin looked putrid and decayed and its hair was long and black, draped over her face. She was twitching violently with every move and began to crawl towards them, her tattered and dirty white nightgown dragging with her. The creature moved faster and faster in their direction as her anger grew.

Blood began to drip from all three of the hunters’ eyes and pain beyond words strangled them from the inside. They fell to the floor groaning and straining with weak, muffled cries.

The evil creature stopped in front of them as she waited to watch them die.

With what little strength he had left, Dean grabbed the mirror beside him and raised it above him to face Mary.

As she saw her reflection staring back at her, she instantly stood up and her body calmed. Her hair split from her face, revealing a sad and broken woman.

The spirit looked at herself and a voice echoed. “It’s your fault. You killed them all.”

Mary’s eyes began to bleed and it seemed as though she was slowly melting away. As fast as the shift started, she abruptly broke into countless tiny pieces of glass that scattered on the floor.

With what strength he had left, Dean threw the mirror to the ground where Bloody Mary had finally met her end. And as the mirror shattered, shards landed among what remained of the once-tormented spirit.

Sam, Dean, and Riley huddled together waiting to make sure that the nightmare was over. Their heads were pounding, their chests heaving, and streams of blood covered their cheeks, dripping down their necks.

When the room remained still, Dean looked around at the broken mirrors and the glass that had sprinkled all around them.

“Hey guys...” he paused.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, panting.

------

Back in the car as they drove out of town, Dean couldn’t help but remember Sam’s comment. He had secrets about what had happened with Jess. The thought was still toying with his head.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell us what that secret was.”

Riley listened with intent waiting for his reply.

“Look, you’re my family, and I’d die for you, but there’s some things I need to keep to myself.”

They both tried to accept his answer and let it go for the time being.

Riley had a moment where she felt Sam’s emotions heighten again, leaving only a deafening emptiness.

Sam flinched as he thought he saw Jess standing on the corner of the road in a floor-length, white nightgown as her long blonde hair blew in the breeze. He was wishing and aching for it to be a reality, still knowing that he had to remind himself that it was only wishful thinking.

Sam took a shaky breath as he realized it was time to accept that Jessica was gone.

Riley tried to disconnect herself from Sam, not wanting to intrude on his grief. Guilt for not telling the boys about her own secrets was killing Riley. She just needed more time. Until Riley knew what was happening to her, she didn’t want to worry them.

Riley already loved Sam and Dean. They were her partners and she was so proud to be a part of their family. Sam was beginning to feel like the brother she never had. She wanted to protect him and find a way to ease his broken heart. Knowing the pain he was in kept her up at night but feeling the pain he was in kept her from any semblance of peace.

Her thoughts then fell on Dean. Riley looked over at him and he quickly peered over to her while trying to pay attention to the road.

Riley's stomach swarmed with butterflies. No matter how much time they spent together, just looking at Dean continued to give her the same rush as it had that first day in Lawrence. There was no denying that she had feelings for him. She ached and hoped for the day that the feelings could be more than simply unspoken words.

Lost in her thoughts for a minute, she was quickly snapped away as she heard Dean's.

“How does she do this to me? I've never wanted someone the way I want her."

Dean was filled with anticipatory anxiety and Riley could feel it all. Riley’s stomach somersaulted and she could feel his affection seeping into her skin.

Riley bit her lip as a smile grew on her face. Although the two kept their feelings to themselves for the time being, there was no denying that something felt destined to be.

After losing Jackson, Riley felt as though she had lost her way, that she would wander the world alone until the hunt finally took her from this life. But Sam and Dean had changed everything. They had become her compass, her partners, and her family.

As she tried to hide her smirk, watching Dean drive them down the highway, Riley knew she was right where she was supposed to be. Whatever had brought them together didn't matter. They had given her purpose again and Riley knew she would follow Dean and Sam anywhere.

------

P.S. sorry to those who wanted to be tagged and weren’t, but Tumblr wouldn’t allow me to find the link for some people. We’ll keep trying!

My taglist is always open--just let me know if you want me to add or remove you :)

Please let Series Taglist: @waywardmoeyy @maraudingmeme @arctusluna @salt-n-burn-em-all @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away-blog @becs-bunker @squirrelnotsam @x-waywardaf-x @death-unbecomes-you @themoonandotherslikeit @wndamaximov @flamencodiva @aaspiringhero @gemini0410 @love-nakamura @klinenovakwinchester @cemmia @deans-baby-momma @paintballkid711 @da5haexowin @a-manduhhhhh @winchestergirl82 @spnbaby-67 @sandycub @bunnybaby121115 @erins-culinary-service @lauravic @moonxdance @knights0fkylo @local-anxious-ace @screechingartisancashbailiff @wiredandwayward @the-children-of-the-stars @rosey1981 @mylovelydame21 @titty-teetee @walkingchemicalfire @saaamsayshi @fandom-princess-forevermore @fangirlxwritesx67 @itsafreakingtouque @teddybeardoctorr @janndishsstuff @irelandsharpie @dracosassismine @accioromancff @shira82828 @lostinwonderland314 @teresa-67 @suckmyapplejacks @winchestergatina @ravennnnwinch @winchestersistertho @superdoclock42 @imescullen @cra-zy-vib-es1999 @negansnympho89 @sacriceria @yvonneeeee @deans-spinster-witch @spnbaby-67 @kaleldobrev @lina-volkova @wayward-gypsy

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charliedawn · 4 years ago

Text

Pennywise 1990 X Reader X Pennywise 2017 "The Joke's On You" part 1

Part 2: https://charliedawn.tumblr.com/post/648205835225415680/the-jokes-on-them-part-2

"Ssssooooo..Why clowns ?"

Both of them look at you with a frown of incomprehension on their faces..

" Because of the fear."

They answer at the same time. Funny, its the first time you see them act so..alike. You mean, of course, they are big scary child-eating monsters..But they never seemed to be agreeing on anything, so when you ask the question, their looks and answers are so similar that it makes you think of another question.

" Also..Are you like brothers or something ? Related ? Father and son, or that can't happen with your kind ? You just eat children and do not produce them ?"

Penny, the tall ginger clown only crouches like a frog while the other one only looks at him with disgust.

" Yeah..Right..As if I would ever be related to that one..Nah. We're just hunting together now..Normally, he would not wake up at the same time as me, so we wouldn't really meet. But the idiot messed up his schedule while overstaying in order to kill some dumb kids and he woke up the same time I did !"

He glares at Penny who doesn't seem concerned at all by the way the other one is describing the situation. Even though it's quite offensive..The older one continues and looks at me with a repulsive snare at the idea.

" We don't produce children. Although, we never tried. We are mostly made of pure fear materialized only by the decaying flesh of our victims..We're supposed to be impossible to kill and we don't even know when we were born nor where. But, I remember that the first time I saw a human, many centuries ago, people mostly called us "Wendigos".."

You open your eyes wide in surprise at the news.

"Wendigos ?! So, that means you were humans before ?!"

The young one snickers and his yellow eyes glare at me.

" Humans ?! Ah ! What a joke ! They cry, love, betray, they only crawl on an endless path until they become old, ugly and die. This is why we eat them..They are of no use..They are dancing on a ball of dirt that they squeezed so much that it has no more to give..And you know what is the most ironic ? Is that they prefer to blind themselves more than face the truth..There is no beauty or originality in humans..Doves fly, dogs bark, dears run and even dolphins are more intelligent than you..Now tell me, why would the world need you, when we have the exact same talents in every animal that comes with the letter D ? I didn't even have to go out of my favorite letter to find every good thing you've ever done in animals that are not destroying their own habitat. What makes you so special ? What makes you think that you deserve living when all you do is destroy and hide the truth ?!"

It is the most you have ever heard Penny speak and even Pennywise seems shocked by his sudden outburst. Penny is so close to you that you can see his anger reflecting in his eyes. You try to not let fear show but, it's hard. You gulp and look at the ground in shame. He was right..What did you bring that no other living being ever did ? Humans were parasites and he smirks before returning at his crouching position.

" That's what I thought."

He whispers and Pennywise smiles almost proudly before hitting him in the back a little too hard since Penny growls.

" Wow. Didn't know you had it in you ! In all honesty, I never even thought about why I eat humans..I mean, we both know that human and animal food taste the same..But, for some reason, I always hated humans..Never really knew why and never cared enough to ask !"

He answers with a grin.

You frown then gasp in horror which both of them seem to notice since they turn their heads towards you in frightening synchronization.

" Wait ! Does that mean..You chose to eat humans ?! That you can perfectly live without their meat and just eat like normal people?!"

Pennywise answers with a grin.

" Come on..You should have figured it out by now..We don't really care about what we're eating, as long as it has flesh and fear : which animals and humans both have in common. But, as he said before, why choose them over you ?"

He looks at you up and down before adding with a large grin.

" Now that I think about it, if it wasn't for your rare quality of blood, you would already be a past meal.."

You shiver and he bursts out laughing.

Yeah..You remember..The only thing that kept you alive was you blood type..O- was, from what you had understood, sweeter ? Like some kind of cake or candy..This is why they wanted to keep you alive.."Saving best for last" as they had said.

Ah ! How lucky am I ?! You think.

You sigh and turn the other way to face anything else but the two clowns. At that moment, your foot hits something. You look down at the ground and are surprised to see some pencils. You glance behind you, but the other two don't seem to care about you anymore..for now. You get the pencils and look around for a surface to try them on and when you've finally decided, you walk towards it. You stop and close your eyes to visualise what you want to draw..Then, inspiration hits you and it's like your hands are dancing on the hard surface. You're so concentrated that you don't even notice the two creatures stopping whatever they were doing to look at you with confusion written all over their faces. You continue and seconds, minutes, hours pass. The two clowns, curious of what you are doing, now stand next to you silently, as to not break your concentration. They just look at your drawing from each side of you, their eyes wide, surprised and unable to find words to describe it. You are breathless, exhausted, but don't want to stop. If it was the last thing you would do, then let it be beautiful..Even if the only living things that would ever see it would be two nightmarish clowns that didn't give two shits about art or expression of oneself. When you finish, you are surprised to find two gloved hands on you drawing..You look at each side of yourself and see the two clowns, weirdly still and their eyes glued to your work. For a moment, you almost laugh at their, surprisingly, childish faces. They look like your young Art and Crafts students that you teach, always awed by whatever you would do.

But, what makes you smile the most, is that the first reaction they had was to touch it with their hands, as if the drawing had called them in. You sometimes had students like that, that could only understand Art by touching it. This is why whenever you would bring one of your works, you told the kids to do the first thing that came to their mind with it (as long as it wasn't tearing it apart or painting on it of course) Everyone had different reactions. Some liked to look from a far, some liked a closer angle and, as you had witnessed, some preferred touching it..But, what surprises you next is your own reaction. You grab one of the pencils and trace the shadow of your own hand on your drawing, as a proof. Then, you gently take Penny's hand that looks almost frightened by your touch, but he lets you hold onto his hand and do the same thing that you just did with your own. He giggles slightly as the pencil lightly "tickles" him and, to your surprise, his claws get out. He wants to retract them, nearly in shame, but you make it clear that it doesn't bother you while tracing the contour of his claws as well. When you are finished with him, you turn towards the older one that had already taken his hand off with a snicker.

" If it is a trick to impress us, it will not work, your hocus-pocus will not stop us from eating you..Anyway, I'm sure you have a knife hidden somewhere and only wait for me to let my guard down to stab me in the back."

You only answer with a sad smile of silent resolve while reaching for his hand.

" No trick. No hocus-pocus. No knife. Only me, your hand and a way to make you remember that, for a minute, I managed to make you feel something else than anger, hate or hurt.."

He frowns, visibly hesitant, before finally giving in with a childish grumble.

You finally trace his fingers on your colorful drawing, mixing the color of the rainbow and the greyish color that composed the colors of their suits. And, at the middle, all those colors forming one gigantic tree, that tree being your own personal touch..A tree that, maybe, will learn Penny that, even though humans destroy, they also create and Pennywise that, even though he lost any hopes concerning humanity, the particularity of the humans, the thing that makes them truly special are their hope. Because, even if animals are better than you in every aspect, they do not hope..And they do not have the imagination to create any other outcomes than eat or be eaten. This is maybe why the two clowns seem much more appreciative of those creatures than the humans ? Because they are much easier to understand ? You smile proudly at your little discovery. Like this tree, humans are made of so many different colors that it is difficult to find a pattern..Both of them said that they hated Humanity, but if it is true then..

" I may have understood why you chose to be clowns.."

They turn towards you : Penny with a side smile and Pennywise with an arked eyebrow.

" Oh ? And why is that ? You're gonna tell us that it's because we liked making people laugh when we were "humans" ?!"

The older one says, putting humans between brackets mockingly while the other one is cackling behind him. You smile again and shake your head while they come down to a sitting position; one on his favorite worn out leather chair and the other one on the dirty floor. They both look up at you expectantly, as if they are expecting you to read them a bedtime story..

" Well..I don't think it is about the form in itself, it is more about the colors and the fact that it symbolizes things that you never had when you were "humans".."

You say between brackets as to imitate Pennywise that is looking at you with another one of his signature mocking smile.

" What are you talking about ?! I am funny ! The funniest in town if you ask me !"

He says proudly, while Penny only rolls his eyes at his comment.

You shake your head again with a smile and even answer with a little laugh.

" No. Not that. You feed only from fear..Correct ?"

They both nod in unison and then, you ask a question that they had never even asked themselves before.

" Why only fear ?"

They want to answer that it is obvious, that it is stupid to even ask. But they have to admit it at the end, they do not know themselves. After a while, you answer for them.

" You do not feed on fear. But on faith."

They frown and Pennywise asks, confused.

" What do you mean ?"

You try to find words to explain your thinking and finally sigh, as it is no easy task.

" You feed on the only thing that you do not have, and that humans are the only ones to possess..Our faith and beliefs. We believe that there are monsters under our beds, then you take their appearance. In fact, I don't even know if you can transform in anything else than scary things, can you ?"

They look at each other before looking back at you and Penny is the first one to answer you.

" We never tried..and what for even ?"

You smile and get up, dusting your knees.

" Humans are afraid, but what they fear the most is losing their most cherished things. Try with me. Try to guess my most cherished thing on Earth.."

The two clowns seem interested by the idea and you can feel them trying to find your most precious memories. They already know your biggest fear..And in all honesty, after having seen it so many times, you aren't that scared of insects anymore. Now, let's see if they are as powerful as they say they are..

Penny transforms into a puppy and you smile tenderly while extending your arms in order to take him in your arms. But then, another head appears, then another, then another..

He returns to his normal appearance, almost as out of breath as you were before.

" I..I can't..stay in this form very long."

You nod understandingly and then, turn towards the oldest that only shrugs at the odd reaction of the young one. Pennywise seems to look at you with a little bit more seriousness, his hand scratching his chin in silent observation. You know that he is trying to figure you out and is taking the dare to heart. And, suddenly, his smile widens and his eyes brighten as he has a sudden epiphany and you frown in worry. What did he see ? Suddenly, he gets up and slowly walks towards you with a weird crooked smile, looking more smug than usual.

" If I have learned something about your kind is that you have one thing that you always bring up.."

You frown in incomprehension, what does he mean ? Suddenly, Penny smiles creepily and you shiver, he must have understood some kind of hidden message because you sure as hell didn't get the memo ! You smile awkwardly, your pulse racing and cold sweat start to form on your skin. Whatever he has in mind..You sure as Hell didn't know what it is, and that scares you more than anything..Pennywise backs you up against the wall of your drawing and smirks.

" I..I think we played enough..I'm tired..We can maybe continue tomorrow..?"

You ask, your heartbeats quickening and both clowns looking at you with bright yellow eyes. However, suddenly, both of them shout at the same time.

" Money !"

" Food !"

You open your eyes wide at Pennywise that gets out some coins from his pocket and you then turn towards Penny that just shouted food like it was some kind of good answer at a test. Tears start building up at the corner of your eyes and you sigh in relief before biting your lips shut, trying to contain your laughter.

Penny frowns at your expression and says in a small, almost childish, voice.

