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goryhorroor · 3 months

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Upcoming horror movies (some without release years) - not in order

Longlogs - FBI Agent Lee Harker is assigned to an unsolved serial killer case that takes an unexpected turn, revealing evidence of the occult. Harker discovers a personal connection to the killer and must stop him before he strikes again.

Nosferatu - A gothic tale of obsession between a haunted young woman and the terrifying vampire infatuated with her, causing untold horror in its wake.

Bermuda - Unknown details but it will be set in the mysterious patch of the Caribbean where planes and ships have gone missing over the years.

Twisters (ok thriller but imma count it because i can) - A sequel to the 1996 film about stormchasing scientists studying tornados.

Immaculate - Cecilia is warmly welcomed to the picture-perfect Italian countryside, where she is offered a new role at an illustrious convent. But it becomes clear to Cecilia that her new home harbors dark and horrifying secrets.

Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire - The film centers on the Spengler family as they return to where it all started – the iconic New York City firehouse – to team up with the original Ghostbusters, who’ve developed a top-secret research lab to take busting ghosts to the next level. But when the discovery of an ancient artifact unleashes an evil force, Ghostbusters new and old must join forces to protect their home and save the world from a second Ice Age.

Mickey's Mouse Trap - follows a group of friends who become targets of a serial killer dressed as Mickey Mouse

Imaginary - When Jessica moves back into her childhood home with her family, her youngest stepdaughter Alice develops an eerie attachment to a stuffed bear named Chauncey she finds in the basement. Alice's games with Chauncey become increasingly sinister, and Jessica intervenes only to realize Chauncey is much more than the stuffed toy bear she believed him to be.

Skeletons in the Closet - Haunted by a malevolent spirit since childhood, a desperate mother allows herself to become possessed in order to save the life of her terminally ill daughter.

Lisa Frankenstein - love story about a misunderstood teenager and her high school crush, who happens to be a handsome corpse. After a set of playfully horrific circumstances bring him back to life, the two embark on a murderous journey to find love, happiness… and a few missing body parts along the way.

Winnie The Pooh: Blood & Honey 2 - oh yay? I guess a sequel

Adrift - It is described as a supernatural ghost story set aboard a ship. It is an adaptation of a short story by Koji Suzuki

Dustbunny - It follows a young girl who asks her neighbor to help her kill a monster under her bed after she thinks it has eaten her family.

Faces of Death - follows a woman who discovers violent videos that recreate death scenes from movies online.

Heretic - two religious women who become the focus of a strange man's games.

History of Evil - In the near future, war and corruption have plagued America and turned it into a theocratic police state. Against the oppression, ordinary citizens have formed a group called The Resistance. One such member, Alegre Dyer, breaks out of political prison and reunites with her husband Ron and daughter Daria. On the run from the militia, the family takes shelter in a remote safe house. But their journey is far from over, as the house’s dark past begins to eat away at Ron, and his earnest desire to keep his family safe is overtaken by something much more sinister.

MaXXXine - Six years after the ‘Texas Pornhouse Massacre’, Maxine is now LA-based and on a driven quest to become a star in the acting world. But things take a sinister turn when bodies once again begin to fall around her.

Dracula - A futuristic sci-fi western version of Dracula.

Apartment 7A - Prequel to the 1968 film Rosemary’s Baby.

Baghead - follows a young woman who inherits a run-down pub and discovers a dark secret within its basement. Enter Baghead - a shape-shifting creature that will let you speak to lost loved ones, but not without consequence.

Out of Darkness - In the Old Stone Age, a disparate gang of early humans band together in search of a new land. But when they suspect a malevolent, mystical, being is hunting them down, the clan are forced to confront a danger they never envisaged.

Stopmotion - stop-motion animator by the name of Ella whose latest project might just be driving her to the brink of madness.

Late Night with the Devil - 1970s talk show host Jack Delroy on his last legs, wrung out by personal tragedy and in need of a ratings win. His plan to feature as a guest a young girl who is allegedly possessed seems like a Halloween night layup… until the cameras roll and all hell literally breaks loose.

You'll Never Find Me - An isolated man living at the back of a desolate caravan park is visited by a desperate young woman seeking shelter from a violent storm. As the savage storm worsens, these solitary souls begin to feel threatened – but who should really be afraid?

The First Omen - When a young American woman is sent to Rome to begin a life of service to the church, she encounters a darkness that causes her to question her own faith and uncovers a terrifying conspiracy that hopes to bring about the birth of evil incarnate. (this might be a prequel to the omen)

Abigail - After a group of would-be criminals kidnap the 12-year-old ballerina daughter of a powerful underworld figure, all they have to do to collect a $50 million ransom is watch the girl overnight. In an isolated mansion, the captors start to dwindle, one by one, and they discover, to their mounting horror, that they’re locked inside with no normal little girl.

Return to Silent Hill - James, a man broken after being separated from his one true love. When a mysterious letter calls him back to Silent Hill in search of her, he finds a once-recognizable town transformed by an unknown evil. As James descends deeper into the darkness, he encounters terrifying figures both familiar and new and begins to question his own sanity as he struggles to make sense of reality and hold on long enough to save his lost love.

Infested - invasion of venomous spiders, forcing residents of a suburban building to find a way out.

Tarot - Tarot follows a group of friends who recklessly violate the sacred rule of Tarot readings – never use someone else’s deck. In the wake of broken rules, consequences follow, this time in the form of unleashing an unspeakable evil trapped within the cursed cards.

The Strangers Chapter 1 - a couple, have to survive the night while being terrorized by masked strangers in a remote Airbnb in Oregon

The Watchers - the film follows a young woman who becomes trapped with three strangers in a shelter deep within a forest in Ireland where the group must fight off mysterious creatures every night in order to survive.

Never Let Go - a family who has been tormented by an evil spirit for years as their lives become more dangerous when one of the kids questions if the evil is real.

The One - Follows character Taylor as she becomes a contestant on a reality TV dating show to find love. Taylor's experience takes a turn as she gets down to the final three and becomes terrified of not finding love (with a horror twist)

Thread: An Insidious Tale - new actors who play a husband and wife who use a spell to travel back in time to prevent their daughter's death, which has worse consequences than imagined

Weapons - The movie is about the disappearance of high school students in a small town, similar to the movie Magonlia's from 1999

A Quiet Place: Day One - New characters in New York

Alien: Romulus - takes place between the first & second movies

Beetlejuice 2 - not much is known about the plot details, but Beetlejuice will have a wife & Lydia's daughter will be in it

Speak No Evil: this is the English remake (all it really says; but it's just the 2022 movie but English?)

Smile 2 - it's a sequel but no details have been revealed

Terrifer 3 - not too many details revealed but it will take place on Christmas Eve

Wolfman - not too many details revealed but it's a new take on the werewolf tale

I Saw The TV Glow - Teenager Owen is just trying to make it through life in the suburbs when his classmate introduces him to a mysterious late-night TV show — a vision of a supernatural world beneath their own. In the pale glow of the television, Owen’s view of reality begins to crack.

Don't Move - A seasoned killer injects a grieving woman with a paralytic agent and she must run, fight and hide before her body completely shuts down.

Arcadian - Nicolas Cage comes back to save the day - and his children - from ferocious creatures at their remote farmhouse.

All My Friends Are Dead - College friends? Remote Airbnb? A secret murderer? What could go wrong in this classic toxic friend group killing spree? Looking forward to attending the biggest music fest of the year, this group of friends get together for what should be a killer weekend.

Monolith - It is about a disgraced journalist who investigates a conspiracy theory while trying to salvage her career.

some movies coming out maybe not this year but have been floating around: The Toxic Avenger (I think remake), Witchboard (remake), Year 2 (about werewolves), Shelby Oaks (A woman's desperate search for her long-lost sister falls into obsession upon realizing that the imaginary demon from their childhood may have been real), Salem's Lot (remake), Little Bites ('70s-set monster movie that highlights the lengths a parent will go to protect a child), The Crow (Reboot), Jordan Peele's untitled movie, I've also seen there's going to be another Saw (but it hasn't been confirmed), and another Scream (but that production is already a trainwreck so who knows)

#horror #horror movies #horror cinema #dracula #the crow #terrifier 3 #saw #scream #alien #beetlejuice 2 #smile 2

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yourmomxx · 10 months

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Family Line

father of mine masterlist

summary: the hunt for the monster starts. We find out what happened all those years ago between Dean and his daughter.

warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, descriptions of blood, descriptions of murder, this is written like an episode of Supernatural

word count: 8,5k

a/n: we did it, guys! this is the last part of the father-of-mine series. I’m really sorry about the late upload, but I do hope it was worth the wait! This might be the ending of this series, but not quite the ending of the story … thank you all so much for sticking around and supporting this story, sequels and prequels about dean and his daughter will definitely come!

pt1 pt2 pt3

Sioux Falls 2007

It was late at night, and in Bobby Singer’s Junkyard, the lights were still on. Accompanying the chirping tunes of the cicadas, a fading pop song from somewhere in the ‘70s was trailing out the windows.

On the small wooden table in the kitchen, Dean and Sam Winchester had spread out a multitude of lore books found in Bobby’s bookshelf, some worn out, some torn, and Sam was currently leaned over a particularly ugly-written paragraph dedicated to the magical use of a pan’s flute.

“Dean, I can hear you being silent.” Sam raised his head to look his older brother in the eye. “What is it?”

Dean shrugged, threw a look at the numerous variations of old books about supernatural creatures laid out in front of them, then at his little brother.

“You’re overworking yourself, Sammy,” Dean pointed out. The keyboard clicked as he typed something on the laptop.

“Dean, we’ve been over this,” Sam said. “I’m just trying to find a way for you to not die. You can’t exactly blame me for that.”

“Yes, exactly, we’ve been over it,” Dean countered. “And I told you there’s no way around it. I made a deal, that’s it. Period, no refunds.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Well, I don’t want that to be it.” He muttered under his breath.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself when they heard the sound of tiny footsteps over the floor.

Dean perked up and turned his head.

“Hey, my little love.”

A while ago, the soft tone in his brother’s words would have caught Sam completely off guard. By now, he was already getting used to the way Dean’s eyes had a different look in them – one of pure love – and he spoke with a softness as if his words alone should wrap their recipient up in satin cloth.

Sam turned around to look at who Dean was talking to, and was not surprised to see a small girl trutting towards them, little legs still uncoordinated after only just waking up. Her small fists were rubbing her squinted eyes, the light in the living room must be blinding her.

Y/N made her way over to Dean and made grabby hands up at him.

Dean chuckled and picked his daughter up under her arms, placing her carefully on his thigh as she nuzzled into his dark flannel shirt.

Sam smiled at the contrast of Dean’s shirt, and her bright yellow children’s nightgown with the washed out Led Zeppelin-logo printed on.

Dean’s big hand was rubbing circles on her back, as he craned his neck to bow it down to her.

“What are you doing awake so late, sweetheart?” He hushed.

Y/N nuzzled her nose into his neck. “’d a bad dream,” she mumbled.

Sam could see the emotion cross over his brother’s face for a brief second as he made eye contact with him.

They both knew that this could – would – happen. That little girl had been through so much already, at her young age, had seen and lost things no child should ever see or lose.

They both had known that nightmares would probably eventually start haunting her, but yet, they had still not been prepared for when it was the time.

Dean didn’t know what he should be feeling, his daughter had had a nightmare, and all he wanted was to wrap his arms around her, keep her there, and kill everything in her way to becoming happy.

But he knew he couldn’t do that. And that’s why he wanted to, so much more.

“Really?” He asked instead, hand not leaving her back. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

“Everybody was leaving me,” Y/N sniffled, small fist rubbing her nose. “You, Auntie Ellen, Jo, Uncle Sam, Grandpa Bobby.” Another sniffle.

“I was all alone.”

Dean felt like sobbing. A heavy weight had latched itself on his heart. Oh, his little girl. How much he loved her.

“Sweetheart, it was just a bad dream,” he promised to her. “We are not going to leave you alone, I swear.”

Y/N pulled her face from the crook of his neck and looked up at him with red rimmed eyes.

“Pinky promise?” She asked.

Dean lifted his free hand and linked his pinky finger with hers. “Pinky promise,” he said.

Something told him he had made a mistake. But he couldn’t care right now.

Still, he felt like a liar.

“Now,” he said, a conspiratorial tone in his words, “What do you say we get you back to bed and I stay until you fall asleep, hm? How does that sound?”

Y/N didn’t fuss long about it, she just nodded her head and nuzzled closer to him.

Dean understood the silent command, and lifted her into his arms as he stood up. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Sam looked after them as they disappeared up the stairs. Now alone, he turned his attention back to his research. Why he was reading everything about the dog Cerberus right now, he couldn’t quite decipher, but he was grasping onto every straw.

A few minutes passed by, and Dean was still not back. Another few, another few.

Sam frowned as he looked at the clock on the wall. 5.13 in the evening. Sam realized now that the clock was broken.

Curtly, he stood up from the table and climbed the stairs to the bedrooms.

The door to Y/N’s room was open, hiding the colored sign she had written her name on (with Dean’s help) to inform everyone of her territory.

Careful to be quiet, Sam stepped closer to the threshold, peeking into the dark room. A dim night light in the form of a crescent moon was burning on the nightstand. In the bed laid a small bundle of blankets and stuffed animals, which Sam could only guess was Y/N.

