#the honey queen sacrifice
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Can someone please explain to me what exactly Nibbly’s done wrong? I mean, he only eats one person a year, and considering the fact that his brothers use mind control and magic, eating someone is a much lesser torture. He isn’t the one who runs the Honey Festival, that’s his cultists (until we get a full rundown of his personality and how the festival/pageant was set up he has plausible deniability), and he certainly isn’t making these women fight and hurt each other for a crown he probably isn’t aware even exists. In fact, the person he eats is usually extremely selfish - the ‘hungriest’ person wins - is that not a benefit to the local community? Sure, Linda Monroe is iconic, but is she a nice person? If you knew her, would you befriend her? Would she befriend you? The same goes for Zoe Chambers, as much as we all love the true Latte Hatte, she was using her grandmother, outed her brother, was willing to kill for a crown and was dating an asshole cop, allowing him to kill her grandmother. Either way it wouldn’t have been a big loss, it was really a two birds with one stone situation when both Zoe and Linda died. Actually, Nibbly eating just one person leads to more than one awful, selfish person being removed from Hatchetfield, you just know that people were celebrating. Also, Nibbly rewards the people who bring him a sacrifice, partially because he presumably knows the heavy mental toll that this kind of work could bring. Plus, he probably eats people really quickly so their suffering is minimised. We only see Nibbly as a villain because of who his family is and because we see the events of Honey Queen through Linda’s eyes. I’m still seeking justice for Nibbly, fight me.
#team starkid#starkid#hatchetfield#hatchetverse#the hatchetfield series#hatchetblr#lords in black#the lords in black#nightmare time#nightmare time 2#nibbly#nibblenephim#linda monroe#zoe chambers#honey queen
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Father of Mine
father of mine masterlist
summary: All Dean Winchester ever wanted was to protect the people he loved. Sometimes, in order to do that, he had to make hard decisions, Lisa and Ben were the prime example. Years after making another one of those hard decisions, he has to come back to the place where he had left a piece of his heart - only to be constantly reminded of what he had to sacrifice in order to keep his family safe.
warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, throwing up, this is written like an episode of Supernatural
word count: 8,2k
a/n: I’ve been writing this story for … a year now? I think? And I’ve gotta admit, I am so happy that it is finally out. Everything that I write means incredibly much to me, but this story just holds such a special place in my heart and I am very happy to share it now with you guys. I do hope you like it, and, as always, reblogs are very much appreciated because that way the story gets spread to more people! Now, enjoy!
flashbacks are written in italics
pt1 pt2 pt3
Cleveland, Ohio 2002
The bar was crowded with people.
Gruffed men wearing leather jackets and intoxicated women in crop-tops were all sprawled out around an alcohol booth in the middle.
In another corner, currently bathed in purple and orange spotlight, a guy with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and a bucket-hat was giving a lousy cover of ‘God save the Queen’ by Sex Pistols.
♫ ♪ “Don't be told what you want. Don't be told what you need. There's no future, no future, no future for you!” ♫ ♪
On one of the way too small bar chairs, sipping a burning mix of whiskey and ginger ale, was sitting Dean Winchester, and he was pissed.
Pissed at his stupid father, who was acting like Dean was a 15-year-old with no common sense whatsoever, pissed at the goddamn ghost that had found an incredible pleasure in almost ripping his fingers off his hands, and pissed at stupid Sam for just getting up one day and leaving him - didn’t matter if that had been months ago.
And with every drink that Dean downed, he started feeling more like “Dad can kiss my ass” instead of “Dad has been doing this much longer than you and just knows better”. Meaning, he should probably slow down.
But whatever.
His Dad could kiss his ass.
♫ ♪ “Oh when there's no future, how can there be sin? We're the flowers in the dustbin!” ♫ ♪
“Why, hello,” he suddenly heard a sweet voice next to him say.
Dean turned his head and was met face to face with friendly, glimmering eyes.
Those, just as the voice that had spoken to him, belonged to a young woman who seemed to have just appeared next to him.
He moved his gaze up and down her body.