" Wasn't the point of the game to say one of the things you cherish the most ? Don't you cherish food ? Why are you crying ? Did I win ?!"

Suddenly, you start laughing uncontrollably and Pennywise answers him in a really angry voice.

" No! You didn't, big dummy! The game was transform, not yelling the answer at the top of you lungs like an idiot!"

Penny frowns and crosses his arms while pouting. But you answer through each giggle.

" You're wrong! Both of you!"

They look at you with wide eyes before growling.

" Then, what is the answer ?! "

Pennywise yells, frustrated and you answer.

" Love ! We value love ! Family, friends.."

Penny frowns and scoffs.

" Well, you're funny ! How do you transform into something you don't even know ?!"

You gasp, this is why he couldn't stay in the form of a puppy ! He didn't know how they truly acted towards affection ! You could have almost felt sorry for them if it didn't mean alerting their fear senses for food..But, you could try to find a way to get them to learn more about the true meaning of love.

Pennywise lets you go and sighs in defeat while turning towards Penny.

" Boy ! You don't have to transform into love ! You just had to take the appearance of something she wanted to love, dumbass ! Like I don't know, a human she know ?!"

You suddenly open your arms wide and they both look at you with widened eyes.

" What the heck are you doing ?"

Pennywise asks with a scowl and Penny only frowns, his eyes diverting on strange angles. You try not to think about the fact that you're going to try to hug two interdimensional demons and just wrap your arms around them. At first, you really thought one of them was going to shred you to pieces, but they become as still as statues.

" This is what humans call a hug. It's super effective and it is the first thing in affection."

Penny is still as a rock, and you even ask yourself if he is even breathing..Before remembering that he surely doesn't even have a heart. Pennywise is the first one to move and gets you off harshly. His eyes are of a wild red color and he looks in pain. He clutches his heart and growls animalistically at you. He then runs towards the exit and glances at you one last time.

" I am hungry. I'm going hunting..Penny, keep an eye on her ! If she even moves a muscle, eat her."

Penny seems to get back from his shock and only nods quietly.

When Pennywise is gone, your focus comes back on Penny that, you had noticed, had taken more distance between himself and you after your attempt at affection. As if he was..scared ? You try to approach him, talk or even apologize, but he only growls warningly at you and shows you his really sharp teethes..making you reconsider.

You tried to make them look at humanity from a different perspective, like at your drawing, but looks like nothing could be done..You'd die here. Anyway, the joke's on you since you were the one who thought you could change them..Silly you. Monsters will always remain monsters..Hope ? Who are you kidding ?! You lost that the moment you ended up in that damned sewer ! You start crying and, for some reason, your sobs catch the attention of Penny. He looks at you, then at his pile of toys, then back at you. He then begins climbing it and that makes you wonder what he is doing ? Is he leaving you ? Eat a rotten piece of child ? You have no time to wonder more as he quickly gets back on the ground and, with measured steps, approaches you with the same wariness as a wild animal. He then throws you something and gets back into his corner with a piece of a child's leg in his other hand.

He starts chomping on it and you look at what he threw at you..A music box ? You look at him quizzically and, after swallowing, he answers your silent question.

" Don't read anything into it. Your tears make me uncomfortable, so I got you something to keep you from doing that..If I eat you now, Pennywise would be angry at me for not sharing, and I have had enough of his loud voice for one day. Now, make this thing work. I want to listen to it, it has a nice sound and you have nothing else to do.."

You stay still for a moment before smiling softly at him.

" Sure..Thanks.."

You start playing the little music box and are surprised to see that it is the moonlight sonata of Beethoven..A beautiful music that invades the whole sewer with its melody echoing on the walls. You smile widely, at least something to remind you of the outside world.

Outside, Pennywise has his mind set on finding his next meal, but, suddenly stops in the forest and, weirdly enough, hears the song..Then, the pang in his chest that he felt before comes back and he can suddenly hear the words that an idiotic turtle called Maturin once told him before dying..

" Just because you bury something, that doesn’t mean it stops existing, Robert Gray. You can hide your heart, but someone will one day dig far enough to find it.."

Robert Gray..It had been such a long time that he had heard this name. At the time, he had only laughed mockingly at the old senile turtle..But now..Even Bob had felt it. No..Not Bob..Penny. They had chosen to never speak of those disgusting human names again. But then, she had showed up..They could eat her, never talk about it again, continue hunting children and living until the end of the world..She was human..They both knew that, she would grow old..tired..cumbersome and then die. But then, something else that the bothersome turtle had said comes back in his mind. One time, Pennywise had dared ask why the turtle loved humanity so much ? And he had answered something strange that Pennywise had not expected.

" Humanity has only scratched the surface of its real potential. Someday, you will understand why Humanity is so important, Robert.."

" My name is Pennywise ! The destroyer ! The eater of Worlds ! I have no sympathy for humans ! Whoever they are or whatever they do !"

He kept telling himself that, trying to convince himself but then..Why can't he believe his own words ? What was bothering him ?! Why did he feel this way after only talking for a few days to a simple human ?! Or..was it the tree ? The tree she had drawn ? Yes, there should have been some kind of trick behind it ?! She had tricked them as he had firstly assumed ! But then, why did he feel so out of control ? As if he was wrong ? Did the words of the turtle, for once, really made sense ? He closes his eyes and sighs before punching a tree and making it fall..No ! He wouldn't allow it ! He wouldn't allow the old turtle to make a fool out of him even after death ! He was going to kill her ! And that was a promise ! He was not going to let her question everything anymore ! He would shut her up ! No more idiotic questions: no more opportunities to manipulate his feelings ! Yes ! That would be it ! The idea of going hunting out of his head, he walks back to the sewer with a determined smirk. Yeah..We'll see who'll be the fool at the end..Maturin..

#pennywise #pennywise 1990 #pennywise 2017 #pennywise x reader #fandoms #horror movies #it movie

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

To Derek, it felt like falling.

He’d fallen so much over the years, he felt like he should be an expert by now. It was one thing after another; the blue-eyes, the blonde-haired hunter, the body in the woods. And now that was falling, wasn’t it? He’d heard the term ‘rock bottom’ before but had come to realize long ago that it couldn’t be a real thing. Because wouldn’t he have hit it by now?

Except, this was different. This felt so different.

Fucking Stiles Stilinski.

Derek didn’t know if there was more than one way to fall. If anything, he thought he might have felt it with Paige. Or Kate. That stupid thing Laura would tease him about when she’d bring up girls and he’d roll his eyes, trying to cover up his crush on the cello player, or the blonde-haired substitute teacher that had been so scary but so exciting.

And he was pretty sure that’s what falling should have felt like. Maybe. Probably. Right?

But then he’d lost his entire family, and wasn’t that what it actually was? Laura driving them through the entire night with white knuckles around the steering wheel, taking refuge in an old apartment in New York that smelled like decay. The one they ended up staying in for years, even though she’d promised they’d be gone by morning.

To Derek, that had felt like falling. It had all felt like falling.

But so did any interaction with Stiles Stilinski.

He thought he could ignore it at first. Except somewhere in between meeting the idiot in the middle of the woods and going on the run as an alleged murderer, Derek realized Stiles had gotten underneath his skin unlike anyone he’d ever met before. And it bothered him.

Stiles bothered him.

Then there was the instance of two hours in the pool followed by the word ‘abomination’, and Derek came to terms with the fact that it was because Stiles was familiar. Stiles was familiar like the fall; in a way that Derek had long since tried to forget.

Except the boy wasn’t that easy to shake. No matter how hard Derek tried, no matter where he turned, the idiot was always there .

In the beginning, he’d hoped buying his own loft would be different. But he had been wrong before.

“So,” Stiles said, wandering into the kitchen with an empty bowl of cereal in one hand and his phone in the other. “What’s the plan for the rogue omega, Sourwolf?”

Two seconds ago, Derek’s attention had been fully on his cup of coffee— which was exactly what he blamed for the fact that he hadn’t recognized Stiles’s scent earlier. Yeah, that was totally it. Now, though, he stared at the boy, trying to process how exactly Stiles had gotten into the loft without a key and Derek had just woken up twenty minutes ago, hadn’t he?

“Uh, Stiles said, lowering his phone and raising an eyebrow. “Sourwolf? Are you okay?”

“How the hell did you get in here?”

“Dude,” Stiles said, scoffing. “If you have to ask that, then I’m seriously worried about your status of being our Alpha.”

Derek blinked and Stiles dropped onto the stool opposite him, sticking his spoon in his mouth and grinning around it.

“So, Sourwolf. Rogue omega?”

“I didn’t tell Scott about that,” Derek said, still processing. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Of course, you didn’t,” the boy said. “But I’m clearly the responsible one in our friendship, so I’ve been in contact with your betas. Plus, we all know Scotty goes running around the woods at night to meet up with Allison, and either of them getting turned into rogue werewolf chow would be unfortunate.”

Derek continued to stare. Catching his expression, Stiles blinked.

“Or, maybe you didn’t know that. But now you do! And it’s all thanks to the token human— you’re very welcome.”

Derek looked at him for another long moment. Then, picking up his coffee, he moved around the counter and started past the teenager, ignoring Stiles’s spluttering at his back. Because honestly? It was far too early to even be trying to comprehend Stiles’s presence in his loft. And now Derek had his betas to chew out.

Yeah, his week was already starting out just great.

See, the thing about Stiles Stilinski was that once he latched on, he didn’t let go. Originally, Derek had thought if he snapped and growled enough, Stiles would eventually get the message and back off. But that never ended up happening. From the kid he’d met in the woods the first night— all buzz cut and gangly limbs— to whatever the hell Stiles had become now, Derek couldn’t seem to shake him.

He was there. He was always there.

Months passed and Derek still wasn’t sure how Stiles managed to get into his loft. He decidedly didn’t like it.

“I just think the betas could do with some more freedom,” Stiles said one day, lounging on the couch with his laptop propped up on his knees. Derek glared at him from his own spot across the room, but the boy wasn’t even looking in his direction. “They aren’t children, you know. Or at least, Boyd isn’t.”

“I still don’t know what you’re doing here.”

Surprise entering his previously bored scent, Stiles finally glanced up. And then he looked around the room, as if realizing for the first time how quiet and dark it had gotten. Derek still wasn’t sure that was possible— the idiot had spent the entire day on his couch, after all, only getting up to raid his fridge a few hours ago.

“Oh damn,” Stiles said, whistling. “I thought Erica was going to be here to back me up in this argument.”

“You... what?”

“Erica,” Stiles said, glancing back over. “She thinks she and the others should have a later curfew and be allowed to scare the shit out of people with their beta forms whenever the situation calls for it.”

Derek still stared. Stiles grinned crookedly, readjusting himself on the couch.

“I didn’t think she’d get that last one, honestly, but I promised to be here for support. ‘Cause I’m a good friend, you know, dude?”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Okay, Sourpuss,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to his computer screen. “Just tell her I came by, would you? If I’m gone by the time she gets back, at least.”

Derek still didn’t know what the teen was doing in his loft. But Stiles’s attention was fully locked on his screen by now and Derek knew there was no chance he was getting his attention again. Glaring at the boy for another long second, he stayed sitting until it felt stupid, growling and shoving himself up.

He didn’t think Stiles even noticed as he stalked into the next room. And for some reason, that bothered him too.

But see, Derek wasn’t sure what about Stiles Stilinski bothered him. Maybe it was the idiot’s annoying sarcasm or his never-ending jokes, or the way he only stopped talking when his mouth was otherwise occupied. Or maybe it was his stupid smile, his stupid face, or those stupid moles that Derek sometimes wanted to trace where they disappeared underneath his shirt.

No… wait, not that. Definitely not that.

Though it could still be a lot of things, Derek figured. The real fact was Stiles was stupid as a whole.

And the idiot bothered him.

Yeah, that’s what it was.

It took an unfortunate incident with a wendigo for Derek to realize that wasn’t really what it was.

The rest of the pack must have realized how pissed off he was, because they all filtered out of the loft the moment Derek growled that they could go. Everyone except for Stiles, of course, who lingered by the door with an uncertain look on his face.

Derek glared at him from where he sat on the edge of his bed, the gash across his back still taking its time stitching itself back together. Because he was tired, dammit. He was tired, he was in pain, and he really just wanted to be left alone.

But Stiles didn’t leave him alone. Instead, the boy moved further into the room.

“Uh, hey, dude—”

“Don’t, Stiles,” Derek growled. “I told you to go home.”

The boy paused and a defiant light flashed through his amber eyes. Derek knew he was doomed the moment Stiles set his jaw, striding into the kitchen and coming out a few moments later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

Derek rolled his eyes, shifting so his back was turned toward the boy. Which probably didn’t help his case much.

“Holy shit, Sourwolf,” Stiles breathed, freezing a few inches away. “That’s disgusting.”

“Thanks,” Derek snapped. “You can leave the kit and leave.”

Stiles’s scent soured with anger for a moment. But the emotion didn’t last long before the teen was settling on the bed behind him, cold fingertips touching Derek’s shoulder and making him jerk. In a second, Stiles was mumbling apologies, drawing his hand back.

“I said you can go,” Derek said again, trying to ignore the strange mourning at that loss of touch. He heard Stiles sigh.

“I swear to god, dude, you could make this a lot less difficult.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“I could call you a lot worse,” Stiles muttered. Derek clenched his jaw, glaring at the opposite wall, and he jerked again when Stiles touched his shoulder once more, this time starting to pull away mangled t-shirt from blood crusted skin.

“Stiles,” Derek said, hating his voice for sounding strangled. He was torn between pulling away and staying stock-still, as if not moving would make sure Stiles didn’t stop. Still, the boy hesitated.

“Is this okay?”

Derek clenched his jaw, glaring harder at nothing. Stiles pulled away even more.

“Because I can call Boyd to help instead, or—”

“Don’t,” Derek said, cutting him off. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. “Please don’t go.”

Stiles’s scent turned surprised. The boy didn’t move for a moment and Derek wondered for a moment if that was wrong. If everything he’d just said was wrong. He didn’t like to… ask people for things. He hadn’t for a long time.

But this was different. Wasn’t it?

This was Stiles.

“Yeah, big guy,” Stiles finally said, and Derek was pretty sure that rush he felt wasn’t relief. Or maybe it was. The boy settled behind him again, fingers tracing over Derek’s shoulder again, and he found his eyes closing once more. “Yeah,” Stiles said again. “I’m here.”

And he always was.

But that’s what bothered Derek so much, wasn’t it? Stiles Stilinski was always there. In his loft, in his whole damn life. It wasn’t like Derek looked for him when he called a pack meeting or found himself a little more at ease when Stiles’s scent greeted him in the morning, but… but…

This was different. This felt like falling.

“You could use a shower,” Stiles said, breaking the silence with that soft, teasing voice of his. The stupid way he always needed to break the silence with jokes— that Derek totally hated. “Once this is healed and all, dude. Like, I’d say the blood isn’t totally gross, but it really is. And I can’t really tell when there wound starts and finishes, but it’s no longer so disgusting anymore. If that helps.”

Derek rolled his eyes, unable to help himself. Glancing over his shoulder, he was met with dancing amber eyes and a stupid shit-eating grin on Stiles’s face.

“Other than that, though,” Stiles said. “You’re still looking good, Sourwolf. Worry not, your sexy werewolf looks are still intact.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles’s face turned bright red and his scent flushed with embarrassment.

“Coming from a completely disinterested perspective, of course.”

“Of course,” Derek said. Stiles ducked his head, picking up the damp cloth at his side and turning his attention to the gash across Derek’s back again.

“You don’t like the rest of the pack seeing you hurt, do you, dude?”

Derek tensed, then grunted. He heard Stiles sigh.

“They can help too, you know. It’s not a bad thing, Sourwolf. Asking for help every once in a while.”

“I don’t need their help,” Derek said. And once more, Stiles’s ministrations stopped for a moment. Derek internally winced, already hating himself for continuing to snap at everything the boy said. But Stiles still didn’t pull back, starting again with the washcloth after a few more seconds. Derek could practically hear the gears in his head turning.

“But you need mine.”