Next to her, holding the girl in his arms, Sam spotted Dean, probably holding on for dear life on the edge of the narrow bed.

Sam smiled at them.

Through the silence, a soft, hummed melody reached Sam’s ears, and he perked up.

He knew that song from somewhere, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Na-na na na. Nana na-a.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Dude, are you singing her Smells like Teen Spirit?”

Dean looked at him, grinning. “Yeah. It’s a classic.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world and Sam was the stupid one.

“I mean, look at her,” he said, his gaze shifting to his daughter again. “She’s gonna be a badass one day. Right? One day, you’re gonna be as badass and cool as your daddy.”

Oh yeah, that girl was out like a light.

Sam just shook his head chuckling. “All right, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Dean didn’t answer him, but he knew he heard him.

A few minutes after Sam had left, currently sitting at the kitchen table again, starting a new chapter of the same book, Dean came downstairs.

Wordlessly, he took his seat across from Sam, and pulled one of the lore books closer to him.

And though he had an idea where his brother’s new sense of determination came from, Sam didn’t say a word when Dean started reading.

༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻

Now

When you called, for a brief second Sam was worried that Dean was gonna crash the car. The way his face morphed into shock, concern and then anger, while he was talking to you on the phone had his little brother worried.

After you hung up, Sam pretended not to notice the way Dean pushed further into the gas pedal.

The first rays of the morning sunlight made their way over the hills, when Sam and Dean arrived at the Group Home. Dean didn’t bother with a neat parking maneuver, and just turned the motor off, then made his way with fast steps over to the castle.

Sam trailed behind.

They had no problem entering the building, Maria had given them an official key card for their investigations. Dean stormed down the hallways with a fast step, as if he had memorized the entire way by heart.

Sam wouldn’t blame him.

You were sitting on your bed when they came in. Or more, cowering there.

Sam was all too familiar with the look of disturbed terror in your eyes, even when you firmly avoided looking at either of them.

“Y/N?” Dean moved a step forward, stretching his hand out towards you as if to soothingly touch your shoulder, but hesitated in his movement and pulled away.

Sam threw him a worried look that Dean didn’t seem to catch.

“What happened?”

Your fingers were continuously drumming against your knee pulled close to your chest.

“’d a bad dream,” you mumbled. Sam could hear the fear in your voice. Dean sat down in your chair opposite the bed.

“When I woke up, there was …” You swallowed and hardly squinted your eyes. “I don’t know what it was. Looked like two yellow … eyes.”

Sam couldn’t help the disgusted twist his face made at the word. He couldn’t imagine waking up to something like this.

Dean exchanged a look with him. Your story confirmed their theory even more.

On the bed, you had gone quiet again. Your fingers were still drumming an uneven pattern on your skin.

This didn’t make sense. This didn’t make sense. She was dead, Cass was dead. Roy was dead. Dean Winchester was here. He left you, and now he was here, but not for you, no, but for Roy. They were all dead.

And you were next.

“Have you ever heard of an alp?” Your head snapped up as Dean’s question pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“An Alp?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “I mean - yes, I came across that lore when I was still taking German literature.”

“You took German Literature?” Dean regretted his question as soon as he asked it.

“Yes,” you answered, but something had shifted in your tone. It was low and pressed. Shit. He knew he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. Sam felt like smacking his brother across the head.

“So you know what they are?” He asked instead, and you shrugged, looking at your feet again.

“Yes, well, I know that the Germans believed that an Alp would sit on their chests while they slept, and it would feed on their good dreams - plaguing the sleeping person with terrible nightmares. That’s why they used to have shortened beds, because if they weren’t lying down, the alp couldn’t sit on their chest.”

While you talked, realization hit you like a brick. Or more like a huge wave, rather, if the feeling of being violently ripped of all air was anything to go by.

“Oh my God,” You breathed out. “Cass and Roy both had nightmares before they died.” You looked between Dean and Sam with shock-widened eyes. “This Alp thing was the reason for all of this, right? I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“Not if we have a say in it.” Dean’s jaw remained stoically clenched as he spoke his promise.

“What did you dream about?” Sam asked.

You ducked your head even further into yourself and picked at the skin next to your nails. “’s it important?”

“It could be.”

You took a deep breath and bit the inside of your cheek. “Same as Roy,” you simply said. “Worst day of my life.”

And, okay. Sam didn’t get into college for being slow, he knew exactly what day that was. And judging by the brief flicker of emotion crossing over Dean’s face, he knew, too.

But he didn’t address it and only cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, if it really is an Alp – which it probably is – then we already know how to get rid of it.”

“We would lure it into a trap. You know, get us some … bait and then just –“ Dean symbolically dragged a finger across his throat.

You raised your eyebrows in concern. “And how do you think that’s gonna work?”

Admittedly, this hadn’t been your smartest moment, but given the circumstances you were in, you figured you could be forgiven.

Sam dipped his head. “That’s where you come in.”

“You can always say no,” Dean carefully offered. “If you don’t want to do it.”

You lifted your chin in the air. “This thing is the reason two of my best friends are dead,” you said. “I want to pay back the favor.”

Sam nodded. “Alright then.”

“So you guys got a plan?” You asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look and Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we do.”

—

It was loud in the cafeteria. It always was. Today, though, you were especially aware of it, because most of the noise was heavily directed towards you.

Or rather, about you, which had just the same effect in your opinion.

You had barely entered the big room and had already felt a few dozen eyes fixated on you. The whispering had started when you got closer to the buffet, and the occasional double-take and looking-fast-away-when-she-is-looking had continued when you had sat down.

Of course, how else should it be, you had been given the rehearsed “My condolences” or “I’m so sorry for your loss”.

Long story short, to you it felt like the day of Roy’s death all over again.

Except this time, they were serving pasta, and not chicken with rice.

It was days like these (which, in your opinion, had been happening far too often over the past few weeks), that made you hate this place even more. It’s not like you had had a reason for that before, the supervisors were nice, so were the helping staff and, of course, Maria.

Maria, who had taken you under her wing from the first day you arrived here. She had acted like a mother towards you, the one you had never had, no matter how hostile you had acted towards her.

Still, as you grew older, the whole thing felt simply more washed out and sickening.

Maybe this really was just a side effect of puberty, as your gynecologist had said.

As you let your gaze travel over the many familiar faces, you couldn’t help but notice that Finn wasn’t under any of them.

Finn, your beloved Finn. You then suddenly remembered the text conversation the two of you had had the other night. Before, well – everything. You still needed to stay true to that.

Silently, you made a note to yourself in your head, to drop by his room straight after lu-

A broad silhouette squeezing into the seat opposite you blocked your view over the hall, and your eyebrows shot up as you realized who it was.

“Uhm, hello?” You asked as Dean folded his hands on the table.

“You told everyone I was dead?” He asked, purposely skimming over your question.

You frowned and opened the small package of parmesan. “Well, aren’t you? About six times?”

Dean frowned and you caught him counting something under his breath with his fingers.

You shook your head, making a point of ignoring him and poured sauce over the dry spaghetti.

“That’s not even my point.”

“What, you’re saying you didn’t barge into the middle of my lunch – after the night I had – to scold me over the inaccuracy of your death rate?” You clicked your tongue. “Surprise.”

Dean apparently didn’t deem it necessary to address your sarcastic tone. That, or he knew just how much he deserved it, which you were fine with, either way.

“Look,” he started, and Jesus, this was going to be serious. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened last night.”

Confused, you tilted your head.

“I mean about the dream,” Dean quickly added. “I mean, we both know what it was about, and I just …” He cut himself off, cleared his throat, and let out a short breath that was probably supposed to be failed attempt at a laugh.

“I’m not a big … talking guy, you know? But I just … I always told myself, if I ever had kids, that I would be different then. That …” He stopped again.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You scoffed. “You’re a bit late for that,” you spat. “I mean, it’s been what, almost a decade? ‘Sorry’ travels far, but not that many years.”

“I know that,” Dean said, “But I want you to know, that-“

“Well, I don’t want to know!” You interrupted him. Maybe too loud, if the simultaneous turn of heads was anything to go by. “I don’t want you to tell me anything. No excuses, no explanations, I want, and I need absolutely nothing from you, you understand?”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek.

“Believe me, I do.” He said. “But still-“

“No!” The dishes clattered as you slammed your hand on the table. “Dean, you don’t understand! You just left me here, at this orphanage –“

“It’s a group home.”

“Same thing, Dean!” You snapped. “Just a fancier word.”

Dean carefully pulled his hand away from the table, folding it with his other in his lap. You could feel him watching you, but you consequently avoided his gaze.

“Look, I’m not gonna have this conversation right now,” You decided. “I am going to go talk to my best friend, and when I go to sleep, I’ll try not to get killed! So goodbye.”

And with that, you picked up your still full lunch-tray, dumped it on one of the cleaning wagons, and made your way out of the cafeteria.

You never turned around to see Dean looking after you.

༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻

St. George, Louisiana 2012

Dean Winchester was standing by a window. Through the clean glass he had a clear view of green gardens, well-kept flowers and trees leaning in the soft breeze of the wind.

Further away, he spotted the tall hedge walls of something that had to be a garden maze.

“I hope you know just how grateful I am for what you and your brother did for me.”

The voice of Maria Whitlock lifted Dean out of his thoughts, and he turned around to face the older woman.

She spoke in a soothing tone, one that reminded him of a mother he never had, but learned to long for.

Dean nodded. “That’s our job.”

Maria gave him a look and tilted her head. He was standing in her office, a neatly tidied room with a shelf for books and files, and a rather expensive looking desk. Very clean as well.

“What you decided to do was probably very hard,” she continued. “But I can assure you, in most cases, it turns out to be the better option for both parties.”

He didn’t like the way she talked about his plan like it was a good thing, when it wasn’t. It didn’t make him a good person for doing it.

“I’m sure, Dean, that there will be a lovely family out there who will take care of her –“

“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant.” He quickly interrupted her. It was the first time in here he had spoken more than for words. “I don’t … I don’t want someone else to take her in.”

Maria raised her skeptical eyebrows at him. “Do I understand correctly, Dean?” She asked. “You want her to just - stay here?” And her tone was implying exactly what she held of that idea.

“Look, I know how that sounds.”

“I really hope you do.”

“But my job doesn’t allow me to properly take care of her. When Bobby was still - well, she stayed with him, and we visited her from time to time.”

Maria nodded. “I understand. But what you have to understand, is, that this will surely not be easy for her. Whereas many of the elder children indeed do live here, the younger ones are usually adopted by a foster family who can take care of them. Who can love them,” she added.

Dean looked out the window again.

“I understand that,” He said. “But this is how I want it.”

He couldn’t see Maria behind him, as he was turned away from her, but he could well sense the way her observing, maybe judging gaze was burning between his shoulder blades.

“Well, then.” She sighed.

And as Dean watched the flowers dance in the wind, listening to Maria shuffling through her papers, he couldn’t help but think that this might be one of the most selfish decisions he has ever made.

—

Soft wind was tugging at Dean’s hair. Somewhere in the distance he was aware of the rippling water of a small fountain.

Dean tried to not actively think of what he was doing here. Of the consequences his actions would inevitably cause. He knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Y/N’s hand was holding his in a strong grip, as they walked up to Maria and he greeted her.

Maria leaned down to be on eye level with his daughter and smiled at her.

“Hello Y/N, it’s very nice to meet you. Your Dad has told me so much about you! I’m sure you’ll settle in here just nicely.”

Dean crouched down and placed both his arms on Y/N’s for her to look at him. She had been eyeing Maria and the castle suspiciously.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he started. “Maria is really, really nice. And because Uncle Sam and I have to work so much, she is going to take very good care of you.”

Y/N averted his eyes and stared at her shoes. Then, sh burst forward, slung her small arms around Dean’s neck and buried her face in his chest.

“I wanna go with you,” she mumbled into his jacket. Dean sighed. With a heavy heart, be broke out of the embrace. “I promise I’m old enough, I want to go with you!” She pleaded again. With every word, Dean’s heart shattered just a bit more.

“Look, you remember when you stayed with Grandpa Bobby for a while when me and Uncle Sammy had to work?” She nodded, sniffling.

“This is gonna be just like that. I promise.”

Y/N sniffled again. Then she held out her hand to him. “Pinky promise?”

I promise that we’ll be fine.

I promise that we’d never just leave you alone.

I promise that Grandpa Bobby will be alright.

Dean pulled Y/N into his chest again. He breathed in deep, as if that would somehow help him savor this moment, savor her to be engraved in his brain to never forget. His little girl, the only thing good and pure in his life.

“Have fun, sweetheart,” he said when they broke apart again.

He stood up, and even though he wasn’t that old, everything in his body hurt at the movement.

“But I don’t know anyone here!” Y/N said again. It has been her go-to argument the entire car ride to the castle.

“I want to go with you and Uncle Sam!”

“Y/N!” The sharpness in Dean’s tone felt like it was cutting him. “I said you can’t.”

Her bottom lip started to tremble, before a big tear rolled down her cheek. Then another one, and another one, until she was full-on sobbing.

“Please, Dad!” She cried, and Dean’s heart shattered.