Apart from her eyes, she had smooth skin, that was covered with glowing sweatpearls, most likely because of the stuffy air around them.
Or maybe, just like Dean, she had had a couple drinks too many.
A few, fine strands of her shoulder-length hair were tousled, likely from combing her hands through it.
He licked his lips. “Well, hello you. With whom do I have the pleasure?”
He was laying on thick and he knew that, but it’s not like he could care about it.
“Gloria. Richards.” She was speaking in a soft, honey voice, and Dean urged himself to focus on her face, and not the way her neck and chest were lightly gleaming from the thin layer of sweat covering them.
“What’s yours?”
Dean Winchester.
But no, that wasn’t his name. Not today at least. If he could just remember what was. And the drinks didn’t exactly make thinking easier.
“Dean Hansley.”
Gloria smiled again.
What a nice smile she had.
"Dean Hansley." She tasted the words, let them burn on her tongue. "That's a nice name."
And then she sat down at the stool next to him, without waiting for him to invite her, and she started talking.
And he talked back with her.
And time went by, and she kept finishing and ordering drinks, that Dean all offered to pay, and she never refused.
By now, the guy in the Hawaiian shirt had been thrown off the karaoke stage, after heavily throwing up into one of the other guest's handbags, halfway through a tedious ballad about life, and love, and its misery.
The only source of music was coming from the colorful jukebox next to the pool board.
A couple drunk-off-their-asses idiots, trying to play billiards, were loudly roaring along to AC/DC’s ‘You shook me all night long’.
♫ ♪ “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen!” ♫ ♪
Gloria was still sitting next to him, although a bit closer, and she was sipping at her third drink he had bought her tonight.
And damn, that girl had high tolerance.
Dean thought she was amazing.
“That thing with your family sucks, really.” She scrunched up her nose in slight discomfort.
Dean let out a humorless laugh and took a sip of the whiskey he was still stuck with. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Yes, he had told her about his - family issues. But so what?
It felt nice having someone listening to him for a change. Someone who wasn’t his family, didn’t even know them, and wouldn’t try to disregard his frustration by telling him to ‘put himself in his father’s shoes for once’.
Gloria finished her drink and used the palm of her hand to wipe the sweat off her forehead.
Dean tried his best to not think too much about her knee touching his, her being so close him.
“The air in here is terrible,” she said, heavily emphasizing the last word.
Dean’s attention was turned to her again. He knew she had said something before that, but he hadn’t been able to catch it, too lost in his own mind.
He kind of felt bad for not listening to her.
Dean threw a look around.
“Yeah, it’s getting pretty hot in here,” he agreed, feeling pearls of sweat rolling off the little hairs on his neck.
Gloria looked directly into his eyes, then up his body, down his body, before settling on his eyes again.
She bit the inside of her cheek. Then her lip.
“I mean,” she slowly spoke, “we could continue this conversation somewhere else if you want. Where there’s not so many people and the air doesn’t taste like salt.”
♫ ♪ “You really took me and you shook me all night long! Ooh, you shook me all night long!” ♫ ♪
Hell yeah.
A boyish grin started forming on his face.
“An offer like that - how could I say no?”
༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻
Now
“Read it again for me.”
Dean was staring straight ahead onto the road, his gaze hard and jaw clenched.
Sam sighed and opened the newspaper again, for what had to be the seventh time now since they had first found it.
They were both sitting in the Impala, Castiel in the backseat. The angel could have just flipped his wings and flown to the destination they were headed, but he had insisted to take the drive with them, claiming he had “nothing better to do anyway”.
“St. George, Louisiana,” Sam started to read.
“In the night of Wednesday to Thursday, a young man was found dead in his room in Saint George’s Children’s Home. The 17-year-old Roy Kendall hadn’t come out of his room the first half of the day, and when a woman of the working personnel - whose name has been withheld - came to check on him, she discovered his mutilated body draped out on the bed. According to the police, the young man’s rib cage had been compressed with such force that his ribs were broken and had managed to pierce through the young man’s internal organs, which resulted in him slowly bleeding out internally. Authorities are still in the dark about the exact details of the tragedy and the questions of “Why” and, particularly, “How” something like this could even be possible. The head of the Children’s Care Institution …, blah blah blah.”