Derek didn’t answer that. Because he didn’t, did he? Stiles was just stubborn, that’s why he was still here. The words don’t go totally hadn’t come from Derek’s mouth— or maybe it was just the pain. It was the pain and the darkness and… and maybe Derek didn’t want to be alone right now. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone if Stiles was the one staying at his side.

“So,” Stiles said softly. “Not them. But what about us?”

The very question made Derek freeze.

Because the way he saw it, Derek could send Stiles away right now. One harsh word, or maybe even just a few more minutes of complete silence. Stiles was stubborn, yes, but Derek could be too. He could send Stiles fuming from the loft with as little as a few more grunts and growls.

He didn’t do any of those things. Instead, shifting away from Stiles’s touch, he turned around and met the boy’s gaze. Those amber eyes that seemed to glow brightly even in the darkness, a quiet expression of nervousness on Stiles’s face. As if the teen knew exactly what was going through Derek’s mind.

What about us?

And it had been so many years. From the moment Derek had come across two teenagers in the middle of the preserve and Stiles had given him that stupid open-mouthed look that made Derek’s blood boil right from the beginning for some reason. It had been so many years and one thing after another.

Stiles was here. Stiles was always here. In his lift, in his life. And it was strange. It was bothersome.

It wasn’t.

Because silently, in the darkness of the empty loft, Derek thought maybe this was it— this was the secret behind falling. The one where maybe taking that leap off the edge wasn’t so bad. Somehow, fucking Stiles Stilinski was his secret behind falling and Derek didn’t think he could send the boy away even if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to.

“Derek?”

Stiles’s scent was sharp with anxiety and concern now, his face pale in the dim light. Derek swallowed hard, a million responses on his tongue. What about us? Because that meant there was a them. There was an us.

To Derek, it felt like falling.

All responses died when he leaned forward and kissed the boy instead of saying another word.

Tagging @flamingbisexual08 for the amazing prompt that comes with this fic. Gosh, it took me forever, but here we are! I hope you enjoyed, lovely <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider sending a coffee? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#sterek #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #teen wolf moodboard #sterek moodboard #sterek au #ficlet #prompts #flamingbisexual08

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andisinger · 4 years ago

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Black Crow/ White Wolf

Ch.1 Word Count: 3111 Summary: The Black Crow is able to tame all kinds of wild beasts feared by most apart from her, her taming is not always a success as someone or something gets in the way. A/N: I kind of went off with the words; if you enjoy please let me know! Enjoy <3 Warnings: Blood and gore for now

My footsteps landed lightly on the tiles of the roofs beneath me. I ran as quickly as my legs could carry me across the roofs of the small town. Panting quickly, I ran from the growls and snarls from the beasts running alongside me on the ground. Their sounds caused the streets lined with people to flee in terror, crying out to others. Leaping to the next rooftop, the paws of the wargs running with me threw sand and dust behind them. Their golden eyes watched me carefully, while the eyes of the patrons amongst the streets glued to the giant beasts running through the streets. Whispers and mumbles from the streets echoed around amongst the buildings, the words carried by the smoke erupting from the chimneys.

Leading the wargs away from this horrid town, I jumped into the street. Standing up straight, the town's eyes now on me, watching me carefully, I lifted my hand towards the rushing beast. His golden eyes pinching while his lip lifted in a snarl. The heavy, pounding feet galloped towards me, acting to charge. Grabbing the golden fur, the beast continued to speed out of the town and into the setting sun. While I adjusted on Hod’s back, Kav snipped and growled next to us. The cool wind brushed my cheeks, releasing the hood from my head. The three of us rushed from Everrock towards our next supposedly untameable beast in Brinegulf.

The gold in my pouch jingled lightly while I moved with Hod. The distance between the towns was immense, harsh areas of draught or frozen tundra. Slowing the beasts, we made our way towards the woods. I made a small fire of fallen twigs and leaves. Hod and Kav laid beside the fire, warming themselves after a heavy meal. “You fought hard, Kav.” I stated, the brown warg lifted her head to look at me. Smiling, I stretched out my hand to gently stroke her head. The golden, gleaming eyes closed as she relaxed, her ears twitching and flinching in response to my hand. Hod yawned, his jaw stretching open to reveal a rolling deep pink tongue and long, sharp yellow teeth. Laying his head across his paw, his back foot kicked out from underneath his stomach. Picking at the vegetables before me, Kav laid on her side. Her substantial weight created a small wave of wind that carried dead leaves away from us.

The next morning, our feet and claws carried us like whispers towards Brinegulf. Word of the Black Crow had spread like wildfire. The person who could tame deadly beasts; I had heard the name Warg Rider, Black Crow, Ghost, along with many others, all of them used to describe me. The unknown person who had appeared from thin air then would vanish without a trace. I would tame the beasts threatening towns; dragons, wendigos, even golems. However, there was a witcher going around behind me, killing them despite no threat being present.

I had to beat the Witcher to Brinegulf; a warg had been spotted near a farm. They had described it as a black wolf with a small nose, eyes gleaming and reflecting the moonlight, rough fur that almost smoked with some emotion. I felt related to this warg. Hod and Kav knew the race was on to save the innocent animal.

The sky above gleamed with sun rays that warmed the skin contrasting against the cold wind beating across my cheeks. Hod’s head bounced with each step as he threw himself towards the approaching town. I was clueless about the town, despite the pay I would receive should I take the warg with me. Hod’s light brown fur waved and recoiled across his muscles. In the distance, a small black spot, the beginning sights of Brinegulf. I chuckled, my muscles slightly relaxing; perhaps the depleting journey had been worth it all.

Arriving in the bustling town, Hod and Kav stuck close to me. Their shoulder’s bump into mine occasionally. I kept the hood of my cloak pulled up; I could look out, no one could look in. A large part of keeping my identity hidden was hiding my face. Keeping my hand on Kav, the coarse fur guiding me towards my gold and information.

“Where’s the warg?” I asked the man at the table while I burst through the towering doors. The room was embellished with green fabrics, gold jewels, and ruby’s.

I could hear the man shuffling in his seat. Hod shook his head, his ears gently slapping against his jaw. A sharp smell entered the room; pine and roses. Looking in the direction of the smell, a woman stood. Her red floor length dress shivering as she stared with wide eyes at the beasts beside me. Standing up straight, I dropped my hood to gain a better look at the room. Vast, ever reaching outwards with open windows that had their drapes floating in the wind. Kav shuffled uncomfortably next to me.

Placing my hand gently on her shoulder, she glanced at me. “Where’s the warg?” I asked again. My tone turning more demanding than before. Hod’s lip lifted slightly to reveal the teeth waiting behind. The man, graced in purple puffed sleeves and a large gold chain that stretched from shoulder to shoulder. His face was pale from fear as he eyed the wargs carefully. We could both tell he didn’t belong here, in this seat. He was playing pretend with the woman who watched from the doorway across the room. Heavy shuffling of metal grating against itself echoed through the halls. Guards approached, their weapons drawn. The metal glinting with the sun of a new day.

I closed my eyes and sighed. Hod and Kav growled, the muscles of their shoulders contracting in tight readiness. Their claws grating against the stone floor beneath us. Casting a momentary glance behind me, another man approached shouting orders. “Put away your weapons, fools. The crow is here to aid us against the warg.” He shuffled himself around Kav who reacted with a lifted lip, her nose scrunching gently. The men behind us obeyed, their weapons being sheathed in leather holsters at their sides. Their feet marched in tandem with each other as they slowly retreated to their posts. The guard with dark brown skin shooed away the terrified boy in the chair. Gently patting the Warg’s by my side, their tense muscles relaxed. Their warm tongues reaching out to wet their noses.

The man pulled away his armor, piece by shrieking piece. Closing my eyes for a moment, I reopened them. The guard before me now walked closer only in his shin guards.

“The warg was last seen near the edge of the far field. The farm owner had noticed it sniffing around his cattle.” He said, his hands shuffling through papers amongst his desk.

“Has it been seen any closer? In any greater detail?” I questioned further. The guard paused, looking on either side of me.

“None that have been reported. The report of the farmer is alone at present.” He replied, in his hands, he held a tightly wound roll of stained fabric. Extending it towards me, I walked towards him to grab it.

While reading the report, the guard looked me over.

“The black crow.” He chuckled sitting in the chair. “A woman. Warg rider. Beast Tamer. Silent Mist.” He shot off, his hand gripping his chin in no attempt to hide his smile. Flipping the paper over was a drawing of the warg. The frantic drawing portraying something larger, more formidable than a warg, the lines of the drawing were shaken and wavering from fear.

“This is no warg.” I told him. Hod growled low in his chest. The guard’s eyes snapped up from the swords on my sides to my eyes.

“The Witcher will be here soon enough.” The guard dismissed.

I scoffed gently smirking, my tongue protruding to wet my dry lips. Shaking my head, I looked at the drawing again. The feet and talons catching my attention. “Where is this farm?” I asked frantically; the situation calling for speed and immediate action. The three of us galloped to the farm, the members of Brinegulf rushing to get out of the way. The Caragor weighed heavily on my mind. Faster, smarter, and stronger than wargs. I rushed off of Hod, my feet running beside his as we approached the door. A chestnut gelding stood carefully tied to the post nearby. I cursed myself and burst inside.

The house was dark, the fire in the fireplace roaring, lighting the miniscule house with an orange glow. At the table sat a shaken old man, his short hair white from age. His skin withered and weathered. His wide pale eyes staring at me with his hand lifted in a defensive manner.

“Where did you see it?” I asked, ignoring the white haired Witcher staring at me. The old man pointed out the window with a shaking finger and small gasps. I rushed back out the door, and towards the woods.

“Hod, Kav. Listen for my call.” I demanded keeping them in the area. Galloping hoof beats followed behind me catching up to me all too quickly. Turning his horse to stop me, the Witcher looked down at me. His lips were pinched together tightly in anger.

“You stay here.” He demanded. I shook my head and moved around his horse. The Witcher moved his horse again, shuffling around ahead of me.

“It can not be tamed.” He said, still using his horse to keep me in place. The horse's eye went wide, his nostrils flaring in frustration and confusion.

“You can’t fight it alone.” I told him. Looking up at him, he turned his horse sideways. The hoofbeats pounding and softening the ground around us.

The Witcher watched my wargs carefully, I could hear their snarls and growls from where we stood. Glancing back to them, Hod took off towards us. Teeth bared and ready for action. Kav followed behind, the younger and less experienced warg wanting to take charge. Whistling quickly, Hod and Kav both stood next to me. The Witcher's horse now turning and crow hopping, ready to run for its life.

“The only way to rid this town of the Caragor is to do it together.” I said, mounting Hod. The hair on the back of his neck lifting sharply. Kav watched me, her head leaning on my thigh while she licked her nose. The Witcher's jaw clenched, his golden eyes peering at me sharply. Turning his horse with a kick, we took off at a gallop. Staying side by side, I released my hold on Hod, the three of us easily passing the Witcher and reaching the woods. On the trees, I could smell the beast's scent. A thick, oily scent. Hod and Kav stopped, their noses lifted and flaring. Kav growled towards the right, her head hanging low. Dismounting, I calmed my wargs.

Looking in the direction, the smell strengthened. Groaning, I rubbed my eyes; it had been many years since I had encountered such a challenging beast.

“This way.” I told the Witcher. His golden eyes glaring at me as he passed to go towards the beast. Following behind him, I watched where I stepped. To beat this animal, I had to stay as quiet as possible. In front of us, a twig snapped loudly. Bird wings flapped as they called out a warning to each other. I looked upwards into the trees; long, thick branches stretching towards each other.

“Stay here.” I told the white haired Witcher, who ignored my words and continued further towards the sound.

Staring down at the Witcher, I moved further into the woods past him. The pale man watched me, his lips pursed in anger and distraction. Watching the brush shuffle and wave, I couldn’t determine whether it was the untamable beast or the wind. Jumping closer, I listened. Sharp snorting rang out from below me. There he was; circling the tree I was in. The Caragor’s yellowed teeth barred permanently; his small, yellow eyes bore holes into the branch at my feet. Leaping up the tree, the Caragor’s talons helping him climb through the branches next to me.

Jumping down from branch to branch, the Caragor’s hot breath against my back. Facing face to face with the brooding beast, the Witcher charged. The Caragor leaping over him towards me. His grey, spiked flesh laying against his neck and spine. His mouth dripping with drool and slobber; the long tusks pinning me against the forest floor. I could only produce my sword by my side, then pressing the tip upwards into his chest, a loud roar and cry shredding through the air. The Caragor backed away limping, his face fallen with pain.

Placing my hand out, I slowly approached the beast. The Witcher watched from his place, held back by some force of magic. The Caragor whimpered and moaned while I slowly pulled the blade from his chest. A non-fatal wound that could heal with proper aid. The Caragor’s eyes switched from the pained expression, returning to the brutal expression with his flat spines lifting again. Plunging my sword into the side of his cheek, he cried out again. His grey, hairless, spine littered body falling between myself and the Witcher.

Pulling my sword free once more, I began to walk away.

“They get defensive over their food, you may want to step away.” I told the Witcher while pulling my hood up once more. I released an unrelentingly loud whistle that echoed through the woods. Pounding footsteps of Hod and Kav as they came to claim their food. The Witcher now walked beside me, sword sheathed.

“I told you it couldn’t be tamed.” His low grumbled voice muttering. I sighed and continued walking to gain my coin.

“Always need to try.” I told him. The Witcher gleefully mounted his prancing horse.

“The coin is mine.” I said. He looked down at me before shaking his head.

His chestnut gelding listening clearly to his riders commands, galloped back into town. I couldn’t help but rub my eyes after dropping my hood. I sat on the edge of the woods, waiting for my Wargs to finish their meal and return with a prize worthy of the Warg rider. Looking into the small town, I couldn’t help but remember where I once came from. Flower petals fell from the sky that summer evening, I was taken into a small tavern with a kind owner who aided me in learning the world around me.

Kav galloped happily towards me, a long, sharp tusk dropped at my feet. Coated in blood and spit. Hod approached slower, his jaw hanging low. Blood dripping onto the forest floor while he panted. The three of us trotted back into town, the large tusk proudly resting on my knee. Stepping off my mount, the Warg’s followed me as I entered the guards building. The Witcher stood in his black fur cloak.

Throwing the tusk onto the wooden desk, the guard looked at me once more.

“Warg rider. A beast finally untamed?” He questioned gleefully eyeing the tusk before him.

“I’ll take my coin.” I demanded. The guard looked up, his brown eyes revealing his shock. He looked between the Witcher and I then stared at my warg’s still coated in fresh blood.

“The Witcher has claimed the coin.” The guard looked back down at the tusk. Looking over to the Witcher, my lips pursed.

“I will take my coin, Witcher.” I told him, holding out my hand. The white haired Witcher looked me up and down; his golden eyes glaring at me thoughtfully. Shaking his head, the pale, tall man turned and walked out the doors. His pocket full of my coin.

Glancing back at the tusk, the guard stroked it carefully admiring the curve and sharpness of the deadly curve. I stomped forward, my hand stealing the trophy from my kill. That coin should have been mine. My pocket should be heavy; vindictive thoughts rolled around my skull as I walked out into the streets. My fingers pulled the thick hood over my head once more.

The streets bustled loudly; horses hooves clomping while pulling wagons, the wheels scraping against the cobblestone, loud voices that quieted as I passed. Nearby the stables were clambering with metal clanging against metal, sizzling and hissing fires from the blacksmith; the smell of thick white smoke from the taverns. Strums of entertaining bards, banging of wooden cups as the patrons finished their piss ale.

The hot breath of Kav being carried into my hood by the wind blowing from the north. I walked quietly, focused on the next town, the next beast that would be mine. Hod snarled to my left, shaking his head, I knew he caught a scent. But of what? I needed a better look, more height above the town bursting at the seams with people and animals.

“Kav.” I whispered, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. Kav stood still, her small yellow eyes watching as she braced herself.

I leapt from her back onto the roof of the inn. My feet planted firmly and carrying me across the roofs once more. Hod and Kav trotted down the street, alarming the people of the city that the Black Crow was leaving, the Black Mist carrying away the wind and her beasts with her. Hod snapped; slobber falling from his massive jaws. Looking at him, I nodded for him to chase the scent. The two warg’s galloped down the busy street. I followed as best as I could, leaping over the chimneys and onto the next rooftop. Birds escaped my speed only by their wings and coos.