Behind her, Maria put a caring hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, sweetie, say goodbye to your dad.”

Y/N violently shook her hand off her body. “No! No, I don’t want to go with you! I want to stay with my dad!”

Maria and Dean exchanged a look. In her eyes, he recognized something that told him to change his mind.

It took everything in Dean to turn around and walk away.

He fixated his eyes on his car a few feet away from him. He wasn’t walking very fast, but with the weight that felt tied to his feet, it was the best he could do.

Behind him, Y/N kept crying. And as she was pleading and pleading, for him to come back, for him to stay, the feeling of realization started heavily sinking in, that he was really waking away.

Not only from this situation, from his daughters cries, but from her. From his child.

His feet felt even heavier.

When he reached the car door and opened it, he didn’t feel anything. Everything happened in a haze. He vaguely registered starting the car and pressing his foot on the gas pedal.

His daughter’s sobs were still replaying over and over in his mind like the sounds of a broken vinyl, as the naked road flew by the dirty windows.

Sam didn’t address the single tear that rolled down his brother’s cheek. And Dean just kept driving.

༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻

Now

Since forever on, you had never been quite good with your emotions. Portraying them, talking about them, feeling them.

It was an obstacle.

Looking back at it, you figured it was probably somehow running in your family, the whole being emotionally unavailable thing.

Could that be inherited? According to your biology teacher, yes, but you didn’t know how well you believed that.

Nevertheless, as you knocked on the cold door that was the entrance to your - only left – best friend’s room, emotions welled up in your throat as choking as a tidal wave clashing its weight over your head.

It was dark in there. The curtains had been pulled closed and the thick material wouldn’t let a flicker of daylight in the room.

A smell hung over the entire place, of stale air and leftover food, and the sensation of hopelessness. Finn was sitting on the edge of his bed, a dark silhouette staring crooked at his hands in his lap, only illuminated by the weak light of the bedside lamp.

Without properly acknowledging him, you took quick strides to the other side of the room, and without further ado, ripped his curtains open.

The sun was already lowering down the horizon again, but the leftover light was still enough to turn the dark silhouettes in the bedroom into concrete shapes, of dirty plates, glasses, and clothes scattered all over the floor.

From his place on the bed, Finn groaned lowly, like a small bear being awaken from hibernation.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes as you sat down next to him. The bed dipped under your weight and you moved over a few study sheets that laid on his duvet.

“Hey,” you said.

Finn dropped his hands into his lap again and turned his tired gaze on you.

“Hey,” he said back.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Finn’s eyes tiredly scanned the room around him, the mess it was in, and then shook his head.

“Nah.”

“Alright.” You weren’t, really, but that conversation could wait until another time.

“How you holdin’ up?”

Finn tilted his head to you in a way that said ‘Ain’t it obvious?’ and you shrugged in response. “Stupid question, got it.”

Finn sighed.

There was a silence building between the two of you that you didn’t like. You kept yourself from fidgeting impatiently on the sheets.

“I just-“ Finn cut himself off and ruffled his hand through his hair. “Ever since – well, yesterday – I’ve been thinking about …”

He broke off again, blinking with his face towards the ceiling to avoid the falling of tears.

“Y/N, the last thing I said to her, was – we fought.” Finn’s confession was almost a whimper as he looked at you, awaiting your reaction.

Your heart broke at the look in his eyes, so clouded full with guilt and self-loathing, you almost didn’t recognize him.

“Oh, Finn, she loved you.” You sighed, and placed a gentle yet firm hand on his arm. “She knew what you were going through, what we were all going through. And trust me, she never, not for a second, held it against you. That was one moment out of almost ten years we all spent together. It didn’t mean anything, not in the long run.”

Finn sniffed and rubbed his nose, diverting his gaze to his hands again.

“Finn, she didn’t die hating you.” You put emphasis on every word as much as you could, because you wanted him to hear you, to understand, to believe. You didn’t want to let him wallow in his own self-destructing thoughts about something that wasn’t even true, not in the slightest bit.

Finn just hummed, but didn’t meet your eyes, just kept them trained on his lap. You sighed and let your hand slowly slide from his arm.

For a while, it was quiet again.

“My father is here,” you then blurted out.

Finn’s eyebrows shot up. “The one that died?”

“Yeah.” You weighed your head. “In my defense, I thought he died too, until he showed up in a fancy suit, investigating my best friend’s murder.”

The typical phrase of ‘seeing gears turning in someone’s head’ was the only way you would describe what you were seeing displayed on Finn’s face right now, just before the realization hit him.

“Wait, your father’s one of the hot FBI agents?”

You pursed your lips and nodded.

Finn blinked in disbelief.

“Wow,” He breathed out.

“Yup.” You said, popping the ‘p’. “Just got a lot less hot, huh?”

Finn raised his hands in surrender and shook his head. “For my own safety, I’m really not gonna answer that.”

You let out a laugh and playfully shoved him with your shoulder.

“Idiot.”

Finn grinned. “You love me.”

You hummed. “You’re right, I really do.”

A long while later, the door closed behind you again with a click.

Finn had to promise you to get in touch with you if he felt the need to, and to at least try and keep his room in order. After a brief conversation of how his view of himself and his ‘need to call you’ was very different from yours, you had hugged him and decided to leave.

Before you had walked out, your hand had rested on the handle, and you had turned around to Finn, not quite looking him in the eye.

“You know I love you too, right?” You had said. “No matter what happens.”

Finn frowned, but if he got suspicious, he didn’t mention it. “I know. Same here.”

You swallowed and nodded.

Then you left the room.

Now you were standing outside of his door, gaze drifting into the distance, and the same weight that had been lifted off your shoulders replaced by another one, just as heavy.

Funny, how, even if indirectly, saying your Goodbyes, made the lingering presence of death looming over you like a dark shadow much more real. If only one thing went wrong tonight, then-

You shook your head at the thought. No, Sam and Dean were going to take care of it, they promised. You had to put their trust into them with this.

But if tonight really was it, then you were content with the feeling that the last conversation you had, had been with Finnegan Beckett.

The walk back to your room stretched longer than usual.

Sooner than you would like it to, the sun disappeared behind the hills and night reigned over the land.

Sam and Dean were standing in your room, rehearsing their – honestly, pretty vague – plan with you, making sure you knew exactly how everything would go down. To be fair, you didn’t really play a big part in the whole thing, but it was nice having some sort of reassurance.

“Alright, so you know what to do?” Sam questioned once again.

Slowly, you nodded your head. “Lay still and look pretty,” you joked. “And try not to get killed.”

“Leave that last part to us,” said Dean. “You don’t have to worry about anything. By the time you wake up, everything will be over.”

You nodded.

You had seen it in Dean’s eyes, that he wasn’t all in with the idea of using you as bait, but you had done it nevertheless.

You weren’t a little child anymore, especially not his, he wasn’t going to decide what you wanted or not wanted to risk.

You took a deep breath that lifted your shoulders and huffed it back out. You were going to do this. It was easy.

—

Like hell it was.

Whoever told you you had the easiest part of the plan had been fucking lying to you. Turns out, sleeping is way harder with the knowledge of probable death hanging over your head like a dark cloud.

Every time your eyes slipped closed, a glimpse of doubt squeezed its way into your mind. What if Sam and Dean didn’t make it? What if everything went wrong? What if, in the end, you did die?

The sheets were already pooling crumbled by your feet when you slipped out of consciousness.

The mass of hot bodies pressing together and towering over you was clamming. A figure was running away from you, you were chasing after it. You smelt old leather and gunpowder. It made you feel comforted. You wanted more of it.

Gravel clattered underneath your boots as you got out of the car on your own, like all the big girls would.

“Look, Daddy!” But Daddy wasn’t there.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” There she was again, the nice girl with the black hair. She held out her hand and you went to grab it, her warm presence looming you in, and then the floor opened up under your feet and you were falling into nothingness.

Your heart pounded rapidly in your chest, as you startled awake in your bed, feeling your lungs tighten up and making it hard to breathe.

Your panicked gaze flew to the door of your room – wide open, the light of the hall casting a dim shadow into the room.

“Wha- Sam! Dean!” Hastily, you pulled the covers off your body and hurried out the door. Something must have gone wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

You followed the sound of footsteps and scuffle down the hallway, turned the lights on where it had gone off at a few junctions.

Your breathing was still shallow, but you pushed through that and your still dazing mind, adrenaline pumping through your veins with every step you took.

Rapidly turning around another corner, you almost stumbled over the long legs of Sam’s body on the floor. You came to an abrupt halt and kneeled worried next to him.

“Sam? Oh my God, are you-“

Sam groaned and moved his head, eyes still pressed shut. “’s strong,” he babbled, and you tried your hardest to understand what he was saying.

By the way he was slurring his words, you had well reason to think he had suffered a concussion.

“It’s alright, stay here,” you ordered him, as he tried to sit up.

Only then, you first noticed the struggling noises a few feet away from you, and lifted your eyes away from Sam to check where they were coming from.

What you saw almost made your heart drop into your stomach.

Not that far away from you, maybe a few armlengths, was Dean, laying on the floor on his back just like his brother. But he was wrestling with something sitting on his chest, something small and hairy, hunchbacked like an old witch but only with the size of a cat.

The thing, which had to be the Alp, had long, bony limbs, and was fighting tooth and nail, hissing, biting and scratching, against Dean.

It reminded you of a gremlin, of sorts.

In your head, you heard Roy’s voice scold you, “There’s a distinct difference between all supernatural creatures. Elves don’t equal fairies, and gremlins don’t equal goblins, because while gremlins are fuzzy and cute in the beginning and only bad later when they turn, goblins have always been known for harassing humans.”

Alright, so no gremlin then.

Near you, Dean was still rolling around on the floor, fighting for the upper hand with the Alp.

Your heart sped up as you realized that something had to be wrong. Because why wasn’t he just killing it?

“So how do you kill it?”

Sam pulled something out of his duffel bag and turned it in his hands, the dim light of your lamp reflecting on the material. “Silver dagger dipped in vampire blood.” He spoke.

“Wait – vampires bleed?”

Dean scoffed. “This isn’t Twilight, kiddo. Yes, vampires bleed.”

You shrugged and inspected the phial he had laid into your hand. “I was thinking more of Fear Street, but alright.”

Dean ignored that he didn’t know what that was, but made a mental note to look it up later.

Sam stuffed the dagger back into his arsenal.

“You don’t have to worry about that part, though,” He assured you. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Dean nodded. “He’s right. You just dream sweet, and we’ll handle the rest. Fool-proof.”

You nodded, passing Dean the blood back. You could only hope they were right.

The shining silver of the dagger caught your eye. It had most likely been scattered away from Dean and landed near a wall, far out of his reach.

You took quick steps over to pick it up, Dean’s struggling grunts making you alert, and probably the reason why you didn’t think about what you did next, you just did it.

The silver dagger felt light in your hands, coated in the dark fluid of what had to be vampire blood. The blade reflected the clinical white light from the hallway as you lifted it up over your head, and, using the strength of both your hands, pushed it with force into the monster’s upper torso.

The squelching sound it made, as it penetrated bristly fur, skin, and organs, would later make you feel repulsed and gagging, sort of like nails scratching on a blackboard, but in this moment, you just clenched the dagger tighter and pushed it further into the monster’s chest.

The screech it let out could not be compared to any animalistic sounds you had ever heard before. In a swift move, you pulled the weapon out of the Alp’s body, and the small creature slumped to the floor right next to Dean.

You waited for a second. Two, three panting breaths. Dean was the first to move. He put a hand somewhere where the thing’s neck should be.

Then, swallowing in-between his hard breaths, he nodded. “Done,” was all he said. But it was enough for a sigh of relief to leave your tired lungs, and you sunk to the ground right next to him.

Looking closer at its lifeless body, the Alp had more similarity with one of those dead, stuffed animals that hunters hung in their houses as trophies. But maybe that was just rigor mortis.

Through your haze, you barely registered Dean clapping a firm hand on your shoulder. You turned your head to look at him, eyes suddenly feeling heavy as the adrenaline was wearing off. Like sucking air out of a balloon.

“You did good today, kid.” He said, and though you were tired, in his eyes you could see that he meant it. It filled your chest with a warmth that hadn’t been at home in there since … God knows when, and it made you smile.

Near you, Sam staggered closer, still holding his hurting ribs, and tilted his head as he squinted his eyes at the lifeless Alp before you.

“Is it just me or does it … look like a cat?”

You and Dean both looked over at him, and then at the dead monster on the floor.

“Looks more like a gremlin-goblin hybrid,” You panted. “A gromblin.”

Sam threw you a look of pure confusion, while Dean was grinning proudly. You smiled back. It felt honest.

And very likely, it was.

-- It was quiet again.

From the fight and struggles a few days ago was no trace left, as you stood by your desk and sorted through some old photographs you had replaced on your wall.

The pictures you were sorting through mostly showed you, Finn, Roy and Cass together.

At school, at the movies, going out to eat.

You sighed and plucked some tape from the back of another one.

Right at that moment, a knock sounded from your door. Without even looking up from Cass and Roy smiling at you, holding a stray cat, you let out a “Come in,” at the person on the other side of the door.

The familiar sound of the hinges creaking signified the opening and closing of the door. And then, Dean Winchester was standing in your room.