Sam purposefully drifted off and ended his reading session therefore. He folded the newspaper back together and stuffed it into the Impala’s globe compartment.
“And that’s it, I am not reading this again. Next thing you know, I’m going to dream about squished organs and ribcages.”
He shuddered.
“I just don’t get it, man,” Dean said, ignoring his brother’s complaints, but he didn’t seem to address anyone in particular.
“I mean, I checked everything, Sammy. No demonic omens, no strategic killings, no recent disappearances. That place was all white picket fences and summer barbecues when we- ”
He was quick to cut himself off.
Sam threw his brother a side glance, but decided to not address his slip-up.
“Well, Dean, sometimes monsters just … turn up, you know.” This time Sam turned his head to get a proper look at his older brother.
“Maybe it’s just passing through, or simply moved there from somewhere else. They aren’t exactly tied to a specific place.”
Dean ran his hand over his face and through his hair in distress. “Out of all places, why there?” He muttered in a low tone.
And again, he was more talking to himself than anyone else.
“I don’t understand.” Cas was suddenly talking from the back seat. “What is in this Children’s Home that is of so much importance to you both?”
Dean was quick to answer a “Nothing,” but Castiel didn’t quite believe him.
Sam turned in his seat to face the angel.
“We were working a case near there a while back,” he simply explained.
Cas frowned, still not quite convinced, but he decided to let the topic rest. For now, at least.
“I understand,” he said. “Then it would probably be of benefit for you to stick with your past aliases. Just in case anyone there should recognize you.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” Dean vaguely answered, but he seemed trapped deep in his own thoughts.
༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻
Black Hawk, Colorado 2002
“To listen to this voicemail, call-”
A dial tone sounded. The message was a few months old.
“Hey, Dean, it’s uh … it’s Gloria. You know, Gloria Richards, from a few nights ago?” A humorless chuckle was heard on the other end of the line.
“Though, guys like you don’t usually remember their casual one-night hookups. So I’ll cut straight to the chase.” One heavy inhale.
“I’m pregnant. And I know the chances of you wanting anything to do with me are zero to negative six, but I just wanted to-”
“To delete this voicemail, press 2.”
A tone.
“Voicemail deleted.”
“To listen to this voicema-”
The woman on the other end sounded more outraged this time, even though occasional cracks or hiccups in her voice gave away that she had been heavily crying moments before. Maybe still was.
“Hello Dean, it’s me again. You know, I didn’t expect you to jump up high at the news, but ignoring me?” She scoffed. “That’s a different type of low.”
She sniffled. “I’m just calling to tell you I’ve decided to keep the baby. So you can still change your mind, if you-”
“To delete this voicemail, press-” “Voicemail deleted.”
“To listen to th-”
“Hello, Dean. It’s Gloria. Again.”
This time, she seemed calmer, which could be reasoned with the tiredness her voice was radiating.
“I suppose I’m still kind of hoping that you will call me back. Or even pick up.” She sighed.
“I wanted to tell you that she’s perfectly healthy and growing. That’s right. She. Our baby is going to be a-”
“To delete this-” ”Voicemail deleted.”
John Winchester stared at the small phone in his hand and pressed a button.
“You have no more voicemails.”
That moment, Dean came bursting into the motel room, looking around the empty shelves and patting up and down his jacket- and jeans-pockets.
“Hey Dad, do you know where my phone is? I heard it ringing,” Dean asked.
“Yes, just some spam-callers,” John neatly lied. “I took care of it, but I’m gonna put it out of service, just in case.”
Dean looked at him and for a moment, John thought his son would grow suspicious, but he just nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Dad.”
John nodded and Dean left the room with his bag in hand. When he was certain Dean wouldn’t come back, John took the phone apart and crashed the SIM Card on the nightstand with the lamp.
Then he put the pieces in the bin, took his duffel bag and followed his son to the car.
༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻
Now
The St. George’s Children’s Home was somewhat of a small castle, kept in a renaissance style.