At the edge of the city, I saw the whitehaired Witcher escaping at a gallop with my coin.

“Hod!” I called, my voice echoing through the brutal valley. The Warg’s halted to a stop, their feet dragging the mud and dirt with them. The dark warg glanced up at me, then turned his head back to the Witcher. With a lifted lip, Hod and Kav stood below the building by my side. I climbed down the side of the poorly built stable; stones that I could use for footholds and places to put my hands. Finally on the ground once more, I mounted Hod. I patted him on his rippling shoulder.

“Let’s not waste energy, we will never have to see him again.” I watched the Witcher and he watched me. His chestnut horse stomping in anticipation. Turning to return South, I knew I could always return from where I originally came.

#the witcher #geralt #geralt of rivera #jaskier #yennifer #warg #black crow #warg rider #geralt imagine #witcher imagine #jaskier imagine

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dredgen-no-more · 4 years ago

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Heavy Weapons for Gambit – 6/09/20

The heavy weapon represents one of the most game changing decisions a player can make before a game even begins. The choice between an all round good weapon and something which excels in one particular area all but dictates the kind of work you intend to do within a Gambit game. As such, more thought that one might initially believe should go into this decision. But before we even begin to discuss which Heavy Weapon you want to use, you must first ask whether you want your heavy weapon to be exotic or not.

In the case of both Exotic and Legendary Weapons, there are powerful options for whatever role you intend to fill. The trouble with Heavy Weapons, however, is the accessibility of ammo. Although it is guaranteed to spawn around the bank, and might drop from combatants, the reality is that picking up Heavy Ammo will never be a guarantee. If you want heavy ammo, you will need to prioritise it. Thus, the first step to making this decision is to recognise your role within a game of Gambit (considering what you intent to do) and whether that role requires you to put effort into prioritising Heavy Ammo. Technically speaking, no role requires heavy ammo, but the two which definitely want it are Invader and Sentry.

Invaders cast themselves into the fray to take down and whip out the enemy team. Heavy Ammo allows this to happen as quickly as possible, without too much retaliation. Two taps with a Xenophage is a hard thing to retaliate against, but will chew through ammo. Hammerhead may preserve ammo, but is easier to come back from. Etc, etc.

Sentry’s job is to deal with priority targets; invaders and blockers. Heavy Weapons are required as an efficient means of dispatching these pests before they get ahead of the rest of their team. A weapon like Truth is devastating to Invaders and Blockers alike, but struggles against the Primeval, while Falling Guillotine devastates blockers and the Primeval, but struggles against Invaders. Thinking over your options is best. As such, I want to offer a wide range of recommendations for Invader and Sentry for both Legendary and Exotic weapons. I will also offer one recommendation of an Exotic and Legendary weapon for each Reaper and Collector. In the case of Legendary Weapons I also want to offer some recommended rolls to try for.

Invader:

Exotics:

Xenophage – Machine Gun

Xenophage has been a favourite ever since it dropped. It is, effectively a rapid fire Mountaintop with a magazine in favour of that fact. Its rounds are explosive allowing for no damage drop off and devastating multi-kills against huddled Guardians. Moreover, it offer a phenomenal advantage when reaping moats for all the same reasons, dealing massive damage to major and minor combatants all the same. However, this weapon can be a struggle to aim, especially on console. At 120 RPM, despite being full auto the shots are slow and the initial burst of recoil is difficult to properly control. It forces you to burn shows unless you can control the recoil, or forces you to miss, burning shots. Despite being powerful, it is all too easy to empty your reserves. But, guaranteeing a kill with 2 shots and consistent damage since it can’t deal crits, it is a fantastic all around weapon, devastating on the other side.

Truth – Rocket Launcher

Truth is a deceptive weapon, presenting no obvious advantages. Most Rocket Launchers can roll with Proximity Detonation and Seeking Module, and even then Rocket Launchers aren’t all that fantastic in PVP or PVE. However, where Truth shines is how it handles it’s abilities. It has the strongest tracking system of any Rocket Launcher in the game, allowing shots to chase down fleeing and even hiding Guardians. It has the fastest lock on of any game and the most powerful blast radius. The absolute best part about Truth, however, is its Magazine size. No Rocket Launcher in the game has a magazine size greater than 1 (except Two-Tailed Fox). Truth has 3. It won’t shine against the Primeval, but as a Void weapon it will wreck Envoys. It is, in short, the best Rocket Launcher in the game. However, it is still a rocket launcher.

Legendary:

Hammerhead – Machine Gun

My favourite joke about Hammerhead is that it is the best Scout Rifle in the game. The recoil is needlessly consistent, almost non-existent, turning the weapon into an laser of sorts, mowing down entire teams with little to no effort. I got mine explicitly to use it in Gambit, and its my go to weapon for games where I want to Invade. Its massive reserves and minimal shot to kill ratio means you’ll get plenty of opportunities to Invade and devastate.

God Rolls:

-Chambered Compensator, Ricochet Rounds, Tap the Trigger, Rampage.

-Best for confident Invaders

-Corkscrew Rifling, Extended Mag, Feeding Frenzy, Mulligan.

-Best for unconfident Invaders

Sentry:

Exotics:

Leviathan’s Breath – Bow

This is the weirdo inclusion on this list, but as someone who has played too many games as a Sentry, I cannot stop singing its praise. If you have the aim, and the time to draw this bow, it will almost always be a 1-hit-kill (I can’t confirm this fact right now as its TTK hasn’t been recorded and at the time of writing, Destiny 2 is down. I believe it is a 1-hit-kill even on a headshot, but I’m unsure on a body shot on an Invader). The weaknesses of Leviathan’s Breath are largely situational, but lends itself well to the situations most Senties find themselves in. As a sentry, you don’t need to prioritise heavy ammo too much. This mitigates the issues around the weapons small reserve size. You also have the home advantage, giving you the time to draw and hold your bow, waiting for an invader, mitigating the weapons very slow draw time. The fact that it disorients and staggers foes will also make it easier to take down Primevals, Blockers, and a particularly hearty invader, so you’ll get the chance to switch weapons to finish them off. Finally, the fact that it’s a void weapon makes dealing with Envoys a breeze. This weapon is weird, but a powerful inclusion.

Whisper of the Worm – Sniper Rifle

Since its pretty major nerf, Whisper hasn’t been as powerful as it use to be. This has affected its role in Gambit more than any other game mode, as it has turned the weapon from ammo efficient to devastatingly ammo hungry. However, that doesn’t mean that the weapon is useless. It’s still is one of the best damage dealing heavy weapons in the game, and as a Sniper Rifle, it makes hitting your target relatively easy. This combination of effects plus the bonus damage from the catalyst can make for a heavy hitting blocker demolisher, all at a distance.

Legendary:

Falling Guillotine - Sword

If you’ve used this weapon this season, you’ll understand why its here. This weapon has ridiculous DPS, so rather than use this time to explain why its good, I’m going to explain how to properly use it. You want this weapon to roll with Whirlwind Blade. The way that Whirlwind Blade works is that you’ll gain 1 stack of Whirlwind Blade for each hit to make before blocking, up to a stack of five 5x. For each stack you have, you’ll deal extra damage. First step: NEVER BLOCK. BLOCKING IS FOR COWARDS. YOU SWING THAT. Second Step: You want to engage the thing you want dead with a heavy attack to proc Whirlwind Blade to most efficiently deal damage. Third Sept: then deal light attacks until your heavy attack is recharged. Fourth Step: At this point you should have 5x Whirlwind Blade. Repeat this process until the thing you want dead is dead.

The only problem is the Chimera which flies. It is possible to use your normal heavy attack on a flying enemy, but its tricky.

God Rolls:

-Jagged Edge, I-Don’t-Care-Don’t-Block, Tireless Blade, Whirlwind Blade

-Best for pairing with Lucent Blade mod

-Tempered Edge, I-Don’t-Care-Don’t-Block, Relentless Strikes, Whirlwind Blade

-Best for without Lucent Blade mod

Interference VI – Grenade Launchers.

Most grenade launchers are extremely similar, but Interference VI stands above the rest. The break down on its stats is favourable compared to other GLs with similar stats, in particular thanks to its Blast Radius. While no GL is favourable against Invaders, a larger blast radius is better than a smaller one in this regard. The closest other GL to look towards is Wendigo GL3, so long as you can consistently produce and pick up Orbs of Light. However, the use of this weapon lives and dies based on its rolls and your ability to hit targets directly from a distance. If you can get it all right, you’ll have the best DPS from any ranged Legendary Weapon in the game.

God Roll:

-Confined Velocity, Spike Grenades, Autoloading Holster, Full Court

-Best for Bosses

-Linear Compensator, Proximity Grenades, Clown Cartridge, Full Court

-Best for Invaders

Reaper & Collector:

Exotics:

Tractor Cannon – Shotgun

This weapon is an absolute sleeper hit for Gambit and Gambit Prime. Unlike most shotguns, Tractor Cannon unleashes a blast of consistent damage, rather than a barrage of low damage pellets. Where other shotguns need a close shot to deal lots of damage to one target, Tractor Cannon’s blast has drop off, meaning its easy to dispose of a number of close range combatants all at once. At its core, this weapon is about debuffing big targets and clearing small. A hit with this procs The Scientific Method, an ability which grants increased movement speed and handling for a few seconds. Additionally, it pushes back combatants, supresses abilities and boosts damage deal to the target. While it doesn’t output a shocking amount of damage, the combination of ability asks you to switch to another special weapon anyway, to deal the bulk of damage.

I’ve had games where I’ve lost 40-something motes, but still ended on top because clearing out combatants, envoys and the primeval was a breeze.

Legendary:

Falling Guillotine or Hammerhead

I’ve gone into why these are useful and the same principles apply for Reaper and Collector. Falling Guillotine devastates the Primeval while Hammerhead is useful against powerful enemies and Invaders. However, Falling Guillotine is also particularly effective against swarming ads and High-Value Targets. Pick what you want, but I always recommend the Guillotine more.

#Destiny #Destiny 2 #Gambit #Gambit Prime

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tlbodine · 5 years ago

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The Wendigo is Not What You Think

There’s been a recent flurry of discussion surrounding the Wendigo -- what it is, how it appears in fiction, and whether non-Native creators should even be using it in their stories. This post is dedicated to @halfbloodlycan, who brought the discourse to my attention.

Once you begin teasing apart the modern depictions of this controversial monster, an interesting pattern emerges -- namely, that what pop culture generally thinks of as the “wendigo” is a figure and aesthetic that has almost nothing in common with its Native American roots...but a whole lot in common with European Folklore.

What Is A Wendigo?

The Algonquian Peoples, a cluster of tribes indigenous to the region of the Great Lakes and Eastern Seaboard of Canada and the northern U.S., are the origin of Wendigo mythology. For them, the Wendigo (also "windigo" or "Witigo" and similar variations) is a malevolent spirit. It is connected to winter by way of cold, desolation, and selfishness. It is a spirit of destruction and environmental decay. It is pure evil, and the kind of thing that people in the culture don't like to talk about openly for fear of inviting its attention.

Individual people can turn into the Wendigo (or be possessed by one, depending on the flavor of the story), sometimes through dreams or curses but most commonly through engaging in cannibalism. Considering the long, harsh winters in the region, it makes sense that the cultural mythology would address the cannibalism taboo.

For some, the possession of the Wendigo spirit is a very real thing, not just a story told around the campfire. So-called "wendigo psychosis" has been described as a "culture-bound" mental illness where an individual is overcome with a desire to eat people and the certainty that he or she has been possessed by a Wendigo or is turning into a Wendigo. Obviously, it was white people encountering the phenomenon who thought to call it "psychosis," and there's some debate surrounding the whole concept from a psychological, historical, and anthropological standpoint which I won't get into here -- but the important point here is that the Algonquian people take this very seriously. (1) (2)

(If you're interested in this angle, you might want to read about the history of Zhauwuno-geezhigo-gaubow (or Jack Fiddler), a shaman who was known as something of a Wendigo hunter. I'd also recommend the novel Bone White by Ronald Malfi as a pretty good example of how these themes can be explored without being too culturally appropriative or disrespectful.)

Wendigo Depictions in Pop Culture

Show of hands: How many of you reading this right now first heard of the Wendigo in the Alvin Schwartz Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark book?

That certainly was my first encounter with the tale. It was one of my favorite stories in the book as a little kid. It tells about a rich man who goes hunting deep in the wilderness, where people rarely go. He finds a guide who desperately needs the money and agrees to go, but the guide is nervous throughout the night as the wind howls outside until he at last bursts outside and takes off running. His tracks can be found in the snow, farther and farther apart as though running at great speed before abruptly ending. The idea being that he was being dragged along by a wind-borne spirit that eventually picked him up and swept him away.

Schwartz references the story as a summer camp tale well-known in the Northeastern U.S., collected from a professor who heard it in the 1930s. He also credits Algernon Blackwood with writing a literary treatment of the tale -- and indeed, Blackwood's 1910 novella "The Wendigo" has been highly influential in the modern concept of the story.(3) His Wendigo would even go on to find a place in Cthulhu Mythos thanks to August Derleth.

Never mind, of course, that no part of Blackwood's story has anything in common with the traditional Wendigo myth. It seems pretty obvious to me that he likely heard reference of a Northern monster called a "windigo," made a mental association with "wind," and came up with the monster for his story.

And so would begin a long history of white people re-imagining the sacred (and deeply frightening) folklore of Native people into...well, something else.

Through the intervening decades, adaptations show up in multiple places. Stephen King's Pet Sematary uses it as a possible explanation for the dark magic of the cemetery's resurrectionist powers. A yeti-like version appears as a monster in Marvel Comics to serve as a villain against the Hulk. Versions show up in popular TV shows like Supernatural and Hannibal. There's even, inexplicably, a Christmas episode of Duck Tales featuring a watered-down Wendigo.

Where Did The Antlered Zombie-Deer-Man Come From?

In its native mythology, the Wendigo is sometimes described as a giant with a heart of ice. It is sometimes skeletal and emaciated, and sometimes deformed. It may be missing its lips and toes (like frostbite). (4)

So why, when most contemporary (white) people think of Wendigo, is the first image that comes to mind something like this?

Well...perhaps we can thank a filmmaker named Larry Fessenden, who appears to be the first person to popularize an antlered Wendigo monster. (5) His 2001 film (titled, creatively enough, Wendigo) very briefly features a sort of skeletal deer-monster. He’d re-visit the design concept in his 2006 film, The Last Winter. Reportedly, Fessenden was inspired by a story he’d heard in his childhood involving deer-monsters in the frozen north, which he connected in his mind to the Algernon Blackwood story.

A very similar design would show up in the tabletop game Pathfinder, where the “zombie deer-man” aesthetic was fully developed and would go on to spawn all sorts of fan-art and imitation. (6) The Pathfinder variant does draw on actual Wendigo mythology -- tying it back to themes of privation, greed, and cannibalism -- but the design itself is completely removed from Native folklore.

Interestingly, there are creatures in Native folklore that take the shape of deer-people -- the ijiraq or tariaksuq, shape-shifting spirits that sometimes take on the shape of caribou and sometimes appear in Inuit art in the form of man-caribou hybrids (7). Frustratingly, the ijiraq are also part of Pathfinder, which can make it a bit hard to find authentic representations vs pop culture reimaginings. But it’s very possible that someone hearing vague stories of northern Native American tribes encountering evil deer-spirits could get attached to the Wendigo, despite the tribes in question being culturally distinct and living on opposite sides of the continent.

That “wendigo” is such an easy word to say in English probably has a whole lot to do with why it gets appropriated so much, and why so many unrelated things get smashed in with it.

I Love the Aesthetic But Don’t Want to Be Disrespectful, What Do I Do?

Plundering folklore for creature design is a tried-and-true part of how art develops, and mythology has been re-interpreted and adapted countless times into new stories -- that’s how the whole mythology thing works.

