#but she's loyal to her kids - one kid in particular - above all others
Note
I am on the edge of my seat wondering who Evelyn will end up Emdgame with
This ask made my butt clench because the answer is very sad and maybe not ideal, but the hint I will give is that - save a short modern-ish day epilogue - the main body of the fic will end in 1942, so... uh... uh.
Ludwig and Kiku may be... out... of the running...
#aha#I'm so sorry 🫠#having said that she's only gonna get to further with one in particular#the german relationship over 70 years going from tentative hope to rock bottom to pity to being frightened away and rock bottom again#versus japan which is apathy to admiration to the thing that pulls them from isolation to maybe love to inevitable collapse#like i am writing Evie and Ludwig missing each other for when they could have something#she is open when he is not#then when he is open when she is genuinely repulsed#whereas with kiku they meet at the right time#but she's loyal to her kids - one kid in particular - above all others#and it gets fucked again#so...the tragic romance tag will apply... certainly...#i hope i get it right#q&a#hws england#fem!england#hws germany#hws japan#hetalia#fanfic ask
1 note
·
View note
Text
hangry
Tsunami didn't get her mcfries
Au things below
Nami is such a fun character
Righteously angry and impulsive to the point of aggression. Potently exuding and reflecting my impulsive desires, I relate to her a lot. She's quick to bite and too stubborn to regret.
Exploring how that personality would translate to a very different Tsunami, someone who had a traitor for a father and a list of detentions ripe to bite her in the back. This Tsunami is a penal soldier, someone who spent time in the electric eel prison (depicted in the image) and found freedom in war. She's still impulsive and raging but it's more prickly and rather passionate.
Here's a compilation of ideas:
She's loyal and believes fully in the propaganda. Prideful and will do anything to prove it. Maybe it's stubbornness or some hopeful part of her thinks being a perfect soldier will give her a lighter sentence.
Tsunami before getting detained lived life quite normally as normal as you can get in war. She wasn't allowed to be a soldier due to her father so she took to craftsmanship, repairing dented armor and such to support the war effort.
She's imprisoned for no particular reason or mb the queen felt like putting the traitor's kid in jail finally.
Still friends with Riptide but ykno he has a personality (he's a lil secretive guy with a liking for radical thoughts)
Her hatred for fate is still a thing as well, she wants to avoid going back to her fate, to prison where she belongs bc her father's crimes and his fate became hers. She hates destiny bc its thrust upon someone who never asked for it, she didn't ask to have to live a harsh horrible but that's what she got for being born to the wrong father.
Nami's too far down the class to ever have met or seen the royals up close so all her thoughts and opinions on them are rather influenced by what she's read or heard. Coming from the eel eating masses so her education of things that happen above is scarce at best, Riptide is her source of info since he got into the army.
The idea that the Queens and royals are so alienated from the common dragons that not even our pov characters would meet them or only see them from afar would be funny (sorry i fucking hate how like nearly every mc is related to royalty in the pyrrhian books like plssss plsss can we not).
Nami's arc of thinking before acting and being more calm is pretty alright, it's one of the most simplistic character arcs in this series. Her guilt though is the most interesting thing about her. Since she's a soldier rather than tackling the guilt of killing her father it's killing other soldiers and kind of moral quandary of war. Nami never really let herself think about her actions, always ends justify the means even if she has to throw away her morality for a chance at freedom its selfish but understandable. She has to fight to survive bc what else is there, if she stops being a soldier she'll just get killed or thrown in jail, at least if she keeps fighting for another day she'll still be alive. The overwhelming guilt of it all would probably mess her up really bad in the angry self hatred way turned intense gung ho redemption mayhaps
lots of unconnected thoughts this time around
Thanks for readin my ramble!
291 notes
·
View notes
Text
5 details from the funeral scene that I think about too much
dissecting the funeral scene in The Gilded Age and why it told us more about Anne and Patrick’s family life than any other moment in season 1
I’ve been rewatching the first four episodes like a maniac waiting for season 2 to come along, and recently I’ve noticed a few too many little details that normal (speak: sane) people may have not caught onto that I thought were worth pointing out.
1. The children.
The funeral scene is the only one where we see the Morris children in the entirety of the show. Anne mentions the kids towards the end of episode 3, saying that “Will is upstairs” and “Louise is on her way” moments before Patrick takes his life. Patrick then proceeds to praise them and their family life, and what good children Anne has managed to raise (all to her getting suspicious that something must be wrong - which in itself is a big enough implication to dissect in a different post). Up until the opening scene of episode 4 we don’t know how old the children are, only the blood-stained picture in Patrick’s room, right before the credits roll at the end of episode 3 gives us a hint that Louise is the older sibling, that’s all.
Then, we see them at the funeral. And I have so much respect for whatever those two extras (never found out their names, but shout-out to those two!!) did playing those kids for a few seconds. Will is clearly in shock, completely dissociating (considering he was the one who was upstairs to find Patrick dead on the floor before Anne could rush up the stairs… yeah…). Like, that child is going THROUGH IT.
I fully love the little attention to making them seem grown-up but clearly they aren’t. Will with the cane and hat, looking like he cosplayed as an adult (especially with all the other men around him wearing similar attire). Louise has the same hairstyle and stance as Anne and you can just see this little girl trying to be like her mother. It’s so headcanon but this moment truly proves that Anne was completely idolised as this unbreakable force in Louise’s life, that this child is even trying to keep it together after her father died, and it’s just so gut-wrenching because Anne clearly can’t keep it together.
2. White carnation.
It’s a short frame, barely recognisable. But the only flower laid at Patrick’s grave is the one Anne puts on top of the coffin. White carnation. While carnations are a pretty traditional flower for funerals, white carnations in particular convey deep sorrow. As they’re usually linked to innocence and purity, as well as loyal love, they were used to mourn children gone too soon; to mourn those gone under circumstances that were not in their hands. The fact that Anne chose white carnation, rather than red carnation (which is the traditional pick for a widow as it symbolises passionate and admirable love), shows just how much she was convinced that Patrick’s untimely death was not his fault nor an act tainting his name. And her silence paired with the white carnation is the perfect counterpart to the later rather loud comment by a family member on how he doesn’t even deserve a grave to begin with.
3. The Fanes and their relation to the family.
When the camera pans higher above the crowd, we see the other people that attended the funeral. Right next to Anne and the children are two other couples, the rest of the family is opposite them, with the grave separating the two sides.
With the back and forth between the funeral scene and the scene at the town hall of George and the aldermen looking at the blueprints which takes place simultaneously, it adds meaning that Charles Fane, an alderman himself, skipped the meeting to attend his friend’s funeral. (We’re gonna overlook how quickly Charles threw Patrick’s legacy under the bus after finding himself in a similarly tough financial situation).
The more notable thing however, is the fact that Aurora and Charles are standing right next to Patrick’s immediate family - Anne and the children - implying their connection to the family was closer than simply friendship. They would be standing farther away… if they weren’t tied to Anne and the children, e.g. by being the kids’ godparents. This theory would explain not only why they’re standing where they’re standing but also why later, while everybody else quite literally turns their back on Anne and the children during the departure, Aurora and Charles take the carriage right behind theirs, walking with them. It also explains why Charles was willing to aid Patrick if his debt hadn’t been that big of a financial ruin, and (without the queercoding etc) why Aurora’s betrayal is such a devastating revelation to Anne.
4. Aurora being the only one to look at Anne, and the only one to follow her.
Just as I mentioned, Aurora and Charles are the only ones to walk behind the Morrises after the funeral. The small crowd dissolves in all directions but throughout the whole scene nobody looks at Anne or acknowledges her grief. Quite the contrary: from the distant side of the family, a ginger woman spends the only dialogue of the scene shittalking Patrick and how he didn’t deserve to be buried in consecrated ground (which earns her quite the deathglare from Aurora). (quick psa: I DO believe that the woman is supposed to be Anne’s “unbearable aunt Susan” from episode 2, which Patrick mentions as they walk up the stairs to the Russell House, right after Anne makes the Dido reference).
I'll let the GIFs speak for themselves - cause the cinematography is insanely heavy with implications of loyalty and support.
also, Aurora looking at Anne, then looking at Charles, then initiating them following Anne and the children?? (I am madly sobbing)
5. Anne losing her balance.
The entire scene, Anne spends in devastation, don’t get me wrong. But it’s quiet devastation. She doesn’t say a word, you don’t see her cry, you barely see her face as the veil covers all her features. She doesn’t turn to lean on anybody, she doesn’t sob or embrace her children. Even though she’s grieving, she’s very much still the poised woman of high society, and it shows. Until, right at the end of the scene, she walks over to the carriage with the children and finally let’s go. As she’s about to get into the carriage, she loses her balance, ever so slightly, and a gloved hand comes to her help, steadying her. Without a word, she tries to overplay it, gets in, and lowers her head. Her children sit across from her.
totally not gonna put the little not-so fun fact here that this was the final filming day of the entirety of the first season and that katie and kelli wrapped together - totally not gonna do that and add to the devastation that this was the last scene they filmed together before katie was written out of the show
#the gilded age#auroranne#aurora fane#anne morris#overanalysing auroranne scenes is my main trait#julian fellowes' writing is best when the characters don't say anything#scene analysis
16 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi there! It is Sarah here! I was wondering if I could have a Harry Potter, Marvel, Stranger Things and The Umbrella Academy ships please?
Physical Appearance: I have long brown hair with blonde highlights, ocean blue eyes with bluish-purple glasses, I have a curvy but lean body with strong calves thanks to the years of dancing (cheerleading and ballet), horse-riding, running and jumping, I am 5'1 feet tall, I have pale-tan skin with freckles on my face and also I got random moles and freckles on my arms and legs as well and people say I got a smile that can brighten up any room.
Personality: I am an open-minded, kind-hearted, optimistic and friendly girl with a love of learning things like zodiac signs, MBTI types, crystals and Disney etc. I can be very impatient, stubborn, naive and I am also in the spectrum so I can be blunt and quirky only because I see the world in a different way from other people but I see the good in people no matter what and I am loyal and dependable to my friends and family and when someone hurts my friends and my family I can be fiercely protective all over them.
My type for a perfect person: I just want to be my best friend and partner in crime, I want a gentleman or gentlelady who will be proudly hold my hand and being glad that I am their girlfriend, I want someone to bring me flowers and compliments everyday and being the mother/father of my future kids someday and treat me like a queen all the time.
Sexuality and Pronouns: Bisexual (Both male and female preference) and She/Her
MBTI Type: INFJ-T
Big Three: Sagittarius sun, Cancer moon and Aquarius rising
Moral Alignment: Lawful Good
Enneagram Type: Type 2 (The Helper)
Temperament Personality Type: Sanguine-Choleric (The Influencer)
Hogwarts House: Slytherin
Likes: Singing, dancing, acting, writing, reading books, typing, watching Disney movies, Zodiac signs, MBTI types and crystals.
Dislikes: Mean people, vegetables, yelling, someone who hurts the ones I love the most and bullies.
Random Facts: I've been in the school musical productions for 5 years and my childhood nickname was Sarah-Bear.
Hi there! Thank you for being my matchup cobaye lol I hope you will like it! Here are you matchups:
Your Stranger Things match is...
Lucas Sinclair! You and Lucas are friends above all. He loves how protective you are over the people you care about and he is just as protective towards you. During each of his basketball games he will wave at you and tell everyone that you are his girlfriend. He is always holding your hand whenever you two are together. He also your stubborness and likes to gently tease you sometimes, just to see you react. Mostly though, he loves making you smile. He acts as the perfect gentleman and treats you like the queen you are.
Your Harry Potter match is...
Luna Lovegood! Luna loves the unique way you see the world because she views the world differently too. It's line the two of you are living in a bubble together. She likes making you dance with her, wether there is music or not. She brings you all kinds of beautiful and magical flowers, and she tells you of their particularities and the legends linked to them. She enjoys talking to you about the stars, zodiac signs and crystals. The two of you never fight. Each day is just spent enjoying each other's presence. You are the perfect Slytherin x Ravenclaw soulmates!
Your Marvel match is...
Kate Bishop! You are both very athletic people and she loves going on runs with you or dancing. She really likes you watching you act out a scene and sometimes tries to improvise to join you. You two are partners in every way. She lets you help her during missions, but always makes sure that you are always safe because you are the most precious person in the world to her. She loves to cuddle and have movie marathons with you. Every year your birthday is THE event and she goes all out with flowers, movies and candles.
Your The Umbrella Academy match is...
Ben Hargreeves! You are the best thing to have happened to Ben. Ben adores making you smile, it warms his heart like nothing else. You two love going to the movies and exchanging books. You are like a two-people book club together. He enjoys going on walks with you in the wild, taking in the sun and the nature around you two. Once he found out about your childhood nickname, it was over for you. He has been calling you Sarah-Bear ever since. Though he has several other cute petnames for you. When he looks at you, he sees the mother of his future children. You are a family and nothing could separate you.
I hope I did it well and that you like your results! 💛
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Desexualized Mammy & Strong Black Woman, too busy for “frivolous love”
“Alyse” (Anon Submission) asked:
My science fiction story includes a black woman (Talia) who raises two children that aren’t her own and takes on two young adults as apprentices. One of the children she is raises has Arabic background and was taken into her home upon his father’s death (his mother’s whereabouts are unknown). She was a close friend of his father and the closest thing he had to a relative. The second child has mixed French-Latinx background and was taken in after becoming shipwrecked with no means by which to contact her people. Talia was the first non-hostile individual she encountered and one of the few who would so openly embrace a stranger. Since Talia is Master Medic (the highest medical authority in her community) she is training two apprentices (think residency) and eventually mentors the second child as well. She was once married and passionately in love but lost her husband to illness. In this setting, some technology we take for granted is inaccessible and violence against their people is commonplace. Most have experienced sudden loss. This particular loss was the catalyst that drove Talia into medicine- a desire to protect her loved ones and prevent others from experiencing similar tragedy. She is usually kind (though businesslike) but sometimes succumbs to a frigid, furious depression when, despite all her knowledge and determination, she can’t save someone.
I worry that her maternal association with the two children (one of whom is an outsider) mires her in the mammy trope. On top of that, she hasn’t pursued romance since the death of her husband. I’ve considered giving her a romantic subplot but there are already so many characters to keep track of. Furthermore, I just can’t see her engaging in the frivolous pursuits of new love when she’s dealing with kids, students, and an extremely taxing career.
In terms of race and culture in this story, practically every character can trace their ancestry back to populations displaced through war. Even Talia’s second child was shipwrecked during a botched evacuation from a military science lab. The people who live here have been isolated for generations and no longer have a real concept of their ancestry. Cultures have blended, new religions have formed, and many of our familiar racial/ethnic issues are forgotten. However, new and different but equally toxic ones have replaced them. In this way, Talia’s blackness doesn’t carry the same associations in her world as it would in ours. However, readers may still make these associations. Do you see any issues with her character that I could amend?
So! You have:
A highly educated Black-coded woman (the highest medical authority in the community)
She raises two kids alone
She also looks after two apprentices
She is widowed (not sure the race of the husband, was he Black?)
Having experienced heartbreaking love, Talia's drive to look after, protect and save people through medicine is a great motivation for the way she is. Her experiencing depression and taking losses seriously is also very human and is dynamic characterization.
However, such characterization with Black women is prone to brush across several tropes. You have a Black woman who gives and protects, but what does she get in return? Who cares for her?
Prioritize your Black character’s happiness
"I’ve considered giving her a romantic subplot but there are already so many characters to keep track of. Furthermore, I just can’t see her engaging in the frivolous pursuits of new love when she’s dealing with kids, students, and an extremely taxing career."
Priorities, priorities. Is love a frivolous pursuit in her eyes, or yours? Because I strongly disagree. You probably don't mean to but you, as the author, having an excuse to NOT give the Black woman romance is showing that you do not think she's worth being loved. TV viewers and stans who are uncomfortable when Black women characters have relationships find similar excuses to explain away not wanting BW in relationships.
"She's too strong and independent for a man/relationship"
"I liked her better alone."
"It'll take away from her character."
“A romance doesn’t feel right for her”
These sorts of statements above are grounded in racialized misogyny.
Relationships do not lessen the woman.
Relationships does not lessen Black women.
Love
Whether that love is romantic, familial, or friendship, it can come in many forms. Give Talia love. Because Black women characters deserve it! Either one or all!
Let her have a loyal best friend, a cat, and a girlfriend. Because why not? And not to downplay the love of children to parents, but please provide her love beyond what she gets on a maternal level from the children she looks after.
The stories that Black women are in today severely lack love for us, so why add to the narrative of Black women being all work and no play, and too [insert excuse here] to be loved?
Of course, you didn't provide all the details from your story, but I'm not seeing much of a balance from the struggle. She is a caretaker, teacher, doctor (or doctor-like figure).
Her position and background in itself is okay. It's the Strong Black Woman being presented with seemingly no commentary that strikes me.
Where is her team to help balance the weight of the world?
Who takes care of her when she's depressed from another loss?
What does she get in return from taking an emotional and physical toll to heal her community?
Do those around her recognize all she does for them and offer their friendship?
When does she get to relax and turn off the need to be everything for everybody?
Fitting love into a book with many characters
There are many books with several characters to keep track of. People tend to manage. Also, I'm sure some of those characters are in and/or out of relationships. Even stories that couldn’t be classified as romances have relationships of some sort. It’s unrealistic to have a ton of characters and none of them be in relationship(s) of some sort. Not when there’s so many forms of it and many sexualities.
Friends, frenemies, enemies, romance, affairs.. Relationships make stories (and life) interesting. By no means do I think adding these dynamics harm your tale. And what’s one more for a hard-working Black woman who sacrifices a lot and clearly deserves a shoulder to lean on? And, if you use an existing character to be that friend, family, or lover, then you won’t need to pencil in another character.
For romance specifically - I think a misconception when it comes to including romance in stories is that they have to somehow take over the story. Romance does not have to bombard the plot nor be described in lavish detail. Not every story is a romance and those sort of details aren’t everyone’s style or things they’re comfortable with. A sentence or two establishing relationships does not take away from the story.And how those relationships look and affections expressed will vary based on the characters, sexuality, etc.
Not every character needs to have a deep level of detail.
“Katie and Lisa, a newly engaged couple, walked into the meeting.”
“Jack and Jamie are a married couple in their 40s.”
“The two met in college. After two months of blissful courtship, they eloped, eager to start their happily ever afters. Twenty years together, they were still blissfully in love and never too far from one another.”
Sentences like the above are enough for some characters. You don’t always need to put in paragraphs worth of relationship-establishing details or plot.
When it comes to the characters whose love you would like to highlight, at least a bit, you still don’t have to go over the top.
Use subtle details.
“As soon as Talia’s back was turned, he gave her a longing look before shaking his head and getting back to the patient.”
“He squeezed her hand before taking hold of the stethoscope.”
“She kissed her wife goodbye before racing out the door.”
“You mean the world to me.” he had said, holding her face. Those words stayed with her all day, making her heavy load light as a sack of feathers.
“She soaked his shirt with her tears and he just held her tight, saying nothing, silently holding her together.”
As for Talia specifically…
Talia having the mindset you described, as love being frivolous and not a priority, is understandable knowing her background (I just don't agree with you as the creator using this as a means to keep her alone. Whether she’s romantically alone or without close friendships). She has lost so much, and continues to experience loss with patients. This can be extremely traumatizing. I gave some examples of being subtle, so perhaps that will help with the burden of feeling a thick subplot of romance doesn’t fit in your story.
And as Talia doesn’t strike me as someone who would go looking for companionship, what if she stumbles upon it without trying? Is there someone on the medical team that can offer her friendship? Someone who admires her and feels the urge to care for her that she feels the same for, or has pushed feelings down for? What happens when she can’t hold those feelings down anymore?
Takeaway
Talia deserves healthy love, even if she doesn’t believe it or feel she has time for it. That love can come in any and many forms, not necessarily romantically required, although it is a plus. A struggle-ridden novel is balanced by love, support and rest for characters that hold the weight of the world. If you do not, evaluate why you want to write Black characters in these struggle roles without at least a social commentary.
~Mod Colette
556 notes
·
View notes
Text
Touch of Betrayal
Masterlist
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Warnings: 18+ Angst, smut, smidge of fluff, graphic abuse, graphic depictions of injuries, fucked up coven, language, all the angst, not enough editing to satisfy me
Word Count: 20,538
Summary: As the oldest sibling, Y/n was supposed to be sacrificed for the betterment of her coven. After her escape, she meets Bobby Singer, who takes her under his wing. It is no secret Dean Winchester hates witches, but Y/n is different, and Dean begins to question his feelings. When Sam is threatened and Dean is given an ultimatum, the trust and feelings that have grown between Y/n and Dean is jeopardized. The touch of betrayal stings.
Commissioned by anonymous:)
A/N- To the lovely soul who commissioned this fic, I hope you enjoy!
Y/N
You could feel the blood from the shackles trickling down your fingers, dripping onto the backs of your bare knees. Shivering, the autumnal air bit at your skin and seeped into your bones. The cold wasn’t the only thing making you shiver, however. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off the gold blade laying on the stone pedestal in front of you. Soon, that blade would slice through not only your throat, but four other eldest children of the founding families; Freya, age twenty-four; Marxicus, age twenty-two; Sera, age twenty; Gunthias, age twenty-two; and finally, you, the youngest at twenty-one.
The thin slip hanging from your body did nothing against the cold, your bare limbs exposed to the night air, droplets of blood dotting the backs of your legs. Those damn shackles had cut into your wrists for three days. You could feel how raw your skin was beneath the cool metal. However, it didn’t really matter seeing how you would be dead once the moon reached its apex.
Sera was sobbing loudly to your left. Some of the coven, maybe a handful, looked on empathetically. The majority stared with disgust at her emotional state. Your mother’s words rang in your head from the night before. “This is an honor. Do not embarrass me tomorrow.”
You scanned the gathering. Many people were drinking goblets of harvest mead, others were conversing lowly in small packs. Many people were simply watching you and the other sacrifices, taking in every inch, as if staring so intently would siphon even more power.
No one caught your eye in particular. Not until you spotted him.
His dark eyes were trained on you intently. Biting your lip to keep it from wobbling, you took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me.
As the world faded away, you and Jasper locked in a silent pining, you wondered what it would have been like if you had been able to go through with the wedding. As a female within the coven, you were obligated to have children unless you absolutely couldn’t, so maybe the two of you would have had a few kids, settled in a cabin on the outskirts of the compound. The marriage may have been arranged, but you were friends before lovers. You were lucky when it came to that. Most people were strangers up until their wedding night. You had the privilege of at least knowing Jasper, even if you weren’t friends until after the arrangement had been made. You would have been happy.
Instead, your heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again, the thought of him marrying someone else and fathering someone else’s children. You weren’t sure if you loved him like that. Yes, you loved him. He was your best friend. You loved him with everything you had. However, you weren’t sure if you were in love with him. It was rare that the marriages in the coven had any love. You could see yourself falling for him, though. If given the opportunity, he would be easy to fall in love with.
Of all those secret meetings and passionate embraces, you wondered what it would have been like to be together in the public eye. Sneaking off was fun and thrilling, the secrecy and forbidden joinings exhilarating and they certainly helped you fuel the rebellion against your parents and the coven. You two weren’t supposed to be together in any way, even in a friendly manner, until after the wedding. But those meetings? After finding out about your arrangement, you two decided to get to know each other on your terms, not your parents’. Those friendly meetings had turned into so much more, and they were fun. Fun was a rarity in the coven. You and Jasper always had fun. He was a fantastic lover, much more experienced than you were, seeing as he had been your first. You two never spoke about it. It just sort of happened one night. There was no true romance, no heart skipping love. Just two friends having some fun before they were married.
Then your older brother Danny had died, and suddenly your world had crashed down around you. You were suddenly the oldest child. You were going to be sacrificed, the power transferring to you the moment Danny took his last breath. Not only had you lost your best friend, but your future had been rewritten; the arrangement made for you and Jasper had withered, and you were going to be murdered in a blood sacrifice in three years.
You and Jasper no longer were to be married, but that didn’t stop the meetings. That didn’t stop the passion. After Danny, you needed the distraction. You spent more nights with Jasper than you did alone. Not that he complained.
Your last night of freedom was different. Typically, the nights spent together were fast, primal, and more often than not, rough. Three nights ago, your final night spent free, or as free as you could get inside the coven, was spent with your family. Then after they had gone to bed, your mother excited for your honorable sacrifice, your siblings looking forward to furthering their power, and your father despondent and sullen- the thought of losing another child weighing on him- you had snuck out to meet with Jasper for the final time. And like he had been your first time, he was slow and tender. Emotion poured from him and it had frightened you. You knew he felt more for you than you did for him. You also knew you couldn’t let yourself feel that way, not knowing your fate. You couldn’t give into your own temptation, or let him taste the sweet tang of the promise of forever, not when you were being ripped from the world by a cruel hand. You two had spent the whole night together, words a rarity, speaking with your bodies, saying goodbye. He was your best friend, your confidant and solace. The person you wished you had the time to love.
He stepped closer to the circle of stones, face still shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering orange lanterns hung by iron wroughts. Ever so slowly, he lifted a hand, a deep yellow spark igniting at the tips of his fingers. They settled there for a moment, glowing bright in the dark, but no one seemed to notice. No. This was for you and you only. Jasper loved art, and that’s what his magic was. The light danced in his palm and glided around in swirls in the air above his outstretched arm.