Around a large courtyard, archways connected four round-towers, which were slightly higher than the rest of the castle. The walls were painted a pale yellow.
Trees grew in the gardens around the castle, flowers in planted beds, and as far as Dean could remember, there was a hedge maze behind the walls, not visible from the gateway.
They had parked the Impala in one of the parking spaces next to the tall, elegant terrain fence.
Sam and Dean were wearing black suits and their fake badges, Castiel - as always - stuck with the trench coat.
Dean was eyeing the building suspiciously.
In fact, he had been doing so for the last three minutes, in which they had all sat in the Impala in complete silence.
Sam threw a quick, concerned glance at his brother before clearing his throat.
“You really wanna do this?”, he asked quietly.
“No,” Dean answered and opened the car door, “But it’s not like we have a choice, right?”
Sam sighed and did the same, not before exchanging a quick, apprehensive look with Castiel, who still didn’t quite know what was going on.
The castle’s inside was considerably more modern than its outside.
With brightly-colored walls and furniture, and minimalistic decorations all over.
It seemed cozy.
They were headed for the office of the youth center’s director, Maria Whitlock. Dean remembered exactly where that was. Down the hall, left. Past a few closed bedroom doors. Last door at the end of the corridor.
Dean cleared his throat and knocked on the door, Sam right behind him. Castiel had left before they had entered the castle, claiming to look for a suitable Motel nearby, and telling them to contact him if they needed his help.
There was a beat of silence before they heard a woman’s voice reply “Yes?” and entered the office.
Maria Whitlock was an elderly woman, with dark red hair that she kept in a low bun. She was around a head smaller than Dean, and wearing a grey blouse combined with a wine red jacket and a black pencil skirt.
When she heard them enter the room, she looked up from a few papers she was filing, and her face immediately fell.
“Hello, Maria.” Sam greeted her.
“Dean and Sam Winchester,” she breathed out, startled.
“I never thought I would see you two again.”
Dean felt a sting in his chest.
“Yeah, well,” Sam said and tried a clumsy smile. A heavy silence followed, and Dean shifted uncomfortably.
Maria frowned. “Not to seem impolite, but what are the two of you doing here?” She asked.
Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.
“We, uhm, we heard about Roy and we thought that, maybe, we should just check if everything was alright and, of course, speak our condolences. You know, for old time’s sake.”
She nodded and closed the pen. “Yes, right. Roy. I completely forgot that they put that in the paper.”
A look of dark grief fell over her face and her gaze drifted into nothingness. She suddenly looked much older than she was.
Dean cleared his throat. “I gave you my number, Maria,” he spoke. “If you would’ve called, we could’ve been here sooner.”
She blinked rapidly, pulling herself out of her thoughts and looked at him for a second before she replied.
“I know, I know, but to be honest - it slipped my mind, in between all of this … chaos and tragedy.”
While she was talking, she got up from her chair and walked around the table, getting a clearer view at Sam and Dean.
“Of course,” Sam hastily said. “No worries. We are very sorry for your loss.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Dean was glad that it had been Sam who had spoken up. He wasn’t very good at that sort of things. Nor did he aspire to be.
“You said you were here because of Roy’s …. passing,” Maria continued, and the brothers nodded.
“But that would mean that this was some sort of - unnatural incident.”
Sam swallowed hard.
“Well,” he started, trying to find the right words that would not trigger a breakdown for the woman, “we saw the article in the newspaper and thought that we would just have a look at it. The circumstances of Roy’s passing aren’t exactly common for a person his age, after all.”
Or for any person, really.
She nodded lazily. “Yes. I suppose you are right.”
Dean could swear that another minute of awkward silence between them would probably kill him, so he took it upon himself to prevent it before it started.
“I get that this is hard, Maria,” he said, “But if we could maybe ask you some questions? Maybe speak to the person that found him?”
She sniffled.
Oh dear God.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Her voice was a bit higher than before, and her hands grabbed for a handkerchief lying on the table.