But when it comes to Native American mythology, it’s a good idea to apply a light touch. As I’ve talked about before, Native representation in modern media is severely lacking. Modern Native people are the survivors of centuries of literal and cultural genocide, and a good chunk of their heritage, language, and stories have been lost to history because white people forcibly indoctrinated Native children into assimilating. So when those stories get taken, poorly adapted, and sent back out into the public consciousness as make-believe movie monsters, it really is an act of erasure and violence, no matter the intentions of the person doing it. (8)

So, like...maybe don’t do that?

I won’t say that non-Native people can’t be interested in Wendigo stories or tell stories inspired by the myth. But if you’re going to do it, either do it respectfully and with a great deal of research to get it accurate...or use the inspiration to tell a different type of story that doesn’t directly appropriate or over-write the mythology (see above: my recommendation for Bone White).

But if your real interest is in the “wendigocore” aesthetic -- an ancient and powerful forest protector, malevolent but fiercely protective of nature, imagery of deer and death and decay -- I have some good news: None of those things are really tied uniquely to Native American mythology, nor do they have anything in common with the real Wendigo.

Where they do have a longstanding mythic framework? Europe.

Europeans have had a long-standing fascination with deer, goats, and horned/antlered forest figures. Mythology of white stags and wild hunts, deer as fairy cattle, Pan, Baphomet, Cernunnos, Herne the Hunter, Black Phillip and depictions of Satan -- the imagery shows up again and again throughout Greek, Roman, and British myth. (9)

Of course, some of these images and figures are themselves the product of cultural appropriation, ancient religions and deities stolen, plundered, demonized and erased by Christian influences. But their collective existence has been a part of “white” culture for centuries, and is probably a big part of the reason why the idea of a mysterious antlered forest-god has stuck so swiftly and firmly in our minds, going so far as to latch on to a very different myth. (Something similar has happened to modern Jersey Devil design interpretations. Deer skulls with their tangle of magnificent antlers are just too striking of a visual to resist).

Seriously. There are so, so many deer-related myths throughout the world’s history -- if aesthetic is what you’re after, why limit yourself to an (inaccurate) Wendigo interpretation? (10)

So here’s my action plan for you, fellow white person:

Stop referring to anything with antlers as a Wendigo, especially when it’s very clearly meant to be its own thing (the Beast in Over the Garden Wall, Ainsworth in Magus Bride)

Stop “reimagining” the mythology of people whose culture has already been targeted by a systematic erasure and genocide

Come up with a new, easy-to-say, awesome name for “rotting deer man, spirit of the forest” and develop a mythology for it that doesn’t center on cannibalism

We can handle that, right?

This deep dive is supported by Ko-Fi donations. If you’d like to see more content, please drop a tip in my tip jar. Ko-fi.com/A57355UN

NOTES:

1 - https://io9.gizmodo.com/wendigo-psychosis-the-probably-fake-disease-that-turns-5946814

2 - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wendigo#Wendigo_psychosis

3 - https://www.gutenberg.org/files/10897/10897-h/10897-h.htm

4 - https://www.legendsofamerica.com/mn-wendigo/

5- https://www.reddit.com/r/Cryptozoology/comments/8wu2nq/wendigo_brief_history_of_the_modern_antlers_and/

6 - https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Wendigo

7 - https://www.mythicalcreaturescatalogue.com/single-post/2017/12/06/Ijiraq

8 - https://www.backstoryradio.org/blog/the-mythology-and-misrepresentation-of-the-windigo/

9 - https://www.terriwindling.com/blog/2014/12/the-folklore-of-goats.html

10 - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deer_in_mythology

#horror #folklore #mythology #deep dive #wendigo #cultural appropriation #monster design #creature design #long post #if you need a place to channel your deerman aesthetic #may I suggest huntokar from welcome to nightvale #100% fictional #100% awesome

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some-deadpeep · 5 years ago

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Horror au! Edward specter.

Cause of death; based on this ghost’s appearance, this ghost appears to have been shot in the left eye, maybe they were mistaken for a deer- or was it something else?

Danger level; 6/10.

Type of ghost; packer / bait

Packer ghosts are usally timid ghosts most of the time, they seem to understand that they aren’t that strong (most of these ghosts have a danger level of 1-6). But when they group together, they become much more confident. They swarm their victim to try and overwhelm it. If it’s believed that packer ghosts reside in the area, all ghost hunters are recommended to go in groups of 2 or more. More experienced ghost hunters can go alone, but at their own risk. Most packs have a leader who has a slightly higher danger level than the rest, some don’t though. Most ghosts in a pack have a similar theme ( animals, toys, ocean creatures, etc. ) so it usually isn’t hard to determine if the ghost is in a pack.

Bait ghosts are a sign that larger, much more dangerous ghosts live nearby. These ghosts aren’t usally above a 7 in the danger scale.If these ghosts spot a ghost hunter, these ghosts will either try to lure you to the more dangerous ghosts, or they create something (a sound/light) to draw the ghosts to the area (either to find out what all the commotion is about, or out of curiosity. ).

Description; this ghost seems to have almost completely lost it, being extremely wild and feral. Similarly to the other packer ghost in the area, the ghost in question has taken on a more animal like appearance, a deer to be exact. When by itself, this ghost is very fearful towards living beings, going as far as to bite them to avoid them. It is to note that a bite from this ghost usually results gives the victim nausea, fatigue, but most notably, extreme hunger- for anything they can get their hands on, including flesh along with a unknown black ooze seeping form their mouth and nose. If a ghost hunter begins displaying these symptoms, they should be taken back to the ghost research immediately for treatment. Within a couple days of treatment and rest, Ghost hunters can return to work once again. If this ghost is near other pack ghosts, it like the others become more confident. This ghost appears to be the leader of the pack, since it is always the first to get a bite of anything the pack catches.

Important things to remember;

If you wish to cross the territory of this ghost and it’s pack safely, no less than 2 people (this rule is more for less experienced ghost hunters, experienced ghost hunters can go alone at their own risk).

This pack in particular seems to attack form behind, so you or someone else has to check behind you ever couple of minutes.

Usually this ghost will trail beside you at some point during your walk, it is determining whether or not you are worth the effort for the pack. Avoid displaying weakness or fear, these two qualities is what the ghost is looking for. This ghost will eventually disappear after awhile, you will either be safe to pass or it is calling it’s pack members. If you hear sobbing or whispers, during this time this is normal.

You should be alarmed if sobbing and whispering is heard when this ghost is not in sight. This means that the pack has selected to hunt you. Stop and prepare to defend yourself.

During these attacks, the pack usally goes after one ghost hunter at a time. This is why going with 2 or more people is best for less experienced ghost hunters. Fight off the ghosts until they eventually flee.

During the battle, this ghost will attempt to bite you- it’s the same bite mentioned in the description. As said earlier, if one of you gets bit by the ghost, bring that person to the ghost research facility immediately.

When the ghost is baiting a stronger ghost over, it will scream. If you don’t believe you can defend yourself against the stronger ghost, you and and your group must aport the mission immediately. The pack will not follow you, they fear the larger ghosts as well.

—————-

Extra facts I didn’t know were to mention;

As you can tell, Horror Edward is based off a wendigo.

This ghost cannot speak, most of the time the whispers are just jumbles of random words that don’t make sense when put together.

The territory of Edward is probably a Forrest surounding the hotel or a Forrest nearby it.

Because he doesn’t have his glasses, his vision is shit. He can only see about the distance he is away form you during the time he walks by you.

The horror au was created by @creepychippy

#lm3 horror au #luigi’s mansion horror au #horror au #tw; bruises #blood warning #tw; blood

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hannigrammest · 5 years ago

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The Story of How Hannigram Became Canon to Those Who Are in Doubt

This post is mostly meant for the casual viewers who I noticed have joined Hannibal Subreddit after the news about the S4 negotiations. It is great that we are growing in numbers, but there seems to be a misunderstanding in regard to Hannigram (the romantic relationship between Will and Hannibal) and people who ship this pairing.

Hannigram is not a fanon pairing. It is not ‘just in the heads’ of silly girls or overly-romantic viewers. It is a canonically acknowledged couple that is supported massively by the cast and Bryan Fuller. Furthermore, this romance is the essence of the show, because Will and Hannibal find everything in each other. No, their relationship is not based merely on romance or sexual attraction. But also no, a more explicit romance in S4, which seems very likely and has been hinted at many times, will not destroy the complexity of the relationship. It will add to it.

The first part is canon evidence of Hannigram season by season. The second part of this huge post is tweets, quotes, and photos with Bryan and cast in regard to Hannigram. (Sorry, I can't seem to break the post in parts for easier reading, the formatting links don't work here for some reason.)

THE SHOW ITSELF

Season 1 is obviously the most ambiguous one in this regard because the relationship only starts to develop. And yes, the majority of scenes can be interpreted as the blossoming friendship, because it is a friendship first and foremost. Even several rather romantic moments can be technically classified as such — but only if you ignore the looks that Will and Hannibal give each other and the later narrative. Still, this is all ambiguous at this stage.

When Hannibal offers Will to take care of Abigail, he repeatedly calls them her “fathers”. Not “uncles” or “caretakers” or any other option — fathers, and while this word by itself might not mean much, it is clearly supposed to hint at what kind of relationship is going to unite Will and Hannibal in the future. In 1.07, Will doesn’t come to the appointment and Hannibal is pining. It is a very powerful and explicit scene, with Hannibal slowly walking to his chair, checking his calendar to make sure Will had to come, touching the phone longingly, then abruptly making a decision and going to look for him. All of this is accompanied by the corresponding music. Is this scene romantic? Some may see it this way, some may disagree. But I think most will agree that such obvious pining is a common romantic trope that's often shown in media. The focus and the way the scene is presented are everything: they didn't just show that Will didn't come and that Hannibal decided to find him. No, we had a slow focus on all his hesitant actions and his longing for contact. In any way, at this stage, it is no longer a mere friendship. It goes deeper, to the point where Hannibal can’t stand not knowing where Will is and craving contact enough to drive for hours in the search for him.

Once again in 1.07, Will brings Hannibal a bottle of wine out of blue and acts awkwardly and shyly when declining the invitation to join the dinner party. We don’t know why Will did it and it is never addressed again, but I think everyone will agree that bringing a bottle of wine to another person for no reason and just for him has a rather romantic shade.

Then, in that same scene, Will claims he can’t stay because he has ‘a date with a Chesapeake Ripper’. It is a joke, of course, but once again, it’s fiction. The word choice is very deliberate, and Bryan loves to foreshadow the upcoming events.

In 1.08, Will drives an hour in the snow to tell Hannibal about the kiss with Alana and Hannibal exhibits a very controlled jealousy, making a snarky comment about the long drive and telling Will that he had been motivated not by attraction, but by the need to find a balance.

In 1.09, Hannibal calls him and Will Abigail’s fathers again and touches his shoulder. Yes, it is ambiguous, but when (especially) you know what’s coming, you can’t help but notice how this touch is too hesitant and fragile for a mere gesture of friendship and unity. I’ll just say, even my father caught up on it right away, which is saying something.

These are the most explicit things I recall from season 1. Now, season 2 is way more direct.

Many scenes of Hannibal pining, sitting with a glass of wine and staring at Will’s chair at his time of appointments is a common romantic trope. Yes, it can be interpreted in different ways — for example, Will has already become a part of Hannibal and Hannibal misses him as the person who has the power to understand him. However, I feel like I have to emphasize the fact that it cannot be the only reason. Hannibal has already met people with extreme empathy before, such as Pazzi. He has also met people who were happy to join him and who had similar mindset, as Tobias Budge. Hannibal wasn’t interested in them, but he’s interested in Will. Will is special because he is himself, and like Hannibal will say later, love either pays you a visit or it does not. It clearly did with Will.

Soon after Will is released from prison, he goes to Hannibal to start the implementation of his and Jack’s plan. What does he choose to do? He dresses up and polishes himself up, presenting himself to Hannibal in the way that we have never seen him before. The first thought that comes to mind is ‘seduction’. Consciously or unconsciously, Will makes himself look as attractive as possible.

In 2.08, Hannibal touches Will’s face and holds it, staring into his eyes. This is romantic. It is one of the most popular romantic tropes that ever existed. ‘Transcendent’ love doesn’t require this kind of very intimate touch to be displayed. More than that, things become very dangerous here because if there had been no explicit follow-up, Bryan would have been accused of queerbaiting. Fortunately, it wasn’t the case.

In 2.09, Will has a dream where Hannibal directly calls him his ‘beloved’ several times. In 2.10, Hannibal treats Will’s hands very gently and we get camera focusing on it thoroughly. It is a deliberate depiction of eroticism that's often used in romances to create and underline romantic and/or sexual tension. In the same episode, we have a beautiful sex scene, seemingly between Hannibal and Alana and Will and Margot. However, it is there to show a very intimate and all-encompassing connection that is developing between Will and Hannibal, and it is structured this way specifically. Will reaches orgasm when he sees the Wendigo, a reflection of Hannibal. The words used before, like Hannibal's words about "never touching", are said to Alana but put on the image of Will.

Alana notices the shift in this relationship and asks Will and Hannibal about it. They talk about “crossing boundaries” and the fact that they “know where we are with each other”, and Alana clearly remains suspicious. In the end of the episode, Will and Hannibal have an intimate dinner full of lingering glances.

In 2.11, the episode starts with the eating of ortolans, which has being pointed out as an allusion to blowjob by the creator) If you have missed it, just re-watch this scene again with this in mind. It is very explicit, to the point of being uncomfortable. Hannibal’s reaction to learning that Margot is pregnant from Will is to hint Mason about it, thus endangering her and her child. Granted, he seems to genuinely regret it, but the deed is done. It is a jealous and possessive reaction, which has been further confirmed by Mads. During the con, he said: "If Margot had Will’s baby, it would be very hard for Hannibal to get over it. He’d be jealous and very grumpy." In this same episode, Alana looks at the burnt ‘Shiva’ that Hannibal has left for Will and calls it a ‘courtship’. So, we get the explicit confirmation that Hannibal is courting Will. And no, he isn’t courting an emerging killer in Will because at this point, he thinks that Will has already embraced his potential by killing Randall and Freddie and eating her. To Hannibal’s mind, Will is almost ready, but he is too lovesick to stop. Can you imagine him digging up the corpse of ‘Freddie’, decorating it, and displaying like that? It’s hilariously romantic — in a dark way.

In 2.12, Will chooses Hannibal by freeing him from the trap and then not giving him up to Jack after he mutilates Mason. Hannibal draws a fanart (!) of himself and Will as Achilles and Patroclus. For those who don’t know, these two are popular examples of lovers. This isn't just friendship. The reference to Achilles and Patroclus is often used to hint at a romance, it's a popular trope as well.

In 2.13, Hannibal talks about ‘imago’, an image of a loved one, and then says that he and Will have an image of each other and offers him to run away. Two men running away together to reunite with their daughter is romantic. Will chooses Hannibal once again by calling him, but it is too late. We get a heartbreakingly tender and intimate touch between them before the stabbing. As Mads said, "Will is the light of Hannibal's life and Hannibal killed Abigail to break Will's heart the way he broke his." Just as he said that "Hannibal was blinded by love."

Season 3 is where all subtext is taken into text. Hannibal has chosen Bedelia as a substitute to Will, and note how many people believe they become lovers. So, why Will and Hannibal running away is platonic, but Hannibal doing the same with Bedelia is not? Even though when the only person he does love is Will. We see that he is dissatisfied with Bedelia and is growing restless.

In 3.01, we get a flashback to Gideon who teases/mocks Hannibal by saying, ‘If only that company could be Will Graham’. So, in the very limited interactions, even he managed to glimpse the attraction, because let’s be honest, he didn’t have time to understand all deep layers of this relationship, but his phrase has been included deliberately.

In this episode, Hannibal meets Anthony, practically a Will mirror. He looks similarly, is smart, sassy, and he is even enthusiastic about Hannibal’s crimes. Ideally, he is everything Hannibal has wanted. But what does he do? He kills Anthony and turns him into a Valentine heart for Will. Before that, he makes an example of the heart from Da Vinci’s ‘perfect man’. In 3.02, Will recognizes it as such and calls it a Valentine and a ‘broken heart’. He asks himself, “Do I still want to go with him?”, and answers, “Yes”.