He was distracting you. Keeping your mind elsewhere as the elders, cloaked in the charcoal gray robes of their ancestors, stepped up onto the dais. Grisha, the High Priestess of your coven, chanted in latin. If you paid more attention, you could know what she was saying. But you stayed focused on Jasper, even as his figure trembled in the light, face pinched to keep emotion from showing. Your heart ached at the sight and you so desperately longed to run your fingers through his chocolate curls one last time. Wanted to feel his strong hand in yours. Wanted to run away from here with him.
But if there was something Jasper was, it was loyal. And his family came before you. He would never leave them, never leave the compound or abandon the coven. Not even for you.
As a founding family, your father was amongst the robed figures. It was by the hand of the creator who committed the sacrifice. For generations, parents held the golden blade to their children’s throat to spill their blood upon the stones. You glanced down at your bare knees, noting the stone’s color; black and a deep gray. The stones were once as pale gray as the standing stones that formed the circle. But each sacrificial slab had held so much death, the color was no longer so.
It made you shiver.
The light flickered brighter across the circle and you raised your eyes to Jasper again. His own dark eyes were pleading with you across the grass, begging you to keep your gaze on him. Begging you to stay locked with him for as long as you could.
So you obliged.
Sera was first. The volume of her sobs increased. She screamed and pleaded with her mother, blubbering and crying until suddenly, she gurgled, and a thud echoed ominously across the circle. You shook violently and you were afraid of collapsing. Jasper brightened his tendrils of light, forming small animal shapes; rabbits hopping, birds flying, butterflies flitting. His distractions only went so far.
Marxicus was next. He had been stone still and completely silent. As his father raised the blade to his throat, all he said was, “sancti libera me.”
Saints liberate me.
The blade smoothly sliced open his throat, and he slumped to the stone heavily.
Freya cursed at her father, both in English and in Italian, snapping and snarling and fighting until the end. She didn’t die immediately. She had fought hard enough that the blade hadn’t sliced through her artery. Her father gripped a fist full of her hair and yanked her head back before pressing harder and deeper into her throat until blood sprayed across his face and her body fell.
You thought you might vomit. Or faint. Or both.
Gunthias pleaded without tears, but begged nonetheless. You saw the blade slice his throat from the corner of your eye, watching as his body fell and slipped half-way off the stone slab.
Finally, as the youngest, you were up. You were shaking so hard, you thought you might fall if it wasn’t for your father’s hand landing on your shoulder. Jasper’s light flickered slightly, dulling into small swirls of yellow dust around his palm. He was too frightened to conjure enough power. He half turned, as if he was going to run, but thought better of it. His eyes never left yours.
Yours left his, however. You scanned the crowd one last time for your family. It didn’t take you long. Your siblings were hugging each other, the twins- Margot and Matthias, both clinging onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Your mother stood over them, hands clasped beneath her chin, lips murmuring a prayer to the Gods as she watched with eyes full of elation. She smirked lightly at you as she caught your gaze, giving you a deep nod.
You looked away quickly, finding Jasper one last time. He was still there, as he said he would be. Always.
The blade was wet and sticky with blood against your throat. You trembled and murmured a prayer to your Gods, wishing for a quick death, hoping the afterlife was as glorious as promised, hoping this was fucking worth it-
The blade swiped through the air, missing you by mere inches, before it lodged itself into Grisha’s chest.
Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd as the High Priestess shrieked and keeled over, clutching at her chest as she began to spasm. You met Jasper’s eyes one more time, his face stunned and eyes impossibly wide. Your father gripped you under your arms and lifted you from the slab.
Then you two were running.
Your father raised his shields as the coven went wild. Many people cowered in fear. Your father had just killed the High Priestess. If he did that, what was stopping him from killing them?
Others were sending out powerful blasts of energy to slow you two down. But your father simply gripped your arm tighter and sprinted from the circle and into the field, the tall grass whipping at your bare legs, your feet slicing from thorns, but you didn’t care. You were escaping. You could do this.
“Faster, Y/n/n!”
You pumped your legs until they burned as the two of you ran. Shouts and battle cries erupted from behind you and you knew the two of you were being chased. Of course you would be. They couldn’t finish the sacrifice. The power would not be fully replenished.
You had to die.
But you didn’t want to. You spent your whole life confined inside the damn coven, in the damn compound. You wished to see the world, wanted to experience life outside. You wanted to live- for you and for Danny.
“Faster. Please, run faster!”
Your father pulled you along until you were nearly stumbling. He noticed and sent a quick surge of purple light, the shackles bound to your wrists bursting apart. You winced as the air hit your raw skin but you were now able to run with more balance.
Finally, you broke through the trees. The confinement within the branches helped shield you from the onslaught of power surges being sent your way. If you were caught, not only would you be killed, but your father would be too. He would be deemed a traitor to the coven, and treason was the highest offense you could commit.
“Where are we going?” You panted between breaths. Your lungs burned and you tried your best to ignore it, but you had never been one for running or for sports. Not to mention, you had been locked away in the Harvest Rite cabin for three days, shackled to a “room” that was really a cell, locked from the sunlight for three days so the harvest moon would touch your spirit better or some shit. Honestly, you had no idea, not interested in the faux explanation the coven founders had spouted centuries ago.
“Anywhere but here,” your father said breathlessly. “We need to get you somewhere safe. Then we can-”
Red light collided with your father’s back, sending him sprawling. You yelled in surprise and skidded to a halt, falling to your knees beside him. The magic seeped into his back and erupted through his chest in bloody bursts, clawing its way free.
“Daddy!”
“Go! Y/n, please! Go!”
You shook your head and sobbed, covering his chest with your hands, his blood warm against your chilled skin.
“No, no I can’t leave you!” You said. The shouting grew louder and you knew the ones chasing you were close. But how were you to leave him? Especially when he risked himself for you.
“You must. Please, Y/n/n. Please.” His eyes, ones matching yours, pleaded with you behind light lashes. He retched, blood dribbling from his lips. He gripped your hands with his. “I would die a thousand deaths before I would let them kill you. I… I can’t lose… another one.”
You knew he was talking about Danny, about that fateful day that your older brother had drowned in the lake. How the grief had radiated from your father so potently, it physically pained you. It was the worst day of your life. Now you had to watch another person you loved die.
“Don’t go,” you whispered. “Please don’t go.” You laid your forehead to his, the metallic scent of blood surrounding you.
“I… I love you… I… want you to… live… for me… and for… D-Danny… Please… run.”
“I love you, too,” you said. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and pushed yourself up, giving him one more glance, torn between running and fighting the bastards who did this.
“Go. Please. I love you. Go,” he said weakly. His body went limp and you knew that was it.
Letting a scream of outrage bubble in your chest, you vowed to personally kill every single last one of the fuckers who did this. You vowed to avenge your father. Freya. Marxicus. Gunthias. Sera.
Yourself.
Letting your shields surround you and your glamour conceal you, you turned and sprinted deep into the woods, trying to keep your anger and sorrow at bay long enough to prepare yourself to step foot into the outside world for the first time in your twenty-one years of life.
DEAN
“Screw you.”
Dean laughed and reached forward to scoop up Sam’s cards, shuffling them with the larger stack of cards in the center of the table. He had won three games in a row now, and he was pushing for a fourth.
“Admit it, Sammy,” he said, leaning back into his chair. “You just suck.”
“Shut up, jerk. Deal the damn cards.” Sam sat forward and shook out his hands. Dean snickered and dealt cards to himself and his brother.
“Quit while you can, bitch,” Dean said. “Losing four times in a row? Pathetic.”
“Will you two shut the hell up?” The brothers looked up at the doorway, Bobby trudging in from the hallway with a beer in one hand and a leather bound book in the other. “Some of us need to research.”
Dean sipped his own beer and threw a handful of salted peanuts into his mouth. “How much more research could you possibly have to do? Don’t you ever just… chill?”
Sam furrowed his brows, mouthing the word “chill?” to his brother. Since when had they known Bobby to “chill?”
Bobby grumbled something under his breath and sat down at his desk. “Maybe if you researched more, you wouldn’t have to ask me for help all the time.”
Sam spit out his beer, doubling over in laughter. Dean wasn’t as amused and he threw his next handful of peanuts at his brother.
“Children,” Bobby muttered.
The rest of the night went by in a similar manner. Dean won the fourth round, and the fifth, and then Sam finally gave up before suggesting a new game in which he promptly beat Dean’s ass. Bobby silently read and scribbled notes, answering a phone call around nine.
“You boys up for a hunt?”
Dean rubbed his hands together and lifted his brows. “When aren’t we?”
“Dean, we just finished one yesterday,” Sam said, putting the stack of cards back into the worn box. Dean shrugged and got up from his seat.
“Sounds simple, probably a vengeful spirit,” Bobby said, handing Dean his notes. Dean read over them to himself before silently handing them to Sam who did the same thing. “Should be a one and done thing.”
“Yeah, why not?” Sam sighed.
Bobby waved the brother’s off, Dean speeding from the long, dirt driveway with AC/DC blasting from the stereo. Sam chewed lightly on the tip of his pen as he made some of his own marks to Bobby’s notes.
“So what, you're gonna find another hunt right after this one again? Maybe it’ll take you twelve hours instead of a full day next time.”
Dean’s hands curled tightly around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He liked hunting, so what? Was he throwing himself into hunts more often than not recently? Sure. But they helped. They helped with the rage that simmered beneath his hands. They helped with the itching feeling he got whenever he thought of hell.
Fucking hell.
Literally.
It hadn’t even been three months since he returned to the land of the living. Sam was still in the dark and Dean planned on keeping it that way. He wouldn’t subject his younger brother to the horrors of hell, what he experienced or what he did. He shared everything with Sam. He wanted to keep this to himself.
Hunting helped relieve some of that pent up aggression and fear that burned beneath his bones like fire. Saving people, hunting things. That was his motto, right? Saving people now when he couldn’t in hell, when he caused people pain. Hunting things and killing them to let out some of that burning rage.
If Sam suspected anything, he didn’t say so. Dean thought he might have a few times, but he would quickly change the subject or cut him off.
No chick-flick moments. Another motto he planned to live by.
So he pressed a little harder on the gas pedal, Baby revving beneath him, trees a blur outside his window. He simply let himself drive and listen to his music, thankful he even got to do this, that he could hunt and be with his brother and live.
Even if he wasn’t truly free from the confinement of his own mind, or the burdens of his guilt.
Y/N
It had been nearly a week since you escaped.
A week of hiding and traveling.
You had no money, no way of knowing where you were, no knowledge of anything besides your coven.
Luckily, it seemed you were in the middle of nowhere. You had come across a rundown building with broken windows and shutters that hung from their hinges. Taking a peek inside, you realized it must have been abandoned ages ago. Branches, leaves, and cobwebs littered the inside. You had carefully maneuvered around the broken glass and into a small room. A moth-eaten couch sat cockeyed in the old living room, drapes pooled on the floor beneath the dirt covered windows, dusty books and picture frames laid forgotten on the floor underneath wall to wall shelves.
You still shivered in your shift, but there were a pair of boots by the front door. A quick inspection found the inside to be worn but wearable. After plucking out leaves and a small spider in one of them, you slipped them onto your feet. They were a bit big on you, but they would have to do until you could figure out your next course of action.
You raided the house, finding a small backpack to take with you. You couldn’t stay in a place like this. The only furniture was that god-awful couch and a table in one of the upstairs rooms. But you found a pocket knife, a flashlight (with no batteries), and you had taken a few of the books from the floor, stuffing the items in the backpack before continuing with your journey.
For the rest of the week, you would find small places to settle for the night within the woods. Cover beneath large rocks, crannies between cliffs, in the low branches of trees. You didn’t dare risk making a fire, not with your coven on the lookout for you. Instead, you would summon a warm ball of light to keep you from freezing to death. You would nestle the light and smaller droplets of light around your body as you slept, one hand on the pocket knife, the other cradling your head as a pillow.
You thought of your father every waking hour.
You missed him so much. It seemed as if he was the only one in your family who actually cared about you. Your siblings were too young to really understand anything about the coven, and they saw you more as a prized possession than an older sister. Your mother was devoted to the coven and its members. She loved you. In her own way. But not like your siblings. You were a possession. A thing full of intense power that would eventually return that power to the coven to fuel and replenish it.
You hated it.
You hated that damn coven and its traditional ways. You heard of covens that were modernized and didn’t sacrifice, covens that lived in the modern world. You didn’t know if they were real or not.
You wished your father was with you. He loved you and cherished you as a daughter, not a weapon. You two had always been close. And it was because of you that he was dead.
A week went by, and you were walking along a dark road. The road was made of black stone, white dotted lines painted down the center. You weren’t completely ignorant of the outside world. You knew what roads were, had heard about cars and telephones.
That amongst other little things was all you knew.
Being alone was terrifying.
You allowed yourself to cry. Your mother always told you crying was a sign of weakness, but she wasn’t here. You were alone. For the first time, you were alone in a world that was foreign to you. But you were free.
A low rumbling sounded from behind you. Turning, you caught sight of a large machine barreling towards you. Wheels spun quickly and two lights flashed in your face from the front of it.
A car.
You watched in awe as it sped past you and then stopped a little distance ahead. A man in jeans and a flannel pushed open a door and slipped from the raised seat. A hat with a brim shading his eyes sat on his head, a gray beard covering the bottom of his face. He took a few steps towards you which made you step back.
“You alright, girl?”
His voice was gruff and slightly accented. It reminded you of your father’s voice. You subconsciously took a step towards him, desperate to hang on to that feeling of familiarity that had to do with your father’s memory.
“Miss?”
You stopped when you realized he was taking steps towards you. What was the worst that could happen? If the man tried to hurt you, you would be able to stop him with a single thought. You were a witch, and a damn powerful one. He doesn’t even know witches exist.
“Can I drive you anywhere?”
“No,” you answered honestly. Where could you go? You had nowhere. You left your only home behind and you didn’t have any money. Fuck, you really had nothing. Panic began to creep up your throat.
“Okay,” the man said slowly. “Do you need help?”
Yes, yes, yes. You wanted to let him help you. But what would you say? Oh yeah, my family comes from a closed off coven and my father saved me from having my throat sliced open in a traditional sacrifice, then he was killed while we ran. I have no money, no clothes, and absolutely no where to go.
“I…”
“You look freezing. Let me help you out. I’ll get you something to eat and we’ll figure it out.”
Right to business he was. You glanced down at yourself, skin prickled in gooseflesh from the cold, your slip dirty and ripped in some places. Your feet ached in those too-big boots and your stomach growled in hunger. The berries and bark you had eaten for the past week left you starving for more.
Going against your better judgement, you gave in. He helped you up into the truck. You hugged your backpack to your chest, body ready to bolt if he tried anything. He gave you one last look before the car started moving. You started, gasping a little. The man flinched.
“What is it?” He asked.
“Nothing,” you responded quickly. He grumbled something and the truck went faster.
It was an odd feeling, but one you became accustomed to quickly. You felt his eyes on you again, as if he was sizing you up, and it made you a bit uncomfortable. You shifted in your seat. He seemed to notice and promptly looked away.
Not too long later, he was pulling the truck onto a dirt road. Various crushed and mangled pieces of metal were scattered along the yard. It didn’t take you long to realize they seemed to be old cars, scraps of such that the man must use for something. Tools lay forgotten all around, random bits of chain flung here and there.
Water suddenly splashed over your face.
Jumping, you spun to face him with a bewildered look. He looked you up and down again before reaching into his pocket, revealing a knife.
You reached for the door handle, trying to push open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. This was it. You were dead.
“Calm down, girl,” he said. He reached forward to grab your arm and you whined. You didn’t want to resort to using your powers, but you would if you absolutely had to. “I’m just testing you.”
“What?” You asked. He pressed the tip of the knife into your forearm. It pinched for a moment and was gone almost instantly, a tiny droplet of blood forming where it had knicked you. “What the hell was that for?”
“Precaution,” was all he said as he clicked a button and opened his door. He walked around the truck before he opened your door and offered you a hand. You looked at it suspiciously. You needed to leave. You should leave. You were also incredibly confused. The man rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt ‘ya. Well, not anymore. That was more for my safety than anything.”
“How?” You asked.
“I thought you were… nevermind. Just, get out of the car, will ‘ya?”
You narrowed your eyes and let your power inch into his head. It slithered inside and easily found his thoughts. You were a telepath, rare in the witch world, and you weren’t very practiced with it, but it came in handy for situations like this, you supposed. Your mother hated that you were a telepath. Danny was a telepath, and anything that reminded her of him was strictly forbidden. And ever since he died, you were forbidden to use your telepathy, and that led to you being incredibly out of practice.
...Didn’t mean to hurt her… she could have been a shifter… I could have sworn she was something…. She looks scared… probably just a runaway… she doesn’t look very old… why is she staring at me like that...
You pulled your power back and took his hand. The thoughts were quiet and breaking up, but you could make out most of what he was thinking. A shifter? As in shapeshifter? As a witch, you knew about some of the other supernatural creatures. But how would a human know about them?
Leading you into the house, the man kept sparing you odd glances, and you hugged your backpack even tighter to your chest. The inside of the house was dark and dingy, cluttered with old books and boxes. The man gestured to a small round sitting table in the kitchen. You sat down slowly, watching as he pulled out bread and some meat from the refrigerator.
“What’s your name?” He asked. He set the plate down in front of you as well as a glass of water. You tentatively reached forward for the sandwich, made up of some meat and cheese and lettuce, the bread spongier than the homemade kind your mother made at home. You picked it up, sniffing it. “It’s just a sandwich. It won’t kill you.”
Thinking back to the knife in the truck, and the scabbed droplet of blood on your arm, you scowled, but took a bite anyway.
The man pushed over his own sandwich not a minute later, seeing how hungry you were.
“Y/n,” you said after finishing the first sandwich, picking up the second one. You wiped the crumbs with the back of your hand and drank the glass of water deeply, gulping down every last drop. The man pushed his water over as well. You drank that, too.
“Okay, Y/n,” he said. He watched you carefully. “Why were you out on the road like that, dressed in a nightgown when it’s forty degrees out, at almost ten at night?”
You paused and chewed your bite of sandwich slowly. You wouldn’t tell him everything. But he seemed to be kind. And he reminded you so much of your father…
“I ran away.”
The man sighed and nodded. “I figured. You an adult?”
“I just celebrated my twenty-first year.”
He blinked at you, mouth opening to say something, closing it only a moment after. He furrowed his brows. “Odd way of saying it, but okay.” He scratched his chin. “Why did you run away?”
You blanched. You weren’t expecting that question, although you should have. You swallowed the food in your mouth. “Um…”
“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me,” he said gruffly, making you frown.
“Um… well… It’s hard to explain,” you said truthfully. How were you supposed to explain your situation to him?
The man leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temple. “I guess if you don’t want to tell me right away, you don’t have to.” He looked you over, noting the still bruised wrists from the shackles and the cuts and various other small wounds from your coven and from spending a week in the woods. He swallowed hard at the sight of them. He reached a hand out for yours, and you obliged. He gently touched the wounds on your wrist, getting up to reach for a box in a cabinet over the sink.
Restraints?... I wonder…
That was all you could get from his head. You wished you were more practiced in your telepathy. Life would be much easier for you.
As he cleaned, applied salve, and dressed your wrists, his face was pulled into a pondering pout the whole time. His silent conversation with himself prompted a quick shake of his head to clear his mind before he was patting your forearm.
“Look, I know you don’t know me. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you have gone through and you don’t have to tell me. But I won’t hurt you, and I sure as hell won’t let anyone hurt you any more. I don’t know what caused these wounds but… I have an imagination. Just… you can stay as long as you want to, or need to. I have a spare room upstairs. I won’t bother you or nothing, but it’ll give you time to heal and get your shit together.” He thought for a moment before adding, “That is- if you want to.”
Your breath hitched in your throat. Without thinking, you had wrapped your arms around the man’s neck, hugging him tightly. He grunted and hesitated before patting your back stiffly.
“Okay,” was all he said. You pulled back and grinned shyly.
“Thank you, sir,” you said.
“Call me Bobby.”
DEAN
“Piece of cake.”
Sam scoffed and limped after Dean, who was cradling his arm against his chest. They took out the vengeful spirit, but not without it getting the upper hand on them at one point. Nonetheless, Dean turned to his brother and grinned.
“Aw, come on, Sammy. That was fun!” Dean opened the trunk of his precious car and threw in his salt-filled shotgun. Sam shook his head and opened the passenger side door.
“Your definition of fun is startling,” was all he said as he ducked into the car, closing the door behind him. Dean laughed and slipped behind the steering wheel.
“Please. Your definition of fun is watching Harry Potter.”
Sam scoffed and turned to Dean. “Yours is watching cartoon porn.”
“It’s anime!” Dean snapped. Sam cackled in his seat and rubbed his sore knee.
“Okay, Dean. Whatever you say.”
***
By the time they got to Bobby’s, it was well past midnight, but a light was on in the windows. The air had cooled even more, the light wind nipping at their noses as they hurried to the door.
“Fucking locked-” Dean banged on it. “Bobby! Open up!”
“Dean, he could be sleeping,” Sam said.
“The light is on,” Dean pointed out. He raised his fist to bang on the door again but it swung open. Bobby knocked Dean’s hand out of the way.
“Would you quit it?” Bobby said. He moved out of the way to let the shivering brothers inside. “You’ll wake up-” Bobby snapped his mouth shut.
Dean smirked and let out a wheezing laugh. “Bobby, you sly dog!” He clapped his father figure on the shoulder.
“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Sam said simply. Dean was still making sexual jabs. Bobby rolled his eyes.
“I’m not seeing anyone, you idjits,” he said. “I took in a runaway. I don’t know the story so don’t ask, but she was hurt. I honestly thought she was… something at first.”
“Why?” Sam asked. He cocked his head. “Did she do anything weird?”
Bobby shrugged. “Call it a hunch. She’s clean, though.”
“So what, you’re just letting her stay here?” Dean made his way to the fridge to grab a beer. “Why would you-”
A scream tore through the upstairs of the house. A bloodcurdling scream that made the hair on Dean’s neck stand up.
Bobby spun and sprinted up the stairs in the blink of an eye, the brothers close on his heels, however when they reached the door to one of the spare bedrooms, Bobby slammed it in their face.
“What the hell?”
The screams broke off suddenly, and Dean could vaguely hear Bobby speaking softly through the door. A woman's voice sounded back, one that was melodic but had a rougher edge to it.
A few minutes passed before Bobby slipped out of the room and pulled the door closed. “Nightmare.”
The brothers stared at him incredulously.
“What?” Bobby raised his shoulders.
“What the hell, Bobby?” Dean asked. “Why’re you getting involved with something like this? I mean, do you even know her?”
“We help people, it’s what we do. I don’t know her but so what? Call it… a hunch,” Bobby said again. He shrugged for a third time and shouldered past the boys to head towards the stairs. “You two need to leave.”
“Excuse me?” Dean followed him, raising a brow.
“She barely trusts me. She’s skittish, is all. I don’t want three men freaking her out, especially two of them as big as you guys.” Bobby opened the door to the house and jerked his head. “You can come back when she settles.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean deadpanned. He couldn’t believe it! All of this over some girl? Some runaway girl who Bobby had just met? “There has got to be more to the story.”
“There isn’t. Now beat it,” Bobby said.
Y/N
Bobby was kind.
The first three days were a struggle. You weren’t sure what to do or what to tell him. He seemed harmless, but you easily spotted the guns and the knives and the sigils around the house. You knew what they were and what they meant. The Devil’s trap was something you had learned to create at a young age.
“Are you a hunter?” Bobby had asked.
“A… what?” You figured he didn’t mean a hunter in the sense of killing animals.
“A hunter. You know about demons and the sigils,” Bobby trailed off when he realized you didn’t know what hunters were. “What are you then?”
“Well, I had to learn about them growing up. Where I’m from, we were taught about demons in school and their protective sigils.” You had chuckled a bit. “My mother told me many people believed we are devil worshipers but we aren’t!”
Bobby simply stared at you.
“You’re a satanist?” He asked. That had you laughing again.
“Like I said, we don’t worship the devil.”
“Who is ‘we?’”
You hesitated, but you figured you could trust him. He had been kind and understanding with you. He knew you must have grown up pretty sheltered. You hadn’t known how to use the telephone and you didn’t know how to drive a car. You had never used a television.
Yes, you could trust him.
“My coven!”
Bobby moved so fast the table shook as his knees hit it, your glass of water toppling over. “Bobby, what?-”
“Your what?”
You cocked your head at his reaction. “My… my coven?”
“You’re a witch?” He was mad. Really mad. So mad, his face turned red and he fisted his hands at his sides.
“Well… yes,” you said slowly.
“We hunt you,” Bobby growled. That had you standing up slowly, hands raised in innocence.
“I don’t understand,” you said. You swallowed thickly. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Ever?” He snapped.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever hurt anyone?”
You froze. Hurt anyone? “Of course not! What are you talking about?”
“Witches kill and maim and bring harm to people,” Bobby hissed. “I knew you were something.”
“I’ve never done any of that! How dare you think I have?” You said. “Up until a week and a half ago, I had never left my compound. I was going to be sacrificed for fucks sake! My coven is traditionalistic. We live a simple life. We have no communication with the outside world. You were the first person I had ever met outside my coven!”