“Uhm …” He was rubbing his neck awkwardly, as you looked at him expectantly.

“Hey. What’s up?” You asked, and put the photographs in a drawer.

Dean took a deep breath and looked at you. He wasn’t wearing the same casual clothes as he had been that terrible night, but had settled on his FBI suit again. Maybe for effect.

“Look, I was just-“ Dean fumbled for a second and then took a seat on the small chair that was standing around. “We should talk. This time for real.”

You tilted your head, and avoided looking at him.

Dean didn’t wait for any response, he simply kept talking. Maye rambling.

“I know I already tried, but it wasn’t my best, so I …” He sighed.

“I never explained anything to you. why things went down how they did. Y/N, please look at me.”

You had sat down in your deskchair, pulling your legs to your chest and now did your best to fix your eyes on Dean.

“What we do, the hunting … it’s no way to grow up for a child. I know how that is. And I never, ever, wanted that for you. I already had plans to end things sooner than they did, but then ..” He shook his head. “Didn’t work out. So, when Bobby died, I saw no other chance than to get you somewhere else. And I took that chance to just … remove you from my life, as hard as it was.”

“But I promise you, Y/N, it was all just to keep you safe. I never would’ve done it if there had been another way. And I wanted you to know that.”

Dean stood on his feet again and placed the chair back on its original spot. You looked away as he reached for the door handle, to get out of your life, again.

“So you’re just gonna leave? Again?” Your words were accusing and they were meant to be that way, but still you almost felt bad, as Dean dropped his hand by his side and let out a sigh.

“Like I said, it was for the best. Still is, in my opinion.”

“What, to remove me from your life again?” You jumped out of your chair, fury burning in your eyes and voice growing louder with every word you spoke.

“Y/N, you don’t get it-“

“No, you don’t get it!” You jelled at him. What was burning in your eyes were now more tears than anger, but it didn’t matter.

“For years, I’ve been trying to … to figure out what I did wrong. For years, I’ve been trying to do better, every day, I wanted to be better, because I thought —. I thought that if I had good grades, and if I started working out, and if I was always on my best behavior … I thought that you would come and get me. But somehow you never did. And I just … I don’t understand, I want you to tell me, what did I do wrong, what made you leave, because I swear, I’ll change. I’ll change, and I’ll work on it, just please…” A begging undertone accompanied your tear-choked words. “Don’t leave me here again.”

Wordlessly, Dean quickly crossed the room and put his arms around you. it took you a second to realize what was even happening, before you clung to his suit jacket, digging all your strength into it, as if the fabric was the only think that kept you from drowning in black water.

You felt the shadow of warmth, as Dean turned his head to press a featherlight kiss into your hair.

“I regret having to leave you.” He murmured next to your ear. “But what I do not regret is keeping you safe. Even if that meant leaving you.”

You sniffled, and pulled away from him. Dean’s own face wasn’t full of fresh tear stains, but still you could see the sincerity and something like sadness on his features.

You wiped your cheeks to clean them off the drying liquids.

“I’m older now,” You said, and Dean scoffed, already knowing where this was headed. “No, please, listen to me! I’m older, I can make my own choices, take my own risks. You saw how great I was a few days ago!”

“Yes, but that was one monster!” Dean countered. “Out there, there are hundreds of those things. We don’t get enough sleep, no nice food, not even nice beds! Trust me, Y/N, compared to this-“ he gestured around your room, “what we do has nothing on it.”

You shook your head. “But you’re together when you do it. You and Sam. And I just want that, I want to be with you.”

Dean sighed and took a step back.

“Please, Dean, I’m begging you!” You urged. “You said you never wanted to come back here, but now you had to, I mean – don’t you think that’s some sort of … sign or something?”

“I don’t believe in signs.”

“Well, screw signs, I’m here!” You pointed to yourself. Your voice was desperate, but so were you.

“I am here, and I want you to take me with you.” And in a whisper, you repeated, “Please, Dean, this time – let me come with you.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Dean heavily sighed and pulled the chair closer to him to sit down.

The church bells were tolling a loud, fast tune. It was ironic, you thought, and you didn’t know if you should cry or laugh about it.

You watched as two dark caskets were lowered down into the earth, into two separate 6-feet deep holes right next to each other.

The gravestones had not yet been prepared, but you didn’t exactly need those anyway. If the huge pictures were any indicator on who was getting buried here.

This was your last time saying Goodbye. To Cass and to Roy, and, unfortunately, to the last one remaining.

Funerals weren’t for the dead, you had once read somewhere, they were for the living, for those seeking closure in their desperate times of grief.

You had thought it to be bullshit, what difference would a burial make in a journey of overcoming the loss of someone so important?

But, as you threw a full hand of dark earth onto each of the dark caskets, you somehow understood. It was one weight less.

They were still here, some part of them. Something you could always come back to, they hadn’t just vanished off the back off the earth. That thought was, indeed, comforting.

Damn life lessons that are right.

“Hey,” you suddenly heard a voice next to you, and were a bit surprised to see Finn standing there.

You had been too lost in your own thoughts to even notice him approaching. The lack of sleep probably didn’t help your attention skills much, either.

“Hey,” you answered.

“Look, I need to tell you something,” you started, just at the same time as Finn said, “I know what you wanna say.”

Both of you let out quiet laughs.

“You first,” He said.

You took a deep breath and avoided looking at him, scanning the gravestones before you as if you had known everyone buried under them personally.

“Sam and Dean,” you started, “I mean, they’ve been here for a while and honestly, I never even thought I’d see them again. So I never really thought about what would happen if they would just – show up, you know?”

Interesting, Peter Gravill only lived to be 57 years old.

“But now they’re here, and I just-“

“I get it.” Finn suddenly interrupted you. Your head whirled around so fast you were afraid you were gonna get whiplash.

At your confused look, he added, “I mean, if my parents suddenly showed up on my doorstep and gave me the option of going with them –“ he shrugged his shoulders. “-I would most definitely take it.”

Before you could even think about it, you already lunged forwards and wrapped your arms around his body, burying your face in his neck and holding him tightly.

The hot feeling of tears burned behind your eyes, but you managed to put them away. You pulled Finn even closer.

“Everything’s gonna be alright, kid.”

“You’re still younger than me.”

“I don’t care. I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

The hug lasted endless, but endless went by way too quickly. You fixed Finn’s suit jacket, apologized for the tear- and make-up stains you had gotten on the expensive material, and waved him a last Goodbye.

Down by the parking lot, a black car was already waiting for you, two adult men leaning against it. They had been watching the entire thing go down from a safe distance, not wanting to interfere in either the funeral, or the emotional Goodbyes.

Sam tried not to think about what laid ahead of them, or behind them, as his niece walked towards them, away from the graves of her best friends, and leaving the only one that was still alive, behind.

His niece. How long hadn’t he said that title, let alone thought it.

He liked the familiarity of it. The rightness.

Dean opened a creaking car door for you, as you reached them.

“You ready?” He asked.

Sam could see your shoulders tighten, as you lifted your chin, and looked his brother straight in the eye.

“Yeah.”

Dean nodded, and you got in the backseat. He slammed the car door closed behind you. With one last look at his younger brother, Dean rounded Baby and took his place as the driver, Sam claiming shotgun.

Behind them, you leaned your head against the window as the engine roared and you drove off.

The car smelt like leather and gunpowder. It made you feel comforted.

And in the backseat of an old 1967 Chevy Impala, listening to the music that was a mix of Metallica, Kansas and Billy Joel, you slept the best night’s sleep you had had in weeks.

taglist:

@psycho-magnotheric-slime , @openmindedperson2200 , @emily-roberts

483 notes · View notes

ramblingoak · 9 months

Note

“kisses meant to distract” w terzo pls 😘

The Morningstar

Terzo x Female Reader ~ Stealing from cowboys was easy but you might have met your match in The Morningstar...

This is a prequel to a longer story featuring Terzo from my Outlaw Brides universe. You do not need to read any of those before you read this 💙

Warnings: Old West au, smug Terzo, violence, smut, fingering, p in v sex, nsfw 18+ only, 4.4k words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)

Stealing from cowboys was easy.

Ok, stealing from cowboys was usually easy. It definitely helped that most of the ones you chose were typically a few whiskeys into their evening. Just drunk enough to be easily distracted by a pretty woman in a dress and too stupid to think anyone would actually want to sit in their lap at the poker tables. By the time they realized their wallet, pocket watch or whatever else you could find that might be worth taking was gone well…so were you.

You had been doing this long enough to have a routine down, it didn’t matter what city you were in. After renting a room you’d spend a few nights scoping out where you could either get a job or spend an evening haunting the gaming tables. You’d done your fair share of bartending and card dealing, but if push came to shove you could play a few lively tunes on the piano. Some places would just hire you to waltz around and give their customers attention.

There were a lot worse jobs in your past than blowing on a pair of dice.

Tonight had been busy, plenty of customers for both the saloon and for yourself. You had already made a few trips back to your room to put away what you’d managed to snag already. There would be enough people missing things come the morning that tonight would be your last night here. You would need to be long gone by morning because even the dumbest sheriff would put two and two together and realize you were the common denominator.

It was definitely your arrogance that made you wander back downstairs for one last look around. Before leaving your room you had taken a moment to look in the mirror and make sure you looked the part. Your corset top was cut low, enough to be distracting but still somewhat modest. Your skirt was short in the front, ruffled and full of hidden pockets. It was high enough to show off the tops of your stockings and the garters that held them up. When you were satisfied you made your way back downstairs and began taking a turn around the room, your eyes quickly falling on someone you hadn’t seen before. He was seated at the main poker table with his back to you, but by the look of his clothes they definitely weren’t from the area.

As you stepped close you laid a hand on his shoulder and ran it along the smooth black material of his coat. You could feel him stiffen under your hand momentarily until you leaned a hip against the table right next to him. The first thing that got your attention was the makeup the man was wearing, two large circles of black around each eye along with black paint covering his upper lip. When his lips curled up into a smirk you glanced back up to the his eyes. Your mouth fell open when you met his mismatched gaze and you silently cursed yourself for not noticing sooner.

You were staring at The Morningstar.

“Everything ok, gattina?” You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and nodded, trying to act casual even though you knew he wouldn’t buy it. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing here, eh?”

“Watching you. Would you like some company, handsome?”

“Per favore. Some beautiful company and some luck, if you have any to spare.”

With a smirk of your own you moved closer and sat sideways across his lap with your arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders. One of his hands moved from the table and he rested it right over one of the snaps of your garters. He wasted no time slipping a finger underneath and stroking where it had dug into your skin. You both jumped a bit when the dealer loudly cleared his throat, but The Morningstar didn’t seem to be in a hurry.

He grabbed his cards off the table and held them so you could see. With deft fingers you reached out and shuffled a few around, enjoying the appreciative hum he made.

“See gattina, you’re helping already.”

He reached his other hand around you and grabbed a few chips to throw into the growing pile in the middle of the table. While he watched the other players you took the chance to take a closer look at the white eye of his, the eye that helped get him his name. An eye that seemed to shine from within and hold a dark power if you believed the rumors. While it was definitely startling to look at and his reputation for being a ruthless outlaw swirled in the back of your mind you forced yourself to focus on your goal.

“What does ‘gattina’ mean?”

“Kitten.” When you raised an eyebrow he leaned closer and let his lips brush against your ear. “Seems fitting, no?”

“How so?”

“I watched you move around the room, very cat-like. Ah, sneaky I think is the word.” He traced a finger under your garter strap again and you bit your lip. “Should I be careful of your claws too, gattina?”

“Only if you want to be.” His smile was pleased, he was obviously happy you were playing along. “What should I call you then?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, focusing back on the card game and grunting in annoyance when someone’s hand beat his. The winner eagerly dragged the chips from the middle, but they kept a nervous eye on The Morningstar the whole time. You didn’t blame them, his wanted posters were all over town. The extensive list of crimes he’d been charged with listed under his name was impressive and frightening. ‘Devil worship’ probably being the one that people feared the most. Your focus came back to the game when he held up a new hand of cards for you to ponder. As you reached out to move a few of them around you felt his lips at your ear again.

“Terzo.” When you turned to look at him he shrugged. “If you want.”

With a smile you settled back against him and trailed the fingers of one hand along the fine material of his vest. The deep purple color stood out against the sea of black he wore. Even his hair was black and you tucked a few strands back behind his ear. When your hand moved away he caught it and pressed a lingering kiss into your palm before letting his lips trail to the inside of your wrist. Your breath caught when his tongue snuck out to press against your pulse and after a quick glance at the table you noticed everyone was waiting on him.

“Your turn, Terzo.”

“Hmm? Oh, mi dispiace.” Without looking at his hand he grabbed a few chips and lazily tossed them with the others before turning his attention back to you. “Now, where were we?”

“You were telling me where you were from.”

“Italy, but my family moved to America many years ago.” He pressed his head into your neck, running his nose up to your jawline and then up further into your hair. “Are you being sneaky again?”

You turned to meet his eyes, your lips hovering over his momentarily before you smiled and then leaned in to kiss him. Normally that wasn’t the game you played, but with Terzo you felt you needed a little extra distraction to be able to take anything from him. His lips were still at first as you moved yours over his, lightly nipping at his bottom lip to try and encourage him to participate. It was right when you were preparing to move away that his hand came up and gripped the back of your neck to keep you in place.