In 3.03, we get the first ��in love’ confirmation. Hannibal is shaken after seeing Will and hearing his words of forgiveness. When talking about him with Bedelia, Bedelia says, “Betrayal and forgiveness are best seen as something akin to falling in love”, and Hannibal replies, “You can’t control with respect to whom you fall in love”. The longing for Will has made Hannibal reckless, and Bedelia notices it by mentioning that he is going to get caught with this kind of behavior. In the end of the episode, Hannibal once again says that Will makes him feel love. He adds, “Love. He pays you a visit or he doesn’t.” Which love can either come to a person or not? Technically, these words could be interpreted as platonic love, but in the beginning of this very episode, we got a confirmation that the nature of this love is romantic. Will, in turn, is still reverent about Hannibal and even travels to his home to find out more about him. His attitude changes when he sees Chiyoh, who he sees as another toy abandoned by Hannibal, and it brings back the insecurities. We see it through how often Will compares himself and Chiyoh and how he is filled with anger and bitterness again (which were absent before this meeting). Chiyoh sees right through him and repeatedly states that Will is wrong to compare them, but Will persists.

In 3.04, we see that Will spends a lot of time sitting in Hannibal’s house, which is yet another romantic trope. Even Alana knows where to find him. Will admits to Jack that he “wanted to run away with Hannibal”, which also has a romantic connotation. Before that, Will was making the boat that he later uses to come and find Hannibal. This scene is intercut with his Mizumono memories, namely, with Hannibal's face that emerges every time he moves yet another part of the engine. This is a vivid demonstration of Will trying to repair what is now broken. He also literally sails after Hannibal, which is considered extremely romantic by many tropes at once. Chilton calls Will and Hannibal’s interactions a “flirtation” in this episode.

In 3.05, when discussing what to do with Hannibal, Chiyoh says, “I told you, there are means of influence other than violence” and kisses Will, thus showing him what others means exist. It is yet another direct allusion to the romantic part of Will and Hannibal’s relationship because Chiyoh basically offers him to kiss Hannibal instead of trying to kill him.

In 3.06, Hannibal says the famous, ”If I saw you every day, forever, Will, I would remember this time”. He said the same words to Clarice in the books shortly before having sex with her. It is an utterly romantic phrase that just cannot have any other meaning, especially when you count the narrative and the source material. Will adds some more romantic phrases, like “We are conjoined, I wonder if either of us can survive separation.” Such level of love is incredible, but you don’t say things like that to a person who you feel can just understand you. Nor to a simple friend or a spiritual mentor. It’s everything at once, especially when coming from Will. Things go badly after that and we get a knife and a drill. Scenes in Mason’s house are great and show that Will and Hannibal could be a great team. Hannibal saves Will and carries him home bridal-style. He changes his clothes, puts him into bed, and waits for him to wake up while writing down formulas that could change the time and erase some of the events. When Will wakes up, Hannibal admits that he has discovered Will in his Mind Palace, victorious, thus giving the power into his hands. When Will rejects him (by saying he’s not going to miss him), Hannibal gives himself up, knowing that chances are, he will never get back to freedom and he will never see Will again. Prison is the ultimate act of love because Hannibal is helpless there, completely on Will’s mercy. As Mads said during the con, "Will forgetting him was the last thing Hannibal wanted to hear, so that’s why he surrendered. The only way Will would see him again is if he’s in jail, and he would eventually visit. He was afraid he’d never see Will again otherwise."

3 years pass and we see that Will has a family. But — surprise! He is unhappy. He doesn’t even go fishing with them to have some time for himself. He hides the letter from Hannibal and goes to read it in the middle of the night. He never returns Molly’s ‘I love you’, never attempts to touch her, can’t even keep up a conversation with her, and literally sees himself falling to pieces. At the earliest opportunity, he jumps at the chance to see Hannibal. He didn’t have to do it. We are shown that he has recreated the crime scene perfectly, better than ever before, but Will lies to Jack about it and asks to see Hannibal.

In 3.09, we have a very powerful scene of Hannibal and Will reuniting, exchanging long sorrowful and heartbroken gazes. Hannibal says, “I gave you a child”, which puts him and Will in a category of parents again. He says that Will has chosen a ready-made family and Will doesn’t argue. We get a “Murder Husbands” reference from Freddie.

In 3.10, Will seeks Bedelia out. He acts catty and jealous. Bedelia calls him “Hannibal’s bride”, and calls Will out on visiting Hannibal just because he missed him, which Will doesn’t deny. He is confident and snarky at those scenes, using every opportunity to cut into Bedelia for having a relationship with Hannibal and surviving it in even better shape than he did. Bedelia says, “My relationship with Hannibal is not as passionate as yours”, and then adds: “You are here visiting old flame. Is your wife aware of how intimately you and Hannibal know each other?” They literally place Hannibal on the same level as Will’s wife. Then we have, “Your experience of Hannibal’s attention is so profoundly harmful yet so irresistible, it undermines your ability to think rationally.”

In 3.11, Hannibal sends Francis after Molly and Walter. Will doesn’t really comfort them, we see clearer than ever what a wedge exists between them. Hannibal asks, “How is the wife?”, which is another display of blatant jealousy. Will gets it, and he can’t deny the truth any longer.

In 3.12, we have the exchange that should have settled the debates about romantic part of relationship once and for all. Bedelia compares herself and Will to Hannibal/Bluebeard’s wives, and mentions how she would have preferred to be the last — the one that Will is. Will asks, “Is Hannibal in love with me?”, and Bedelia replies, “Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes. But do you ache for him?” Will’s look and his silence speak volumes as everything fades to black slowly. This is it, the textually explicit confirmation. Fans didn’t come up with the idea that Will and Hannibal are in love, it was stated directly on screen, several times.

Shortly before the confession, Bedelia says, "It excites him, knowing that you marked in this particular way." Personally, I always felt some sexual subtext in this phrase, and it is confirmed when we regard the similar scene in the book. Clarice gets sperm on her face and these same words sound. Granted, the situations are very different, but it proves that the phrase does indeed have sexual connotations, and it was deliberately planned like this.

Will devises a complicated and deadly plan after this. He sets up Chilton, which can be seen as courting gift to Hannibal, and in 3.13, he lies to everyone to break Hannibal out of prison. Bedelia calls him out on it once again, saying, "Can't live with him. Can't live without him." Will doesn't deny it - he confirms it. When Hannibal says he'll agree to the plan if Will says 'please', Will does it - in an obviously flirting way. Hannibal calls him a 'cunning boy', which is once again obvious flirting, especially considering the way he says it. His plan results in the deaths of numerous officers, but Hannibal is free. We have another romantic trope where Hannibal pretends that Will is a hitchhiker and asks if he’s going his way. In the house, they have another loaded conversation where Will admits that he doesn’t think he can save itself, and that it’s fine.

Predictably, Will can’t handle seeing Hannibal killed, so he reaches for his gun. We know the rest. At the cliff, Will finally accepts the truth, and he gives the fate a chance to stop both of them or to set them free. They fall into the ocean under the Love Crime song, and since the water symbolizes reborn, we can guess what happens after that.

Post-credits scene indicates that Will and Hannibal have paid a visit to Bedelia and are in the process of eating her while she’s hiding the fork to stab one of them as he approaches. The deleted epilogue to the series shows that they are in perfect harmony now.")

Who's too lazy to read all of that, you can just check the quotes below and watch some fan videos where direct lines from canon are presented. My two favorites:

Reciprocity

Crazy in love

QUOTES

Initially, during S1, Bryan said he wanted to explore the idea of “heterosexual male friendship”. However, he later admitted that he was worried about negative homosexual stereotypes surrounding the imbalance in power in the relationship between Will and Hannibal, and in the podcast due to the beginning of American Gods, he confessed that he “wanted to approach “Hannibal” from the angle that no one has explored before — the angle of romance”.

During the airing of S2-S3, and beyond, Bryan was the one who pointed out romantic and even sexual subtext, and promoted Hannigram further. The cliff scene is officially labeled as "Kiss_alts".

Their love is queer

A collection

Canon. Original tweet is deleted, so only Bryan's is left. The person asked him to say whether Hannigram is canon.

Falling

Last wife

They Flip

Always

Will and Hannibal survived the Fall

Mere teasing, but it shows that Bryan does acknowledge sexual tension between Will and Hannibal: They did change clothes as well as Their lips were busy (to the question of what Will and Hannibal were doing in the car in TWOTL).

Bryan's favorite quote from the show: Is Hannibal in love with me?

Finally, the shirt Bryan wore at one of the latest meetings

Hugh on why it took Will so long to realize Hannibal is in love with him

Hugh on Will's reaction to Bedelia's answer about Hannibal being in love with him: ‘Oh crap, maybe this thing I’m feeling is love’

Hugh: Relief from loneliness

Hugh: It's romance

Mads: It was love at the first sight

You know better than to breed

Will Graham is covered in Hannibal’s body fluids

Bryan: I feel one is omnisexual and one is heterosexual and there's a lot of influence going back and forth, who knows with a six pack of beer what would happen: http://uproxx.com/sepinwall/hannibal-creator-i-wanted-to-be-sure-we-had-an-ending-for-the-story/

To the question of whether explicit Hannigram was a part of the initial plan, Bryan Fuller stated: "No, it naturally evolved because I guess I was absorbing so much of Mads and Hugh's performance, which felt like it was growing in intimacy, and it would have been inauthentic not to address it. Because all of these characters, and particularly Bedelia, was able to call out what she had witnessed [between Hannibal and Will], it seemed like a natural conclusion. I remember when I turned in the rewrite pages where Will asks Bedelia if Hannibal is in love with him, I got a note from Don Mancini, one of our writers who was always pushing for more homosexual text – not just context or subtext but text, text, text – and he was like, "I'm so glad you put that in there! They said it! They said it!" http://www.digitalspy.com/tv/hannibal/interviews/a667077/hannibal-bryan-fuller-talks-season-4-sexual-fluidity-and-how-will-became-clarice-starling/

Discussing what motivated him to verbally acknowledge the romance between Will and Hannibal, Fuller mentioned: "It felt like we had to s–t or get off the pot, ultimately, because there had been so much going on between these two men that when Will asks, "Is Hannibal Lecter in love with me?" it is very much about death and the romance between these two men. There is a quality to connections that go above and beyond sexuality. You can have this intimate connection with somebody that then causes you to wonder where the lines of your own sexuality are. And we didn't quite broach the sexuality. It was certainly suggested, but the love is absolutely on the table." http://tvline.com/2015/08/29/hannibal-series-finale-will-lecter-cliff-bryan-fuller-interview-season-4/

Remembering how the song for the finale of the series was created, Fuller said: "It was interesting. She [Siouxsie Sioux] was like, "I want to write this song, and what are the things I should really be thinking about?" And I was like, "this is a love story. A love story between a full-fledged psychopath and someone who has nascent psychopathic abilities." Actually, Hannibal Lecter is not a psychopath; he's something else entirely. But it's a love relationship between two men: one of them is a cannibal, and one of them understands those cannibalistic instincts all too well." http://uproxx.com/sepinwall/hannibal-creator-i-wanted-to-be-sure-we-had-an-ending-for-the-story/

Bryan Fuller: "Clarice never, until the end of Hannibal, submitted to that romance, whereas Will seemed to be on a slippery slope right from the beginning, so there's a contrast to be drawn between them." http://www.digitalspy.com/tv/hannibal/interviews/a667077/hannibal-bryan-fuller-talks-season-4-sexual-fluidity-and-how-will-became-clarice-starling/

Bryan in the commentary: "“After killing Francis Dolarhyde with Hannibal Lecter, he realizes this is exactly what Hannibal Lecter has wanted all along. He has wanted a partner in crime - a murder husband, as it were - and the sad truth of it all is that Hannibal was right. Will did enjoy it. Will thought it was a beautiful, powerful thing." https://omnisexualhanniballecter.tumblr.com/post/134099645797/after-killing-francis-dolarhyde-with-hannibal

Hugh during PaleyFest 2014 (prior to S3): "They are in love or they love each other, that's unquestionable. I think it's a platonic love... but it's rich in... (audience and cast laughs) Ok, we've done two seasons so far... so platonic love and they recognize each other as unique in the world, they reflect each other in a way, it's like profound recognition and relief that comes with it. And they are good looking guys." Mads agrees: "Exactly. Losing him or what Hannibal did with him in the two seasons is probably the closest he has ever been to loving anyone. And what love means in his universe we have to see later on. But it's heartbreaking everything that happens to poor Will is also heartbreaking for Hannibal."

Hugh: You could say that during the second half [of season three]-I mean, obviously we’re jumping ahead here, but Will comes back to Hannibal. He’s now got this family, and Will, independently and pretty quickly, starts coming to the conclusion that it’s not sustainable for him to have that family. Like, he’s not the guy. He’s not the right person to be able to look after them, to live with them. It’s not compatible with who he really is. And you could argue that Hannibal is just driving him more quickly to come to that realization. So in that sense, it is kind of brutal, tough love. His love is saying, “Know thyself.” Mads: As Hugh is saying, it’s unavoidable. It’s going to happen sooner or later. Might as well happen sooner, before he’s stuck. [Interview http://oh-dr-lecter.tumblr.com/post/129331180920/theyll-say-were-in-love-fangoria-august-2015]

Mads Mikkelsen on ‘Which scene has been the defining moment?'

"Probably one of the moments early on, maybe mid first season, where I spend some quality time in therapy session with Hugh and he’s flying away thinking about something and I have the chance, Hannibal has the chance, to watch him. And he becomes very warm watching him. He sees not only this brilliant person but he sees something he loves. I think that is the definition of Hannibal." [https://twitter.com/noforts/status/1071952333221888000]

Bryan and Hugh discussing Will's motivation in TWOTL at the cliff and beyond (in the commentary to S3):

Hugh: The point was that it wasn't the horror that drove Will to do this, the horror was secondary, it was a horror in reaction to how much he loved what happened between him and Hannibal. We have seen so many moments of Will is covered in blood and shaking and horrified and this moment he suddenly realizes it is his true self.

Bryan: I remember the day you shot the closeups, you both came running to me and I remember Mads was particularly giddy, giddy as a schoolgirl, he said we really went for it, we really went for the love story, we almost kissed and it's all there and you can use it.

Hugh: We had to push in that direction so that there is no point pretending otherwise.

About Bedelia's leg:

Bryan: The false interpretation is she cut her leg which is a crazier version of Bedelia than I understand. Of course the intention is they survived and there are three place settings."

Hugh, answering the question what is happening to Will and Hannibal now: "Let's just say they're on a beach somewhere. [Interviewer] Just chilling on a beach? [Dancy] Yeah, just chilling on a beach. Drinking something out of a coconut."

Also, the reports from people who visited one of the cons mentioned the following."Today at Red Dragon Con it was announced by Mads that Hannibal and Will are now married, have dogs which he calls “the ugly carpets” of the relationship, and live in seclusion for 4 years before hunting together." Regardless of whether it is going to come to fruition or not, this is how Mads imagines Will and Hannibal's life Post Fall.

Mads in May 2018:

"“I think that Hannibal and Will… they’re not really alive without each other. They are a piece of the puzzle for the other one’s soul.”

A great video where Mads talks about Hannibal and his feelings in S2 final.

Question: Was Hannibal suspicious of Will before he smelled Freddie Lounds or was he completely clueless about it at that point?

Mads: Hannibal doesn't have a masterplan. He's living from day to day and he's seeing possibilities and opportunities, and one of them is Will Graham, who he is obviously in love with, in a certain way - that way. But I think at that time, Hannibal has been blinded by Will Graham. He believes truly that he will walk down the path with the light, hand in hand, with Will - and Abigail. That's his dream, that's what he wants, and I think it does surprise him and it does break his heart. It is a turning point for Hannibal when he becomes the cleaning man instead of the man who loves. Until then, he'd been a man full of love, and after that, I think he is... slightly angry. It was a surprise for him. He was tricked.He got blinded by love.