He stared at you dumbly, blinking a few times to process your words. “Are you… are you serious?”
“Yes,” you breathed. You kept your hands up but you shrugged lamely. “If it wasn’t for my father, I’d be dead.”
“Where’s your father?” He asked. Your heart sunk at the thought and suddenly your knees felt weak.
“He died,” you spoke softly. “He freed me and they… they killed him in the process.”
Bobby’s fists unclenched. “I’m sorry.”
You shook your head. “He died trying to save me and I won’t let him die in vain. I’ll leave if you want me to but… I haven’t done anything for you to kill me. You have my word.”
He looked at you for a while, really looked at you. His eyes softened as a tear slipped down your cheek. You desperately wanted to enter his mind but you knew you shouldn’t, especially not now. Finally, he relaxed his position.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?”
“You don’t have to leave,” he said. “But if you start… I don’t know, killing things or doing any of that evil devil shit, I’ll kill ‘ya.”
You scoffed. “What would evil devil shit entail?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it, you idjit.”
In the next few weeks, Bobby had taken you under his wing. He began to teach you how to shoot, which you weren’t terrible at. He gave you books to read on lore (much of which you already knew) and even brought you out on outings with him. He was a bit of a hermit, but the few times he did go out, he’d take you with him.
Needless to say, it was… overwhelming.
There were so many people. So much technology. But it was exhilarating. You had never been shopping before, never been to a restaurant. The diner Bobby brought you to was one he said wasn’t very good, but it was fun. The waitress had looked at you like you had grown a third head as your eyes took in all of your surroundings, gazing incredulously at the picture covered walls and the jukebox- that’s what Bobby called it- against the wall.
Then there was the music. You grew up with your mother’s fiddle and that was nothing compared to what you listened to now. You had chosen so many songs from the jukebox, Bobby had to pull you away from it before you drove everyone insane.
It was amazing and you wished you could experience it all with your father. You wished he could see the new sights and hear the wonderful music. The food was a bit more artificial tasting but there was a whole new world of foods to explore. You especially liked the cheeseburgers Bobby introduced you to.
Three weeks into your stay, Bobby had taken you on a hunt with him. He told you there would be people out there who would want to kill you and wouldn’t listen like he had. You had to keep your witchcraft and religion a secret, or else hunters like him would come for you.
That didn’t help the nightmares that plagued you at night.
Your father’s death haunted you. The screams and pleads of the other oldest children haunted you. Danny’s blue lips and waterlogged skin haunted you.
You couldn’t escape it.
“Here’s some money,” Bobby said. “Go to the bar next door. Get yourself a drink, dance a little. I’ll meet you back in the room when I’m done, okay?”
He brought you along but didn’t want you hunting quite yet.
You did as he said. You drank some new drinks, danced with a man you had met, conversed with the pretty red headed bartender. You let loose and had fun, something you never would have done with the coven.
When you stumbled back into the motel room that night, Bobby had grinned at you, watching as you fell back onto your bed.
“Fun night?” He asked, helping your boots off when you struggled with the laces.
“Screw my coven,” you slurred. You smiled toothily up at him. “That was fun!” You reached into your pocket, holding out the remainder of the money he had given you.
“Keep it,” he said. You smiled and shucked off your jacket.
You were asleep by the time your head hit the pillow.
DEAN
“You think the girl is still there?”
Dean sighed and shook his head. “Doubt it. It’s been almost two months.”
Sam stretched his legs as he and Dean walked up the steps to Bobby’s house. Dean knocked twice, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Autumn had faded into winter, the leaves long fallen and the flurries of snow drifting around their feet as they walked. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, making it even colder than it was.
The door opened, but instead of Bobby, a woman peered up at them. Dean’s breath hitched in his throat.
She was beautiful. Her eyes were e/c and held a sort of wisdom in them that startled him, but a glint of innocence were beheld in them, too. Her face was framed by long stray locks of h/c hair, half of it braided, the rest loose. She was tall for a woman, but the brothers still towered over her, and her simple t-shirt and jeans showed off her curves nicely. Dean looked her up and down, giving her a lopsided smile.
“Hey there,” he drawled. He touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip before giving her a nod. “What’s your name?”
The woman looked between them both, seemingly unfazed by Dean’s advances. “Bobby! There are two guys out here!”
“Let them in,” Dean heard Bobby call. “It’s the Winchester boys I was telling you about.”
“Oh,” was all she said as she stepped out of the way. She held the screen door open for them as they ducked inside. Dean sent her a wink as he passed.
“Sam, Dean,” Bobby greeted. He gestured to the woman who had now gravitated to the corner of the room. She simply watched them, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Dean noticed faint scars around her wrists. When she caught Dean’s eyes, she held them behind her back. “This is Y/n.”
“Hi,” Sam said, giving her a friendly smile.
“Hey.” Dean grinned lazily at her.
“Hello.”
Her voice was soft and Dean’s heart leaped in his chest at the sound.
“Is this the same girl from a few months ago?” Sam asked. Bobby nodded.
“Yep, that’s her,” he said. “I’ve been showing her the ropes.”
“What- like hunting?” Dean furrowed his brows. “Bobby, since when have we brought civilians into this shit?”
“I’m not a civilian,” Y/n spoke up.
“Sure, sweetheart,” Dean said.
“I’m a witch.”
“Dammit to hell, Y/n!” Bobby threw his arms out to his sides.
“A witch?” Dean snarled. He pulled his gun without a second thought, but before he could shoot, Y/n’s eyes shined purple and the gun was flung from his hand. “Bitch!”
“Watch your mouth, boy!” Bobby hissed. “She’s a witch, but she has lived her whole life in a secluded coven. She’s never hurt anyone.”
“She will!” It was Sam’s turn to pipe up. “Bobby, how can you trust a witch?”
“If you knew her, you’d understand,” Bobby answered. He gestured to her. “She won’t hurt anyone, and you won’t hurt her. Because if you do, I’ll hurt you. Do you understand?”
“Bobby-”
“I said, do you understand?” Bobby repeated himself. The brothers looked at him, noticing how his lips were screwed into a silent growl, his body moving into a defensive position half in front of the woman. Sam swallowed hard.
“Fine.”
“Sam!” Dean protested.
“If Bobby trusts her… then I do, too,” Sam muttered. Dean scoffed.
“She’s a witch!”
“And you’re a dick!” Y/n snapped.
Dean’s eyes widened. He lifted a finger to point at her. “You shut it.”
“Make me,” Y/n mocked. She folded her arms over her chest.
Dean took a step forward. “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”
“Enough!” Bobby roared. He turned to the woman. “What did I say about Dean?”
She sighed deeply. “Not to rile him up.”
“And what are you doing?”
“... Riling him up.”
“Exactly,” Bobby said. “Stop it.”
“Sorry.”
Bobby turned to Dean next. “You quit taunting her, would you? She’s turning into a decent hunter, and an even better consultant, and she’s a kind woman. If you would get your head out of your ass, you two actually have a lot in common.”
“I don’t care,” Dean said. Which was a bit of a lie, but not really. She was attractive, and he liked her spirit, but she was a witch. How was he ever going to trust the likes of her?
“A consultant?” Sam asked.
“She grew up learning about monsters,” Bobby clarified. “Not only that, but she has the knowledge for spells and herbal magic. She’s given me a lot of great information on healing spells and on some research type stuff.”
“Oh great, she could be poisoning you, Bobby,” Dean said.
“I could poison you.” Y/n narrowed her eyes at the green eyed hunter.
“Bobby, she literally just threatened me,” Dean pointed out. Bobby just shook his head and rubbed his temple.
“Y/n?”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Thank you.” Bobby gestured to the brothers. “If you two ever need any help, she’s your girl. Dean, you may not like her, but she’s smart and her herb mixes really do work.”
“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam said gently. He grinned at Y/n. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too, Sam,” she said, enunciating his name more prominently. Dean scowled. “I’ll see you two later.”
“Where are you going?” Bobby asked as Y/n made her way to the stairs.
“On a date!”
Bobby started and gaped at her. “A date?”
“Yeah! Remember Ben?”
Bobby thought for a moment. “The EMT from the wraith hunt?”
“Uh-huh! We went out that night afterwards and he called me yesterday for a second date.”
“Why didn’t I know about this?” Bobby asked.
Y/n rolled her eyes. “I am an adult, Bobby. Besides, the only relationship I had ever been in was an arranged one. I’d like to have my own.”
Dean sputtered. “I’m sorry- arranged?”
“Her coven was a little… old school,” Bobby said.
“To say the least,” Y/n chimed in. “Anyway, I have to get ready. Bye, boys!”
She disappeared up the stairs, the soft click of her door closing echoing down from the hallway. Bobby still looked like he was going to explode.
“How did I not know about this?”
Sam chuckled. “Don’t ask us, Bobby,” he said. “But I like her.”
“She’s great,” Bobby agreed. “Dean, if you don’t lighten up, I swear to God.”
Dean rolled his eyes, putting his whole body into it. “Okay, fine, whatever. I won’t kill her.”
“How generous of you, Dean,” Sam said, patting his brother on the shoulder. Dean pushed him away, giving him a dirty look.
“Shut up.”
Y/N
Ben was sweet, and handsome, and decent in bed, but he didn’t send that spark to your core like Dean did.
By your fifth date, you decided to break it off. It had been a month since you last saw the Winchester brothers, and three months since you had met them. You occupied your time with research and exploring the outside world. Ben had been fun, and he was so nice, but by God, Dean lit a fire in you that burned so brightly, all you could think about was him.
So after Ben, there was Derek. He was a bit more rugged than the soft spoken EMT, and if Ben had been fun, Derek was a fucking rollercoaster. He wasn’t more than a month long fling as he rolled through town, but fuck was it great. You liked this new freedom. You liked experimenting and having the choice. Sure, you and Jasper had a good time, and it was the escape you needed, but you two were arranged by your parents and the elders. Ben and Derek were your choices.
You loved having the fucking choice.
And if given the chance, you’d like to choose Dean.
He was an arrogant dick, but you remembered that smirk and the dark look in his eye and that filled you with an excitement you wanted to chase. You knew you shouldn’t chase. That you couldn’t chase.
Because no matter how civil he acted with you, you also knew he wanted to kill you.
But you also thought he wanted to fuck you. He was incredibly confusing.
Your phone calls were always short, and they either ended up with insults thrown at each other, or flirtatious innuendos from the hunter that always left you questioning whether or not he actually hated you. You provided them with copious amounts of information for their hunts, and Sam always took you up on your offer for spells and herbal concoctions. You thought Dean may have been coming around, but you wouldn’t know until tonight when they came to visit Bobby.
It was clear Dean didn’t trust you, and his cocky attitude made it so much worse. But he was a damn good hunter and a great brother to Sam, and he was Bobby’s family. So you’d try to be civil.
You’d try.
***
“Goodnight. Try not to kill each other, please.”
You waved Bobby off. Sam had long gone to bed, and with Bobby leaving, you and Dean were left alone.
And fuck was that awkward.
You looked anywhere but him. You didn’t want to just get up and leave. But you also didn’t want to sit here in silence. Dean seemed to have the same idea.
“So how’s it been-”
“How do you like-”
You spoke at the same time and heat rose in your cheeks. “Go ahead.”
He cleared his throat. “How do you like it outside the coven?”
Right, Bobby had told you he told the brothers a bit about your past. Not everything, but enough to help them understand you weren’t evil like Dean thought you were.
“It’s different. A good different,” you said. “It’s… amazing, really. There are so many things I never knew existed.”
“Like what?” Dean asked. True curiosity shined in his eyes and it made you smile.
“Like music. The music is amazing. I have more freedom. There is so much to explore. Television is pretty neat. There are a lot of books, too.”
“You sound like Sam in that sense,” Dean mused. You shrugged.
“It’s just better, you know?” You thought back to your father and Danny, how you wished for the thousandth time they could see this. You wondered about Margot and Matthias, how they would like it. “I wish my family could see it.”
“I heard about your dad. I’m sorry,” he said honestly. His eyes were earnest and full of something you couldn’t understand. You desperately wanted to read his mind, itched to. But he already didn’t trust you.
“Thanks,” was all you said. You fiddled with your hands in your lap. “We were supposed to do this together, you know? He was supposed to be with me.” You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. You couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. “But then I met Bobby and… he reminds me so much of my dad. It was like the goddess gave him back to me.”
Dean’s breath hitched. “I lost my dad, too.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes when you looked up at him. “Bobby was always like a father to me. More than my own was. He’s good like that.”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “He is.”
The two of you sat in silence for a moment, but the awkwardness had faded.
“So. You were going to be sacrificed, huh?”
You burst out laughing.
Dean stared at you in bewilderment as you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. You covered your mouth with your hands, not wanting to wake up Sam and Bobby, but you couldn’t help the laughs that came from deep in your chest.
“How is that funny?” He asked. He must have thought you were going crazy.
“We… we just had this… heartfelt conversation… and that’s what… what you follow up with?” You said between fits of laughter. You wiped a tear from your eye. “I’m sorry. That was so fucking funny.”
Dean’s lip quirked. “You’re very odd.”
That made you laugh again, and this time, he joined.
Maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall.
DEAN
“You like her.”
Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of Sam’s voice. He had just gotten off the phone with Y/n and he hadn’t realized he’d been smiling until Sam raised a brow with a knowing look.
“Winchester.”
“Hi, Y/n,” Dean had said. He smirked at her greeting. “How’re you doing?”
“Do you need something?” She asked. Dean’s grin widened.
“You.”
Y/n scoffed and Dean heard some shuffling. “Course you do. Without me, you’d crash and burn.”
“Real funny,” Dean said. “Do you have information on basilisks?”
“Of course I do,” Y/n said and Dean could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Is that what you’re hunting?
“We think so,” Dean replied. He waited for her to speak but the other end was silent for a few moments. “Sweetheart?”
“Oh- sorry. I forgot,” she said. Her voice sounded distant, like she had left the phone across the room. He raised a brow.
“What are you doing?”
“Hm? Nothing.”
Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat amused. “Y/n.”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t tell me you’re sacrificing kittens or something fucked up like that.”
“Damn. You caught me.” A pause. “I’m actually trying to cook for Bobby.”
Dean’s smile faded from one of amusement to one of wonder. “Really?”
“Yeah and this cookbook is so confusing.” He heard a smack-presumably her palm hitting the book in frustration- and a groan. “I just want to do something nice for him.”
Dean’s heart warmed at her words and he closed his eyes. It was hard to hate her. Or in his case, act like it. Sometimes. To be honest, he found it difficult to see her as anything other than good, even if she was a witch. But she still was one, and he knew someday she would turn.
Why did she have to make it so difficult to hate her?
“It’s the thought that counts,” he said softly.
“Well. I’m still trying,” she said. “My mother stopped teaching me to cook once Danny died and the marriage to Jasper was called off. Why know how to cook when I’m supposed to be dead?”
Dean flinched at her words. “What, they don’t teach you how to magically create dinner at Hogwarts?”
She didn’t say anything for a while and Dean thought he had gone too far before she said, “Only how to sacrifice kittens.”
He laughed so hard, it made Sam jump.
Then he heard that bell-like laugh of hers through the phone and he found himself unable to stop smiling.
“Dude, stop flirting and get the information,” Sam said. He narrowed his eyes at his older brother. “We’re wasting time.”
Dean sighed deeply. “Alright, Mr. Stick-in-the-ass needs the basilisk information or else he might spontaneously combust. Sorry to interrupt your cooking, sweetheart, but whaddya got?”
They had met her four months ago. She had been with Bobby for six. Somehow, she had weasled her way into their lives, and at first, Dean hated it. But ever since that conversation with her, watching as the haunting memories of her past swam behind her eyes, how she laughed at something so morbid, how she tried so hard to be good, something had changed.
Dean wasn’t sure what to think anymore. The thought of her warmed his chest. He no longer twitched with annoyance when she spoke or frowned at the mention of her name. He eagerly picked up the phone to hear her voice, wanted to talk to her, to hear her theories.
She was weird but he liked it.
Dean knew she had a rough past. He also knew that she told Bobby some of it, but not all. She was private when it came to her life in the coven. But he knew some of what she had gone through. He knew she was arranged to be married, she knew her older brother had died and that she took his place for the ritualistic sacrifice, he knew her father died saving her. He knew she had to learn all about the world when she escaped.
And she was so smart. She had picked up on the world quickly and it surprised Dean. He knew if he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t do that well. Hell, when he came back to the life of the living after only four earth months, it took him ages to learn about all that had happened.
“I do not,” Dean said. He brushed off Sam’s comment. Liked her? Please…
Did he? He was incredibly attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? And sure, he liked to talk to her, liked to watch her face light up when he turned on the radio, or when Bobby brought home mac and cheese. He liked to watch her dance in the kitchen and could watch her read for hours without getting bored.
Did he like her?
He shrugged off the feeling, not wanting to get involved. She couldn’t possibly feel the same way. And even if she did, she deserved better. Her gentle heart was no match for his own hell-blackened soul.
“Right,” Sam rolled his eyes. He stood from his seat and picked up his jacket from the table. “I’m going to get some food.”
“Bring me some pie,” Dean muttered. As much as he tried to get her off his mind, he couldn’t. Sam rolled his eyes again and left Dean to his thoughts.
***
At one hour, Dean called Sam, but it went straight to voicemail.
Ten minutes later, he called again. Still voicemail.
At an hour and a half, Dean was dressed and ready to go on a man hunt when his phone rang.
Sam.
He answered it with a low growl. “Dammit, Sam. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Hello, Dean Winchester.”
Not Sam.
Dean’s face went slack and his body stiffened at the cool voice that spoke from the other end of the phone. He swallowed down his anger. This wasn’t the basilisk, it couldn’t fucking talk. And it didn’t sound like anyone he knew.
Fuck.
“Who the hell is this?”
The man on the other end of the phone chuckled darkly. “I’m Zacharias.”
“I have no clue who the fuck you are but if you have done anything to my brother, I swear-”
“Yet. I haven’t touched him yet,” Zacharias said smoothly. “Although, a Winchester? I can imagine a hundred different things I’d like to do to him.”
“You sick son of a bitch.”
“I won’t touch him, though,” Zacharias told Dean. “I will, if you don’t get me what I want.”
“Why don’t I just find you and rip out your lungs?” Dean spit. His body shook with anger. “And how do I know you’re not lying?”
“Should I put old Sammy boy on the phone?” Shuffling. Grunting. Then finally-
“Dean?”
Dean sighed with relief. “Sam? Are you okay?”
Sam groaned a bit. “Define okay.”
“I’ll kill them all,” Dean snarled.
“Don’t listen to them Dean. Don’t give her to them. These people, they’re-”
“That’s enough.”
The phone was pulled away as Zacharias interrupted Sam. The man cleared his throat.
“I’m sure you don’t know who I am. We keep to ourselves, but I know who you are, and I know you have access to something I want.”
“Which is?”
“Deliver it to me, alive, and you get Sam back in one piece, not a hair on his pretty little head touched, and we will leave you be forever. We will go back into solitude. You won’t ever have to deal with us again.”
“Who is ‘us?’” Dean was growing agitated. Why was this fucker so vague? “Just get to the fucking point!”
Zacharias laughed. “So impatient, hunter.”
“Listen, Zach- can I call you Zach?”
“No.”
“Okay, Zach. If you don’t get to the fucking point, I will-”
“What? You’ll do what?” Zach sneered. “The way I see it, I have the one thing in the world you care about most. You have something I need, and I have something you need. Besides, I thought you liked causing harm.”
Dean’s blood ran cold.
“Feel free to rough her up a bit. I won’t mind. Lord knows she won’t get it once she gets home.”
She. Home.
Who was he talking about?
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, but I think you do,” Zach’s voice lowered an octave. “I’ve heard the whispers, Dean Winchester. I’ve heard about the part you played in hell, how you were acting a little too well. Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me.”
“What do you want?”
Zach’s breath hitched a bit. “I want the girl.”
Y/N
“Thank you for dinner, Y/n,” Bobby said. He patted your cheek and kissed your temple as he went to rinse his dish in the sink.
“I know it wasn’t great but-”
“I don’t get very many home cooked meals. This was fantastic,” Bobby said. Your chest swelled with pride at his words and you grinned.
“I’m glad. I just wanted to do something to say thank you. It’s not much but… I don’t know. You’ve been very kind to me,” you told him. He gave you an odd look.
“This sounds like a goodbye,” he said apprehensively. Your eyes widened.
“Oh, God no! No, this isn’t a goodbye!”
Bobby’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I’ve gotten used to another person being here. I’ve gotten used to you being here. I know I said take all the time you need, but I selfishly hope for more time.”
“Bobby, I like it here. I like it here with you. You remind me a lot of my father,” you said. You swallowed hard. “You’ve done a lot for me. You’re a good friend.”
Bobby blushed and went bashful. He shrugged and murmured some words you couldn’t hear before shuffling into the study, throwing a “thank you” over his shoulder. You didn’t take any offense. You knew he wasn’t very good at deep conversations.
You cleaned the kitchen and were about to head to bed when the phone Bobby had given you rang. You smiled smally when you saw Dean’s name flash on the screen.
“Two phone calls in one day? I must be special,” you said snarkily as you answered the phone.
“I need your help,” he said.
“What, no ‘hi, sweetheart’ this time?” You mused.
“I’m serious, Y/n,” he said. You frowned at his tone. He was usually playful with you. If he was grumpy, he was usually doing it to mess with you.
“Is everything okay?”
“No. I’ll send you the location. Get here as fast as you can.”
Your knees wobbled a bit as nerves lit a fire in your belly. “Wait, Dean, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Just get here. I’ll explain everything when you do,” he said. “Please?”
You sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose. You were tired after researching all night, but you couldn’t just say no. If Dean was asking for your physical help, he must really need it.
“Okay. Fine. Send me the address.”
***
You knew something was wrong when you pulled the car Bobby loaned you into a small patch of trees down a dirt path off the highway.
Bobby had taught you how to drive not long after you started staying with him. You didn’t drive much, but it was cool when you did. The drive to the location only took a few hours, and within that time, you tried to think of the different reasons he would have called you. Surely he wouldn’t be asking for your help unless he really needed it. Sure, he was a lot more civil with you, even nice sometimes, but he still wasn’t a huge fan of yours. He hated witches and that hatred didn’t stop with you.
The thought made your heart fall in your chest, but you pushed the feeling away. You couldn’t feel those sort of things for him. It was a dangerous game to play.
He was leaning against the Impala when you parked the car. Slipping out of the driver’s seat, you approached him warily.
The first thing you noticed was Sam’s absence.
“Where’s Sam?”
Sam was always with him. You and Dean never met up alone. The few times you had met up with the brothers when they weren’t hunting, whether it be for some healing spell lessons, research sessions, or just lunch, it was always Sam and Dean. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
You looked Dean up and down, noticing the way his fists were clenched and tucked tightly into his sides. His eyes were wide and nervous, as if you were some cruel seductress here to kidnap him, but his mouth was screwed into a hard line. You watched him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
“He’s going to uh… meet us there,” Dean stammered. He gestured to his car. “Get in?”
“Tell me what’s going on,” you demanded. “You’re acting weird.”
His chest rose and fell as he took a deep, settling breath. Energy crackled between the two of you as anger rolled from him in waves. You could sense his worry. His anger. You prodded your power at his mind, running a smooth finger down the inseam as you stepped into his thoughts.
She just needs to get in the car… fucking hell… I need to get Sam… quit acting so weird, Dean, you’ll put her off… get in the car!
That was all you could muster before a sharp pain stung your temples. Damn you needed practice. His thoughts made you more uneasy and you took a step back towards your car.
“Dean, tell me what’s going on!”
“Get in the car, Y/n,” he said darkly. You made a move to run but he lunged, gripping your wrist. You yanked free of his grip and pushed him away. “Just get in the car!”
You turned to face him, but your eyes met the barrel of a gun.
You couldn’t breathe. This was it. He was going to kill you. You had no doubts that he had witch killing bullets in that gun, and you just fucking knew he wouldn’t hesitate.
“This was your plan all along?” You whispered. You tried to keep the emotion off your face, but couldn’t keep it from your voice. “To get me to trust you, then you’d kill me? Really?”
“Get. In. The. Car.” He jerked his head towards the Impala. “I won’t say it again.”
You made a run for it.
You turned and made for the trees. This was the second time you would flee into the woods in your life and you really hoped there wouldn't be a third.
You heard Dean curse behind you and you sprinted. With his long legs, you didn’t get very far, and his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you up in the air. You swung your head back to collide with his face. He yelped as you felt his nose crunch beneath the back of your skull.
That only made him angrier.
He threw you to the ground roughly, pinning you down with one knee to the center of your back. You thrashed and raised your hand, a purple glow emanating from it, ready to strike.
He quickly latched a handcuff to your wrist and your power fizzled.
“What?”
“They’re warded,” he said simply. He cuffed your other hand and gripped a fistful of your hair. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just got into the car.”
Your body ached and your scalp screamed but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you in pain. “Would you have gotten into the car if you were in my shoes?”
“I’d never be in your shoes,” he snarled, hauling you to your feet. “I’m not a filthy fucking witch.”
Ouch.
“You’re still not over that? Really, Dean?” He dragged you to the car, all the while you kicked and thrashed, but he was much stronger than you and the wards were weakening you significantly. “I’m not evil! I thought we were friends!”