He returned your kisses with fervor, hungrily moving his lips against yours. You bit at his bottom lip again and then ran your tongue along it. With a growl he deepened the kiss, moving you in his lap so your back was pressed against the table. You slid a hand into his hair and then rested your other on his chest, right at the edge of his coat, waiting for the right moment to slip inside and search out his pockets.

Terzo’s kisses were thorough and hungry. For a moment you forgot that you were the one meant to distract him, it was easy to lose yourself while his tongue moved against yours, but you forced yourself to focus on why you were even in his lap to begin with. While you met each flick of his tongue you slid your hand under his coat, easing it close to where you figured his wallet was. As you did that you slowly placed an elbow onto the table behind you and moved it back until you felt what you were looking for: the bottle of whisky that was being shared around. In one quick movement you nipped at his tongue and then knocked your elbow into the bottle, tipping it over and spilling the contents across the table.

The other players groaned and tried to move the chips in the middle before they got covered in the liquid. One of them angrily stood up and you took that as your chance. You could feel Terzo tense as the man began to shout at you, his arm tightening briefly before he started to move you off his lap. You let the tips of your fingers grip the edge of his wallet, pulling it out right as Terzo stood and moved you behind him. As he focused on the irate player you slipped the wallet into a pocket hidden amongst the ruffles of your skirt. You froze when Terzo turned and met your eyes.

“How about you go get a towel, eh?”

You turned to head to the bar, but the other man took a threatening step your way.

“No, fuck that, she can stay and sit in my lap for the next round.”

It took all your willpower not to roll your eyes. You might be a thief, but even you had standards. Terzo apparently had the same idea, moving to stand between you and the man.

“I think the lady can make her own choice as to where she sits.” When the man took a threatening step your way Terzo let out a laugh and started to shake his head. “You don’t want to move any closer, I promise you.”

“Or what? You gonna sick the devil on me?”

There was already a lot of attention on the drama unfolding, but that seemed to draw the eyes of anyone that wasn’t already looking.

“I don’t need the devil to take you out.” The hair on your arms stood up and you took a nervous step back from the man in front of you. There weren’t any traces of Terzo right now, this was The Morningstar and everyone held their breath around you. “Either walk away or you’ll regret it.”

“I’ll walk away alright, but it’ll be to the sheriff to collect the reward for capturing you.”

“Then by all means, capture me.”

Everyone was still as they waited for someone to make a move. It was barely ten seconds before the man growled and grabbed the whisky bottle. He clumsily swung it at Terzo’s head but it was blocked all too easily. Terzo grabbed the man’s wrist and slammed it down on the edge of the table. The bottle broke as it smashed against the wood and there was a sickening crack as the man’s wrist connected with the edge of the table.

He cried out, but Terzo grabbed a handful of poker chips and shoved them into his mouth. When he began to gag and try to spit them out Terzo covered his mouth with his hand. You weren’t a stranger to violence by any means, but you found yourself backing up even more to get away from the display. Terzo was barely moving, easily keeping the man in place as he choked in front of the entire saloon. It was right as he seemed to stop struggling that someone ran at Terzo’s back but before you could warn him he easily dodged out of the way and let him run into the poker table.

That seemed to spur everyone else on, before you could shout at Terzo to watch his back more men tried to join in the fighting. You yelped when someone rushed by you, but at least this one seemed to want to help Terzo. As chaos descended around the gaming tables you quickly rushed to the bar and ran around to hide behind it. The drunken idiots could beat the shit out of each other if they wanted to, you didn’t want to get caught up in a fight your last night in town.

Eventually you heard shouting from the entrance of the saloon and risked a glance over the bar. The sheriff and a few of his deputies were storming in, guns out and doing their best to shove people away from each other. Most of the fighting seemed to have died down and you quickly looked around for Terzo, but you couldn't see him anywhere. You didn’t bother looking around the floor, there was no way he’d be dead from one of the idiots here.

With one last glance at the aftermath of the fight you quietly made your way towards the stairs to your room on the upper level. When you got your key in the door and slipped inside you immediately reached into your dress for Terzo’s wallet. Your eyes widened at how many bills were inside, letting out a small laugh as you knelt down to shove it into your bag by the door.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice, gattina?”

You startled badly at the voice behind you, a small shriek echoing around your room. When you stood up and spun around it was to see Terzo lounging on your bed, a smug grin on his handsome face. He laughed as he stood up and slowly stalked your way, only stopping when he had you pinned against the wall behind you. Terzo leaned down and tried to press a kiss into your neck but you jerked your head away.

“You seemed like every other dumb cowboy I’ve met, so yeah. I did.”

Terzo chuckled darkly into your ear, his hips pressing harder against you.

“Your lips aren’t that distract—cazzo!”

He stumbled back when your fist connected with his gut and you jerked out of his hands. It didn’t take him long to recover but by the time he’d advanced on you again you had gotten your knife out of your boot, the tip of the blade pressing into his gut when he got close again.

“Not one step closer.”

“Or what? You stab me with that little thing?” He tsked at you while he placed his hands against the wall on either side of your head. “That isn’t very nice.”

“I’m not trying to be nice.”

“Ah si, that’s obvious. Nice girls don’t pick pockets.” He slowly looked up and down your body with a dark grin on his face. “They don’t dress like this either.”

He was ready for your attack this time, his knee came up to block yours before you could ram it into his crotch. You went to slash him with the knife but he quickly reached down and grabbed your wrist. A brutal squeeze made you cry out, the knife dropping onto the floor where he quickly kicked it away. Once more you found yourself trapped between his body and the wall.

“I’ll give you the damn wallet back, just let me go!”

“Aren’t you having fun, gattina? You didn’t seem to mind being so close at the poker table.” Terzo sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and you couldn’t help but track the movement. “Unless…were you only doing that to steal from me? My, my such shameful behavior. You know I might’ve been willing to part with some cash in exchange for a few hours in your bed.”

“I don’t do that and even if I did I’d rather die than sleep with you.”

“I can feel your heart racing under my fingertips.” A far more gentle squeeze on your wrist followed his words. “I see the way you keep glancing at my mouth.” Terzo leaned in close, his nose pressing into your hair and his lips brushing your ear. “I can smell how much you want me.”

You turned your head to meet his eyes straight on, the white one practically glowing even in the low light of the room. It was easy to see how he got his name now. The Morningstar matched him perfectly. You could only imagine the sins he had committed in his life, the sins he could make you commit. But you were already intimate with many of them, you had already done things only the devil could be proud of so…

One more sin wouldn’t hurt.

His mouth still tasted like whisky when you kissed him. It mixed with the strange taste of the paint on his top lip and you found yourself seeking more of it out. Your tongue delved as far as it could, tangling with his as you both fought for dominance. He let go of your wrist and wrapped his arm around your waist, yanking you roughly to his chest. His other hand moved from the wall and his fingers buried themselves in your hair.

You couldn’t get enough, his mouth was intoxicating. Normally you’d be embarrassed by the sounds you were making, but the noisier you got, the noisier he made you just spurred him on. He wasn’t silent either, deep groans rumbling in his chest. You could feel the vibrations through your corset and you deliriously started imaging what it would be like to feel his naked body against your own.

At that thought you pulled away abruptly, both of you panting into each other’s mouths. The paint on his lip was completely gone and you were sure your own lips were as swollen as his. Your body was thrumming with desire, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. His eyes dropped down to your chest and he licked his lips as he gazed at the top of your breasts. You couldn’t wait any longer.

“Fuck me.”

Terzo didn’t even say a word, he just moved you over to your small bed and practically threw you on top. He quickly divested himself of his jacket and started working at the buttons of his vest, but you got impatient. You sat up on the edge and grabbed at his gun belt, whining when he grunted and took over. When he had it undone he set it on the end of the bed, well within your reach. Terzo smirked when he caught you glancing at his revolvers.

“Don’t get any ideas, gattina.” He dropped his hands to his pants and began to undo the buttons. You could see the outline of his hard cock through the fabric and you sat back with a quiet moan, your own hands reaching down to work on unclipping your garters. “Leave them.”

Obediently you stopped, falling back once more to watch as he shoved his pants down and kicked them off. His cock was hard, already wet at the tip and your mouth fell open at the sight. You couldn’t help but reach under your skirt, rubbing yourself through the thin fabric that covered your cunt. It was Terzo’s mouth that fell open then and he stroked his cock for a moment as he watched you pleasure yourself. You could already feel an orgasm building and you flung your head back as you started rubbing yourself faster, but you wanted his hand on you instead.

“Terzo, please.”

“You are so beautiful when you beg.” The bed dipped as he got on, his warm hands pushing your legs further apart. He reached down and pulled your hand away from your cunt, ignoring your whine at the loss. “Don’t worry, gattina, I’ll take care of you. We have all night, si?”

His hand dove between your legs, yanking the soaked fabric away from your cunt. You both moaned when his fingers slipped between your folds. Terzo ran two of them up and down, from your entrance to your clit, spreading your slick around. His fingers caught on your entrance at one pass and he easily slid them both inside. The sudden stretch was wicked and you lifted your hips to try to get them deeper.

“So wet and ready for me, so needy.” He crooked his fingers and rubbed the spot inside of you that made you see stars, your cry echoing loudly in the room. “Lucifer, the noises you make.”

“Terzo, shut up and just fuck me already.”

He sighed and reluctantly pulled his fingers out, quickly bringing them up to his mouth and sucking them both inside. It was his turn to make noise then as he ran his tongue over them. You growled and reached up to grab at the bottom of his vest to yank him down on top of you. When he tried to get up you slung a leg around his back and placed your hands on his shoulders. It was easy to push him over, but you knew he didn’t put up much of a fight.

You knelt up and hovered over his cock, letting the tip brush against your entrance a few times until you finally started to sink down. His hands moved to your hips and he helped you lower yourself until he was buried as far as he could get. Your head fell back and you panted as you got used to him. You felt his hands move up to the top of your corset and with a quick tug he pulled it down so your breasts spilled out into his hands. When he lightly pinched your nipples you looked back down to glare at him, not surprised to see a wicked grin on his face. It quickly disappeared when you wiggled your hips and it was his turn to glare at you.

“Something wrong, Morningstar?”

“Not at all, gattina.” His hips flexed underneath you as his fingers continued to play with your nipples. “Just waiting for you to fuck me.”

Neither one of you got much sleep that night, choosing to spend the time enjoying each other’s bodies. Sex wasn’t something that you were generally interested in but there was something about The Morningstar, about Terzo, that seemed to ignite your desire. Even his smug attitude began to become amusing rather than irritating by the time you both finally fell asleep.

There wasn’t much for you to pack, but that was on purpose. You quickly put on your traveling clothes, shoving your dress and everything else you owned into your saddlebags. With quiet footsteps you walked towards the door. You didn’t spare a glance in Terzo’s direction, afraid that seeing him nude in your rumpled bed would make you drop your bags and join him again.

You paused briefly at the pile of his clothes on the floor, the purple of his vest sticking out amongst all the black. Quietly you knelt down and pulled it out of the pile to hold up in the light of the single candle still lit. There was a small pocket on the side and when you ran your hand over it you felt something inside. With a quick look towards the bed you reached in and pulled it out, an eyebrow raising when you noticed it was a long necklace.

It reminded you of a rosary, although if the rumors of his beliefs were true there was no way The Morningstar would carry one. There were clear stones mixed in with purple, all of them sparkling in the candlelight. At the bottom a large metal symbol hung, but it wasn't anything you recognized. It didn’t really matter, it looked expensive and it would fetch a pretty penny whenever you got around to selling it. You tucked it inside your shirt where you kept a few other small jewels and then stood up.

You let yourself look at Terzo for a moment, the makeup around his eyes was mostly gone and his hair was all over the place. The temptation to walk over and brush it back was strong, too strong and you took a deep breath as you turned back towards the door. It was stupid and risky to linger any longer. You didn’t want to hear his voice again but unfortunately he didn’t leave you much of a choice, he called out groggily from the bed as soon as your hand touched the doorknob.

“No goodbye kiss?”

You couldn’t help but snort, shaking your head as you kept your eyes fixed on the door.

“I’m not a goodbye kiss kind of lady.”

“Ah, well that’s a pity.” The sheets rustled and you heard him get up from the bed, the floorboards creaking under his feet as he walked towards you. A finger on your chin forced you to look his way and despite spending the last eight hours next to his naked body you still found your eyes wandering over his form appreciatively. “Can I ask for something else instead?” When you just raised your eyebrow he smiled and held out his hand. “My wallet.”

With a sigh you slipped a hand into your coat and pulled it out, slapping it onto his hand. He opened it and briefly thumbed through the bills with a smirk on his face.

“Are we done here?”

“Si, gattina, we’re done.” He reached out and pulled open the door for you, not even bothering to hide his nudity. “For now.”

It wasn’t until you were a few hours away, your horse slowly ambling on the well trodden road leading west that you slipped your hand back into your coat. The jewels of the strange necklace twinkled in the sunlight when you pulled it out and held it up. You weren’t sure when Terzo would notice it was gone and you didn’t know if he’d even bother coming after you right away, but you smiled at the thought nonetheless.

You wouldn’t mind running into The Morningstar again.