Interesting interview bit:

IGN: Reba’s final scene was another where you got to really pull direct quotes from the book. But here, I was reading it as Will can also be projecting about himself, as he talks about what it might be like to have a serial killer in love with you. Was that in your mind too, given you had these great quotes from the book but that it could definitely be maybe be a bit more of an echo here, given the situation.?

Fuller: Oh, absolutely. It was a great synchronicity of events where everything that Will was saying to Reba in the novel actually applies to Will Graham in the television series. So there was the want of seeing that scene because I haven’t seen it in any of the adaptations where we get to see Reba, post all of this, and have a quiet moment between the two people who were in love with serial killers.

Bryan: "My ship is canon" (https://twitter.com/BryanFuller/status/1072599788581998593)

Bryan about Will and Hannibal's relationship: "Will accepts who Hannibal is. It’s also narcissistic, in the way that we fall in love with people who make us feel better about ourselves and who make us feel like we’re a better version of ourselves. That makes us feel more secure in our bodies, in the dysmorphia of who you are on the inside versus who you project on the outside. That disconnect narrows dramatically when somebody sees you, understands you, accepts you and loves you. It’s transcendent." (http://collider.com/bryan-fuller-hannibal-silence-of-the-lambs-interview/)

Bryan about Will's reasons for jumping, surviving, and attacking Bedelia with Hannibal: "I think one of the reasons it seemed so organic for Will to go over the cliff with Hannibal at the end was that, in his mind, as he understood the universe in his world, he had peaked. It’s also stopping a monster and stopping himself from becoming a monster, but I think part of him was thinking, “That was beautiful. I don’t think I can do that again and feel as high as I do now.” Everything overwhelmed him and he went over that cliff because there was an apex to his experience, in a way that was poetic and dramatic. ... The kind of suicide where somebody jumps off a bridge, part of them hopes they survive and part of them wants to be over. I think a lot of people are hoping for some percentage of survival that may change them because they’re looking for change within themselves. So, I think there was some bit of that. For the ending with Gillian [Anderson], there are two place settings for a reason." (http://collider.com/bryan-fuller-hannibal-silence-of-the-lambs-interview/)

Bryan about Will and Hannibal's relationship in S1: The relationship between Will and Hannibal in this first season is the seduction. It is Hannibal Lecter recognizing in Will Graham for the first time in anyone that he has ever encountered in his life the opportunity for a friendship, a real friendship, because he sees something in Will Graham that he also sees in himself. They are both unique in their crazy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzU7O7Q0R5U)

Hugh about the start of Will and Hannibal's relationship: "It’s an instant love between them, it is as if Will met not the best chess player in the world, but the only absolute, the only person he can play with, that enters in the room - or rather, in his life - with a chessboard in hand, and this provokes in him a pleasure and an incredible relief. When we find Will at the beginning of the second season, he was betrayed and thrown in jail, so he is not in a really enviable situation, but the connection he had with Hannibal has remained unchanged, it is something which he can not get rid of. This time, however, he manipulates their connection because Hannibal still needs him and their friendship, but beyond the practical utility must be said that the bond with Hannibal is, even for Will, a source of uncontrolled, involuntary pleasure.”

Mads about the start of relationship: "Hannibal sees an opportunity in this young man. And so he can hopefully, one day, walk hand in hand down the road of life." https://k-s-morgan.tumblr.com/post/187266698258/hannibal-sees-an-opportunity-in-this-young-man

Mads during S1: "When he sees Will, he recognizes himself to a degree. [Hannibal] has empathy, but [he] uses it as a tool; Will has empathy, but he doesn’t know what to do with it. Lecter sees an opportunity to open this man’s eyes and see his full potential realized. And he also sees the opportunity for a friend, which is probably not what he’s had too many of. Even though Hannibal is the puppeteer, he really loves Will." https://screencrush.com/hannibal-lunch-preview/?utm_source=tsmclip&utm_medium=referral

Bryan: "The tricky thing with this show is that it is a story about two men and their relationship. But if it were just about male point of views, it wouldn’t be interesting. I feel like we haven’t done as good of a job, in Season 2, of representing the female characters and their point of view of the world. I think there’s a greater opportunity in Season 3 to do that, and do more of that. In Season 2, we knew the story was about these two guys, and everybody else around them were pawns. Jack Crawford was a pawn. Alana Bloom was a pawn. It was all about what was between Hannibal and Will Graham." https://collider.com/hannibal-season-3-details-filming-europe/

Bryan about S4: I'm still hoping for more Murder Husband adventures!

source: https://www.reddit.com/r/HannibalTV/comments/72bk89/the_story_of_how_hannigram_became_canon_to_those/

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snowkatze · 5 years ago

Text

Shuffle Off This Mortal Coil

Genre: angst with a happy ending (Loki Crossover) Word Count: 6010 Summary: Baz is getting attacked by a wendigo and thinks all hope is lost - when a dark-haired stranger comes to his rescue. They are more similiar than one would expect. Ao3: Shuffle Off This Mortal Coil

Well fuck, Baz thought when the wendigo was right on top of him. Its claws dragged across his chest, slicing through his skin. That was another shirt ruined. Baz pressed at the creature's wrists, trying for brute vampire strength, but they wouldn't budge. His wand was lying uselessly a few metres to the side, out of his reach.

So that was that then. Death by wendigo. It let out a screech and bared its rows of neat sharp teeth and saliva. It would rip him to shreds. There was no hope it would leave his face in tact. He would make an ugly corpse. He had imagined it a little more elegant. Dignified.

The wendigo pressed down on his chest and Baz clenched his teeth together. He tried to reach for his wand again, but it had fallen too far. Or his arms were too short. Or the wand not big enough.

Aleister Crowley. He was going to die. His breathing sped up, as much as it could with the weight on his chest. The wendigo leaned down and he could smell its foul breath against his face.

“You can't kill me,” Baz said, “I'm already dead.” The wendigo leaned closer. Maybe it only went after humans and once it realized he wasn't one of them, it would let go. The hope was probably futile. He should be bracing for it. He knew what it was like to die. He only had to do it a second time. It couldn't be that hard.

He pressed his eyes closed and imagined himself into his room at Watford. No pain in his chest. No hard ground beneath his back. And across from him no wendigo.

The wendigo roared. This was it. Baz kept his eyes closed and thought of Simon Snow.

Seconds passed. Baz waited. Suddenly, the weight lifted off his chest, there was a grunt, then a thud. He quickly opened his eyes and scrambled for his wand. There was a flash of green, the wendigo in a tumble. It let out another loud roar, then fell silent and collapsed. Baz stepped closer carefully, preparing for nasty surprises, but it laid still. It must have been dead. Once he was close enough to see the black spots on the creature's skin, he could see that there was a man lying under the monster.

So he had been saved. Like a damsel in distress. Wonderful.

He cast “Load off my chest” just to feel useful. The wendigo was magically lifted off the man's chest and rolled onto the ground. A bloodied dagger fell out of his hand. The man was conscious, but looked a little worse for wear. He sat up slowly, his eyes darting around, probably looking for a threat. Baz let his eyes glide over the stranger's form. He had black hair to his shoulders, an unnaturally pale face (vampire?) and strange green eyes and black clothes. When the stranger's eyes landed on him, Baz immediately sneered and crossed his arms. This stranger might have saved his life, but he wasn't about to trust him.

“Thanks and all, but I really didn't need your help,” Baz snarled. The stranger's eyes darkened.

“This creature was about to tear the flesh off your bones,” the man said. “Should I have let it?”

“I had everything under control.” “So you agreed to be this creature's evening meal by choice?” the man said and stood up. “Good to know.”

“It was not a choice exactly,” Baz admitted. “We had a little bit of a disagreement.” Baz started to saunter around the man, making himself look casual while he was calculating every step.

“I'm not going to give you anything, you know,” he said, “whatever you were hoping to gain from this little saviour act, you can't have it.” “Ah,” the man said, drawing himself up straighter, “I do believe I am owed a favour. You would have been lost without me. A little gratitude would do you well.”

“A little humility would you.”

Baz' eyes never left the man's face. This wasn't the sort of place where you ran into strangers and had a friendly chat. If the man was this deep into the woods, this deep and alive, he must have been dangerous. And certainly not the kind of person to lend someone a helping hand out of the goodness of their heart. But the man was right – Baz was in his debt.

“What do you want?” Baz said.

The man picked up his dagger and let it vanish. Baz tried to contain his surprise and unwittingly took a step back. He hadn't heard the stranger cast “Into thin air” and there was nothing resembling a wand. The stranger looked at the trees surrounding them before his gaze settled on Baz' face.

“What is a child like you doing in a place like this?” he asked instead of answering.

“Hunting a monster,” Baz replied simply, sniffing and looking at the ground. His voice took on a sarcastic tone. “Carrying out a job fit for the Chosen One.”

“I see,” the stranger said and fixed him with an unsettling grin. “You have certainly come to the right place.” He shook out his hair, then continued: “A little boy playing hero.”

“I'm eighteen,” Baz said, even though he wasn't quite.

“All humans are children,” the man said, shaking his head. He crossed his arms and drew his eyebrows together. Not human, then. But able to do magic? Baz tried not to let the irritation show on his face.

“I will help you find this monster you seek,” the man said, “in my own self-interest, of course. It wouldn't do to get murdered by a creature so soon. I just got here.”

Baz swallowed down his protests. The man had just saved his life, he needed to show a little good will.

“Fine,” he bit out.

“The name is Loki,” the stranger said. Peculiar name, Baz thought. Loki looked at him and Baz thought of three different ways to die. Walking over the edge of a cliff, making French Toast in the bathtub, accepting candy from a stranger...

“My name is Baz,” he said.

He started in one direction, trying to look like he knew where he was going. Loki kept his pace. They stepped over a few fallen trees. Baz ducked under the brushwood. He felt leaves and branches scratching and poking him everywhere, but paid it no mind.

“This is a dastardly place,” Loki said.

Baz wondered about the arrogance in his voice. Every sentence Loki said reeked of self-importance. Was Loki someone upper-class? Someone who thought himself better?

“I've heard it called the forest of decay,” Baz said. “It's said to be haunted.” “Why would you seek out such a dangerous place?” Loki asked, his tone of voice only suggesting curiosity.

“Maybe I just don't believe in ghost stories.” Loki paused. “Maybe you would be wiser to,” he said cautiously.

“How so?” Loki hesitated for a moment. “Tell me, boy, if you die and wake and walk among the living, does that make you a ghost?”

Baz thought of the nursery back at Watford. He kept his gaze on the path he was making for them through the woods.

“I hope not,” he said. There was something to it, really. He had been haunting the Chosen One for years, after all.

There was nothing resembling a path anywhere; in fact, it was as though nature wanted to make it as difficult as possible to get through the forest. Baz kept going, turning the thought that had led him here over in his mind, again and again.

“So tell me about this monster we are looking for,” Loki said from next to him. “Horribly dangerous, I assume.”

Baz clenched his jaw and thought carefully.

“It's something that deserves to die,” he said after a pause.

“I'm going to need you to be more specific.”

Baz stayed silent for a few moments. “I'll know it when I see it,” he said then. “Fantastic,” Loki said and rolled his eyes. “So we are looking for some vague nondescript creature in a forest filled with creatures? What has this one in particular done to become subject to your wrath? What are you looking for? Is it vengeance? Honour?” “I'm just trying to do the right thing,” Baz said.

“Ah, I see. So, you are trying to prove yourself? I have had enough of fools trying to prove their wretched worthiness for a lifetime.”

“Oh, it's nothing like that.” “Then what?”

Baz could tell that Loki would not let up. “If you will not stop pestering me, fine. It's what my mother would have wanted. That's all I'm going to say.”

“So that's the kind of fool that you are – one desperately looking for his parents' approval.”

“Don't mock me. Not about this,” Baz said tensely. “I'm not. That would be fairly... hypocritical.”

“Is that why you're here, too?” “No, no. Even I know when I am beaten. I might be foolish enough to make the same mistake twice over, but at some point I do catch on.”

The undergrowth kept getting thicker. “So what are you doing here?” “Hm. I'm just going wherever the Norns take me.”

“You're not from here,” Baz said, not making it sound like a question.

“I don't think any civilized being could grow up in these woods.” “Not what I meant.”

“You are clever, child. To be quite frank... I am not certain where I am. Midgard, judging from your substandard style of clothing.” “What's wrong with my clothes?” Baz asked, mildly offended.

“Could have a little more flair.” “That's true,” Baz conceded, allowing himself a smirk. There was a particularly big branch blocking their path. Baz quickly cast “Into thin air”. When he was finished, he turned to find Loki watching him curiously.

“What is this? Magic on Midgard? Clearly an inferior kind of magic, if you need objects and words to channel it.”

“Inferior to what? It's the only way to do magic.”

“And yet you deny being a naïve child,” Loki said and shook his head.

“Where are you from?” Baz couldn't help asking. Loki didn't seem particularly forth-coming, but Baz was too curious. They stepped out onto a clearing.

“Asgard. A place that a small mind such as yours cannot fathom.”

“Anyone ever tell you you're full of yourself?” Baz was about to come up with some other insult, when something shot out and threw itself at Loki. Baz took in the lion and the dragon head, the leathern wings, the snake for a tail – a chimera. A male one, corporeal. Good. They wouldn't have a chance against a female one, not without Snow. Baz hurriedly pointed his wand at the creature and cast “Off with your head!”. The lion head fell off, but the dragon head, which had been biting into Loki's shoulder, shot up and roared. “Sod off,” Baz tried, but the chimera only took one step back before charging at him. Baz rolled out of the way, holding his wand tight. Loki threw his dagger into the creature's neck and it let out a strangled cry. It turned away from Baz and gave its full attention to Loki. “Off with your head!” Baz cast again, just as the creature was about to sink its teeth into Loki's neck. The head fell onto Loki's chest and he quickly shoved it off him, rolling to the side. Panting, he laid back.

“Shit,” Baz said and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. He wasn't used to fighting – and every fight seemed harder to win.

“I believe my thanks are in order,” Loki said from the floor. He was clasping his shoulder. Baz stepped closer.

“We're even now,” Baz said and crouched next to Loki.

“All the same. My magic... is weak in this place. In this realm.”

He bit his teeth together, clearly in pain. “Let me -” Baz started and Loki moved his fingers from the wound. Baz cast some healing spells, but it didn't do much – the wound was too deep.

“Maybe you should go home,” Baz said with a hollow voice. He didn't want to admit he was out of his depth.

“I have no home,” Loki answered. He sat up, probably trying to seem unperturbed, but Baz noticed the tenseness around his eyes.

“I'm sorry. I can't take you back to my home. I... I need to finish what I came here for.”

“Do you really think I am so weak as to be indisposed by a simple flesh wound? Certainly not. I require no help. And no rest. Let's find that monster of yours and show it to Hel.”

“Maybe that's not such a good idea -”

“We're going. I will hear no more of it.”

Loki strode forward into the direction they had been going, but he was clutching his shoulder again. Baz tried to shake the uncertain feeling and followed him.

“Maybe I could take you to your family -” Baz tried.

“I have no family.”

Baz thought of how Loki had talked of gaining his parents' approval earlier and decided not to press the issue. And it was not like he had much room to argue – they were too deep into the forest. Baz was not sure he would even know how to leave. The forest got darker the deeper they went. Loki's breathing got heavier. And Baz couldn't help but think it was his fault somehow. Loki was here because of Baz' stupid whims, because of the stupid thoughts circling in his brain over and over.

Who was this strange man? Nothing added up. And it kept coming back to him... The peculiar language, the pale skin, how he had called Baz 'human'.

“You're not... a vampire. Are you?” Baz asked cautiously. Loki looked at him in surprise.

“What's a vampire?” Baz' eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you having me on?” “I... no.” “Vampires are... monsters, they-”

Loki sucked in a quiet breath.

“How would you know that I – I -” Loki kept his gaze firmly on the ground. “Vampire... is not, perhaps, another term for... Frost Giant?”

“What?” Baz grew more confused by the second. “No. They're not giant. And they don't have anything to do with frost. They just... Suck blood and kill people. It's what they do. They're – not human. They used to be, but – then they died and got Turned.”

“And you would think me one of these... vampires?” Baz shrugged.