His hand gripped your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. His fingers were rough and heavy against your skin as he dug into you, making you wince. Up close like this, you could see the beautiful green of his eyes, even in the dark, and his freckles stood out against his cheeks. You wished this was happening in a different circumstance. You wished you could have been close like this in another way.
His mouth curled into a ferocious snarl as he said, “I’m not friends with monsters.”
He shoved a gag into your mouth, opened the trunk of his car, and shoved you inside before closing you in, concealing you in a darkness that swallowed you whole and muffled your sobs.
DEAN
The compound was deep in the forest.
Dean stood by the driver's side door, waiting. Three cloaked figures walked towards him, Sam hauled behind them, dragged by a crimson energy around his wrists and ankles. His face was a bit bruised and his clothes were dirty, but he was unscathed.
That didn’t relieve the guilt he felt.
“The girl.”
Dean recognized the voice as Zach’s. He gave a long look to Sam before he walked around to the trunk.
He betrayed her. He betrayed her in the worst way possible and now she was going to die because of it. She told him she trusted him. She had learned to trust him after he wanted to kill her.
And now?
Now, he had taken that trust and destroyed it. Bobby would kill him surely. His father figure had started looking at her like a surrogate daughter. Y/n had come into his life and brightened it in the best way possible. Bobby had been so excited when he talked about how well she was doing. How the nightmares had begun to fade. How her scars were barely noticeable. How she didn’t flinch as much.
How she trusted Bobby so wholeheartedly, and how she trusted Sam and Dean.
That was ruined now, and Dean had to face it. He had to face it like he had to face what happened in hell. But he wouldn’t do that. No. He was saving Sam again.
He would always save Sam.
He opened the truck and nearly broke at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. Regardless of the tears, however, she gave him a look that was pure death. It sent shivers to his core as her eyes lit purple. A warning.
A promise.
He yanked her from the trunk and half carried her to Zach.
The new High Priest of Y/n’s coven.
“Who?” Dean asked.
“Y/n. I know you know where she is.”
“Why do you want her?” Dean’s stomach curled.
“We have some… unfinished business.”
It didn’t take Dean long to realize it was her old coven, the one she had run from. The ritual wasn’t complete, and it wouldn’t be complete until Y/n was dead. So there was to be an exchange. Y/n for Sam.
“Let Sam go.”
Zach, a tall and plump man with gray hair and a bulbous nose, nodded at the two cloaked figures at his sides. They yanked Sam to Dean. Y/n writhed in Dean’s grip, desperate to escape, desperate not to return to the coven.
“The girl,” Zach said again. Dean looked down at Y/n, whose eyes were so wide with fear, he was afraid they’d pop right from her head. She looked at him then, pleading, begging for him to take her.
Instead, he took the gag off, pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth, and pushed her away.
Y/n was so surprised, she barely flinched when the cloaked figures gripped the tops of her arms.
“Dean!” She said his name with yearning as the two figures dragged her away, still chained, still terrified. “Dean, please don’t do this! You know what they’ll do! You know! Please! Sam, Dean, please!”
With an evil grin, Zach sent the brothers a wink. “Thank you, boys. We’ll take good care of her.”
Then in a blast of crimson, the four witches were gone.
Y/N
“You traitorous bitch!”
Your mother hit you again, the whip stinging across your back with the scorching pain of the sun. You keened, tears long fallen, your eyes dry and crusty from how much you’ve cried.
Dean had betrayed you. This was worse than him killing you. Worse because not only were you going to die, but your freedom had been ripped from you, stolen out from underneath you. Worse because your father’s death would mean nothing. Worse because you still loved Dean.
Shit, you loved him. You hated that you did. You hated him while you loved him.
You realized you were in love with him when you were locked in that trunk. You wondered why it hurt so much. Why although he had put you there, you wanted him to comfort you. It was fucked up and twisted, but you were in love with him.
And he had royally, utterly betrayed you.
“I’m sorry, mother,” you said for the thousandth time. The whip cracked against your back again, tearing another ribbon. It wasn’t the first time you had been whipped. It was a typical form of punishment within your coven. Your wrists were bound to the top of a pole, your shirt stolen off your body to display your previously marred back. It wasn’t bad, the scars having long faded to dull lines. But now? Now they were re-opened, new ribbons sliced into your back by your own mother’s hand.
There were some spectators still. Many had gathered around to watch the pariah be punished for committing treason. Usually, treason was instant death in the coven. But you were to die in three days under the summer solstice, the moon at its peak for the season. It wasn’t as powerful as the harvest moon, but the solstice was still great for harvesting energy, and the coven couldn’t wait until autumn to refuel their power.
So they resorted to public punishment, letting you be an example to the children of the founding families who would grow up to have kids of their own to be sacrificed. This was what would happen if you or your child tried to escape. If they did escape.
Thirty lashes later, you were slumped against the pole, your body in so much pain, you were on the brink of unconsciousness. Hands moved to untie you and you slumped to the ground once you were unbound. You cried out in agony as you hit the dirt, screaming when someone lifted you up into their arms.
“I’m sorry.”
Jasper.
You didn’t turn into his chest like you would have a year ago. But you did like the comfort his touch brought you. Your best friend.
That comfort disintegrated when he laid you on your stomach on a moth-eaten cot in one of the cells of the dungeons below the founder’s hall.
“I’m sorry,” was all he said again as he left you, someone else closing the cell door, locking you inside.
You didn’t cry. You didn’t think you could physically cry anymore.
Instead, you wallowed. You wallowed in the pain, your own self pity, your anger and sadness.
You gave up.
You were done running. You were done fighting. Nothing was going to come of it. Nothing was going to change. The man you loved had shoved you back into the cruel clutches of your coven, and you were going to die in three days time, just as you should have died under the harvest moon with the others all those months ago.
DEAN
“Dean.”
Sam and Bobby watched as Dean paced in front of them. The older Winchester brother’s shoulders were hunched, brows pinched, mouth pulled into a sour frown as he paced and thought, thought and paced.
“Dean.”
He ignored his brother again. What was the point? What was the point in talking? He had done it. He had given her up. He had traded her life for his brother’s, just like he had done his whole life.
Sam was everything to him, and although she had weaseled herself into his life, into his heart, that wouldn’t change.
The guilt ate at him. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, an itching fury burning beneath his flesh that left him twitchy. This felt… wrong. This felt more wrong than he thought. What he did was awful. But it felt different. It felt…
No. He couldn’t feel those things. He wouldn’t. If he felt those things for her, there would be no going back, and he would just be hurt again. He would be hurt beyond comparison if he felt those things for her. If his heart raced at the sight of her, if he itched to reach out and touch her whenever she was close, if his mind thought of her when he woke up in the morning and right before he slept at night.
If he felt those things, he’d be a goner. If he felt those things, this situation would be so much worse.
“Dean, goddammit!”
He stopped, turning slowly, finally letting himself look at his brother and Bobby, the former who was the epitome of worry, the latter looking like he was mourning a daughter.
Which, Dean thought, he probably was.
Dean knew how much Bobby cared for Y/n. He could see it in the way his father figure would gently touch her cheek in passing, or press a kiss to her forehead whenever she went to bed. How he went out of his way to keep her comfortable, how he helped her heal. Bobby was never like that with the boys. Sure, he loved them and Dean knew he and Sam were like Bobby’s sons, but Bobby also grew to have a daughter figure in his life, and she had been ripped away from him by Dean’s doing.
“You’re going to get her back,” Bobby said smoothly. His voice was still and unwavering. Emotionless.
“Don’t you think I want to?” Dean asked. “I can’t leave her there. I can’t… It was part of the plan to go back and get her. But what if... what if she’s already dead?”
Bobby was suddenly in Dean’s face, gripping the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the wall. His face was contorted in a rage Dean had never seen pointed towards him and it made him gulp.
“Don’t say that.” Bobby tightened his grip on Dean’s shirt. “We’re getting her back.”
“Bobby, even if she is still alive, how would we get past an entire coven?” Sam spoke from behind them. He didn’t move to pry Bobby off of Dean.
Even Sam knew Dean made a bad call.
“We’ll figure it out,” Bobby said. He finally let go of Dean and backed up a few paces. “It’s not the right time for the ritual. She’ll be alive until late tonight if I have the moon cycle right.”
“Wha- Bobby! We’re barely going to have time!” Dean said. Alive? God, he hoped so.
“We need to go. Now.” Bobby was rushing around the study like a madman, collecting guns and knives and a flask of holy water. Dean knew the holy water would do nothing, but watching as Bobby also stuffed a bag full of salt filled rounds, he knew the man was just desperate to get her back, using anything and everything to do so.
“We’ve wasted too much time,” Bobby said. He stalked towards the door and turned back to look Dean in the eye. “You better hope she’s alive, boy.”
He slipped out the front door without another word, the brothers giving each other a long look before following after him, hoping they weren’t too late.
Y/N
As night fell, the moon peeking up from behind the trees, you prayed to your gods quietly. Your mother and siblings hadn’t come to see you since the punishment in the square the day before. You were left alone, back oozing blood throughout the night and into the morning. It still leaked, but much of the blood had begun to crust and clot. You didn’t want to know what your back looked like. It had finally healed enough from the last time you were punished six years ago that you could start looking at your back in the mirror.
You supposed you didn’t have to worry about it now, seeing as you’d be dead by morning.
The cuffs from Dean had been swapped for similar cuffs as the ones your dad melted when you two made your escape the last time. They dug into your wrists painfully, chafing them raw and bloody.
A loud bang sounded from somewhere above the cellar. Your mouth went dry. This was it.
The door to the cellar opened, revealing Jasper. He looked at you solemnly and reached down to grip the tops of your arms. You cried out as your back was jarred, and he ignored it, dragging you up the stairs and into the main hall where someone else gripped your other arm. Together, they carried you outside into the warm night. The hot air hit your back painfully and it took all your strength not to cry in pain. Instead, you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood and tried to push the pain away, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing you hurt.
They carried you to the waiting cell, which was really just a shed, and pushed you inside. You landed on your side, agony ripping through you, and you groaned. They closed the door and locked you inside as everyone prepped for the ritual.
As you laid there, having flipped onto your stomach, you tried to count the minutes in your head, counting the seconds. If you let yourself think of what was coming, you would surely go insane. This was the second time you were experiencing this and thinking about it made you queasy. Thinking about Dean left you conflicted. Thinking of Bobby and your father left you dejected.
So you just counted.
And counted.
And counted.
Until a thud echoed outside the shed. Shuffling. Another thud. A squelching sound.
“Keep an eye out.”
“No, I was just going to stand here with my thumb up my ass.”
“Real mature, Dean.”
“Thank you.
“Shut up.”
“Hurry up, Sam.”
“I’m trying! It’s spelled or something.”
“You know what? Move.”
Holy shit. Was that-
There was a loud bang on the door and suddenly it creaked open. It was too dark to see, but you could make out the shadowed silhouettes of two very familiar bodies.
“Shit.”
Dean dropped beside you so fast it made your head spin. How had they found you? How did they even get to you?
His hand lifted to your head and he brushed your hair from your eyes. Your cheek was pressed against the cool stone floor of the shed, violent shivers racking your body.
“God, Dean- look at her back.”
“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Dean made to lift you but you snarled at him, reaching your hand out to slap him away from you.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hissed. You glanced back at Sam, relief flooding you as he looked unharmed. There was some blood spattered on him, but he looked fine. You didn’t think the blood was his.
“Y/n-”
“Shut up, dick,” you said. “Sam can carry me.”
“Y/n, I don’t know how I’m going to. It’s… it’s bad. I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said softly. He bent down beside you as well.
“I don’t think I can walk. It’s going to hurt like a fucking bitch but just do it,” you said. “How did you guys get to me?”
“A lot of fighting and a lot of bullets,” Dean said morbidly. “Bobby’s our getaway driver. He’s picking off a lot one by one.”
“He’s… what?” Your eyes widened. “Dean, there are children here!”
“He’s not killing them all, Y/n,” Dean said. “Just the ones who are fighting to kill you and trying to kill him.”
You let that sink in. They were killing your coven. They were killing the community you grew up with.
“Okay,” was all you said. Sam made a pained sound and reached for you.
Your body was lit with an excruciating fire.
Sam apologized so much, it all blurred together. You gasped and cried and whined as he carried you. Dean had laid his flannel over your bare chest, his face pained as Sam carried you out into the woods. Bodies laid scattered all around, fires licked towards the sky. The compound was devastated, but you could vaguely make out the shapes of some people fleeing into the trees across the field.
You could also see Jasper’s lifeless eyes staring at you from where his body was leaning against the shed, a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead. How you had not heard any of this, you weren’t sure. Perhaps you were too delirious with pain.
Your heart was in your throat now. Jasper. He was dead. Your best friend. Your confidant. Your lover. Dead amongst the ones who wanted to kill you.
He was going to stand by and watch you die.
You bit your lip and tried to push away the urge to vomit. Jasper was dead, you didn’t know about your mother, or Margot and Matthias. Your mother… you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about her too much. A sliver of yourself worried for her… but she didn’t care for you. Not really. The coven was the most important thing to her. Margot and Matthias however, you hoped they were alright. As long as you were alive, they couldn’t touch them.
“We’re almost there,” Sam spoke suddenly, bringing you from your thoughts. You were almost to the car, where you would be taken from this place once again.
“Hurry,” you rasped. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You were gasping for air at this point, the pain constricting even your breathing.
“Bobby, start it!”
“Holy mother of-”
“Just do it! She won’t last much longer,” Sam ordered. Bobby reluctantly turned from where he started forward towards you, getting into the driver’s seat of the Impala. Sam sat you in the back seat and started to get in with you but was pulled back. He grunted as he landed on his ass, Dean taking his place.
“Not you!” You didn’t want him anywhere near you.
“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not leaving you again.” You laid on your stomach across the back seat, your cheek resting against his thigh as he gently laid your head down onto him. The fire across your back faded ever so slightly, but it had been reawoken when Sam touched it. You wished unconsciousness would claim you but it didn’t. Tears slipped from your cheeks.
“How could you?” You whispered. You found yourself repeating it again and again, Dean’s hand stroking your hair as he shushed you.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Finally, as if the gods had heard your prayer, the edges of your vision began to darken, and sleep claimed you at last.
DEAN
Dean’s back was to the wall. In one hand, he held a beer, and in the other he held a small bouquet of flowers. It was a useless sentiment, he knew that, especially when it was his doing that caused this.
Another yelp of pain from the room behind him and he flinched. Bobby and Sam had been hard at work for the past two hours on Y/n’s wounds. She had kicked Dean out promptly as soon as she regained consciousness. She was furious with him and she should be.
Dean didn’t blame her.
The door opened and Sam stepped out. His shirt was covered in blood, hands stained pink. His face, ashen and pinched, turned to look at Dean.
“Well?” Dean asked.
“She needs rest. She’s… she’s going to scar pretty badly.” Sam sighed and shook his head. “How could they do that?”
“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Is she alright?”
Sam scoffed. “No. No, she’s not alright, Dean. She was given up by someone she thought she could trust, whipped to ribbons by her own mother, and then was thrown in a cell to wait for her slaughter. So no, she’s not alright.”
Dean stiffened. “Her mother did that?”
“As punishment,” Sam seethed. “Apparently it wasn’t the first time.”
Dean thought he was going to be sick. He took a deep breath and stood up, hesitating. “I want to see her.”
“She doesn’t want to see you,” Sam said.
“I know. But I at least want to apologize, even if she doesn’t believe me,” Dean murmured. He glanced down at the flowers in his hand, a futile attempt of an “I’m sorry” and he knew it. “I…”
“I know,” Sam said softly when Dean couldn’t finish his thought. He couldn’t quite say the words yet. He didn’t even have half a mind to think them. Sam reached over to squeeze his brother’s shoulder gently. “I know.”
Dean gave a low nod and stepped around Sam, ducking into the study.
It had been turned into a makeshift infirmary. The desk had been cleared of items, a sheet thrown over it, a pillow supporting Y/n’s head where she laid upon it. Everything had been pushed away against the wall, making room for bags of gauze, salves, and other medical tools that Dean cringed away from. It smelled strongly of antiseptic and blood, making Dean woozy as he stepped inside.
Y/n’s eyes were half open and glazed over. She stared unfocused at a spot on the wall beside Dean, and didn’t flinch as he stepped right beside her line of sight. She just simply stared.
Bobby sat beside the desk, one hand in hers- which once again had bandages wrapped around her wrists- as he watched her closely. Her back had been heavily bandaged, blood staining the sheets below her body, tears long drying on her face, leaving streaks on her cell-dusted skin.
“How are you feeling?”
Her eyes lifted to him finally. They were cold and hard and so void of emotion it made Dean shiver.
“What do you think?”
Dean swallowed hard and placed the flowers on a nearby shelf. He wrung his hands together as he thought of what to say next.
“Bobby, would you mind-”
“Don’t even ask, boy.” Bobby didn’t even move when he said it. He just stayed in his position, gaze locked on the broken girl on the table, face pulled into a deep frown.
“Sorry,” Dean murmured. “Y/n, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“How sweet of you,” she said. “Now get out.”
“Please.” Dean said.
“I trusted you.”
Dean’s breath hitched. Her voice had turned soft and pained. So unlike her and so full of anguish.
“I trusted you and you betrayed me,” she said. “I don’t trust people easily, Dean. But I trusted you. I trusted you and Sam and Bobby. That’s it.”
“I know.”
“Ever since I met you, you have wanted to kill me. You never trusted me. I’m a witch, just another monster for you to kill. That night? I thought you were going to do it yourself. What you did was worse. You gave me back to the people who I ran from. Who killed my father. You took away my freedom again. You took away my choice again. You took it all away when you gave me back.”
She was crying now, tears silently dripping to the pillow beneath her cheek.
“I’m not the untrustworthy one, Dean Winchester. You are. You call yourself a hunter. You tell yourself you save people. Apparently the bar falls short as soon as you are something different, regardless of what kind of soul you are.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows to get a better look at him. Dean would never, not until the day he died, forget the look she gave him in that moment; malicious and hurt, her eyes dark and narrowed.
“Go back to hell, Dean.”
Dean thought his chest had been ripped open. He touched the skin over his heart as her words sunk in.
Go back to hell, Dean.
“Y/n, I need you to listen to me-”
“I don’t need to do shit,” she snarled. Dean winced at her tone, so dark and vicious. “I need you to leave.”
“Y/n-”
“That’s your cue, boy,” Bobby said. Dean’s shoulders slumped. He gave one last longing look to her, taking note of her eyes and how they left him again, staring unfocused at that damn spot on the wall, before turning and ducking back out of the room, finishing off his beer in the hallway and making his way to the kitchen for another.
Y/N
“Please be careful.”
Bobby loaded the last of your bags into the back of the truck. He had given you the same truck he picked you up in a year ago.
Your back was finally healed enough thanks to your spells, scars now the only reminder. You didn’t look in the mirror, not anymore, knowing how it would look. You felt them whenever you accidently touched your skin as you changed or when you showered. You could feel the raised, soft flames that licked up to your shoulders, forever imprinted into your back. The ones you had before were small. But these? These were long and large in number, the spite and anger of the one who created them clear in their abundance.
It had been a week since Dean had given you back to your coven. In that time, you hadn’t seen him again, not since he tried to apologize the night they rescued you.
Of course, you wouldn’t have needed rescuing if he hadn’t given you up.
The boys were due back soon and you wanted to be long gone once they arrived. You were going to start hunting. Really hunting. You were fine, your healing salves and spells doing their job perfectly. The scars would be the only reminder.
“I will,” you promised. You were ready for this. You needed this.
Bobby hugged you tightly, mindful of the pressure on your back, before he pushed you lightly towards the truck.
“Alright, off you go, ya’ idjit.” You grinned and got up into the truck. “You sure you don’t want to see them?”
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “I never want to see Dean again. Not in this lifetime.”
Which was half true. He had hurt you beyond words. He had taken your trust and destroyed it. He had given you back to the people who killed your father and planned on killing you. But at the same time, you understood. Dean’s world revolved around Sam. He would put his life on the line, and has, for his brother. A part of you understood why he did what he did. You went crazy when Danny died, knowing the one person besides your father who loved you just as much as you loved them was dead. You had tried everything, even resorting to dabbling in necromancy, but your mother had caught you, and your last hope of bringing your brother back was gone.
So yes, you understood Dean to a point. You just couldn’t get over the pain it caused you.
Bobby nodded at your words and kicked a rock in the dirt. “I hope you change your mind someday. Maybe not anytime soon. But someday.”
You blinked a few times and processed his words. You were going to answer, but thought better of it, instead going with, “I’ll call you when I know where I’m going.”
Bobby sighed. “You better,” he said. He gave you a wave. “Kick some ass.”
***
Two months later
“Another?”
The bartender tapped the bar beside your empty beer.
“Please.” He nodded and turned to pour you another. You sighed and rested your chin in your hand, your other hand lazily scrolling through your laptop in search of cases. You had just finished a ghoul case that morning and were already itching for another one.
The bartender set the beer down in front of you and raised a brow. “Hard at work?”
You shrugged and sipped your beer. “Something like that.”
He cocked his head, eyes trained on you as he cleaned a glass. “Are you busy tonight?” He shifted nervously.
You looked up at him. He was very attractive, with warm brown skin, hair black as night, and a crooked smile that would make anyone weak in the knees. You had frequented this bar the last few nights and your conversations were always nice. He was sweet and handsome and if this was before your tangle with the coven, you would have taken him up on his offer.
But the scars hadn’t faded.
“Yeah, I’ll be working all night,” you said. He frowned a bit. “And if I wasn’t leaving town tomorrow, I would take you up on that.”
He grinned a bit. “Thanks. Can I get you anything else?”
“I’m okay.” You drank your beer deeply and reached into your bag, pulling out more than enough money for the beers. “Keep the change, okay?”
“Thank you,” he said. You finished your beer and gathered up your things.
Many of your nights went like this. How were you supposed to explain the scars to someone? They were gnarly and would immediately spark fear and confusion and that was something you didn’t want to deal with.
Your phone rang and you grumbled to yourself. Unlocking the truck, you hauled yourself inside, setting your laptop down before you answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Y/n?”
“Sam?” You smiled. You and Sam had stayed in touch. Just because Dean was an ass didn’t mean you couldn’t still talk to your friend. “What’s up?”
Sam loosed a breath. Uh oh. “Look, I wouldn’t call you if this wasn’t important.”
“No.”
“Y/n, come on.”
“No, Sam.”
“Please?” Sam said. “We really need help and no one else is stepping up to bat.”
“What about Bobby?”
He paused. “He actually told us to call you.”
Damn him! You groaned. “Why do you two need help? Aren’t you like the best hunters in the world?”
Sam scoffed. “I know you and Dean have your differences-”
“-Differences!-”
“But we could really use your skill. Please?”
You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes. “You know, I can feel your puppy dog eyes through the phone.”
“Are they working?”
“... Maybe.”
“Come on. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” Sam said.
You pressed your knuckles into your forehead. “Jesus- fine.”
“Thank you!” Sam said. “I’ll send you the address to our motel.”
“Whatever.”
DEAN
“Is she coming?”
Sam turned at the sound of his brother’s voice. Dean’s heart thumped heavily in his chest.
“Yes,” Sam replied. Dean grinned. “But don’t chase her away, Dean. I mean it.”
“I won’t,” Dean said quickly. “But this could be my last chance to make things right with her.”
“Dean, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“I need to, Sam.” Dean looked down at his hands. “I need to make things right. It sucks not talking to her. It sucks not seeing her.”
“Because you lo-”
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean snapped. Sam grinned wickedly and flopped down onto his bed.
“Well don’t you?” Sam asked. He folded his arms under his head, propping himself up to look at Dean.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Dean rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning his guns. Sam had no idea what he was talking about. Dean wasn’t sure what he felt for Y/n, but he knew it was friendly. He hoped she had once felt the same way, and maybe if she knew what he felt, she could learn to forgive him.
Or this whole plan could crash and burn and chase her even further away.
Regardless, Dean was going to try.
***
Three hours later, someone knocked on the motel room door.
Sam got up to answer it but Dean shoved him back, resulting in a smack on the head, but he was able to reach the door first.
Opening it, Dean’s eyes landed on Y/n. Her eyes met his, a scowl painted on her lovely face as she zeroed in on him. She looked him up and down and hoisted her backpack over her shoulder. It was ratty and worn, but Dean noticed she took it on all her trips. He wondered what its significance was.
“Well. Aren’t you going to let me in?” She asked. Dean, startled by her voice, lurched out of the way, nearly knocking over a small table.
“Nice,” Sam mouthed, rolling his eyes. He smiled at Y/n who stepped inside, brushing past Dean quickly to give Sam a hug. “Thanks again.”
“Anything for you, Sam.” She gave Dean a dirty look. “So. What are we hunting?”
Y/N
The hunt went by smoothly.
It was a vamp nest, and a large one, definitely too difficult for two people but just easy enough with three. You had worked in tandem with boys as if you did it all your life. By the end, they both turned to you impressed.
“Wow. You’ve really trained hard, haven’t you?” Sam asked, bumping his hip with yours as you walked to the car. You wiped blood from your forehead.
“I kinda have to if I want to hunt alone.”