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

#my fics #my writing #cowboy terzo #the cardinal's bride #terzo x female reader #papa emeritus iii x female reader #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #terzo fanfiction #papa emeritus iii fanfiction #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus x reader #terzo fanfic

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reluctantjoe · 4 months

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‘Baddies are my new type’: Mathew Baynton on Ghosts, Wonka and wicked villains

He is about to say goodbye to his role in beloved spectral sitcom Ghosts. But dastardly turns in Wonka and the a festive Agatha Christie drama suggest the actor’s future is bright – if somewhat nefarious

“I feel like I’m moving into really wanky territory now,” says Mathew Baynton, looking a little anxious. We are talking about Ghosts, the much-loved comedy about a gaggle of spirits consigned to spend the afterlife in a crumbling country mansion, which Baynton co-writes and in which he plays a deceased Regency poet. After a triumphant five seasons, Ghosts officially breathed its last in October – except there’s now a Christmas episode on its way. (Last year’s Christmas special drew 5.9 million viewers, making it the BBC’s biggest comedy of 2022.)

When I ask Baynton what it is about Ghosts that struck a chord with viewers, he worries he might sound pretentious. “But here goes,” he says. “I have learned that, as a writer, you don’t always know what you’re writing. There are the quite boring times where you have an idea and it comes out as you imagined, and there’s no mystery in that process. But when it’s exciting, you have an idea and it leads you to places you don’t expect.”

With Ghosts, he and his co-writers initially imagined hundreds of spirits haunting Button House, which would have allowed them to tell different stories with a new set of characters each week. “But when we looked at the taster tape we made, we all went: ‘Hang on, there’s something much richer here,’” Baynton continues. “We realised it was a show about people being stuck together, potentially in eternity, and how they find ways to get along. All of which is to say that I’m enamoured with Ghosts too because, right from the get-go, we had absolutely no idea what it would become.”

Baynton, who is 43, is talking from his study at home in north London where he lives with his partner, the film historian and film-maker Kelly Robinson, and their two children. He is self-effacing and thoughtful, choosing his words carefully and, at intervals, wondering if he could be expressing himself better. “I think it’s partly the writer in me,” he says, “but I do come away from conversations thinking how I’d like to rewrite things I’ve said.”

As an actor, Baynton has cornered the market in ultra-sensitive men who walk a fine line between pathos and silliness. Along with his lovelorn poet in Ghosts, there was his turn as a Victorian psychiatrist in 2017’s Quacks, who masterminds a new treatment for patients called “talking”; his lute-playing bard in the 2015 film Bill, about the early life of Shakespeare (“London is not going to know what hit it!”); and good Samaritan Sam in The Wrong Mans (2013-14), which he co-wrote and starred in alongside James Corden.

But this winter heralds a new set of projects that Baynton has dubbed “my Christmas of villainy”. In Murder Is Easy, based on the Agatha Christie novel about a spate of killings in a sleepy English village, he plays a doctor who, he says, “is an awful person with some very awful views”. Next year brings A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, based on Holly Jackson’s bestselling YA novel, in which a young true-crime enthusiast investigates a five-year-old murder case; Baynton can’t reveal too much, although he confirms his character is a far cry from the puppy-eyed romantics for which he is known. And in the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory prequel, Wonka, released in cinemas earlier this month, he plays the devious Fickelgruber, Wonka’s Brylcreemed rival in the confectionery business.

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Baynton can’t account for this sudden pivot into treachery beyond the fact that “a few [casting directors] had the same idea at the same time … Acting is strange like that. You do one notable thing early on and you are put on a track that for 10 years that can be hard to get off. Perhaps baddies are my new type.”

Wonka was co-written by his friend and Ghosts compadre Simon Farnaby (who also co-wrote Paddington 2) and was filmed at Warner Bros Studios in Hertfordshire. For Baynton, it “felt like you were with the same kids but in a plush playground … Even though you’re working with this huge Hollywood star [Timothée Chalamet, who plays Wonka] and you’re on a set that probably cost the same as an entire series of Ghosts, it’s still a comedy with a big heart, so for me it felt like home.”

Baynton and Farnaby first came together on the set of Horrible Histories, the anarchic children’s sketch show that recreated history’s most ludicrous and bloodthirsty moments, alongside Martha Howe-Douglas, Jim Howick, Laurence Rickard and Ben Willbond. Shortly after it finished its decade-long run, the six of them wrote the madcap puppet comedy Yonderland, largely because “we couldn’t bear that we weren’t going to get together for more mucking about in front of the camera”. This was followed by Bill, and, four years later, Ghosts. They have even given themselves the collective name Them There, mostly for production credits, though “no one actually calls us that”. Aren’t they more Britcom’s answer to the Brat Pack? “I don’t know about that,” Baynton says, bashfully, “though it depends on which of them you think I am.”

The youngest of three children, Baynton grew up in Southend on a diet of sea air and his dad’s Monty Python cassettes. He reckons being lowest in the pecking order at home contributed to his desire to perform and be noticed. In his teens, he went through a morose period during which he was overtaken by self-consciousness, but then he discovered theatre via a production of Bruno Schulz’s The Street of Crocodiles by Theatre de Complicité “which moved me to tears in ways I couldn’t understand and ignited something in me. I knew I wanted to be in that world in some way.”

Baynton went on to drama school, where he studied directing, but when he got there he realised acting was his calling. He spent a summer as assistant to Cal McCrystal, then director of the physical theatre group Peepolykus, who pushed him to join in with improv games. Later he went to Paris to study under the renowned clown Philippe Gaulier, which cemented his love of slapstick. Upon returning home, McCrystal gave him his first break on the stage in a production of Joe Orton’s Loot.

But it was Horrible Histories that really opened doors for Baynton, both as an actor and writer. On being offered the job, he nearly turned it down, fearing that he might get stuck doing nothing but children’s TV, but his agent persuaded him to take the job by telling him: “No one will see it.” In a talk last year at the Oxford Union, Baynton remarked how, were they making it today, they would do certain things differently, such as not using white actors in tanning makeup to portray Egyptians.

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“I think it’s important that we examine where the line is [around portrayals of other cultures],” he says now. “It’s a murky area where intention sometimes doesn’t match reception. Certainly, no one had bad intentions making Horrible Histories and none of us at that time, in the culture as it was, hesitated and thought: ‘Hang on, maybe I shouldn’t play an Egyptian.’ But times have changed and I would hesitate now.”

If the odd Horrible Histories sketch hasn’t aged well, it is worth observing the sensitivity and inclusivity that runs through Ghosts. Baynton notes how throwing together characters from different historical periods allowed them to “highlight wrongful attitudes and interrogate how they had arrived at them. At one point, there’s a gay wedding at Button House and [the ghost of] Lady Button is appalled and goes on this journey in which she faces her own homophobia. When we were writing that story, it felt like I was having a conversation with my homophobic nan.”

Baynton is content moving between acting and writing, not least because “if I’m between acting jobs, it means I get to dream up new projects for myself and my friends”. Keen to avoid any signs of egotism as his career soars, Baynton keeps his feet on the ground by recalling the “pure dystopian hell” of his time as a school leaver working in a call centre. There, every second of the day was monitored and he was once upbraided by a manager for taking too many toilet breaks. “So when I’m on set in a scratchy costume or I’m feeling a bit tired and thinking what a terrible time I’m having,” he says, “I remember that time, and what a privilege it is do what I do.”

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yogurthoopsart · 5 months

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Modern media is horror. Old stories well-loved coming back slightly wrong. Taking this thing that should have died so long ago and giving it a tired facsimile of life as if it will ever be the same again. Reboots and modern prequels and live action remakes. If you beat a horse to death, revive it with new skin and bones to replace what was lost, beat it to death again, and repeat, is it even the same horse? They do it out of love. So many love the stories, why should they have to die? You wonder if they remember the good the stories did when they were alive. The haunted house only has room for ghosts, not new people. The ghost of a dead show is standing at the end of the hall, looking at you. You dont recognize it. It has a name you know but its face is alien. Why in the everloving shit are they making a willy wonka prequel.

#yogurtspeaks #commentary #im trying to talk more. for fun #i have so many feelings on modern reboot culture

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a-strange-inkling · 1 year

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Spoiler The Vanishing of Chrissy Cunningham ?👀

I got you this morning! A little Eddie POV in the cafeteria, cause we all know he was revved up because he was going to meet Chrissy after school lol:

This makes Eddie pissed off on his behalf. They were always the outcasts, the unwanted, now they got to be labeled as criminals and cultists too. Fuuuck that!

“Exactly,” he says, arms crossed. “We’re freaks because we like to play a fantasy game, but…” he tilts sideways out of his chair before jumping up onto the table. He notices Wheeler and Henderson have sat down. Good they need to hear this more than anyone. “As long as you're into band,” he jerks his head toward the band geeks’ table. “Science,” Likewise finds the pale little nerds who shrink at the attention, “Or parties.” He whines mockingly at the Friday night crowd, getting flicked off.

Just beyond them is the jocks table, he sees Sinclair in the medley, and at the end is Jason Carver.

He thinks of Chrissy’s fingers brushing against his, the way her eyes anxiously rose to find him, tucked tightly under the dickhead’s arm.

And, well, he just can’t help himself.

“Or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets!” he cups his mouth and shouts in their direction, his voice cracking under the volume.

That definitely lands.

Carver gets to his feet. “You want something, freak?”

Oh, does he want something?

Eddie makes a devil face in response, his hands curling into horns over his head, spluttering as he drops his tongue, happy as hell to goad him on.

Challenge him.

The cafeteria quiets watching the two opposing forces of nature stare each other down.

Waiting.

Carver hesitates, then retreats, his bluff called.

Eddie smirks crookedly at him, dropping his hands. They both know at the end of the day, despite all his chirping, that he won’t actually cross him.

Eddie’s got two years on the Little Prince. That and Carver has way too much of a healthy Evangelical fear of his rough, heathen exterior to actually do something about his hate for him.

She’s not there with him, she’s never at lunch.

But, that’s alright, isn’t it? He'll see her after school. The thought makes him all the more smug, cocky.

Invincible.

“Prick.” Jason mutters, returning to his seat.

#the vanishing of chrissy cunningham #hellcheer #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #munningham #chrissy x eddie #hellcheer fanfiction #hellcheer fanfic #old haunts #old haunts prequel #my fic writing #my fics #upcoming fics #ask answered

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intermundia · 1 year

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thinking again about how the idea of anakin kind of haunts the OT, how he's a story to his son and a ghost to obi-wan, both present and absent whenever darth vader's on screen. he seems like a myth inside a myth, a figure belonging to a lost golden age, a hero story of old. i think it's kinda why the prequels feel so profoundly mythic to me, they're like one step beyond the hero's journey, filling out an implied pantheon in the OT stories. the fall of the republic feels kind of like a titanomachy, battles of an older generation of gods.

it's like anakin is a heroic precursor, whose brief, golden life in the light was coextensive with our brief glimpse in the films of that civilized world that was lost with his fall. that lost identity is just one step higher and beyond into the realm of legend, the realm of the jedi, when the world was good and noble, with honor and justice. darth vader may roam among the OT heroes but anakin lingers in the story as a story until the very end, when he returns to destroy the last of the titanic elder generation, making way for the new age of heroes.

#anakin skywalker #he IS the saga #his light is the republic his darkness is the empire he is the avatar of the fate of the galaxy as a whole #and it's very sexy lol #luke is the hero on a journey #anakin and vader are the world against which he builds himself #i guess we all fight out fathers and are shaped by who they are at the same time #i really love the prequels did you know #i am in my feelings abt it again sorry #sw #sw meta

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engeorged · 2 years

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My Stories

BRAND NEW The Influencer: Will (Part Two) In the second instalment, Milo establishes himself online and bumps into an old friend at a school reunion. A friend who has changed a fair bit

NEW FOR XMAS Santa's Otto a Sequel to Obi's Place and a Prequel to Aster's Maze (both below) On his search for answers Ben stumbles across what might be actually Santa! Looking at Santas instant gut, Ben has some questions.

PRETTY NEW Please Feed the Bears A brand new collaboration with @fillthattank with @badoobers artwork. Newly ex teacher Dan goes travelling in America and after a change in his circumstances he gets a job in a theme park that’s not quite what he thought it was.

Continue Dans story here where you can interact with an ai chatbot programmed to be Dan at the end of this story.

In Good Hands? Yann the scientist visits a suposedly haunted house to record supernatural activity and what he finds there is not what he expected.

The Influencer: Milo - With nowhere to go in life, Milo attempts to make it as a social media influencer. With illustrations by @badoobers

CHATBOTS CHATBOTS2 CHATBOTS3 CHATBOTS4 CHATBOTS5 CHATBOTS6 CHATBOTS7 CHATBOTS8 - links to my ai chat bots - just an experiment but these are new characters to you to feed or enjoy!

The Obi Saga

Obi’s Place - collaboration with @badoobers Trucker Ben finds a place to stop for breakfast and meets a very interesting waiter. (maybe a sequel in the works if you guys like it!)

Aster’s Maze -Sequel to Obi’s Place in collaboration with @badoobers.