“You're strange, that's all.”

“And... the monster we seek is one of these vampires?” Baz grimaced before quickly schooling his expression.

“Yes,” he said quietly. He could only see in the dark because of his heightened senses. There were no stars. Loki was... a complication. He would feel guilty leaving him to fend of the creatures of the forest alone. And while he could not stop thinking about what he had read earlier, he couldn't bear thinking about what he had come for. He was procrastinating. But now that he had Loki to worry about, he was painfully reminded that while he had striven to make it deep into the forest, he had never planned to make it back, too.

“Are vampires native to the forest?” Loki asked. “Oh. No. They hunt humans, so live among them.”

“But still you are certain that the one you seek is here in this forest.” “I am,” Baz said tersely. “There is something strange about you too, child. Do not be so witless to think I will not figure out what it is.”

Baz flinched slightly. He wondered how much longer the night was going to last. If you could even see the sunrise from this place and through the branches.

There was hedge full of roses that they either needed to circumvent or get through.

“Why did you come here?” Baz asked again as they started to walk alongside the hedge. “I would think you would only come here if you were a complete fool. Or had a death wish.”

“Or if you lost your way.”

Loki lifted his bloodied hand of his shoulder and let his dagger appear in it.

“I don't have the patience for this,” he said and began cutting through the vines. Suddenly, the vines raked around his dagger and pulled it out of his hand. Another one wound around his arm. Baz was too shocked to act and felt a vine snake around his leg. In his surprise, he dropped his wand and couldn't pick it up again as vines wound around his whole body. Loki let out a groan of pain next to him when one of the vines snaked across his shoulder.

“You don't happen to have another dagger up your sleeve?” Baz asked. “Or an ace?” “No,” Loki ground out, “can't teleport either. I'm stuck.”

Baz pulled and twisted his arms, but the vines were stronger. They must have been magical somehow, so that they could withstand even his vampire strength.

“You can teleport?” Baz asked. He would have been more intrigued if he weren't so distracted. “I would have liked to see that.” “Do you think I'm lying, child?” “I think we're not getting out of here anytime soon.”

One of the vines wound around his neck and Baz feared it would start choking him soon.

“I can't cast a spell without my wand,” Baz said, “and I don't have any weapon.”

“You come well-prepared for a monster hunt.”

“Why don't you lay off the sarcasm,” Baz snapped, “I'm trying to wallow in misery.”

The vines stopped moving, but they had his arms and legs bound. He couldn't move. He couldn't do anything. For a few minutes, they waited, just in case the vines would let up on their own.

“I think it's a defence-mechanism,” Baz said. “I don't think they'll let us out. And I can't think of any way to get us free.”

He tried to hold in the tears that started to prickle his eyes. He let out several jerky breaths as reality set in. He was going to die. Maybe he was going to die of thirst in a few days. Maybe the vines would wind further and start choking him. He didn't have to wait for any monster to rip him apart. And the worst part was, Loki was going to die, too. And that was on him. If he wasn't such a coward, none of this would have happened.

“Great,” he said and laughed a bit hysterically. “So this is how I go. Like a fucking prince from Sleeping Beauty.”

“It's not how I would have imagined my death either,” Loki said, sounding strangely resigned. “I was never stupid enough to dream of Valhalla, of course. I was never a warrior. But I did imagine I would die a Prince of Asgard.”

“A prince?” “Not any more.” The vines cut into Baz' skin painfully. He could not see Loki's face from this angle, only the pitch black sky and the tall rose hedge.

“It's not as desirable to be a king as one would think, mortal,” Loki said.

“Mortal?” Baz felt another burst of laughter bubbling up in him. “Guess again.”

“So that's what was strange about you,” Loki said, “you are not human.”

“No. And neither are you. Though I must say, we're both looking pretty mortal right now,” Baz said softly.

“There is still time yet, child. Who knows what might happen.” “I wouldn't hold out for it.” “I am sorry we didn't find your monster. It must have grievously wronged you.”

“Ha. No worries. I'm getting exactly what I came for,” Baz said and turned his gaze to the sky again.

“You don't mean -”

Baz could hear the agitation in Loki's voice. He chuckled darkly.

“I do. I'm... I'm a vampire.”

He could say it, now. There was really no point in keeping a secret. “You suck the blood of humans and kill them, then?”

In shock, Baz stayed silent.

“I'm not judging,” Loki added.

“No, of course not,” Baz said, silently horrified. “I've never bitten a person. I never would.”

“I have a feeling you are a better man than me.”

“I'm a monster.”

“Oh, that's right. And you're just trying to do the right thing, am I correct? Silly mortal.” “Vampire,” Baz insisted. “Mortal in all the ways that count. You don't know the first thing about monsters.”

“But my mom did,” Baz said and sniffed, thinking of the article he had read in the morning. “She was there when the vampires attacked the nursery. When they bit me. She died – no. She – this morning I found out that she cast – that she – she got Turned that day. And then she killed herself. She knew how to do the right thing.”

Loki stayed silent for a moment, the air heavy with Baz' words.

“I'm sorry that happened to her. And to you. But it doesn't mean she was right.”

“She was. I've always known. I'm just not as brave as her. That's why I came here. To let someone else do the job. To a place where I knew I wouldn't make it out alive. Even though I still want to.”

Baz was never usually this honest. But there wasn't a lot of time left to say the truth. All energy had drained out of his body. He didn't want to fight any more – not for his life, but against the knowledge that he still wanted it.

“I'm sorry,” Baz said, his eyes burning from tears. “I didn't mean for anyone to get dragged into this.”

“If you are so intent on killing monsters,” Loki said tiredly, “you will be happy that I am dying with you.”

“You said you were no vampire.”

“I'm not,” Loki said, “but I am a frost giant. A Jotun.” “I don't know what that is,” Baz admitted quietly.

“Imagine finding out you are the monster hiding underneath children's beds.”

“Oh, I can imagine that.” “Did your parents love you, boy?” “No one can love a monster. She loved who I was. Not who I became.” “Well. I was a monster all my life. Only I did not know. I was chasing after a love I could never hope to gain,” Loki said. “And I have proven everyone right. You tell me you have never hurt anyone. I have. I have tried to eradicate an entire race of Jotuns. How is that for a monster?”

“Simon Snow has killed vampires. Lots of them. And he's not a monster,” Baz said. “You were... misguided, probably. But you don't have to be like that. I can't believe that an entire species is made up of monsters. Sounds like bullshit to me.”

“And how is that different from being a vampire?” “Vampires are made. And all that changes is that they become deadlier. Their only purpose is to kill.”

“'Their'. You do not seem to count yourself as one of them. It might be your intellect poking through,” Loki said drily. Baz snorted.

“And that will be that, then,” Loki said, “a man and a monster dying in the woods.”

“We might both be monsters.” “We might both be men.”

“And here I was thinking you only saw me as a boy,” Baz said with exasperated humour.

He watched the night sky for a little longer.

“So how did you come here? Will you tell me now?” “We're not so different, you and I. I... let myself fall into the void. I didn't expect to come out of it alive, either. And I came out here. It must be a different universe. This is not the Midgard I know.”

“So that is why you are so strange? You come from a different universe?” “Oh, there might be an Asgard and a Jotunheim in this universe, too.”

They fell silent again. Baz thought about this morning, when he'd last seen Snow. He'd taken one long moment to look at him before he left. He was going to die thinking about that moment.

“Baz!” someone called suddenly. Baz couldn't turn his head. But that voice...

“Simon?”

Snow stepped into his field of vision and Baz lost his breath. He was here.

“Oh no,” Snow said as he took in the scene before him, “what happened?”

And Baz thinks of ways to die. Inviting a chimera over for tea, falling down the stairs, kissing Simon Snow... “Attempt at gardening gone wrong,” Baz said.

“Stop talking and get us out of here,” Loki called.

“Right,” Snow said and lifted the sword he was already holding in his hand.

“This might work,” Baz said, “it's a magical sword. But be quick about it.”

When Snow started cutting through the vines, the vines tightened around Baz' body and he began choking. When he was free, he fell to the floor and sucked in a few deep breaths.

“How did you find me?” he demanded when he could speak again.

Snow was supporting Loki with one arm and examining the wound on his shoulder.

“I cast a tracking spell,” Snow admitted, not even sounding apologetic. “I... I knew you were up to something when you left this morning. When you didn't come back, I... Well. It's good that I came, isn't it? What are you doing here?” “Yes, boy, what are you doing here?” Loki repeated innocently. Baz nearly growled.

“I'm... helping him get home,” Baz said then. The last thing he wanted was for Snow's hero complex to kick in. “He's not from here. You can go back, right?” “There might be another portal around here.”

“I'm going to help you, then,” Simon said. Baz let out a deep sigh. There was no appeasing Snow once he had set his mind on something. “I don't believe you, but. I'll help.”

“Another naïve mortal,” Loki said, “excellent.”

“Let's just keep going,” Baz said, eager to get away from the rose hedge. He couldn't help but feel lighter, more hopeful, now that Snow was here. It was terribly annoying.

But instead of walking alongside the hedge, Snow cut through it with his sword. Baz quickly ducked through the hole before any of the vines could grab him. The woods cleared up behind the hedge. A field with a myriad of flowers stretched out before them. In the middle of the field, there was a stone statue. It was a woman in a dress, holding a dancing position. Baz carefully watched it, not trusting the situation. When he turned, he saw that Snow was already walking into the field.

“You complete imbecile,” he called out, at the same time as Loki said, “you mule-headed oaf!”

The flowers wound around Snow's legs – Snow started making erratic movements with his sword. He cut some flowers, but they kept dragging him deeper. Baz watched in astonishment. He tried to think of a spell that would help.

“Let go of me!” Snow called.

“I can't use my magic,” Loki said, turning to him, “do something!”

Baz scrambled for his wand, but he had forgotten it on the other side of the hedge. He tried to walk back, but the hole had closed up again. There was nothing he could do. Snow's movements became more desperate. Baz was ready to run into the field when it happened – what inevitably happened whenever Snow took too long to fight something. He went off.

Baz was thrown against the hedge. He quickly stumbled away from it. The flowers on the field were obliterated. Baz cautiously stepped forward. The only thing left standing was the statue. Snow was still half-way in the ground. He wavered, then fell unconscious. Baz heart skipped a beat. He wanted to reach out to him. Then he noticed the vines from the hedge wrapping around Loki to his side. His head whipped around when he registered movement to his right.

The statue was moving – moving towards him. Her expression had gone furious.

“You have made a massacre of my field of flowers,” she snarled. “You are monsters. I will take you, with the long hair, as recompense for my flowers.”

“My deepest apologies,” Loki said, “we didn't mean any harm.”

“It will be forgotten in a moment, so long as you come with me. You are the prettiest one. I will make you my statue.”

“I'm flattered, really, but I'd rather not,” Loki said, but the vines prevented his struggles.

“You come with me, or I will kill you all,” she snarled, incensed.

Be brave, Baz thought. Be brave, be brave, be brave. He took a deep breath and thought of his mother casting “Tigre, tigre, burning bright”.

“Take me instead,” he said firmly, “he's extremely annoying. You wouldn't like him at all.”

“He has a terrible habit of self-pity,” Loki said, “and he is foolishly reckless. You have made the right choice in me.”

“Don't do this, Loki,” Baz said. “I think the portal might be on the other side of the field, in that pond.”

“You are a child,” Loki snapped, “you have lived not even half a life. I won't let you waste that. Not for me.”

“The portal is right there, Loki. Go home.” “I don't have a home!”

“I don't believe that. And I don't believe you are a monster. You just need another chance. Just bloody take it.” “And pay the prize for it? And have that on my conscience for the rest of my life? I don't think so. Just walk away from here. Forget this ever happened. Forget any stupid reason you had for coming here.”

“I've been dead for a long time,” Baz snapped, “this won't change anything.”

“Ah, dying. I'm quite used to it, too.”

“I thought I was just a worthless mortal with inferior magic and no sense of style. What are you doing?”

“The right thing. Maybe,” Loki said and turned back to the statue. “It's okay. I agree. You can have me.” While they argued, Snow had regained consciousness. The statue was looking at him and Loki. She didn't see Snow pushing himself up and out of the ground. He approached them. Baz was careful not to look at him directly. Then he raised his sword and let it come down on the statue. She turned around and made a grab for the sword immediately. Baz dived down and slipped his arm through the hedge to reach for his wand.

“A monster doesn't save people,” Loki yelled at him. “It might save other monsters. So did you save one or did you not? You can't have it both ways.”

Baz pointed his wand at Loki and cast: “Let him go!” A few of the vines came loose. Baz kept casting the spell, but he could feel his magic diminishing. Snow was still fighting the statue. Finally enough of the vines came loose for Loki to break out.

“I've tried to kill my monster,” Loki said to him, “And I ended up here instead. If I were a more feeble-minded man, I'd call it destiny.”

“I'd call it luck,” Baz said. “Luck... Yes. I believe you are right.” Loki smirked. “Farewell, mortal. Do try not to get yourself killed.”

With these words, he made off to the pond.

Baz tried casting “Freeze” on the statue, but it only slowed her down a little.

“Snow,” he yelled, “come on!” He cast “Make way for the king!” and the hedge parted. Snow slammed his sword against the statues' arms, grinding his teeth together. “Snow!” Baz yelled again and grabbed his arm. “Run!”

And he ran and dragged Snow with him. He could see in the dark, so he led them through the trees as smoothly as he could. And he didn't slow down. He didn't want any monster to catch up with them.

They kept running, until Baz could tell that Simon's breath was coming short. He leaned against a thick tree, breathing heavily. Snow leaned next to him.

Baz didn't know what to think. He had been so certain when he had come here. Now everything seemed upside down. Then he turned his head – there was Simon Snow, red-cheeked, breathing, alive. The one thing Baz was always sure of.

“Simon -” Baz started. “I need to know if – Because you'd do the right thing. I know you would. Please -” Baz swallowed. He had to tell him, otherwise he would never know. And there was nothing left to lose.

“I'm a vampire, Snow.” He waited with bated breath. Snow was just looking at him. Open-mouthed. Nothing else. Then -

“You called me Simon before.”

Baz laughed, because it was all too much.

“I tell you I'm a monster, and that's your response?” “I... I knew you were a vampire. I mean. I didn't have proof. But I knew. Can't be wrong about everything, me” Snow said and smiled. “But you've never bitten anyone, have you?” “No.” “Right again. Seems like I'm having a streak. So, when I tell you you're not a monster, it must be true.”

“Simon-”

Baz felt close to tears again, but he didn't want to break down in front of Snow.

“I thought you were stronger than me. I thought you would do the right thing.” “I am. I am doing the right thing.” Snow was close, but he leaned in closer. He tentatively put a hand on Baz' chest. Nothing was going the way Baz thought it would.

“Baz, when you didn't show up in our room tonight, I... I went crazy, I was so worried.”

“Worried,” Baz said and swallowed, trying to get himself under control, “or suspicious?” “A little bit of both. But mostly worried. Why did you come here? Are you insane? It's the most dangerous magical forest.”

“I know. That's why I came. I was... I... had a few things wrong, apparently.” “Come home with me, Baz. Please. Let's get away from this place.” Simon was smiling, at Baz. And suddenly Baz could think of three ways to live. Playing piano, inventing a spell, kissing Simon Snow...

He licked his lips. And Simon was right there, and so alive. Baz leaned closer just the tiniest bit.

“Can I -” Baz said. “Could I-”

“Baz,” Simon said quietly. Baz leaned a little closer still.

“I can't lose you,” Simon whispered. “Come here. I need you to-”

Simon moved his head and their lips brushed together. Simon was so warm – so warm – and only now, Baz was realizing how cold he had been. Baz pushed against Simon's lips. He felt so alive – Simon felt so alive, but Baz felt so alive. Maybe Loki had been right. Maybe Simon had been right. Maybe this was a forest full of monsters, but he was not one of them. Maybe there were no monsters in this forest.

He tangled Simon's fingers with his and lit a flame in his palm. It was still dark. They were still deep in the forest. Baz took a hesitant step forward, then he became more assured. He knew the way out.

#carry on #carry on fanfiction #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz #loki

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