Dean spun to face you, blocking your path. You halted and glared up at him. God, he looked like shit. You noticed it when you arrived at the motel. His face was gaunt, eyes slightly sunken with dark circles beneath them. A permanent frown seemed etched on his lips and he looked like he lost some weight. He looked as if he was being eaten away by something.
He looked as if he was being eaten away by guilt.
A part of you took pride in that, but another part, a larger part, was sad. Sad that he had gotten this way. Sad that the man you loved was in so much despair, all you wanted to do was comfort him.
Of course, that despair was caused by himself, but you pushed that thought away.
“You’re doing what?”
“Hunting? Didn’t Bobby tell you?” You stepped around him.
“I thought he meant hunting with him, not alone,” he said. He hurried after you. “You could get hurt!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have thought you cared, Dean,” you said. You shrugged and gave him a pointed look. “Seeing as you’ve hurt me before.”
“I said I was sorry!”
“And I said go back to hell!”
“Okay!” Sam stepped between you and Dean, lightly pushing on your chest. He glared at his brother, but turned to you with a more gentle expression. “Let’s just calm down, okay? We’ll take you back to the motel.”
“Yeah. Okay.” You lightly pushed his hand away and threw open the back door, slamming it shut. You smirked when you saw Dean start forward in anger at how you treated his car, Sam stopping him with a hand on his chest again. They spoke lowly to each other before Dean slumped and got into the car, Sam close behind him.
Yeah, you absolutely regretted agreeing to help.
***
Later that night, you were lounging in your motel room, watching trash television, when there was a knock on your door.
There was a good possibility it was Dean. You knew that. Yet you still got up to open it. To be honest, maybe you’d like to hear him apologize again. It wouldn’t hurt.
You’d do it for Bobby. Not for yourself. For Bobby.
Opening the door, unsurprisingly, Dean stood there. His head was ducked slightly, face pulled into a nervous pout.
“Hey.”
You leaned against the door frame. “Hey.”
“Can I come in?” He asked. “Please?”
You bit your lip and moved out of the way, gesturing him inside. He muttered a thank you and stepped past you. You closed the door softly and turned to lean against it. He stood in the center of the room, looking down at a spot on the ground instead of at you.
“Y/n, I know you hate me. I know that.”
You felt as if you were going to be sick. “I… I don’t, you know, hate you.”
He furrowed his brow but didn’t look up at you. “You don’t?”
“I don’t particularly like you right now.” His lip quirked slightly. “But I don’t hate you.”
He rubbed his chin and turned to sit on the edge of your bed, resting his hands on his knees. One knee bounced and he rolled his shoulders a bit. “I’m sorry.”
You didn’t answer but didn’t look away either. He continued. “What I did… I know it wasn’t okay. I won’t excuse myself for what I did. I just knew I had to save Sam and I went about it very, very poorly.”
You continued to stare at him silently.
“I should have figured something out. I was just so afraid. I do very… stupid things… to save him. I sold my soul and went to hell for crying out loud.” He smiled without humor. “Giving you to them will forever be something I will regret. Seeing you in that cell, bloody and broken, it’s an image I will never get out of my head.” His eyes turned misty and he swallowed thickly. “I will never forgive myself and I will live the rest of my life with that image. I will live the rest of my life knowing I hurt you and I’m sorry.”
You tentatively took a step towards him, and another, until you stood directly beside him. His green eyes finally lifted to yours, lined with tears, and you slowly sunk down to sit beside him. Biting your lip, you reached forward for one of his hands, resting it palm up in yours.
“I’ve… I’ve liked you for a long time now, Y/n,” he whispers. Your heart began to rapidly thump in your chest. “More than like, I think. And it scares the hell out of me. I’m so sorry.”
You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. You knew about your own feelings for him. Even after what he did, they had been buried beneath anger, but not disintegrated. You traced a line on his palm.
“All I could think about when you gave me up was how much I had trusted you, and how betrayed I felt,” you began. He stilled beneath your touch. “After, I was just so angry. Angry at you for doing that to me. Angry at myself for letting myself become vulnerable.” You hesitated before continuing. “I was hurt. Really hurt. And conflicted. I wasn’t sure how I could love someone and hate them at the same time.”
Dean pulled back from you.
You hadn’t even realized you said it until his face morphed into one of shock.
Oh, shit.
Shit, shit, shit!
You leaped to your feet, mouth open and closing, your brain racing to find something to say. But your thoughts were clouded with panic. “I don’t… I mean… I didn’t mean to say…”
You backed away from him but he stood and followed. His eyes were full of longing as he reached for your hands and brought them to his chest.
“Don’t turn away from me. Not after that.”
“I didn’t mean to say that.”
“I’m glad you did,” he told you.
“Why?”
He grinned. “Because I didn’t want to be the only one with those feelings.”
“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” you murmured. He chuckled a bit.
“I’m supposed to hate you. But look at me.”
“Look at me,” you echoed.
“A hunter and a witch, who would have thought?” He said amused. You smiled shyly.
“I… I forgive you, Dean.” He sagged in relief. “But I won’t forget.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He lifted his hand to brush his fingers down your cheek lovingly. “Can I kiss you?”
You blinked at him, letting his words sink in. Once they did, your grin widened, and you reached up on your tip-toes to plant a soft kiss to his lips.
When you pulled back after a moment, he searched your eyes, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him to stop.
But you didn’t.
He leaned down to press his lips to yours, harder this time, wrapping his arms around your waist to lift you to gain better access. His lips were soft against yours, moving in fever, his body warm against you.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
“I can’t. Because I do.” You kissed him roughly, bringing your hands up to curl in his hair. He growled against your lips and moved you to the bed, pressing you down beneath him gently. He rolled his body over yours and you widened your legs to let him fit between them. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Dean.”
He moved to suck and kiss your pulse point, making you moan. “God, me too.”
You cupped his face and dragged his mouth back to yours. His hands lowered to the button on your jeans, popping them open before he pulled away from your mouth again. You whined at the loss and he chuckled.
“Patience, baby.”
You raised your hips as he pulled down your jeans. He kissed down your legs as he pulled off your socks and looked up at you with hooded eyes. He grinned against your skin before he kissed his way back up, landing a kiss to the top of your pelvis. He thumbed your panties.
“Are you sure?”
“God, yes.” You ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, and that was all he needed.
He pulled your panties down your legs, kissing the area above your pubic bone as he gently coaxed your legs further apart. You peered down at him, but his eyes were trained on your sex, his pupils dilated wide, lips slightly swollen from your kissing. Jesus, the man was like sex on legs.
He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the hood of your clit. You groaned and jerked at his touch, keening when his tongue ran through your folds.
“Jesus, Dean!”
He ate you out slowly at first, teasingly licking and sucking, before he moved faster, feasting on you like a starved man. His tongue prodded at your entrance before he licked inside, his thumb strumming your clit it time with his ministrations. Your hips raised off the bed, pleasure jolting through you, but he splayed his free hand over your abdomen, keeping you down, making you take everything he was giving.
“Dean!”
He smirked against you, dragging his tongue up through your folds again, sending a deep shudder over you. He hummed, flicking his tongue over your clit a few times, a moan eliciting itself from your throat. He slowly pushed a finger inside you, your back arching slightly as he curled it, pumping a few times before adding another. He suddenly sucked down roughly, a cry pushing itself from your lungs to bounce off the walls, his fingers scissoring in and out at a rapid pace. Your chest was heaving as he curled his fingers again, curling so deep, pads brushing against your g-spot with every move.
You came, falling over the edge violently as he suddenly and harshly sucked your clit into his mouth again. He continued to give kitten licks to your clit as you came down from your high. As you caught your breath, you peeked an eye open to spot him grinning like a cat.
“Don’t ruin it, Winchester.”
He laughed and pushed himself up to kiss your cheek. “But that’s so much fun!”
You smirked and reached for his belt. You unbuckled it and took it off him before throwing it aside. He kicked off his shoes and you unbuttoned his jeans. He pushed himself up to stand and shimmy out of them, peeling off his socks as he went, before he pulled his shirt up and over his head. His boxers strained against his dick, and you went to reach for them, but he stopped you.
“Take off your shirt.”
You froze. If you did, he’d see the scars on your back. They were so gloriously unsexy and you knew he’d look at you in disgust if he saw them.
“No, I don’t want to.”
You were still sitting up, but Dean bent to crawl over you. Your faces were only inches apart, his breath fanning over your face. You shivered.
“Sweetheart, I’ve seen your back before it was healed. Don’t hide from me. You don’t have to hide from me.”
“They’re ugly,” you whispered. He shook his head and lifted one of your hands to kiss your knuckles.
“Nothing about you is ugly, Y/n,” he said softly. “Don’t be ashamed of them. Please.”
You swallowed hard and closed your eyes for a moment. Once you gathered enough courage, you lifted your shirt up and over your head, knowing your scars were on full display for him if he just looked over your shoulder. You sighed and he lifted his hand to run over your shoulder, down your back, and to the clasp of your bra.
“Look at me,” he said. You complied, keeping your eyes on him as he unclasped your bra and gently pulled the straps down your arms. He tossed it behind him, leaving you naked beneath him. He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “I love every inch of you, Y/n.”
You shuddered as he kissed your neck again.
“I want you,” you whispered into his ear. You ran a hand over his back and up to scratch lightly at the nape of his neck.
He kissed you quickly and pushed his boxers down and off. His cock sprang free, and you reached down, gripping it. He groaned as you ran your thumb over his tip, spreading the pre-cum that beaded there, before stroking him a few more times.
“Do you want me?”
He cleared his throat and grunted as you squeezed him gently. “You know I do.”
You licked the shell of his ear, feeling him tremble beneath you. “Then show me.”
He snapped.
He growled low in his throat as he pushed you down gently, hovering over you, one hand gripping one of yours, the other batting your other hand away from his cock. You giggled and he gave you a pointed look before positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock running up and down your slit a few times, lathering himself in your wetness. He pressed himself gently into you, only the tip of him nestled in your warmth.
He entwined your fingers together, eyes locked on yours as he slowly eased himself into you. You felt your walls stretch to accommodate him, a slight burn following, but it quickly eased as he bottomed out.
“God, you feel good,” he said lowly into your ear. He gently pulled out until just the tip of his cock was inside you before pushing back in. He moved in long, deep strokes, and hell did it feel good. You slowly began to feel yourself moving with him, trying to match his thrusts and meet him there.
“Faster,” you pleaded, the coil once again beginning to wrap around itself. He bottomed out with each thrust, and his balls slapped against your ass with each plunge. He quickened his pace, but also lifted your leg to wrap around his waist. The angle allowed him to reach depths you didn’t even know you had. He brushed against your sweet spot with each stroke of his cock, and your eyes fell shut at the intense pleasure.
“Dean, I need more,” you said breathlessly. He moved his hand down between you, his finger beginning to strum at your clit in small circles, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. “I’m going to come.”
“You can do it, baby,” Dean said. “I’m right behind you.”
He began to rub your clit faster and harder, his hips stuttering into a sloppy pace as he neared his own end. With one more thrust of his cock against your sweet spot, you were coming, body spasming and inner walls clenching around his dick. He followed only moments after, his face buried in your neck as he moaned his relief, spilling himself deep inside you.
You stayed still for a moment, his cock still enveloped inside you as the two of you simply laid together in the afterglow. He kissed your neck and pulled out once his cock had softened inside you.
He left for a moment, disappearing into the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He swiped it between your legs, then his own, before he tossed it back into the bathroom. He climbed back into bed with you and pulled you against his chest. You winced as your scars rubbed up against his chest, but he simply pulled you tighter against him.
This was Dean. You shouldn’t be ashamed. Not around him. Not at all.
He kissed the back of your neck. “I will never, ever, hurt you again, Y/n.”
You grabbed hold of one of his hands, tugging it up to your chest over your heart, holding it there. You sighed happily and smiled.
“I know, Dean.”
He gently lifted a finger to tilt your chin back to look him in the eye. “No. You don’t. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” He kissed you softly. “I swear it.”
“I love you.”
He smiled, eyes crinkling as he looked at you. He kissed you again, gently, lovingly, and brushed a hand over the side of your face.
“I love you, too.”
#dean winchester x reader#supernatural#fanfiction#oneshot#commission#dean x reader#dean winchester#spn#waywardrose13
124 notes
·
View notes
Text
Trust Fall - Finale | Lee Minho
summary | character profiles | masterlist
Pairing: Lee Minho/Lee Know x Reader
Summary: The final battle takes place, and Minho must make decisions that could cost him everything once more. The finale puts both his and your trust to the test, and one can only wait to see who falls.
Genre: Secret agent/spy au, romance, angst, action
Word count: Approx. 7.4k
Warnings for this chapter: Genre-typical violence and blood due to action/fight scenes
A/N: The last chapter is here! It’s been such a ride with this series; it was a bit stressful and challenging to write, but I really enjoyed it nonetheless. I’m also very happy to know that you all enjoyed as well, and I really appreciate your patience and support throughout this series! I hope the finale doesn’t disappoint...I tried my best to make it as good as possible. There are a lot of loopholes, I’m so sure, but thank you nonetheless! Here’s the last chapter! Have fun, and don’t hesitate to drop an ask for any questions or comments!
Four men fight in the hotel’s back lobby, each one struggling to ensure that they don’t end up like the dead men on the floor. Their guns are scattered on the now bloodied marble floors, out of ammo and useless. Instead, the four men focus on using their fists, displaying their hand-to-hand prowess as a result of tedious training and experience. Chan fends off with Jung, while Changbin fights a man named Ahn - this quiet individual was known as Jung’s right-hand man in SKZ.
Ahn swings a knife at Changbin, silent as always. Changbin easily evades it, grabbing the blade despite the edge piercing his skin. With enough force mustered, Changbin yanks the blade, causing Ahn to stumble forward. The agent then swings his leg, hitting Ahn’s ankle. The enemy falls to the floor, and Changbin takes the chance to lunge the knife at him. However, Ahn recovers and knocks the knife out of the agent’s hand, gripping at his wrists as they wrestle for an upper-hand over each other.
Meanwhile, Jung has Chan on a choke-hold, directing the agent to look at where Changbin and Ahn are scuffling with each other on the floor. “You had me fooled, Bang Chan. I thought you were loyal to me.” Jung laughs.
Chan elbows the elder and manages to break free from his hold, taking a few steps away, “I was at first...until Minho discovered what you were really up to.”
“I’m curious...how long did he know?”
“Since Jiyeon.” Chan says flatly, “He was already suspecting her for a while after they started dating. He thought that you were covering up for her because she was your favorite agent, but when you gave the order to kill her, Minho knew.”
“Oh?” Jung lunges for Chan with some punches.
“What kind of father allows an agent to kill his daughter?” Chan blocks Jung’s punches, “Simple. A father so obsessed and driven by his involvement with the enemy that he’d do anything to keep that a secret.”
“So Lee figured that out, too huh? Not many people knew Jiyeon was my daughter.” Jung continues to fight.
Chan does as well, smirking slightly, “Minho is very perceptive and resourceful.”
“And does y/n know this?”
“Minho believes some things are better left unsaid.”
Jung then pounces at Chan, knocking him down on the floor. He clambers on top of the agent, ready to pull more punches. However, Chan head-butts the elder with his forehead, the force knocking Jung back and allowing the agent to push him off and get back up on his feet. The two men then resume their fight, a mix of skillful and agile maneuvering, punching and kicking.
Changbin manages to land a punch on Ahn’s face - and he’s sure that broke his nose, judging by the way blood trickled from his opponent’s nostrils - before running up the lobby’s staircase. Ahn grunts, quickly following the agent. The two resume their battle, and Ahn trips Changbin, using his extreme strength to lift Changbin and toss him towards the coffee table on the second floor. The agent lands on the surface with a grunt, hissing as he quickly sits up. A few wooden splinters stick to the side of his body, but he manages to stand up, spitting some blood onto the floor.
He glares at Ahn who has the same intense expression. They then run at each other, using as much force to try and push each other down. Ahn is much stronger, taking advantage of Changbin’s injury to make him stumble back with a shove. Unfortunately for Ahn, Changbin stumbled back towards a shelf that had several ornaments and vases. Taking the chance as Ahn speeds towards him, Changbin grabs a vase and smashes it onto his opponent’s head. Ahn hisses as he gets disoriented, not having time to catch his bearings as Changbin grabs his collar. With furrowed eyebrows and flaming eyes, Changbin pushes the man off the balcony, watching as Ahn falls to the first floor with a sickening thud.
Changbin runs down the stairs, checking Ahn’s pulse. As he is sure that his opponent is surely unconscious - but not dead, Changbin grabs handcuffs from his back pocket and cuffs Ahn’s wrists. He stands up, scanning the room for any sign of Chan and Jung, only to see that the two males are still fighting.
Jung tries to stab Chan with a knife in his hand, but the agent proves his strength by keeping Jung’s weapon away from him. Though it’s strenuous, Chan manages to force the blade out of Jung’s hands, promptly pushing the elder off of him. He gets up, positioned and ready to resume fighting with his fists. The older man lunges at Chan, but the latter is fortunately able to pivot in time, grabbing Jung’s wrists. Chan makes one strong tug, bringing Jung close so that he could knee him in the abdomen. He follows up with another kick, watching us Jung stumbles back.
With Jung still recovering his bearings, Chan swiftly charges at the elder, delivering a powerful kick that has the elder crashing into a small wooden table, grunting in pain as it snaps in half. Perhaps it was age, but it takes a moment for Jung to regain his bearings, slowly trying to get up with difficulty. Also, Chan’s strength was no joke either way. “You truly are one of the best agents.” Jung snickers.
Chan frowns, eyebrows furrowed in irritation, “Unfortunate that you were the one who trained us in our earlier days.”
Jung eventually stands on his feet, mustering all his strength to run towards Chan, intent on beating him down. However, as he sprints across the room, Chan pulls out a gun, pulling the trigger at the chandelier above. Without much time to react, Jung can only look up as the intricate lighting drops at him. He tries to step away, but it’s too late as the chandelier crushes his leg, trapping him in place. He hisses in pain, glaring at Chan. As if reading the elder’s mind, Chan deadpans, “I ran out of bullets, but I picked up a spare gun from these...bodies.”
Jung huffs a breath out, trying to yank his leg away from the heavy chandelier, but Changbin is already behind him, binding his wrists with handcuffs. The younger agent says sharply, “You’re just getting what you deserve, sir.”
Chan sighs, loosening the tie around his neck, “We should follow Minho as soon as back-up arrives.”
Changbin nods, striking Jung’s pressure point to render him unconscious. “Alright, got it.” the younger states, letting Jung’s unconscious body fall to the floor.
Unfortunately for Minho, Choi and Baek’s back-up arrived faster than he anticipated. The two older men hide behind their flat-tired vehicle while their agents face off with him.
Minho starts with the first two, pocketing his gun and opting to use his physical combat skills at his disposal. It was easier than he expected, in all honesty; even Jeongin was more skilled than these so-called bodyguards. The agent exchanged a little hand-to-hand combat with the rest of his opponents. One enemy tries to punch Minho’s face, but quickly reacts, pivoting as he grabs the opponent’s wrist. With calculated ease, Minho twists the opponent’s arm and delivers a decisive knee to his abdomen, causing the enemy to crumple on the ground. Minho finishes it off with another knee to the face, rendering one enemy unconscious.
Another man charges at Minho with a flurry of punches and kicks that were more calculated than the last opponent’s. The agent expertly blocks all the enemy’s attempts, occasionally swinging a few strikes himself. With one particular punch, Minho ducks and grabs his opponent’s arm, gripping tightly to flip him over. The enemy lands on his back with a sickening crack, groaning in pain as Minho pulls his gun out to knock him out with one shot.
The third opponent swings his leg below, causing Minho to fall to the ground as well. This particular opponent manages to land a punch that has Minho’s lip bleeding. However, the agent isn’t done, unfazed with his split lip as he kicks his foot upwards, knocking his opponent back. Minho is quick on his feet, already standing up just as his opponent steadies his footing. The man throws a knife at Minho who easily dodges it. The agent then pulls his gun out, shooting the third opponent twice for good measure.
Craning his neck as if it were strained, Minho glares at the remaining enemies. However, he notices that Choi is nowhere to be found. He decides to chase the man later and would deal with Baek for now; after all the traitor was grinning at him wickedly - he definitely had something up his sleeve.
Minho glares, “If you surrender now, I’ll ensure you have a quick and painless death.”
Baek laughs, shaking his head, “Nice try, kid, but that’s not going to work.”
The scientist pulls out his own gun, shooting at Minho with surprisingly accurate shots. It catches the agent off-guard for a split second, but he recovers and swiftly evades the bullets. One bullet, however, manages to hit Minho's shoulder, and he winces upon contact. Still, he pays no attention to it as he aims his own gun at Baek. The two men then begin their shoot-out, each person able to land a shot or two on each other. There was too much open space in this area, and Minho was still careful to ensure that innocent people wouldn’t get hit by stray bullets; they were, after all, still in Jeju.
Baek then surprises Minho again by discarding his empty gun and charging at him with surprising speed. It takes Minho a second to register, managing to block Baek’s punch with just milliseconds to spare. Baek is stronger than he looks, the force of his swings making Minho take a few steps back.
“Don’t look so surprised, Agent Lee.” Baek mocks, “You aren’t the only agent SKZ produced that was gifted with combat.”
Minho glares, swinging a few punches and kicks that Baek blocks and evades as well, “Nice to know that scientists can fight too.”
“I was an agent before a scientist, Agent Lee.” Baek snickers, “Jung and I go way back.”
Minho ignores Baek’s idle conversations, putting more focus on their fight instead.
If Baek wasn’t an enemy Minho wanted to kill with his own hands, he would be impressed. The scientist was able to keep up with him in close-combat, a skill that Minho took pride in as well. Minho had started using his pocket knife midway into the fight, and Baek was able to counter his attacks with his own blade. Minho makes some sort of flashy movement with his knife and as planned, it distracts Baek’s eyes for a second. With a small window of opportunity, Minho uses his free hand to grab Baek’s wrist, holding the scientist in place as he brings a knee to his stomach. The agent then uses the same knee to strike an uppercut to Baek’s jaw before twirling the knife in his hand to lodge it into Baek’s shoulder.
However, before the tip of the knife can even touch Baek’s skin, the scientist head-butts Minho’s face, causing the agent to take a small step back. He brings a hand to his bloodied nose, wiping the red liquid away. As soon as Minho’s eyes land on his opponent, Baek grabs the agent’s jaw with strong hands and grips tightly, “You’re in the way, Agent Lee.”
Baek delivers a painful punch to Minho’s jaw before repeatedly hitting his abdomen with his knee. Minho isn’t sure why he isn’t able to react in time - he usually does - but perhaps it was because Baek was just as skilled as him. Baek was displaying top-level combat skills that could level his, Chan and Changbin’s prowess. So when Minho falls to his knees, attempting to catch his breath, Baek proceeds to kick the life and fire out of him. The agent coughs out blood onto the ground, finally feeling the pain from all the assaults on his body. Still, it was quite satisfying to fight someone who didn’t die after just one shot or two punches.
Baek squats down to meet Minho’s level, his strong hand coming up to grab the agent’s throat. He squeezes hard, ensuring that Minho could not breathe a sliver of air for even a split second. Minho feels his throat straining and drying, head spinning from the lack of oxygen. The kicks to his stomach didn’t help, making him want to scream at the man strangling him.
Was this what it was like to feel powerless? Was this how you felt when you were forced to work for Baek?
Minho had almost forgotten what it was like to feel weak and vulnerable.
But then he remembers why he doesn’t let himself feel this way.
How could he protect people if he was weak and vulnerable?
Gritting his teeth, Minho grabs another pocket knife from his belt and swiftly jabs it into Baek’s leg. The scientist yells in pain, finally letting go. Minho dryly coughs blood as he catches his breath, putting as much distance as he can between him and the scientist. By the time Baek disregards the pain in his leg, Minho is back in front of him, a newfound fire in his eyes. The agent grabs Baek’s arm, gripping tightly as he swings him half-circle and uses whatever strength he has to throw him like he was swinging a baseball bat.
Baek stumbles along and trips on his feet due to the momentum, giving Minho ample time to kick him and stomp his foot onto Baek’s back, ensuring that the man stays down.
When the agent hears the shuffling of footsteps, he assumes that Choi is still somewhere around. His assumption is then proven correct as he sees a figure sneaking around by the vehicle. With sharp eyes, Minho aims his gun at the figure, ready to pull the trigger.
However, his cold gaze falters when he sees a Cle agent holding a familiar person in his arms handling the body quite roughly. The three figures then come into view, revealing a Cle agent, Choi, and you.
It was as if his whole world froze, eyes watching as a Cle agent shoved you around roughly as you struggled in his grasp. There was no fear in your eyes, only anger and distaste. Yet Minho was the one afraid for you. If he had to watch you being treated so horribly, then screw those men.
With gritted teeth, Minho aims his gun at the Cle agent and shoots without a second thought, killing the man. However, it back-fires as another gunshot is heard, and Minho eyes land on the bloom of red staining your jeans. His ears hear your cry of pain, struggling to stay standing as Choi shoots your leg.
Before Minho can shoot Choi down, however, the older male yells, “Don’t shoot, Agent Lee!”
Choi puts you on a choke-hold with one arm, his free hand holding a gun to your head. “You make any moves, and her head will be decorating this place!” Choi threatens.