Ben goes searching for Obi and discovers a little more than he bargained for in Greece

Dear Nate - sequel to Dear Alex. Nate sends his own confession

Dear Alex - short story about an unusual apology

Let Me Tell You About Jackson - a new story in collaboration with @swolescruff where posh boy Jackson learns a little something about life

Taking the Plunge

Part One Part Two Part Three

A new story about a guy exploring gaining for the first time. Inspired by a conversation with @beefedup

The Birthday Meal - collaboration with @badoobers - A guy thinks everyone has forgotten his birthday and takes himself out for a meal. On arriving home, he realises his mistake.

The Restaurant

My first ever gainer fiction, written 15 years ago!

Part One Part Two Part Three

Happy to take requests and if I like it, I’ll write it!

#gay gainer #stuffing #belly expansion #gainer fiction #male gaining #male belly inflation #gainer stories #inflated belly #stuffing art #ex jock #gainer artwork #gainer story #bloatedstud #bloatedaf #bloated gut

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thecasualauthor · 2 months

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Okay okay okay look I KNOW I'm technically on hiatus but I was watching The Hunger Games and my old Jily AU came back to haunt me so I wrote a prequel. @jilymicrofics I uh.... didn't use specific propmt but it's fairly short, so-

Here's a snippet:

Enjoy! Read under the cut:

James and Lily lay entwined in Lily’s soft sheets, holding each other about as tightly as they possibly can.

Moonlight spills over them, and Lily’s eyes are closed. James runs a hand up and down her back, and Lily could fall asleep to the touch alone if it didn’t thrill her so much.

Six long months had passed since they’d last seen each other at the Seventieth Hunger Games, and they’d spent the last several hours together, making up for lost time. Lily knows they’ll have to go back to being friendly acquaintances as a vVctor and citizen of the Capitol in a matter of hours. True, a handful of people saw Lily lead James to her bedroom, but it’s not as if it’s out of the ordinary, Capitol citizens bringing Victors to their beds. It makes Lily sick actually, but there is the small consolation that she and James actually do love each other.

They’d met years previously, when James was brought into the Capitol as a tribute from District Seven. It was during the tribute parade when they’d locked eyes, and she felt with a staggering clarity that she was connected to him somehow. James later reported the same when they’d met in person while Lily was helping with the training sessions.

It was sheer dumb luck on her part that she was able to pull so much headway for him during his games, and skill on his part that enabled him to use Lily's said luck to survive.

“We make a pretty good team,” James had said when they saw each other again, and their friendship had been born, now they were certain they weren’t going to be separated by death.

(The word “again” usually accompanied that thought. Lily tried not to think about it most days.)

Nearly a year of correspondence and phone calls and visits to each other had made their friendship into something more, and now here they are, tangled up in each other, dreading the moment they have to let go. They spend as much time together as they can, though as James is a victor and Lily an unwilling gamemaker, it limits most activities.

And now that the thought of gamemaking has crossed her mind–

“Has Plutarch contacted you yet? Lily asks softly, opening her eyes to meet James’ gaze, and finds that he’s looking at her. James shakes his head.

“Not yet. I don’t blame him though, I’m not the most approachable.” Lily rolls her eyes.

“I think you’re plenty approachable,” Lily says. “It’s Plutarch’s issue. He’s a bit paranoid.”

“As he should be,” James murmurs, pulling her even closer to him. Lily shivers. “He’s organizing a Capitol rebellion.”

“Fair,” Lily sighs. She pauses for a long moment. “How have things been? You know… with– everything.” She doesn’t want to say the words aloud, due to the aforementioned sickness it gives her, but James just smiles sadly.

“Same old, same old,” he says wearily. “I mean, they only have one person to use against me, and that happens to be you.”

Lily chokes. There’s the crushing guilt at what he has to do to keep her safe.

She’s replaceable, Snow had said. Like she was nothing. Thank goodness he didn't know about how valuable she actually was. She does what she can for the rebellion, feeds information to Plutarch about her father, undermines the Games all she can. It’s not enough though. Children are still dying in the Hunger Games, people are still starving in the districts, and Victors are being sold to the highest bidder.

Unfortunately for her, Lily does has one outward value to President Snow, and that's being James Potter’s reason.

They’re relationship had been discovered a few years back, and they’re still facing those consequences. Before her, James had no one, no family or real friends to speak of. But then Snow discovered them, and suddenly there was a weakness to exploit.

“He kills someone you love,” Finnick Odair had said, and that was that.

She and James are lucky, she supposes, that they even get time together. Poor Finnick is away from Annie ninety percent of the time, all to protect her. At least James isn't as popular as Finnick is. At least he and Lily get to see each other semi–often. As a Capitol citizen, she’s allowed to visit him, and he’s allowed to come to the Capitol occasionally. It’s not a perfect arrangement, but it works for them.

Now, James leans over and places a soft kiss on her jaw.

“It isn’t your fault,” he whispers onto her skin, and Lily wants to cry.

“It feels like it is,” she replies, and when she looks up at James again, he’s looking at her with love in his eyes that takes her breath away.

“I know,” he says, “But it’s my fault too. My fault you’re in so much danger.”

“James…”

“We both played our part in it. We’ve been making the best of it. We’ll just... have to keep doing that.”

“I know,” Lily replies, hands reaching up to tangle in his messy black hair. “I know.” James lowers his lips to hers, and warmth fills every part of her. It always does. She responds in kind, and she finds herself underneath him, kissing him fiercely, like it's the last thing she’ll ever do. The kisses deepen, and when they break apart, Lily is gasping, doing everything she can to hold onto him, to this moment of calm and togetherness amidst everything that has gone wrong in their lives.

Soon he’ll have to leave, and she’ll be alone in her enormous bedroom overlooking the training center, missing her other half. The person she cares most about in this world.

But for now, he’s here. With her.

And that’s enough.

#jily #james potter #lily evans potter #hunger games au #this was supposed to be like 500 words max #but here we are

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conflictofthemind · 26 days

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Not saying this means anything especially since TBSOAS (the book) only came out in 2020, more of a “hey this is weird” post but:

I’ve always thought these two looked / were similar as two wavy blond haired blue eyed men, and it definitely helps that they both premiered (in the case of film Corio) within one year of each other . But there’s like, more than that? And some of it is very strange?

First off, they are two characters who since the start of their chronological stories teeter between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ with a lot of forces in their life, including their evil scientist mentor, pushing them towards the dark side by use of manipulation tactics. Henry is much more of a direct victim to this than Corio is though, and the latter also does have more good influences in his life.

“Fueled with the terror of becoming Prey, see how quickly we become Predator?” - Dr. Gaul

“I could restore balance to a broken world… a predator, but for good” - Henry Creel / 001

Also, can I mention how both TBOSAS and TFS are set in the same exact time period? The Hunger Games uses retro futurism since the entire story is set centuries from now, but the era is clearly inspired by the late 50s to early 60s, especially given that it takes place 60 years before the main series.

Now here’s the actual weird part that had me making this post.

Both of their origin stories center on a romance with a female co-lead that ends with them killing her (heavy question mark). That’s not the weird part. It’s the way that the plots of both of these origin stories and said female characters are based off of old European folk-songs that were popular in Appalachia. TFS is based off of ‘The Tale of Barbara Allen’ and TBOSAS is based off of ‘The Ballad of Lucy Gray’ - Stranger Things just bothered to change her name to Patty Newby. Barbara Allen (Patty) appears as a covey sister of Lucy Gray in TBSOAS. Naturally, both of these characters are singers which plays a role in their respective stories.

I just have to say, it’s a very obscure source of inspiration to happen twice like this. There is a little part of me that thinks Kate Trefry and the writing crew on TFS might have been fans of The Hunger Games. But who knows.

Suzanne Collins wrote the TBOSAS prequel to answer the question of ‘nature vs nurture’ and how much choice villains have in becoming their future selves - which is the exact same question that is actively being posed by Stranger Things in regards to Henry.

And then how I got started on this line of thinking again today - the older adult versions of these characters both kidnap the respective sweet boy love interests and hijack them against the main characters. For strategic reasons and, in the case of Peeta, emotionally torturing the main character so she gives up. Will and Peeta are just both so similar as characters; soft and sensitive, traumatized, painters, both the poor underdogs with (seemingly) unrequited love for the protagonist though Mike isn’t really the protagonist.

I’m not sure if there’s actual inspiration being taken here. I typically assume not on the basis that I’m someone who can find connections between any pieces of media I enjoy. But the whole Appalachian folktale angle of it all is strange to me.

While I don’t think Henry was conceived with this in mind, it’s possible the inspiration sprang up during the further fleshing out of his backstory and into writing The First Shadow. Maybe it will even have an impact on the final season.

One of the things I liked about TBOSAS was the theme of the past coming back to haunt Snow in the future through Katniss and the music Lucy Gray created living on through her. If this was in any way inspiration, I’d love to see Vecna haunted by how similar Will is to him and especially the ways that he is different and able to do better.

#stranger things #henry creel #vecna/henry/001 #will byers #not going to put this shenanigans in the hg tag but uhh go everlark and byler parallels

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katerinaaqu · 16 days

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Continuing from Part 1;

Guilt (P2)

"And no, that was what you feared...not what you knew. There was no way you would know the magnitude of it...you gave them the city just like you promised. What theh did with it was their responsibility"

If only it were that simple, Odysseus thought

Odysseus could feel his head buzzing all the time. He was feeling tired of killing that night. As he had promised they had plundered Troy in just one fateful night. Odysseus had lost counting at how many lives had fallen under his sword. The palace of Troy had fallen. Troy was burning. As he cut his way through with with sword he remembered bodies falling down; armed or not; soldiers who barely had time to rouse themselves from sleep to come to save their city and yet they rushed at him bravely. Odysseus couldn't decide if he admired them or felt sorry for them.

"Odysseus!" The voice of a soldier brought him back to the present

"What is it?"

"Priam is dead!"

"Dead?!"

That piece of information he feared but he hoped he could prevent.

"Where?"

The man bringing the news was way too nervous for comfort.

"Where!" Odysseus demanded again

"T-To the altar of Zeus...he was slain upon the altar!"

Odysseus nearly dropped his sword! Had they stooped so low, then, in anger and hate?

"Who!" Odysseus demanded, "who did such a blasphemous act?!"

"N-Neoptolemous..."

Odysseus could hardly remember rushing to the scene. Perhaps he remembered the hall drenched in blood and there he saw the dead body of the king; neck gushed open and blood all over the floor. The haunting image of the expression of horror to the old man's face as well as the stain of blood upon the altar were a blurry mess in his brain. All he knew was that he saw that child he had brought to this war, with his face smeared with blood, having a self-complacent smirk on his face. He almost seemed possessed. That damn armor seemed to be one with his skin.

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR GODDAMN MIND?!" Odysseus bellowed, "How could you do that?! Have you so little respect for the laws of humans that you've stooped to the level of beasts?!"

The way that Neoptolemus looked at him was pure mockery and arrogance gained from victory.

"Now come on, Sacker of Cities...don't pretend that you would have left that man live! He was the king of Troy...just his existence would be a threat. You would have him executed anyways".

Odysseus couldn't remember grabbing the boy by the throat but he was beyond himself. His eyes were two bottomless pools of blackness.

"Do you want to end up like Thersites?!" He threatened in a dangerous whisper, "Do not challenge me, boy!"

"Or what?" Neoptolemus challenged back, "Will you do to me what you did to Palamedes?"

Odysseus was so shocked he could hardly speak. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach. The shock was enough to make him release the threat of the youth and take a few steps back.

"I have no idea what you're talking about" he said

Neoptolemus laughed.

"You are a liar, Odysseus! But then again you always were, weren't you?"

"Palamedes drowned in the sea! It was an accident!"

For a moment the image of ruffling waters had passed through his mind. Palamedes struggling under the surface... Odysseus remembered being frozen. He never tried to jump after him even jf he were an excellent swimmer. He was cold and motionless like a statue. The voice of the arrogant son of Achilles brought him back to reality.

"Yeah, how convenient indeed that he had that small... 'accident' when you and Diomedes were at the same boat with him during that fishing expedition! How convenient indeed!"

"This isn't about me!" Odysseus snapped at him, "This has to do with the hubris you performed here! We do NOT kill those who seek the sanctuary of the gods!"

"Times have changed, old man! You said so yourself! Besides wasn't you the one who implied that the line of the royal family of Troy should be cut? Priam shouldn't live anyways!"

Yes, Odysseus thought,he had said that and by that time he believed jt, however the old man had sought sanctuary. If they waited for him to get exhausted maybe... He could have surrendered. Murder upon sacred place was definitely NOT the way to do it. They could have offered him a nobler death than that! Odysseus didn't have time to reply. He heard a baby cry. He turned around to see in horror a man bringing baby Astyanax and handing him to Neoptolemus. The infant, barely one year of age, was crying woefully as he was handled not at all gently by Neoptolemus, who seemed untouched by the cries. Id anything he seemed to enjoy it

"What about the heir of Troy, Odysseus? What shall happen to him?"

"You can't be serious! It's just a baby!"

"A baby that is almost at the age of walking! Soon at the age of fighting. Will you let him live, Odysseus? You were the one who convinced the council, remember? You said we should all uproot the family of Priam from this earth!".