Minho glares, jaw tensing as he slowly lowers his gun. You look at him with pleading eyes, shaking your head frantically, “Minho, no! Forget about me and stop them!”
“Her life or your mission, Agent Lee.”
You look at the agent with a serious expression, “Please, Minho! We need to stop them at all costs!”
Even if it costs my life, you wanted to tell him, it’s the least I could do to amend the wrongs of the past.
Minho knows better and should technically let you die, right? He was trained for this...trained for situations like this where sacrifices had to be made for the good of all. It was, after all, his duty as an agent. His logical mind was constantly reminding him of this fact and made sure that he remembered it at any time. Yes, of course, fully and completely trained to sacrifice someone for the greater good. Trained to strike down anyone without a second thought as long as it benefited the people.
But why was he hesitating then?
A stormy conflict gathers inside him as his eyes never leave yours. He knows by heart that his duty would require him to shoot his enemies down, either injuring or killing you in the process; but it would be for the greater good. He knows this indeed. But he doesn’t want to do it.
His dilemma distracts him, and Baek shoves his foot off of him. It all happens quickly now; Baek takes advantage of that second-long distraction, grabbing Minho’s gun from him and aiming it at the agent. He pulls the trigger without hesitation, shooting Minho at the abdomen. Once the bullet meets his body, Minho silently gasps, his attention now on Baek.
“Minho!”
Another pull to the trigger, another shot. This time, it hits Minho so, so, so close to the heart.
The agent coughs out more blood, the red liquid dripping down his chin. He falls to his knees, clutching his waist in an attempt to stop the bleeding and alleviate the pain.
“Minho, please! No!” you scream.
Baek snickers at Minho, dropping his gun and bending down to look at the bloodied agent with spite. He grips Minho’s hair, pulling and forcing the agent to look at him. “You were able to kill your lover for the sake of SKZ years ago.” Baek begins coldly, “Why couldn’t you do the same now?”
Minho knows that it’s because you were different from Jiyeon, and that you deserved to live and be happy in life. That after the nightmares you’ve been through, you deserved to see the light and live the way you wanted to.
Minho looks at you with sad eyes, a small smile forming on his bloodied lips. You bite your lip trying not to cry or show any weakness. The sight makes Minho close his eyes, head drooping low as if he were defeated.
With that, Baek scoffs and shoves Minho away, beginning to walk over to you and Choi, ready to leave the scene. Choi releases his hold on you and moves the gun away from your head. However, when Baek stands in front of you and grabs your chin, you spit at his face and glare. Angered, the man slaps you with the back of his hand. Before, you would have cowered in fear and submitted to his tyranny. But now, you hold your glare and refuse to back down, keeping firm in your anger and wrath.
“Your boyfriend is half-dead, and we won.” Baek snarls, “You should know when to quit it, Dr. Song.”
“Not for you.” you growl back.
Just as Choi grips your arm to direct you to the vehicle the now-dead Cle agent brought over on the far side of this area, you pull a bottle from your pocket and smash it on Choi’s head.
The man screams in pain as the serum immediately takes effect on his skin, burning and rotting away. You take steps back to avoid getting affected, but your back hits Baek as you do so. The scientist punches your cheek with no mercy, causing you to fall to the ground with a yelp. The man is about to kick you when a gunshot pierces through, hitting Baek square on the head.
Your head snaps over to the side, revealing Minho with one hand holding his gun, the other still gripping his waist. It amazes you that even with one eye squinted in pain, he managed to shoot Baek down on the head. Truly the sharpshooter everyone praises him to be.
But it was not time to be impressed.
Ignoring your own injury on your leg, you scramble to your feet and run over to Minho, carefully making your way into his outstretched arms. He enveloped you in a weak yet secure hug, kissing the top of your head. His thumb gently strokes the area Baek had punched you at. “Are you ok?” he gently whispers.
You nod, pulling away just enough to look at him. “I’m fine, but you?”
Minho groans, consciousness slipping as his weary eyes threaten to close, “I’m - ”
He doesn’t get to finish because his legs give up on him. You manage to catch him before he completely falls. Slowly and carefully, you support him and help the agent lay on the ground. You sit next to him, carefully lifting his head to lay it on your lap, now letting your tears run freely. “You’re so stupid.” you choke out, “Stupid, stupid, stupid. I told you not to worry about me.”
Minho chuckles weakly, “How can I not, y/n? I care about you too much.”
You sniff and pout your lip, sighing, “And now look at you.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Minho assures you despite the clear expression of pain on his face, “Also, weren’t you supposed to be with Felix?”
You nod, slowly opening Minho’s shirt to inspect his injuries. “We were...but then we got separated when Cle agents ambushed us.” you explain.
Minho closes his eyes as your fingers gently and carefully touch the areas around his gunshot wounds. The blood coats your fingers, but you ignore it in favor of putting your palms over the wounds to stop the bleeding. Minho winces in pain, but you soothe him with a soft “shhh” and plant a gentle kiss on his forehead.
“They’ll be here soon...and...and...we’ll get you treated as soon as possible.” you whisper, cradling his face with your gentle hands and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “Hang on a bit, ok?”
Minho tilts his head slightly, asking softly, “How’s your leg?”
You quickly glance at the gunshot wound on your leg and offer a smile, “It hurts...it really does. But it’s ok. I’ll be strong for you, for everyone.”
Minho reaches a hand up to caress your cheek, a fond smile on his lips as he speaks, “You’re amazing.”
“No, you are.” you whisper, tears dripping down to his face and causing him to chuckle.
“Don’t cry.” Minho hums, moving his hand to place it at the back of your neck.
As gently as he can, he brings your head lower, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. You taste the metallic tinge of his blood, but for his sake, you ignore it and kiss him with all the love and emotion you can manage to pour. You kiss him like your lips were the only thing capable of keeping him breathing, a lifeline to ensure that he didn’t slip away from you.
After a moment, you both hear cars approaching nearby. Minho pulls away, smiling at you without a word. You mirror his expression, leaning down to cradle his head against your chest. Minho’s arms come around to embrace you, feeling all the pain and tension slowly melt away.
Seconds later, a rush of footsteps approach, and frantic voices ask if you were both alright. You pull away from Minho’s embrace, eyes lighting up as you see Chan kneeling beside you two. The older male looks at the unconscious Minho, smiling sadly at his best friend. He then turns to you, eyes warm and gentle. “It’s all done, y/n. You ok?”
You nod, a small but pained smile on your lips, “More or less. You?”
“Never been better.” Chan laughs lightly.
Changbin then arrives, giving you a smile before helping Chan lift Minho up. A few other SKZ agents come to carry Minho into one of the cars with Changbin. Chan then offers his hand, which you take as he helps you up. Noticing the wound on your leg, the male carries you in his arms as well, walking over to another car. There, Felix greets you with a cry of joy.
“Y/n! I was so worried! I am so sorry!” the young agent says.
You give him an assuring smile and reply, “It’s ok Lix, don’t worry.”
The young agent moves aside to give you space in the car, and Chan carefully sets you down on the seat. You glance over to the bigger car where they put Minho in, a small frown now replacing your smile. Chan follows your gaze before chuckling softly and ruffling your hair. “He’ll be fine, y/n. Trust me.” Chan winks, “Minho won’t let himself die just like that...not when you’re in his life now.”
You fight the blush blooming on your cheeks and play it off with a sheepish grin. “Let’s go home, Chan.”
The older agent smiles, a playful salute following after, “Roger that, Dr. Song.”
Several days have passed since the mission at Jeju. Minho gets his treatment at the clinic with Seungmin’s help, and you and Jisung help the team dispose of all the Cle serums they acquired during the mission. It’s an ongoing process as various teams led by Changbin are infiltrating the remaining Cle bases and taking whatever serums they can for disposal using your solution.
Chan and a man named Im Hangyul deal with the internal affairs and revelations of Jung’s betrayal as the traitor as being kept imprisoned in the government’s highly-secured prison facility. Hyunjin has flown to Jeju to deal with discussions and aid in the damage done to the hotel during the entirety of the mission.
Jeongin and Felix keep track of everything, helping out where they can and whenever they can. Though they do spend most of their time with Minho in his clinic room as he recovers. You drop by every now and then, but Minho knows how busy you are so he tells you to prioritize your work first. After all, you could both talk afterwards.
And that is precisely what you both do a few days later, standing in one of the rooftop lounges of the living quarters.
Your hands rest on the railings as you stare at the horizon, fresh air dancing between your hair. A familiar voice calls out for your name, and you see Minho slowly walking over to you when you turn around. He smiles gently, and you offer a grin of your own. It doesn’t take long for him to reach you, and as soon as he does, his arms wrap around your waist as he brings you closer. You melt in his hold, releasing a deep breath as you take in his scent and close your eyes in bliss.
You remain like that for a moment until Minho pulls away just enough to look at you. His eyes are warm and gentle as they search yours, a goldenness melting into yours the longer he stares. You stifle a giggle and softly ask, “What?”
Minho chuckles, pecking your lips. “I’m sorry for lying to you.” he says gently, “I’m sorry for being a hypocrite, telling you to not keep secrets from me when in reality, I kept secrets from you.”
“Min...you...you probably - ”
“No, y/n. I expected you to be honest with me, but I wasn’t doing the same. No excuses. I really am sorry.” Minho says firmly yet gently.
You kiss his nose and respond in kind, “It’s ok Minho, I forgive you. But...I’m still a bit confused with what went down.”
Right. The whole fiasco in Jeju was still unanswered, and he did promise to explain everything once it was over.
“I promised I would explain, so here it is.”
“I’m listening.”
Minho begins to speak, starting off with how he began suspecting Jung years ago during the whole Jiyeon situation. He then explains that he, Chan and Changbin monitored Jung all those years and kept an eye on him by earning his trust. They brought this up to the authority they could truly trust - Im Hangyul, or the man they met at the bar the other time. Hangyul instructed them to keep pretending to be loyal to Jung until he showed his true colors.
“Hangyul was Jung’s colleague when they were younger agents, but Hangyul never felt at east with Jung. Jung never really cared about Hangyul’s involvement as long as he did his job as SKZ’s upper authority. Jung didn’t suspect Hangyul’s plans because Hangyul was able to make it seem like he was too naive for Jung’s schemes.” Minho continues to explain.
“So...Hangyul orchestrated everything to make sure Jung would eventually show his true colors?”
“I think Jung would eventually betray SKZ no matter what. Hangyul just anticipated it made sure that we knew how to go about it in the eventuality it happened. On the other hand, Jung manipulated some missions to make it seem less suspicious while still getting the job done on Cle's side. It’s a bit...complicated, I know.”
“No kidding.” you chuckle.
Minho smiles before continuing, “Long story short, Hangyul came up with the plan for me, Chan and Changbin to seem extremely loyal to Jung so that he didn’t suspect us. We’d play along with his business and whatnot, and then arrest him when the time came. That’s what went down back in Jeju.”
“I see. Felix and I were worried back then.”
“I wanted to tell you about our plan, but Hangyul told us not to tell anyone else.” Minho makes an apologetic expression, “He was afraid that it would make things messier than they already were. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Minho.” you say with a smile, “You did what you had to do.”
A chuckle escapes his lips as he leans down to kiss you. However, before he can, you put a hand in between and smirk. “Was ‘shooting’ me part of the plan?” you teasingly ask.
“Yes…” Minho trails off before clearing his throat, “Hangyul knew that you and Felix were going to get involved either way, so he wanted to make it seem like I didn’t care about you out of loyalty to Jung. It was to protect you, otherwise Jung would have shot you for real himself. We knew he wouldn’t have Felix killed on the spot, so Chan handled that.”
“Not sure if I should find that romantic or concerning.” you laugh.
The agent laughs with you, shaking his head. “I just don’t want you dead, case closed.”
“How sweet.”
Minho smirks at you; without wasting another second, he kisses you deeply, hands gently cradling your face as he brings you closer and closer. Your arms coil around his neck as you respond, kissing him with equal fervor. Tongues meet in a passionate dance while lips slide in perfect harmony; it’s a beautiful symphony of intimacy, a newfound addiction that swallows both of you whole. It’s a song of yearning hearts that can finally do as they please after having to hurdle past roadblocks and towering walls.
You both separate with a popping sound, breathing heavy and faces flushed. With hearts beating like drums, you breathe out, “Thank you, Minho.”
“For?”
“Helping me trust again. For sticking with me and showing me that there are people worth trusting...that there are people who genuinely care. Just...thank you for changing my life.” you say softly, a single tear slipping from your eye.
Minho smiles gently, thumb brushing the stray tear away. “You did change things for me too, y/n.” he begins, “You helped me open up again. I’ve almost forgotten what it was like to feel and care for someone the way I do for you. You showed me that people aren’t so difficult and that emotions aren’t useless.”
You’re overwhelmed with so much emotion that you can’t speak; instead, you just smile at Minho like he was the brightest star and most valuable treasure ever. The male laughs, kissing your nose, “I never really said it out loud but…”
He then presses a gentle kiss to your lips and whispers, “I love you, y/n. Genuinely and sincerely, I love you.”
You hum against his lips, unable to stop the giddy giggle from escaping your lips. “I love you too, Minho. Genuinely and sincerely.”
The agent is about to open his mouth to speak when a calm and gentle voice breaks the romantic atmosphere.
“Dr. Song, a moment, please.”
Both you and Minho turn around to see a smiling man waving in a friendly manner. Minho bows respectfully, “Sir Im.”
Hangyul chuckles, smiling at the agent. “Agent Lee, sorry to interrupt, but I must speak to Dr. Song.”
Minho knows what this is about, and he can’t help the feeling of worry settle in his guts. Still, he flashes you a melancholic smile, squeezing your hand a second longer than he had intended. Hangyul gives him an apologetic yet assuring smile as the agent walks away from the lounge. Now that you and Hangyul are alone, the elder speaks, “I assume Minho already told you everything?”
“Yes, he did, sir.”
“Well, congratulations on completing your mission here at SKZ, my dear. However, as I remember, you and Jung agreed on something.”
“Yes, we did.”
You could return to the hospital as soon as your job was done in SKZ.
Hangyul tilts his head and smiles gently, “You’re free to go back to Gongjak now that this mission is over.”
“Right, of course.”
You’re about to ask him whether you should pack your things, but Hangyul hums and offers a slightly cheekier grin. “But as SKZ’s new head, I am also offering you a job here. The lab department, or more like Han Jisung actually, would like to have you work there. That department lost a lot of good scientists and doctors after Baek and Jung’s betrayal.”
A small sparkle of hope glimmers in your eyes.
“Of course, I am aware that a lot of trauma was placed on you in those very labs, so we’d surely understand if you choose to return to Gongjak.”
“I see…” you trail off before clearing your throat and looking at Hangyul with a determined glaze, “Sir...do you believe in new beginnings?”
“Why of course, dear.” Hangyul chuckles, “Especially with the right environment and mindset. And...the right people.”
“Then...I’ve made my decision.” you say proudly.
Hangyul smiles, offering you his hand, “Come then. Let us finalize things and make arrangements.”
Minho may have recovered from his injuries, but the exhaustion from all the missions and fights the past months were still lingering. As such, the agent lay on one of the couches of the lounge room, eyes shut as he remained fast asleep. Despite his keen senses, he does not stir awake when someone opens the door and quietly walks towards him.
He only wakes - but doesn’t open his eyes - when he feels a weight laying on top of him. When he feels a head nuzzling against his chest and sighing in relief, a small smile graces his lips. “Are you here to say goodbye, or are you here to stay?” he mumbles.
You chuckle, listening to his steady heartbeat, unconsciously counting its beats. “If I said it was to say goodbye...then what?”
Minho opens his eyes, his gaze now on you. A smirk is on his lips as his hands find purchase on your hips, “Then you have a very naughty way of saying goodbye.”
A bright laugh escaped your lips as you shift around to look at Minho, a giddily warm gaze in his eyes. You feel the butterflies in your stomach when he smiles at you, and you have no choice but to smile back. You crawl a bit higher, high enough to bring your faces close together. You tease a kiss on his lips, the touch fleeting and feather light. The male chases you with a simple lift of his head, wrapping his velvety lips around yours.
You hum into his mouth as he does with yours, fingers splaying across his chest as you steady yourself. Minho’s left hand tangles between the locks of your hair while the other holds onto your waist like a lock. A tongue darts out, and you take the chance to tease him once more by pulling away just as he tastes you. With a giggle from you, Minho’s deadpan expression morphs into that of amusement.
“Clearly, you are enjoying this.” he jokes.
You laugh, “Just a little fun.”
“Mhmm.” Minho smirks at you, pinching your cheek.
“I’m staying, Minho.” you eventually blurt out, observing his reaction.
The agent looks blank at first, but when your words sink in, his eyes widen in pleasant surprise as he chuckles. “You are?” he asks to be sure he heard right.
“Yes, I am.” you say softer this time, pressing your forehead against his, “Im Hangyul offered to let me work here since the lab department needed new people.”
Minho’s lips curl into a pleased smile, eyes glimmering with all the stars that he could fit. “You don’t know how happy that makes me, y/n. How happy that would make the boys.” Minho whispers against your skin when he peppers kisses on your cheek.
You giggle, humming in satisfaction at his reaction. Minho sits up, careful not to let you slip off his lap. Once seated, he rests his hands on your waist and looks up at you. “What made you change your mind?” he asks.
“Well,” you start, “I joined SKZ back then to help people, and it’s still what I want to do. I just couldn’t do it with all the...things that happened with Baek and the rest. But...you and Chan and the other boys helped me through it and as I told Hangyul, it’s a new beginning - a new start for me. With you guys, of course.”
The agent looks at you fondly, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “We look forward to having you with us, y/n.” he smiles.
You chuckle, gentle fingers tenderly ghosting over the bruises on his face, and your thumb carefully ghosting across the scar on his lip that was still healing. “I thought I was going to lose you that day, you know?” you say softly.
Minho smiles, lips curling cutely as he kisses you briefly, “I’m here now, and I’m not leaving you. Ever.”
He then proceeds to joke, “But I don’t mind getting injured every now and then if you’ll be the doctor tending to my wounds.”
“Lee Minho.” you playfully glare.
Minho laughs, wrapping his arms around your figure as he leans closer to kiss you tenderly, coaxing your mouth open with smooth ease. You let him do so anyway, smiling into the kiss as you press yourself closer to him. When he pulls away to look at you, the stars in his eyes dance with a brightness like no other.
“I love you.” he grins.
Your fingers play with the little hairs at the back of his neck. “I love you too.” you smile.
You’re both about to meet for another kiss when the lounge room door opens, revealing seven other boys. Flustered, you clamber off of Minho’s lap, causing the male to laugh in amusement. As soon as you’re on your feet, Felix comes crashing in and tackles you in a tight hug.
“Is it true that you’re staying?”
“Yeah, I am.” you laugh, hugging the younger male.
Felix celebrates, jumping up and down and blabbering about how you should all go out for a celebratory meal. Jisung and Seungmin walk over, and the three of you do a group hug. The doctor speaks up first, “It’s nice to be able to work with you again.”
“The feeling’s mutual, Seungmin.” you grin at him then at Jisung, “Right, Mr. Lab Department Head?”
Jisung smiles proudly, “Yes! This is going to be great.”
Hyunjin sits on one of the beanbags and smiles, “It’s customary for the newest recruit to treat us agents to something, by the way.”
“Really?” you look at Chan, Changbin and Minho for confirmation; the three just chuckle to themselves.
Jeongin sits on the beanbag next to Hyunjin and grins, eyes turning into narrow slits. “He’s just kidding. But if you want to...we won’t object.” the youngest sing-songs.
“Let me think about it.” you laugh.
“Yay! Jisung and Felix cheer.
Changbin then slings an arm around your shoulder and pretends to whisper; though, he “whispers” loud enough for Minho to hear. “We’re counting on you to keep an eye out for Minho, ok? Don’t fall too hard for his charms though…” the buff agent grins cheekily.
“Roger that.” you play along, prompting a “haha very funny” response from Minho.
Chan smiles like a proud older brother, gesturing his head to the large window that displays the sky in view. “Here’s to more missions then.” he smiles happily.
You nod in response, giving the eldest agent a hug of appreciation.
A few minutes later, everyone has settled in the room and are doing their own things. Jeongin, Felix, Jisung and Seungmin are playing UNO, Changbin and Hyunjin are watching a movie on the TV, and Chan is asleep on the other couch. You, meanwhile, stay snuggled against Minho with his arms wrapped securely around you. Your head rests on his shoulder as you both watch the other boys playfully ruin their friendships over UNO, an amused smile on your faces.
Minho then shifts his head to plant a kiss on the crown of your head. This prompts you to look up at him, smiling softly. Minho then smiles, pressing his forehead against yours as he whispers, “Welcome to SKZ, Dr. Song.”
“Thank you, Agent Lee.” you grin wider when he kisses your nose.
And after a quick, tender kiss on your lips, Minho whispers, “And welcome home.”
Stepping back into SKZ was like free-falling from a thousand-foot tower. Non-stop, heart-racing and terrifying falling at full speed. It took a fall or maybe two, and while every second and every inch of that tested your heart, mind and trust, it was worth it.
You put your trust in these boys - in Minho - and took that leap into the unknown, falling into a rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland.
And you’d do it again because you know - you trust - that someone was there to catch that fall.
“It’s good to be home.”
- BONUS EPILOGUE ; Two years later -
You sit on a beach towel, toes digging into the sand as you watch Jisung, Felix, Hyunjin and Jeongin play a very...unconventional game of volleyball. On the far end where the water begins to get deep, Chan, Changbin and Hangyul attempt to surf, though it results in a comical falling and flailing in water; quite cute, considering they were agents and whatnot.
Seungmin and a few other select agents are strolling the shoreline, either collecting shells or taking photos to preserve the memory. A smile graces your lips as a summery, salty breeze kisses your skin.
A minute or two later, Minho returns from the beach-side bar, two drinks in his hands. He takes his seat beside you, offering the other drink. You look at its bright blue color before smiling at Minho. “Can you be drinking, Agent Lee?” you playfully joke around.
Minho laughs, gently ruffling your hair, “We’re off-duty, Dr. Song. It’ll be fine.”
You take a sip of the drink and chuckle, eyes back on the boys playing volleyball. “Considering the last mission nearly killed you and Chan, I’d say you both deserve this vacation.” you playfully scrunch up your nose.
Minho hums after sipping his drink, “That...and you know how Felix has always wanted to go to Jeju on a non-mission context.”
“Oh, right.” you grin.
“And…” the agent trails off as he looms over, kissing your lips teasingly slow, “I did promise to take you on a beach date.”
“You’re two years late, by the way.” you tease with a smirk.
“Can’t help it. We’re busy people.” Minho laughs.
“Are you two gonna flirt and drink while we all burn under the sun, or are you gonna join us for some intense volleyball?” Jisung jokes, prompting you and Minho to laugh.
“Alright, alright. We’re coming.”
“Wait.” Hyunjin panics as you walk over to him, “Why does Minho look like he’s going to strike us down like target practice?”
Jeongin, who is on the same team as Minho now, merely smiles in the most innocent manner, “It’s ok, you have y/n, a literal doctor.”
“Somehow that doesn’t comfort me in the slightest!”
Felix laughs, “Game time!”
#stayhavennet#stray kids#lee know#lee know scenario#lee know imagine#minho#minho imagine#minho scenario#lee minho#lee minho scenario#lee minho imagine#stray kids scenario#stray kids imagine#skz#imagine#scenario#lee know x reader#minho x reader#lee minho x reader#spy#secret agent#au#spy au#secret agent au#s: trust fall#series: trust fall
201 notes
·
View notes
Text
Red and Gray in a Black and White World
Carmen Sandiego likes playing with colors.
In particular, VILE is black, while ACME is white.
This is why Carmen’s codename is Black Sheep, which later becomes ironic when she grows to be VILE’s literal “black sheep” and their thorn in the side. At the same time, Shadowsan too has a codename suggesting something dark in color. Of course, his name also foreshadows that he is the one protecting Carmen from the shadows.
Similarly, the ACME’s agent closest to Carmen is Julia Argent aka “silver”. She is not completely “white” and she is able to see the complexity of the world, differently from Devinaux and Zari.
As a matter of fact the whole point is that Carmen refuses a black and white vision of things. She doesn’t want to join VILE, but she doesn’t want to be a part of ACME either:
She wants to use her “wicked skills” for good.
This is a fitting theme for a show whose aim is to help kids learn about geography and how rich Earth is. It conveys the idea of complexity.
In other words, Carmen explores the world and its wonders at her own pace and with her own rules. This is expressed by her color being “red”. Everything about her is red. Her codename, her clothes and even her adoptive family:
Similarly, Gray is another character, who is neither black nor white, but (obviously) gray (duh).
This is made clear in Chief’s speech above and his moral complexity is also what makes his dynamic with Carmen so interesting.
“GRAY” AND “BLACK SHEEP”: NOT MY NAME ANYMORE
Carmen and Gray’s relationship is one of mutual attraction (platonic or romantic does not matter), but also of conflict.
They want the other by their side:
But they can’t agree on which side they should both be:
This is because they both refuse a part of the other. This refusal is well expressed through the name symbolism of both characters.
On one hand Gray keeps calling Carmen Black Sheep:
He refuses her new identity because he does not understand it:
On the other hand Carmen refuses Gray’s VILE persona, but also his civilian one.
This is interesting because her refusal of “Crackle” is something Carmen does willingly:
She does not genuinely understand it, just like Gray does not understand her being Carmen Sandiego.
At the same time, though, Carmen somehow also refuses Gray’s civilian identity and keeps calling him Gray instead of Graham:
Even if the brainwashing makes their friendship easier, Carmen still feels something is amiss. The person in front of her is not really “Gray”, but somehow a “white” version of him. It is not by chance that she is able to partially rebuild their past relationship by involving him in a dangerous mission:
And in this mission Carmen needs Gray’s “wicked skills” that are still a part of him. She becomes Gray’s link to his previous world:
Just like he is the one who symbolically introduces her to what truly means to be a criminal:
And to its harsher aspects:
At the same time, it is interesting that when brainwashed Carmen still refuses the codename Crackle:
And she only uses it when she thinks he has betrayed her:
In that moment it is as if Gray truly became “black” for her and changed from her partner in crime to an enemy.
In short, both characters can’t truly pintpoint who the other really is.
Who is Carmen really? And is Gray good or bad?
The answers to these questions are difficult because Carmen and Gray themselves are not sure until the end of the series.
THE MISSING MATRIOSKA AND BROKEN LIGHTS
Carmen does not know who she is, while Gray is caught up between his wish to be a criminal and his empathic side.
These internal conflicts are well conveyed through specific motifs linked to the two characters.
Firstly, Carmen’s journey of self-discovery is commented by the burnt matrioskas motif:
The matrioskas are what links Carmen to her biological family. They’re the only things she has had since she was born and it is later revealed they’re a toy her father used to calm her down.
At the same time, the matrioskas symbolize Carmen herself. Like her “oldest traveling companions”, she too is made of multiple identities who live inside her and change as she grows. She starts as Lambkins, grows into Carmen Sandiego and finally discovers her identity in the finale:
Both in terms of her origins and who she wants to be:
The missing matrioska represents both. On one hand it is the link to Carmen’s past and it is symbolically the smallest one (like a baby). On the other hand seeing it makes Carmen remember who she wants to be.
In short, the matrioska is Carmen’s missing piece both when it comes to who she was and to who she will be.
As far as Gray is concerned, him being caught between “light” and “darkness” is conveyed by his electrician’s motif:
Gray’s criminal career started when a light bulb went off. This is an ironic inversion of a light bulb switching on when one has an idea. Still, it also symbolizes a fall to darkness. Gray’s job was supposed to switch lights on, but he chooses to turn them off, so that he can steal.
This motif comes back in season 2 ep 7 where Carmen’s mission is to stop Doctor Bellum from causing dangerous black-outs. This is tied once again to Gray’s character. As a matter of fact not only the objective is to avoid physical blackouts, but also to stop Graham turning back into Crackle once again. The blackout which must be avoided is the one of Gray’s personality.
At the same time, this motif is not as straightforward as it may seem:
As a matter of fact the whole reason Gray has turned into Graham is a metaphorical “black-out”. This is an interesting idea. Gray has left criminality and can have a new beginning and Carmen sees it as a positive thing. However, this whole new identity is a lie built through brainwashing:
Carmen has good intentions and is ultimately proven right about Gray’s good nature. However, she is still ready to accept a persona constructed through an unethical method.
She meets an idealized version of Gray, she realizes something is missing, but still accepts it. This is why she needs to see this illusion shatter and to confront the real Gray once more.
This happens when Gray gets his memories back:
The one on the Himalaya is the second real confrontation between Carmen and Gray after the one on the train.
At this point, we are shown how they have changed and how they have not.
On one hand Carmen is finally forced to accept that Graham was nothing, but an illusion:
However, she does not completely give up on Gray:
Even if confronted with the truth she still hopes Gray will change. It is just that this change to be true should happen because of her friend’s free will and not through a coercion.
On the other hand Gray has grown enough to accept Carmen:
And to realize she will never come back to VILE. However, he still begs her to stop fighting the organization. In short, he has grown a little, but is still asking Carmen to give up on her life mission, just like she wants him to give up on criminality.
The two characters have clearly grown closer, but they are still unable to see eye to eye and this is why they end the episode as enemies, despite this:
There is clearly affection between them, but this affection is not enough to let them overcome their rift. At least not in that moment.
THE FLYING DUTCH AND THE RED PHANTOM
In season 4 ep 4, while Gray is about to make his choice, we hear a song from The Flying Dutch in the background. This is not a surprise because Graham and Carmen’s relationship has also an Opera motif.
Graham works in a operahouse and famous operas pieces comment his relationship with Carmen while brainwashed. They meet at The Carmen, are reunited through The Swan Lake and finally Graham turns into Crackle again while The Flying Dutch is playing.
This last opera is important not only for Graham’s story, but also for Gray’s overall arc. As a matter of fact the story of this opera is one whose main theme is about how love leads to redemption.
This is precisely what happens to Gray in the end.
In particular, he finds himself in the position Carmen was just a while before: he meets an idealized version of Carmen.
Brainwashed Carmen is who Gray has wanted Carmen to be all along. She is loyal to VILE, close to him and in love with stealing.
However, despite Gray having all he ever wanted he quickly realizes he does not like it at all:
Black Sheep realizes she does not want anything to do with VILE after she sees how the organization has transformed Gray.
Similarly, Gray decides to betray VILE after he sees what they did to Carmen. This is interesting because, while Carmen refuses to work both for VILE and for ACME, Gray ends up working for both.
Anyway, in the end Gray leaves VILE out of love.
Not only that, but he shows to have been influenced by Carmen on a deeper level:
It is because of this that Gray survives his final confrontation with his old classmate.
All in all, Gray manages to save himself and he and Shadowsan are the two people that helped Carmen to save herself the most.
At the same time, Gray and Carmen’s story ends on a bittersweet note. They have both hurted each other, but still clearly love each other:
Despite this, they are avoiding each other. This is not something new, if anything Gray’s final choice:
Perfectly mirrors Carmen’s one in the first season:
Both times the two characters decide that the best thing for the other is for them to walk out from their lives. However, I think that both times this is wrong.
Carmen’s decision is later on proven wrong by how the story develops. Gray would have never truly changed if Carmen had not walked in his life again and he would have stayed prisoner of a lie forever.
Gray’s decision happens at the end of the story and seems to be built on this idea:
The idea is that Carmen deserves a normal life. She deserves to stop being a symbol aka Carmen Sandiego and to become a person. She can now live a normal life and meet her mother.
However, even if it seems Carmen will do just that and she even disbands her gang aka her adoptive family, in the end we are shown this:
Carmen has not given up on being Carmen Sandiego and on fighting criminality. Whatever happened after she met her mother, she goes back to her previous identity. This is because Carmen Sandiego is not just a mask she has worn all this time, but it is genuinelly a part of who she is. The difference between the beginning and the end is that Carmen previously was Carmen Sandiego because she did not know who she was, while now she is because she knows.
Carmen will always be both a good person and a thief. She is both and ironically she has told us (and Gray) this since the very beginning:
Because of this, Gray’s worrying he will make Carmen’s life complicated if he even just contacts her is probably false.
Anyway, in the end their relationship has an open ending, but both characters have both realized who they are and who they want to be and they have done so with the other’s help.
381 notes
·
View notes
Note
Would you have loved it if Rhea had supports with characters like Catherine, Cyril, Marianne, Mercedes, etc?
i would! though, any supports would have been better than the nothing we got. they could even have paired endings! they don’t have to be romantic, though i wouldn’t mind if they were. maybe not with cyril though. my brain sees him like her kid.
some other supports i would have liked are:
dimitri: same trauma? same trauma.
dedue: they both like flowers and are both outsiders that experiences hostility that ended in bloodshed. plus duscur worshiped sothis, just as apart of a pantheon. i think rhea would struggle to understand why dedue is loyal to dimitri though. he’s a nice kid, but how could you ally with the prince of the nation that killed your family?
ferdinand: he wants to help lead the people and sees it as his duty. rhea’s been doing this shit for over a thousand years and it clearly has exhausted her. maybe speaking with him could help reminded her why she started the church in the first place.
dorothea: dorothea is kinda hostile towards the church so this could be interesting. rhea can’t control the nobility and how some value crests above human lives, but maybe hearing dorothea’s story could make rhea do what she can to crack down on it a bit more. maybe when they get more comfortable with each other they could talk about the children in the monastery and rhea could subtly ask for some tips on how to approach them lol
manuela: i just wanna see them get drunk lmao but in all seriousness, then there’s the fact that manuela overheard a woman singing in the church as a child which is implied to have been rhea. maybe she hears her again.
flayn: please let this one be lighthearted. like them hiding from seteth or something. rhea is the cool aunt that lets you drink underage if she’s watching or do something as scandalous as watch a pg13 movie.
seteth: perfect opportunity to talk about zanado. pls game i BEG
since catherine, cyril, mariannne, and mercedes were the ones you mentioned, any particular reason as to why those?
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Httyd short story idea
I've always liked the idea of a service dragon. I just have. There would be plenty of situations on Berk where service dragons would come in useful, with all the missing limbs around town. Then, when watching the end of Httyd 3 when all the riders dismount and say goodbye to their dragons, a vivid image came into my mind of a young man being helped off his dragon and into a wheelchair.
"It's ok, bud," the young man said as his dragon nuzzled him softly. "I'll be ok." He held his dragon as close as he could, only the soft brown head fitting on his lap, then gazed into those kind purple eyes. "You gave me a new life. Now go live yours."
Hiccup is now chief, and with Berk's repairs well underway, it's time to teach the teens of berk how to train their dragon. But there's one boy in particular that catches Hiccup's attention. Sneeze is a scrawny, sarcastic boy who can be a bit shy and awkward at times but a bright kid nonetheless. Unfortunately, his bright ideas and good intentions have a habit of causing messy accidents. This has quickly turned him into the nuisance of Berk, making it hard to be accepted by his peers and pretty much anyone else. Sneeze dreams of training his own dragon and becoming a dragon rider right alongside his peers, just like Hiccup dreamt of killing a dragon. But just like Hiccup discovered he couldn't bring himself to kill a dragon, Sneeze is having second thoughts on riding one. After all, if standing on a stool is enough to make your head spin, sitting atop a mighty beast soaring hundreds of miles above the sea might not be the best career choice.
This is an idea I've been toying with for a few days, but since I don't have time to write it, maybe one of you wants to. I just thought it would be cute to write a story where Hiccup has to deal with a mini version of himself. There would be plenty of "Gosh, was I really that awkward?" and "Oh Thor, I can't watch. My teen years have come back to haunt me." But there'd also be adorable moments where Hiccup would know exactly what this kid was going through and be able to be the friend Hiccup wished he had at that age.
My ideas for this story were:
Sneeze is apprenticed to the owner of the local dragon washing stop called The Dragon Drencher. He scrubs down dragons, cleans saddles, and manages to make a mess of things almost weekly.
I was thinking of either making Sneeze an orphan or having his father be a traveling merchant and his mother one of Astrids Dragon Riders on the A-Team. His father is never home much, and when he is on Berk, he avoids Sneeze as much as possible. Polar opposite from Sneeze's mother. She's home even less but cherishes her time with little Sneeze.
Sneeze loves collecting things. His favorite part of his job at the Dragon Drencher is cleaning out the drains to pick up dragon scales, teeth, and other cool stuff that gets caught down there. He uses what he finds in creative ways like making saddles with different functions, fireproof dragon scale suites, and more. This is something he and Hiccup can bond over.
Sneeze's dragon will be a Woolly Howl which you can learn about here. I'm absolutely in love with the idea of this dragon, and I'll leave the details up to you. I wanted his name to come about in a similar way that Toothless name came. An observation that stuck. Hiccup thought Toothless had no teeth, so he named him Toothless. Sneeze thought the Woolly Howl was furry, so he might name him something like Furry. Maybe Fuzz Fury cause he looks soft and resembles a Night Fury?
Just as things are at their highest, (Sneeze finally did it. He was riding a dragon. With no fear of failure or falling, he and Fuzz soared through the air.) no one could have seen how far they'd fall (Free at last. Wait, no, not free. Free falling! He plummeted towards the ground, dimly aware of Hiccups shouts through the paralyzing fear that choked him, darkening his vision, then... Black.) Sneeze hits his head... hard. He's out cold for who knows how long, and when he wakes up, things will never be the same. He can't seem to keep his balance, and walking is a chore. (At first, I thought of his spine breaking and having to use a wheelchair, but my sister pointed out that they didn't have the modern medicine for someone to survive that back in the day. She suggested some sort of brain damage instead. (Damage to the cerebellum can lead to: 1# loss of coordination of motor movement, 2# the inability to judge distance and when to stop, 3# the inability to perform rapid alternating movements, 4# movement tremors, 5# staggering, wide-based walking.)) Hiccup feels responsible, and with such a terrible accident happing so early on in lessons, he starts to doubt Vikings should ride dragons and even considers stopping all dragon-riding classes. But when he sees how fiercely loyal Fuzz Fury is to Sneeze, (refusing to leave his side and even aiding Sneeze in everyday chores like walking) and after talking with Sneeze, Hiccup realizes that the good that dragons bring into the lives of their riders outweighs the possible loss. Hiccup and Sneeze work together to get training lessons back on their feet and put safety precautions into place, like specially designed training saddles.
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
Badger Snakes and The "Red-Stained Ledger"
Since my recent announcement identifying as a Badger Snake (don't @ me if I change my primary at some point lol still going back over that one,) I've looked up some characters that have been identified as Badger Snakes, and found two things:
1) There weren't very many in fiction and
2) most go through the same personal journey I had described in my previous post.
By that, I mean, a very similar feeling of self-loathing or feeling as though you have some dirty secret to hide, AKA the Red-Stained Ledger Natasha Romanoff refers to. The two main ones that have been agreed upon I'll be focusing on are Woody from Toy Story and the aforementioned Black Widow, but I'll also be bringing two new characters into the fray, one that's been sorted as such based on the portrayal, and one that I've discovered on my own. They are Selina Kyle AKA Catwoman and Dewey Finn from School of Rock.
It's interesting to find the similar plotlines that certain sortings are given consistently in media, and The Power Behind the Throne AKA Badger Snake seems to pretty much only have the one: They fight for the group that they are loyal to, but they can't seem to help but do so in a way that they aren't proud of, one that they're sure would lead said group to shun them.
I'm sure someone could point out a character I'm not referencing here that doesn't have that plot, but at the very least, this plot dominates the sorting.
Woody in the first movie goes through exactly that issue. He only wants to fight for Andy's toys, and in many ways, all toys he comes across. He makes choices that he believes will benefit everyone, and prides himself on being able to make the "tough choices." But, he ends up having to do so in a "duplicitous" way, when he seeks to manipulate Buzz Lightyear out of his group. This is a horrible, dirty secret to him, and he feels almost as if he could never return to them, never show his face again because of how he chooses to fight. In the end, he reaffirms that his actions come from a good place, a place of love for his group, and finds ways to use his crafty talents that are slightly more constructive and a little less "cloak and dagger."
Natasha Romanoff has given me the namesake for this Badger Snake element: the Red-Stained Ledger. She describes her desire to fight for her country, for her family, but struggles with what she knows she's good at. She believes she's inherently a bad person and is determined to remain a loner due to her "badness," due to the "monster" she is. Good people don't lie or manipulate. Good people... uh... I dunno, bake cakes or something? Work humble jobs? But, her contribution to the world, her ability to be clever and tricky, means that holding her group, her country, her family, the Avengers themselves, only in her heart and not in her hands. But, her true colors are shown in her never-ending dedication to the cause, down to her being willing to give her life so that no one else has to do it. In a way, it's sad, because she died believing she in some way deserved it. But, none of her teammates felt that way about her. She may have been crafty, a master manipulator, and a skillful liar, but she was the farthest thing from bad.
Now, onto the two newer additions. I've seen Selina Kyle sorted as Double Snake, and I would agree that there are many interpretations that could fit the bill. But, if you ask me, the truest interpretation of her is as The Power Behind the Throne, the Robin Hood with no loud cause to shout from the rooftops; only a desire to help the people of Gotham. She uses her skills as a thief to act as a sort of "guardian angel" to the poorest in Gotham, but she has no grand statement to make. She sees people hurting, her group, the underdogs of Gotham, and came to their aid. But she does so quietly, secretly, because she believes in her heart that the way she has done so is not worthy of praise. She's a con and a thief, but, she places people above all else. She, in some interpretations, is one of the main people to open Bruce's eyes to the fact that not all criminals are necessarily bad people. Some of them are just in terrible situations they can't get out of. And yet, she won't afford that benefit of the doubt to herself, believing she is simply a broken toy not worth fixing. Her occasionally lackadaisical attitude towards killing may seem to make Badger primary unlikely, but Badgers are not always loyal to ALL humans. Her group is the poor and downtrodden, and those who act against them are less than human in her eyes.
Now, we come to my personal favorite, my own personal discovery: Dewey Finn from one of my favorite movies, School of Rock.
Dewey is a fabulous example of a Badger Snake, in my personal opinion. His chosen group is Rock with a Capital R and "the band," whichever band that may currently be. He may have some sort of Burnt Snake primary performance/model going on, wanting to play the part of a "rock star" that truly only cares about himself, but his true loyalty is very clear. He is worried about doing his chosen group justice in every way, making sure that Rock is being well-represented and that he's serving his current band the very best he has to offer. Being kicked out of his band at the very beginning is earth-shattering to him, not because he has a Snake primary style devotion to only them, but because they told him he let them down, and implying that he wasn't representing Rock the way he should. His Snake primary performance/model melts away as he bonds to his new band, the kids he teaches. He brings them into his chosen group of Rock and creates a new bonded group with them in particular as they form a band. He actually finds himself liberated by taking a backseat to the children (a very Badger primary thing to enjoy,) allowing Zack to play his song, guiding Freddie away from making bad choices, helping Tamika find her voice, encouraging fellow Snake secondary Summer how to use her shrewdness, and, using a method I believe is best utilized by Badger Snakes, helping Principal Mullins find her chill. Lol.
Badger Snakes, more than any other Snake secondary type, will rely on the "we aren't so different you and I" approach to get what they want. He finds out Mullins also enjoys Rock. This is something they have in common! Let's create a situation where we "naturally" find out we have this thing in common, placing us both in the same group. Although other primaries don't glorify groups as much as Badger primaries do, all people are more likely to listen to or help out someone they feel is like them in some way. So, Dewey puts some Stevie Nicks on the jukebox and gets Mullins on his side.
In a similar fashion to the characters listed above, Dewey believes he is truly a loser and has nothing of any actual value or goodness to provide. But, the children help him see he's wrong, and he finds a way to utilize his talents in a way that truly fulfills him.
In conclusion, although seemingly unrepresented, I think there actually may be quite a few more Badger Snakes hiding in media, and, perhaps, they can be outed by looking for the Red-Stained Ledger plotline. Badger primaries are more likely, in my opinion, to be disturbed by their actions than say a Lion primary, due to where their loyalties truly lie. Although Lions may fight for the right thing, and that right thing may involve people's rights or serving a group, they serve that right thing before any of the people they may steamroll over to achieve it. Badgers, by definition, serve things. And, usually, lying, cheating, or otherwise being crafty is viewed as the worst possible way to serve someone or something. They do care about the things they may hurt or damage through their actions, and how they use their talents does, in fact, matter to them immensely.
So, to my Badger Snakes out there struggling with their own so-called "Red-Stained Ledgers", just remember that Dewey Finn would think you're kick-ass.
EDIT: Sorry, was thinking about it, and had to put an edit. Another way to think of this plotline/character archetype is mentioned in School of Rock as well as in a musical I know very well. I wouldn't use this moniker as the name for this plotline, only because it describes a very specific Snake secondary, one that is playful and light-hearted, and not all Snake secondaries are like this.
Zack's song refers to Dewey as The Magic Man, a person that swoops in and, almost by magic (in actuality, manipulation) brings out the best in the people around them. In the aforementioned musical, this character is called The Music Man.
Harold Hill may very well be another Badger Snake, although one more heavily disguised than Dewey Finn. I won't go too deep into his characterization here, but know he's a conman who claims to be a band instructor, while he has no musical talent himself, planning on taking the money for the uniforms and instruments and running. Instead, almost without realizing it, he encourages and manipulates the people of the town he enters into becoming better versions of what they are now. And, the most tragic part of his character is revealed once another character, one of the children he's conned, points out that there isn't a band, and never has been one. Harold tells him "I always think there's a band, kid."
It's interesting that, in both of these cases, they are associated with music and an almost mystical ability to bring out the best in others. I might do a more in-depth look at Harold Hill at some point, since I've been planning on doing some musical characters for a bit.
If thinking about having a Red-Stained Ledger is too negative for your own self-image, think of yourself as The Music Man. Your friends and the people around you may actually see you as an almost mystical force for good, someone who always seems to know the right thing to say or do to bring out the best in them. :)
#badger snake#badger primary#snake secondary#sorting hat chats#sortinghatchats#harry potter#hogwarts housing#hufflepuff#slytherin#hogwarts#red-stained ledger#woody toy story#natasha romanoff#black widow#selina kyle#catwoman#dewey finn#school of rock
89 notes
·
View notes
Text
In Defense of the Weeping Monk
So during my first ramped scrolling of Weeping Monk content post-completion of the series, I came across a number of people against the Weeping Monk not just for this storyline but because of how people have been quick to obsess over him and ship Nimulot.
In particular, calling the Nimulot ship racist or homophobic, his character a predator, and those shipping him with anyone toxic.
While these points are valid and come from a place (I would assume) of good intentions (anti-homophobia, anti-racist, protect the children etc.) they are strong accusations that should not be linked to this character. And here’s why:
Racism:
-I’m going to be blunt here. Seeing as Racism isn’t a joke, it shouldn’t be thrown around as an excuse not to like WM just because said character didn’t end up with a person of color. If you don’t like him, you don’t like him. Don’t blanket cover your reasoning with a serious accusation that even today is still running rampid and needs to be taken seriously in today’s society (see George Floyd)
-It would be one thing to call out a show if they were expressing Racist undertones, but Cursed hasn't. Two of the most powerful characters in King Arthur lore are played by wonderful actors of color (Arthur and sister Morgana) and should this show continue, we will see the pair of them raise in the ranks of power for both good (King Arthur) and evil (Morgan le fay).
-People are stating that WM should have been black, as we’ve had more than enough white edgy boys out in shows and movies (see Winter Solider, Kylo Ren/Ben solo...) I’m not against the idea of a black or someone other than white actor portraying WM. That’s not my fight. My fight is over disliking Daniel Sharman’s casting because of his race rather than his acting skill. The guy plays WM fantastically and shouldn’t be docked points just because he’s a white British guy. Like... come on.
-I could go on, but we have more topics to cover so I’ll close this part with this: keep up the good fight to end Racism, but don’t use it to elevate your own ship/actor profile/ etc.
Throwing around this topic to benefit your own belief (more than just in media) is what makes people degrade racism in the first place. Don’t be that person.
Homophobia:
-WHY WOULD SHIPPING NIMULOT BE HOMOPHOBIC? WHY
-I would have thought this show already established that they were not homophobic seen by the great response Nimue gave to Morgana after spotting the scene above^. She normalized their relationship as any other and that was beautiful *chef’s kiss*
-Back to WM, from what I read on the topic from a person with this view, they stated that because people are shipping Nimulot over Nimue and Morgana (I’m sorry I don’t know their ship name), they are homophobic? WHAT
-Dude that’s great that you saw the fantastic chemistry between Morgana and Nimue, but do you really want Nimue to bed both siblings like that?
-What I just stated isn’t my real fight on the topic, it’s just something I just thought of as I am here typing away. My fight here is just because Nimue hasn't entertained the possibility of a romantic relationship with Morgana doesn’t mean those shipping Nimue and WM together are homophobic. We just are ex-reylo trash (as I’m noticing so far) and love the enemies to lovers trop.
-Also I am pretty sure that those shipping Nimulot adore the relationship Nimue has with Morgana as they give off major feminism vibes. And have a healthy relationship overall.
Which brings me to my next point:
Toxic Shipping:
-No one is stating that WM should hook up with Nimue immediately. And if they are, take notes. WM still needs to grow from the horrors he has done in the past and what he has ahead of him. Only then would he be deserving of Nimue (should she take him)
-I honestly believe people are not shipping Nimulot because it’s toxic, but rather because they hope that WM will come around on the other side as a better man (for he has been through the ringer) and should find peace. With Nimue? Sure, if the storyline fits.
-I’ve read that some don’t want Nimue to be the fixer upper of WM, and I agree, but do not find this statement to be enough to call the Nimue ship toxic by any means. We just want to see everyone happy, is that so bad?
-And after growing up idolizing the major character arch of Zuko from Avatar the Last Airbender, I can’t help but hope (as the optimist that I am) that WM will get a similar ending to Zuko.
-As for why people want Nimue with him and not, say Gwenevere, it is because of all the similarities they carry so far that complement each other (while also playing the opposites attract card). Similarities include:
cursed out fay (N- the villagers scorning her, WM- the monks attitude toward him as a weapon and not a being)
lingering on the edge of dark and light (N with the cursed sword, WM with his faith)
scars (that happen to be on their backs)
their relationship with Squirrel (both protective, not smothering)
Symbols of their side in war (WM is the monk’s best fighter, N is their queen)
I’m sure people can give you more reasons. This is just what I came up with on the spot after one watch through of the series. If you have others, please write them below, I’m curious.