Yes, once again Odysseus had said that,however he had absolutely forgotten in the heat od the moment how old the heir actually was. The child was barely one. He could hardly speak yet alone walknand fight. Only now had he realized in horror what that promise he partially made would mean. He didn't expect to be brought before the consequences so fast!

"Weren't you the one who persuaded all the Greeks to uproot Priam's long family out of Troy?"

"Yes, but-..."

"So you take your word back? Decide!"

"Decide what?!"

"How he shall die, of course! You can't expect us to raise the son of king Hector, do you? Which will be? Sword or fall?"

The baby...the infant; no older than 1 year of age, was not much older than Telemachus... it was an innocent creature! He watched in terror as Neoptolemus held the baby to the edge of the wall.

"Choose, Odysseus!" Neoptolemus challenged, " or are you taking your words back?"

"This is madness!"

"You said to the council the other night that you would throw all of Priam's line outside these walls!" Neoptolemus insisted, "I believe the phrase you strategically used was 'we can throw them all out of the city of Troy!" I believe everyone agreed with such a sensible idea"

"Odysseus?"

It was the voice of Talthybius. Of course it would be that sleek worm! Odysseus cursed under his teeth. He was supposed to be their messenger and yet he found hik way too compassionate on the Trojan matter. Perhaps he should have gotten rid of him off his position a long time ago!

"Did you really tell the kings to kill this infant? Drag him out of his mother's bosom when she sought sanctuary in her husband's tomb and kill him in such a manner?"

Odysseus pointed his blood-stained sword at the scared messenger.

"Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you!" He threatened, eyes set aflame

He didn't need any more of those throwing accusations at him and he had enough of this for one night! One madman before him was enough; he didn't need a Troy-friendly coward as wellm

"Stay back! This is none of your concern!"

As Talthybius took some steps back, alarmed at this sudden attack from the furious king of Ithaca, Neoptolemus seemed to enjoy this scene more than the idea of throwing the baby off the walls or stabbing him to death.

"Decide, old man!" He urged again, "Do you take your word back? Every person in that hall heard you and agreed with you! Shown in this pilgrim of the night that you have SOME sense of honor!"

Odysseus was frozen in place. His own words that he didn't mean that way were now twisted in such a horrendous manner before him and bound him like chains. He could not take that word back. His brain was also stuck and his usual eloquent tongue could not find an excuse not to do it now...

"So be it..." he said defeated, "But let us choose a more humane method! Not this, Neoptolemus! Not this!"

He needed to buy himself some time. He needed to think of any reason, ANY excuse to keep this baby alive. Neoptolemus, though, being a true son of his father's, wouldn't let him do that either.

"Not on your life, son of Laërtes! This is the child of the man who thought he could kill my father! His bloody uncle actually succeeded! His filthy kin DARED to harm a man whose mother was a goddess! He needs to die and he shall now!"

At that moment he dragged the toddler almost effortlessly with one hand; strength given only by wrath and hatred, he let him hanging on the wall. The child was crying woefully and then Odysseus thought he heard him speak;

"PAPA!"

He froze. In some terrible realization he figured the horrendous truth. Neoptolemousbhad inherited the golden locks of his father's and his light yes that included the sea and sky. He, Odysseus, was dark of hair, black of eyes, lightly olive tanned white skin...he was similar to HIM...to Hector of Troy. The infant was calling HIM to save him! Panic took over him and he forgot all logic, all his attempts to find excuses. Now the child...the baby...someone's SON (Telemachus!)needed HIS assistance.

"Neoptolemus no! It's just a baby! Let the poor creature go!"

"Very poor choice of words, Odysseus!"

And Neoptolemus did exactly what he was told...he let go! The baby fell out of the palace walls, leaving gravity take the body rapidly down.

"NOOOOOOO!" Odysseus yelled helplessly but that's all he could do.

He ran at the edge only to see a tiny bloody dot at the bass kd the wall. The haunting cries had stopped...forever.

"NEOPTOLEMUS!" Odysseus bellowed furiously, "you killed him! You killed an infant!"

"No, Odysseus!" Neoptolemus replied, "You did. Your plan, your advise, your sin."

Odysseus felt dizzy...his stomach twisted dangerously but he did herculean effort to hold himself back. There was so much he wanted to say...so much he wanted to scream but he found it impossible to utter a single sound.

"TROY HAS FALLEN!" the happy cry from the inside of the castle drew them out of this, "WAR IS OVER! HOORAY! HOORAY FOR THE SACKER OF CITIES!"

Odysseus felt like losing strength off his legs. He didn't even know how to feel. However he knew one thing. He was feeling ENRAGED. It was as if the name that was given to him by his grandfather now suddenly made sense! He glared daggers yo Neoptolemus but the arrogant boy only smiled self-complacently...

"Looks like you were right, old man... You DID take the city in one night..."

Odysseus looked beyond the walls. If was true. The sun was rising...although his light was now duller in his eyes; the fires were stronger...

The walls of Troy had fallen and the real damage was apparent the next morning following the massacre. The houses had burnt almost to the ground and only the strongest walls were still standing upright; sad reminder of their previous glory. Odysseus was standing there with some of his men, watching the march of wounded or future slaves coming out of the city in chains or ropes. The ways were known. They would be distributed to some of the kings among them and the rest would be given by luck to the rest of the people. After that thy should gather and burn the dead before they would be good to go... Odysseus looked aged almost ten years more. He had dark circles under his eyes and he still didn't have time to wash himself from the blood. The thick liquid had formed a crust upon him by that moment. Helen was secured and brought out of the city to safety by Menelaus. So everything seemed to be in place. Then, why would he feel as if he had to use all his will to endure it and keep a stone calm face? His attention was drawn to the part of the procession. It was Andromache, the queen and widow of Hector. Odysseus grimaced. He had hoped he wouldn't face that woman. She was walking upright with the dignity even the greatest of Queens would be jealous of, as if she were the mighty Hera. Even if she was in chains she was still holding her head high. Odysseus learnt that she was to be given to Neoptolemous. He watched the queen marching to be given to the man that murdered her son... The man they now called Sacker of Cities didn't know which was sadder for her. He had tried to persuade Neoptolemous to take another but all his pleas or even manipulation fell on deaf ears. In the end he wondered if it mattered... At that moment his onyx eyes locked with the eyes of the queen. And then he saw her face transform from purr dignity to pure hatred in a matter of seconds!

"ODYSSEUS!" she yelled at him, pulling the chains with all her strength, "YOU SPAWN OF THIEVES AND RAGGED SCHEMER! THIS IS ALL YOUR DOING! GODS SHALL THROW THEIR RAGE UPON YOU!"

Odysseus didn't have time to defend himself.

"It was all your idea! Your plan! You scheming bastard could not fight with honor! But how could you! HOW COULD YOU!"

Her rage gave her strength anew as she managed to crawl closer. Even Odysseus took half a step back.

"HE WAS JUST ONE YEAR OLD ODYSSEUS!DO YOU HAVE NO HEART?!"

The king of Ithaca froze. He had no idea how she had found out about it but then it hit him. Talthybius! Of course! He must have talked to her.

"HE WAS JUST A BABY! HOW COULD YOU!"

"I didn't..." he whispered more to himself than anything else

"CURSE UPON YOU!" she drew her chains again and even the soldier needed to pull back, "I knew they wouldn't let him live! But this?! THIS?! HE WAS JUST ONE YEAR OLD ODYSSEUS! Just one year-..."

And then there was a heart-wrenching cry. Suddenly her anger turned into outpost pain. Odysseus turned his head and realized the reason. The small wrapped up ball could be nothing else but the remains of her son. One of the Greeks was transferring them to the pyre for the funeral. Odysseus cursed everything he believed in. He had hoped they would be spared at least of that! Both her and him. Andromache fell on her knees trying to release herself and get closer to the wrapped up package.

"MY BOY!" she cried, "AH! MY BOY!"

The soldier was ready to take the package away but Odysseus stopped him.

"No! Let her mourn!"

Unwillingly the man placed the child on the ground as she crawled over it, hands still tied up, not allowing her to wrap her arms around the remains of her son or even scratch her cheeks to mourn... Odysseus watched her kneel almost like an animal mourning her calf, leaning her forehead against the bloodied cloth

"MY BEAUTIFUL BOY!" Andromache's voice rose in an inhuman tone of cries and woe

The king of Ithaca felt his heart pinch. Yes, he has heard that cry before. It was an eternity ago in Ithaca...when Palamedes had come to pick him up...

Odysseus was plowing the field, singing an incoherent song. He was moving his head to an unmatched rhythm. He had tied one donkey and one cow to the plow, plowing in a totally messy way. He seemed to pay no mind. Odysseus was very keen upon his disguise as a madman. Palamedes was watching the scene with Penelope from afar as his beloved queen was playing with their son in her arms.

"He has been doing that all day..." Penelope said in her melodious voice, "He listens to no one when they tell him that this is not right. My husband insists that this is the best way to plow the field."

Penelope knew her part very well. They had agreed upon it after all. Part of it was her idea too. She didn't want him to go to war and he didn't want either. Not now that they had their son to take care of. Palamedes looked suspiciously at the scene.

"I find it hard to believe the mighty Odysseus losing his mind like this...it is so fast and so sad to be true..."

He approached closer.

"Come on, Odysseus, son of Laërtes! We have work to do, we have to get ready for the war!"

Odysseus didn't reply and continued his work. Penelope approached.

"My lord, as you see, my husband is a very sick man. He cannot help you in this war. I am afraid you must find someone else..."

Palamedes looked at her sideways before turning his gaze back at Odysseus.

"Such a shame though..." he whispered as if to himself, "Such a brilliant mind...be condemned in such a way... Seems such a waste..."

He eyed Penelope and something inside her heart flattered. She didn't like that look.

"But perhaps..." Palamedes started, "I might have a cure for his...illness..."

Penelope raised a brow.

"My lord?"

No sooner had she voiced that word and Palamedes yanked Telemachus out of her arms.

"NO!" Penelope cried out surprised, "What are you doing?! Stop!"

Telemachus screeched and cried as Palamedes ran towards the field.

"NO! MY BOY!" Penelope cried out

Odysseus barely had time to see with the corner of his eye Palamedes throw his infant son to the front of the two giant animals plowing! His mind did not think twice.

"WOOO BOY! WOO! WOO!" his mighty hands pulled the reigns stopping the plow barely a few inches away from the crying baby

Rushing to the spot he picked up his precious son to his hands, he raised him to his head, he inspected those little limbs and that soft head... He sighed in relief when he found no major injuries to that little body.

"Shh..sh sh...my boy..." he cooed at his son, "It's okay...it's okay..."

His gaze was fiery as he looked up to Palamedes.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMNED MIND?!" he bellowed, "You nearly killed my son!"

Palamedes seemed uninterested at that coy as he smirked.

"Welcome back to the world of sanity, Odysseus. So now I believe we can talk about the preparations of the war, according to the oath you gave. Let us cut this charade and be men..."

Ashamed, humbled but above all ENRAGED, Odysseus looked up from his kneeling position, still cooing his son, trying to calm him.

"That was a low blow, even for you!" He growled at him

"You are the one to talk, son of Laërtes!" Palamedes retorted, "you are the one who always schemes to avoid his responsibilities!"

"Yes but I don't use innocent infants for it! I shall not forget this Palamedes!"

"I seriously hope you won't" Palamedes retorted, "So that we won't add 'oathbreaker' to your list of titles!"

Oh how enraged he had been! And yet now he remembered that moment for a totally different reason! Now he was seeing that woman who used to be a mighty queen screaming and crying over that small ball that used to be her son. She was doubling over and over, crying.

"MY BOY! NO NO NO! NO! MY SON!"

At some point she managed to grasp the cloth

"No! Don't-...!"

The cloth revealed a ball of flesh that the face and the little bones were no more recognizable. Odysseus shut his eyes closed for one secondm

"Telemachus!" He thought, "No! Not him...that's not him..."

Andromache screeched in woe as she doubled over at that small ball of flesh that used to play around a few days ago, hitting her chest with the last bits of her hands, pulling on her chains maniacally. Odysseus could take no more. He went close to her. She was a queen, she had to pull it together.

"Get up..." he whispered huskily, "please get up...for your son..."

Andromache shot her head up and spat straight on his face. The saliva from her mouth burnt his cheek like fire; like the fire that now existed in her eyes. Her woe had stopped, apart from those tears that turned her eyes red. Hatred returned...and it was all directed to him... The Man of Many Ways felt his heart turn into marble; hard and cold. He stood up to his full height wiping his cheek with his hand. He felt the dirt and blood smearing in combination with the spit. All of Troy's massacre had fallen upon him...

"Take her out of here!" He ordered in a low, cold voice

If I show weakness...I'm lost...

Andromache struggled only for one minute and that would be so that she wouldn't be separated from her son (the son that now a soldier was picking up again, sparing everyone from the unpleasant task seeing the child). She then followed her captures. She was a queen again. The only thing you could hear was some low cry.

"Odysseus..." Meriones approached him, "Are you alright?"

Odysseus winced in pain. He hadn't realized that he had clenched his fist so hard that it hurt him. He unclenched it.

"Yes..." he whispered, "Yes, I'm fine"

Sooo Part 2! Soon the closure will come! Dedication to some hood friends such as @aaronofithaca05 @simugeuge @prompted-wordsmith @loco-bird @jarondont

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