Now onto the topic that I find to be atrocious:
Predator:
-EXCUSE ME, a predator prays on others. How on God’s green earth is WM that? He was a literal sword for hire/raised to fight against his kind through mental strain from this messed up ideology of christianity.
-And for those calling his relationship with Squirrel unhealthy... fair point but I’m not done yet.
-I don’t mean all this to say that what he did under the red monks was good or even acceptable. No it wasn’t, the dude was practicing mass genocide of his own race, that’s fucked up. (That torture scene in front of the mill was really something)
-But as we learn in later episodes, all of his actions linger on not being damed and going to heaven (I assume) as seen in the scene when we got a nice look of him shirtless while he was having a moral crisis.
-Speaking of moral crisis, did you notice that he had one when the rest of the villains present in this show do not? Even Iris (a fantastic villain) had a tragic backstory with her family like WM, but rather than question her motives, she starts on the villain path.
-Now while I do admit he doesn’t treat Squirrel right in the beginning, it makes sense for his character and where he is at. Not to say that hurting a child and using him as a pawn to kill leftover tribe members is justified.
-But the writers always wrote the interactions between Squirrel and WM with a hint of humor. Squirrel was always talking back, calling WM and his horse ugly, and even hissing out “you” in front of the red monks. All this going on while WM maintains a blank expression, that to viewers is almost comical (because it breaks away from the sad emo boy cliche)
-In the end, WM needed someone like Squirrel to get out of the disastrous rut the red monks had WM in. For WM to start on this journey of his (that I’m sure will continue through season 2) he needed to show he had a moral code.
-Also, like many complicated characters, WM never thought through the damage he has done and how his work impacted children up until G called him out for it. For this reason, I think G had just as much a part of getting WM to revolt as Squirrel did.
- I think his relationship with Squirrel will continue to grow into a more protective association now that G is dead. G made Squirrel into a knight, the next step is for this kid to train like one. Who better than Mr. Lancelot himself. (They better have a training scene in next season or I will riot)
-And lastly, all of you who know the lore of Lancelot understand that he will become the best of the best and also the most loyal and chivalrous knight out there. What a better way to love a character with these attributes than if he started in the proverbial gutter and grows to understand and value these characteristics? It’s the shiny ending that he needs to work hard to achieve and that is what, at the end of the day, all lovers of WM want to see in the next few seasons.
Him becoming that knight in shining armor.
#cursed netflix#weeping monk#lancelot#nimue#purcival#rant#daniel sharman#katherine langford#nimulot#anti nimulot
481 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sorting Cabin Pressure
I return! Briefly, because tumblr still hates me, and yet triumphant, because I’ve spent the last week re-listening to Cabin Pressure, and I want to talk about sorting the MJN crew. So let’s do some Sorting Hat Chats!
As usual, my view on these characters may not be yours, and if you have different thoughts, I’d love to hear them. :D Discussion spans the entire 27 episodes, so let’s say spoilers just to be safe.
Martin
Despite probably having the biggest, best-defined character arc, I'm finding Martin the main character I'm least set on.
Secondary-wise, I'd say he's definitely a built secondary; very little of Martin's improvisations seem to come comfortable to him. His insistence on doing things right and by-the-book feels fairly Badger, but his ability to be lured into shortcuts and moments of unprofessional behavior feels to me like a Bird who thinks that Badger hard word and toil is the best option. It also seems to fit with the way he becomes calm and confident once something works out for him, and then immediately loses it once things go wrong and he feels unprepared again. The few episodes where he really gets to be confident and succeed particularly feel Bird-y to me: relying on knowledge in Johannesburg especially stand out.
(That said, Badger also seems to ring consistently with the way he handles a lot of things -- his dedication to his job, his hard work, even the way half the time he does get confident, it's either because Douglas isn't there to bring him down, or he seems to be pretending to be him.)
Primary-wise, though, that's where I get tripped up. Not a Snake, I think; even his hesitancy to leave MJN is half about his own goals and issues, not fully founded in caring about others. Badger doesn't quite seem right either -- "being loyal and true to things or people that exist is more important than sticking to grander but more abstract ideals or concepts" does not sound like Martin at all. My first thought was Lion, just one that's still struggling to be as decisive as they usually are -- despite his hesitancy, and his instincts being 'follow the rules written by others', a lot of the Lion stuff seems to apply to him. "They are willing to sacrifice their safety, social harmony, and a certain amount of logic to do what they feel is right." "There is right and there is wrong. Things are black and white. Shades of gray are places where people go to play games, twist the truth, and to be cowards."
But... he does bend the rules, or sit back and let Douglas do so. If nobody who makes him feel like he has to put on the act is there -- see Newcastle and Qikiqtarjuaq -- he'll bend them pretty far. Trying to drop candy on a kids' birthday party (Johannesburg) and lying to a passenger about where they're flying (Timbuktu) levels of far.
So who's around seems to be a big part of it, which maybe could point back in a loyalist direction. I think in the end, though, I'm going to throw up my hands and say, maybe a Bird whose system is in progress from something fairly immature and black-and-white to something more complicated? Martin's devotion to his passion and his job above all else feels pretty Idealist to me, and this seems a little more fitting than him being an extremely malleable Lion.
Douglas
Douglas "at any given moment I never have fewer than seven ulterior motives" Richardson? Douglas "did something clever and now everything's fine" Richardson? Douglas "pretending very hard not to care about anything, actually cares very deeply, but only about specific things and specific people" Richardson? Is there even any point to considering an answer besides double Snake here? Douglas might as well be the model of it. Trickery is his first language. He schemes, charms, adapts, and lucks out in order to achieve anything in his sights, whether that's as small as a relief from boredom or as big as saving the day.
Motivation is trickier -- but it becomes clearer and clearer as time goes on how far Douglas is willing to go to save MJN, and outside his own desires to be the captain again, that seems like the biggest thing that ever drives him. Combine that with his hedonism, and the way he's happy to lie, cheat, and steal to accomplish most other things with no notable guilt or shame, I don't even see hints of a model or structure built over it; the things that matter to him are his own reputation and status (and even that in very specific, particular ways), and saving GERTI and her crew.
(That said, the more I think about it, I do think you could make a solid argument for Douglas as a rapid-fire Bird Secondary. Mostly built around Zurich -- his confession that his confidence started, not just as a mask, but wholesale imitating somebody else. There's also this excerpt from Finnemore's Farewell Bear Facts: "Douglas prefers to hang back, let other people make mistakes, work out the 'something clever' he's going to do in secret, and then present it with a flourish." While that could be Snake-y, I could see it as a Bird's planning working for someone whose very invested in his own reputation. That said, I still think Double Snake seems the most applicable overall.)
Carolyn
Carolyn's drives are a kind of mirror to Douglas', which is interesting to reflect back on. The two things she cares most about are how she's seen, and -- even if she sometimes shows it in her own strange way -- Arthur. Then Douglas and Martin start to rank in there over time, and eventually so does Herc. (Martin moreso than Douglas -- speculation, but I think it's probably because everyone knows Douglas will take care of himself first, so he doesn't need to be worried about so much.) Money matters to her of course, but several times it comes down to show that if money was the most important thing, she'd probably have given up GERTI a long time ago. We get it set out plainly as early as Douz: "Because I am the Chief Executive Officer of MJN Air. It’s a good thing to be. It’s better than... a little old lady."
I think it's possible to read Carolyn as an extremely burned Badger; there's something in how she reacts to her sister that makes me think I can see it. But in general, I'm more inclined to say Snake Primary. One that isn't fully burned -- Arthur's never really out of her circle, I think -- but does have a hell of a time opening up her circle to new people by the time of the series. Just look at the trial Herc goes through before he gets there.
Lion Secondary, I think. She's the immovable object to Douglas' unstoppable force, and Martin is the thing unfortunately trapped between them at times. She's stubborn and honest, hates playing at being nicer than she is and only does it when absolutely necessary, and cares about her rules being followed but not the rules in general so much. She's whip-smart, but she doesn't actually tend to be tricky or slippery in the same way as Douglas -- and in fact, the one time we really see her try to be actively tricky, in Timbuktu, she loses. She's more likely to ignore opposition or tell someone else to solve it, and even when she pulls something, it's usually pretty straight-forward. (For example, calling Hester's fans in Cremona -- it's an underhanded move against someone who's earned her ire, but not really a complicated scheme.)
Arthur
I think Arthur shares his mother's Lion Secondary. He's a force in his own right as much as she is, even if he's more of a tornado to her steel barrier. He's honest to a fault and very much always himself, no matter what the situation, or how much better it might be to try and do something else.
As Primary goes, it's hard to tell if this is just Arthur's optimism shining against everyone else, but my first instinct is Badger. He wants to be helpful, oftentimes too much so, and he likes them so much it tends to be notable when he doesn't like somebody. His focus tends to be the people in front of him at the time, but that does extend to include other people when they're there -- it's not just the crew at all times. While I think it's possible to see him in other lights, Badger seems to make the most sense and work with what we see of his wants through the series.
Herc
While most of the other minor or reoccurring characters don't show up enough for me to have even an idea, I think we do get enough of Herc to narrow it down some, if not make a completely secure conclusion.
My first instinct is that he's yet another Snake Primary in the mix. It works with his role as a foil for Douglas, and with his willingness to give up his position to be with Carolyn by the end of the series. (That said, I feel like his speech on why he's a vegetarian in Ottery St. Mary could point towards Bird Primary as well, and would make sense with everything we see of him.)
He seems straightforward in a way that doesn't line up with a Snake Secondary to me -- that could be a matter of the situations we see him in, but I still just don't see it in his conversations with Carolyn. I'd say maybe a Lion Secondary, in the way the two of them clash and he stands his ground. Bird Secondary also makes sense, but admittedly I'm having trouble pointing to anything specific that made me think so; there's just something in the way his manner bounces off the others, and in the way he seems to almost take on and off All-Knowing Air Captain mode.
In conclusion --
Martin: Double Bird with a Badger Secondary model
Douglas: Double Snake
Carolyn: Snake Primary/Lion Secondary
Arthur: Badger Primary/Lion Secondary
Herc: tentatively Snake Primary/Lion or Bird Secondary
or, as they say in Limerick...
But for Arthur, they're all quite constructed
With the Snakes bickering interrupted
By a worrying Bird
From the Captain's chair heard
Til the newest of Snakes is inducted
Carolyn's Lion is strong and won't coddle
Martin's Bird, leaning against his model
Or the Lion she raised
By the Snake she's unfazed
And thank you all, for reading my twaddle
#sortinghatchats#sorting hat chats#cabin pressure#Sorting Things Out#m: cabin pressure#til binary systems run
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Does R&J Play With Gender Stereotypes?
So I came across this piece of meta by @hamliet that rather intrigued me:
There’s also another layer here: the imagery Romeo uses for Juliet (the sun) and that Juliet uses for Romeo (the moon) is the inverse of how imagery was typically presented in those days. The moon was feminine; the sun, masculine. Even if we look at Romeo and Juliet’s respective character traits, Romeo is the flighty, impulsive, love-struck one who cries all the time, while Juliet is the decisive, bold, and loyal one. That’s the first thing Juliet declares to Romeo in the balcony scene: that she will always be loyal, and she shows this in every choice she makes in the story.
Let’s break this down.
“the imagery Romeo uses for Juliet (the sun) and that Juliet uses for Romeo (the moon) is the inverse of how imagery was typically presented in those days. The moon was feminine; the sun, masculine.”
Romeo does indeed call Juliet the sun, but Juliet never calls Romeo the moon—or likens him with anything symbolically feminine, come to think of it. The closest she or the play gets is a small but clear association with night: Romeo has “night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes” and Juliet implores “loving, black-browed” night to give her her Romeo. Even then it is so that he can “make the face of heaven so fine / That all the world will be in love with night / And pay no worship to the garish sun.”
Instead, Juliet consistently uses the same love language of authority as Romeo does with her, calling him her lord, husband, knight, “day-in-night,” “mansion of a love,” “god of my idolatry,” and, (my particular favorite), “tassel-gentle” or “falcon.” “Pilgrim” is the lowest social rank she uses, but of course she is following Romeo’s pilgrim-and-saints flirtation and its wink-wink bilingual allusion to his name. Romeo’s use of “sun,” then, could be viewed in the context of both lovers conferring cosmic/earthly authority, beauty, ownership, and sovereignty to each other—the Elizabethan equivalent of calling each other wife/husband. And of course they begin doing that immediately after they marry.
Even if we look at Romeo and Juliet’s respective character traits, Romeo is the flighty, impulsive, love-struck one who cries all the time, while Juliet is the decisive, bold, and loyal one.
Definitely not. Romeo is plenty decisive and bold—making the first move in wooing Juliet, climbing the orchard wall, showing himself to Juliet, immediately agreeing to marry her, nearly killing himself when he thinks Juliet might not take him back and, er, actually killing himself for her. I wouldn’t say he is impulsive, either—though he makes decisions fairly quickly, it is almost always with some deliberation beforehand (“Can I go forward when my heart is here?” “Shall I hear more or shall I speak at this?” and his monologue after Mercutio’s exit) and of course there are instances in which he restrains himself (“I am too bold” and his monologue after Mercutio’s death). The most accurate description of Romeo is that he is a risk taker—at least when he is well and truly motivated. And even then it does not rob his deliberation or even his wits.
He is also not flighty. In fact, he proves just as loyal as Juliet—as soon as he meets her, he forgets about Rosaline and leaves her clear behind. He doesn’t once waver in his conviction that Juliet is for him and makes plans to die with her (and does!). His love for Rosaline is clearly framed by the narrative as shallow, performative, and passive, and the verse bears this out. He was never in any kind of relationship with Rosaline—his love was an unrequited crush that he was at perfectly liberty to have ditched, frankly. After that, it’s Juliet, Juliet, Juliet until he dies.
Also, once more, Romeo is no crybaby. He explicitly cries a total of two times—one even before the events of the play, when he pines over Rosaline under a grove of sycamore, and another when he’s 1) seen Mercutio get mortally wounded, 2) killed Tybalt, 3) learned that he is banished from the city, and 4) mistakenly believed that Juliet no longer wants him (the Nurse’s reply is vague enough to be misinterpreted); at the very least he is devastated to have been the cause of her pain. Anyone would break down in those circumstances. Juliet herself breaks down on hearing the news and arguably is more verbally vehement than Romeo—namely, that even the words “Romeo is banishèd” are worse than if herself, Romeo, her parents, and Tybalt were dead. She ends that monologue with a passive suicide threat: “And Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!” How anyone can argue Juliet isn’t as lovestruck as Romeo is beyond me.
What Shakespeare was most likely aiming for was showing the mutuality of R&J’s love with parallel scenes and even language. Both have chances to act strong, decisive, and bold, both show vulnerability and great emotion and passion, both are lovestruck. Both demonstrate so-called “masculine” and “feminine” traits, which is almost always culturally-and time-based, anyway. There are only a few key differences between the two—almost all of the above traits, however, they both share. It’s almost as if…Shakespeare understood that no man or woman had all masculine or all feminine traits.
Moving on to the conclusion:
In other words, Shakespeare was deliberately playing with gender and its stereotypes in the play, which gains an even more interesting layer to it when you consider that Shakespeare was himself almost certainly bisexual (his sonnets are preeeetty explicit). It’s not a patriarchal narrative; it can well be seen as a queer narrative in a patriarchal society. And it shouldn’t take two kids having to kill themselves to get society to realize how effed up it is. It isn’t an out-of-touch play, but instead one extremely relevant to our society 500+ years later.
In other words, Shakespeare was deliberately playing with gender and its stereotypes in the play, which gains an even more interesting layer to it when you consider that Shakespeare was himself almost certainly bisexual (his sonnets are preeeetty explicit).
You just opened up 200+ years of fandom wank, OP. I’ll just do a quick sum-up.
The Sonnets are a complete mess. They are contradictory as hell, there is clearly more than one persona speaking, there is evidence that Shakespeare edited and revised them, evidence they were published with his permission, quite a few sonnets are based on pre-existing sources, and, most damnably of all, none of the most likely candidates for the so-called Fair Youth and Dark Lady fit the narrative of the Sonnets perfectly or even satisfactorily—if there is even a clear narrative to these things to begin with. Sonnets were artificial works whose clichés and conventions were heavily satirized in Shakespeare’s own works—Berowne’s own rant-y sonnet swearing he would never believe in love sonnets comes most readily to mind. They were usually not meant to denote an actual real-life relationship, although there was a kind of “game” in trying to figure out which parts are true and which ones fiction. At least one sonnet sequence had a completely fictional addressee (Fulke Greville, I think).
Shakespeare’s sonnets do break a lot of these rules and conventions, and radically, and as they seem to have been compiled over many years, they lend themselves to autobiographical speculation. But, as a bit of a poet myself, I feel this: No one writes 154 sonnets—plus a whole narrative poem!—to one lover or even multiple lovers. Poetry is much less personal than laypeople think. Outside the sonnets, Shakespeare is not linked to any man romantically, and, besides his wife, only to two women (unnamed citizen’s wife and Jane Devanant).
Even if we assume Shakespeare’s bi, though, that doesn’t mean R&J is a queer narrative, which brings us to…
It’s not a patriarchal narrative; it can well be seen as a queer narrative in a patriarchal society.
A queer narrative that has its lovers express their love through the language of heterosexual marriage (husband, lord, wife, lady, pilgrim/saint), and commit suicide by a chalice-and-blade symbolism that mimics heterosexual sex (Romeo drinking a “cup” of poison and Juliet stabbing herself with Romeo’s dagger. Freud couldn’t have done it better). If Shakespeare was thinking “gay allegory!!!” he would have had to at least change or erase the symbolism (straight coding?) of the double suicide, or have Juliet attribute to Romeo explicitly feminine imagery. He would have to have done some major plot rejiggering. He would have had to, in short, change the whole story.
(Unless by “queer narrative” you mean “anything that has an emotionally constipated male lead who doesn’t growl sexily and a female lead who doesn’t cry/faint at the drop of a hat.” That’d be most every narrative, lol.)
Also, I’m hard-pressed to think of love romances that are 100% patriarchal narratives, and those that do (Casablanca, maybe?) are not really true ones, anyway. Patriarchy inherently opposes all romances of love and sex, including heterosexual. It demands that men be raised as soldiers to kill enemies, slaughtered, and discarded, and women as chattel and land to be bought and sold. Marriage was that transferral of property. Having children is necessary, not out of love and care for them, but to propagate the species and create even more future warriors and womb incubators. It grudgingly accepts only (mostly straight and like maybe 1 or 2 gay) love narratives that can be subsumed into this narrow paradigm, but the tension of interpretation is always present. Ideally, it prefers to ignore, diminish, scorn and mock, or even suppress them. I suspect most people’s problems and discomfort with R&J stem from this pathology, this deep-seated unease over anything that touches on human experience patriarchy can’t quite control or subsume.
Shakespeare was obviously no lover of patriarchy (in his personal life, though…well, it’s debatable). His plays resist it greatly to various degrees, and R&J is no exception. R&J hews much closer to the reality of heterosexual love and love in general, which are informed by, though are not inherently tied to, patriarchy (as are gay relationships, sadly). Shakespeare is just being a good writer in throwing most of that rotten apple away; it doesn’t apply to what he was trying to do, anyway. R&J’s challenge to patriarchy, though, is heterosexual in nature.
And it shouldn’t take two kids having to kill themselves to get society to realize how effed up it is. It isn’t an out-of-touch play, but instead one extremely relevant to our society 500+ years later.
True dat.
#romeo and juliet#shakespeare#cristina metas#rj meta#r&j meta#rj are just so boyxgirl op#accept it and you will find peace#repressive traditional gender roles are back in fashion it seems#the victorians couldn’t accept romeo as a man either and had him be played by an actress#but if we’re going to take our notions of gender from the victorians of all people well…
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bucky & Margo || @apocketfullofmuses
plotted au based on this gifset
For almost a year now, Margo had been living a brutally cruel lie. Not privy to the actual mission, she was strictly there to be a part of their cover. A hydra agent and one from the infamous Red Room, Margo was supposed to be their darling little girl. Nine years old, and she used all her trainings to charm those around her. People were loose lipped around a child, never expecting them to actually hear any of it, let alone understand it. Margo’s job, more than anything else, was to make people believe their story and to listen.
It was hard not to become complacent in this life though. She knew, above all else, that it was nothing but a lie. However, pretending to have parents, to have a safe home, a normal life - it unlocked a longing in her chest that she thought she had buried. Margo knew she had to be careful, though. Any hint that she remembered her old life, any hint that she was anything less than loyal to them and their mission, and she knew that she’d endure the same programming as the Winter Soldier himself.
Though, with him missing in action, she wasn’t sure how long they’d wait before they ‘promoted’ her. Despite only being nine, she was far more advanced in her training than most others. Being alive for several decades did give her that particular advantage. So far, Margo had played her role spectacularly, despite how much she hated it. She’d even gone so far as to make friends with kids in her class, solidifying hers and her ‘family’s’ cover.
Mariah, they called her. The nickname Riah had come from her school friends, something she had never gotten to have before. The cover name was close to her own, but it wasn’t hers. They weren’t stupid enough to give that back to her.
Getting off the bus at her stop, she started making her way towards their downtown apartment. Really, it was closer to a penthouse than an apartment, but it felt empty all the same. Margo smiled though, talking to one of her friends that lived in the building. It wasn’t a far walk, but it was still a couple blocks down. However, she stopped when she heard a name that she thought had long been forgotten.
Turning, her breath caught in her throat, “Ada?” she whispered, a genuine smile, the first one in decades, appearing on her face.
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sprig and Sasha are characthers foils
Single-trait contrast foils: used when you want to highlight a particular aspect of a character, rather than their whole personality. Often, this foil consists of one main character and one supporting character.
Sasha and Sprig even though they are completely different, they have several characteristics in common that contrast eachother (and after sasha's redemption, i am sure they could be good friends,,,,)
The biggest proof is that both are the first examples that Anne had/has of friendship
Sasha is Anne's first friend, they been friends since kindergarten
Sprig is Anne's first friend in amphibia
Sasha shows the bad and toxic side of a friendship
Sprig shows the good and healthy side of a friendship
Both dont have any respect over authorities
Sasha in prison break had no respect for grime and the toads (the biggest authority in toad tower and her jailers)
Sasha in reunion showed no respect for her teachers and for her school (skipping class), for the police (the graffiti in the wall) and (indirectly) for her parents (these examples above could be shown as her rebelling against them or the education they gave to her, but this we will have to see further in the show...)
Sprig, frequently does not respect neither hop pop and all the other adults authorities (example: when he invaded mrs croacker house)
in toad tax, he didn't respected the mayor and the toad soldiers, in reunion again he disrespected the toads
Sasha disrespects authorities because she wants to be in control (she wants to command her own actions and be free)
Sprig disrespects authorities because he wants to feel independent (he wants to be worthy of respect making his own choices and being free)
both value loyalty and are very loyal.
They stand up to their friends and can even risk their lifes in the process
Sasha always stood up to any bully that dared to confront Anne
Sasha risked her life in toad tower by letting go of Anne's hand (ps: she was certain that she would die, she didn't planned that grime would save her...)
Sasha refused to abandon grime and fought alongside him against yunnan
Sprig is always risking his life to protect Anne from monsters and/or bad guys
Sprig stood up to sasha in toad tower to protect anne
Sprig risked his life stopping Anne from falling while she was holding Sasha
Sasha is loyal but only if she gets something in return (following her orders, not contradict her authority or to have power in some way)
Sprig is loyal and doesn't want nothing in return
Both are extroverts and get along very well with everyone else
Sasha got along easily with the toads in toad tower and with all the other kids in her school
Sprig got along with all the town citizens (well... mrs croaker is warming up to him) and people he finds along the journey
Sasha uses her manipulation to get others to lover her and do everything she wants (again. she wants something in return)
Sprig just genuinely wants to be everyone's friend
They are both impulsive, stubborn and always want things in their way (selfish)
Sasha forcing Anne to do what she wants
Sprig risking his life and other people lifes/objectives just to have what he wants
Sasha will use anything to force others and will only stop when she gets what she want (her needs are the priority)
Sprig will stop and change his mind when he sees that his family are in danger or upset (their needs are the priority)
And oh well... this is what i have for now!
I always thought how much potential Sasha and Sprig friendship have and this got me to think of all their similarities so.. tadaa!!
I am doing this based in only the three sasha eps and some of the things the girls told us about her so meh I am sorry if this is a little off.. cant wait to see more of her who knows what more I can add to this?!?!
Also if you guys want to add something dont be shy!! tell me tell me !!
#also dumb thing but both have names started with s with 5 letters hehe niceeee#sasha and sprig have a lot of potencial to be good friends and get along very well after sasha's redemption#KINDA zuko and aang style you know? anyways i am really interested in see how their dynamic will work#if she has a good and well done redemption (please-) then it would sure been an amazing relationship#amphibia meta#meta#amphibia analysis#characther analysis#characther foils#foils#lverom.txt
64 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
psychedelic-mood
complete bastard
net-in-the-woods
The Name Is Still Being Thought Over
gaby92-1-blog
Nancy G Argueta
nu4eva
Sinner
skilllomo
Untitled