“Uhm, the woman who found him was one of my responsible supervisors, Betty Langston. She should be present in the building today, but the last time I spoke to her, she was still pretty shaken up. I mean, who can blame her? I can’t even imagine what it must have been like, seeing that poor boy lying on his bed, just- ”
She broke off and a sob escaped her lips, before she buried her face in the kerchief.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I’m sorry, it’s just - he was such a kind boy. He had his whole life ahead of him. And the way that he had to go…”
She raised her head and shook it, eyes reddened and filled with tears.
“I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”
“We understand, Maria,” Sam spoke in a comforting, low voice.
And Dean added, “And I promise we will find whatever did this and make sure this happens to no one ever again.”
She forced herself to a smile.
“Thank you, boys. May the angels be with you.”
Dean forbid himself a snort.
“Thank you for your time, Maria. We will let you know when we know more,” Sam said and left the office.
He wouldn’t risk making her cry again by bothering her with questions about her dead fosterling.
Dean smiled at Maria and turned to follow his brother, but she stopped him.
“Dean.”
He turned to face her.
“You do know that it won’t be possible for you to investigate here, without … encountering a certain someone.”
Dean straightened his shoulders.
“Yes, I know.”
“Have you thought about it? What you will say to her?”
“Gotta admit, I haven’t.”
She hummed and nodded. Dean noticed that she had resumed her usual upright position, and if he hadn’t just witnessed it, he probably would not know that she had been crying.
“I should warn you,” she said gently, “It probably won’t be easy.”
“I honestly didn’t expect it to be.”
She smiled a gentle smile at him and he returned it, before finally leaving the room and joining his brother in the hallway.
༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻
Lewiston, Michigan 2004
The first time he had read it, John Winchester had been drunk. He had spared a quick glance at it after coming home from a bar, before throwing himself onto the motel bed and passing out.
The second time he had read it, he had been sober, but suffering from a skull-splitting headache.
The third time he read it, it was simply to make sure his hungover mind wasn’t making any of this up. But no, the words on the newspaper stayed the same, grinning up at him with a sickening smirk that made his stomach turn.
In the small corner of the left page, where the lesser important news were usually placed, throned the bold-printed, black words:
24-year-old woman dies in tragic car accident, leaves 1-year-old daughter behind
No. God, no.
He read it again. Read the headline, read the article, the name that had been shortened but to him unmistakable: Gloria R.
R. Just like Richards. Gloria Richards.
There was a picture placed right next to the text, held in color, of a young woman that was clearly putting on a smile for the camera.
John slammed the newspaper on the round table.
“Damn it!” He yelled.
And in that moment, John was grateful that Dean had offered to go on a coffee run.
—
He was ‘going on a quick hunt’. That’s what he told Dean.
He was ‘going on a quick hunt and if anyone needed anything, they should contact Dean’. That’s what he told Bobby. And everyone that reached his voicemail.
Cleveland, Ohio. That’s where he was going. He had some business to attend to.
—
Central Nebraska
To say that Ellen Harvelle wasn’t delighted about John Winchester showing up inside the Roadhouse would be quite an understatement.
She was furious.
John paid attention to enter the wooden cabin carefully. He didn’t expect Ellen to be pleased by his sudden presence, especially considering their last encounter with each other.
It was a random Wednesday afternoon, and there wasn’t anyone seated in the Roadhouse, except for Ellen herself, who was busy cleaning the bar with a half-wet kitchen towel.
The brunette woman looked up for a quick second, as a form of formality, before she dedicated her attention back onto the dirty surface.
“I’ll be with you in a secon-” Then she realized. Stopped. Did a double take.
“Winchester.” The word was dripping from her lips with loathing.
“Hello, Ellen,” he started, but she cut him off.
“What do you want?” Her question was blunt and her tone cold and unwelcoming.
John cleared his throat and stepped from one foot to the other. He had to sell his story good, if Ellen wouldn’t get on board with his proposition, he had nobody else to go to.
“Look, Ellen. I get that you’re mad- ”
“Mad?” She let out a short, sour laugh.
“Mad doesn’t even begin to describe what I am feeling towards you, Winchester. Try hatred. Pure disgust.” She scoffed again.
“You must have a death wish, because I couldn’t think of any other possible reason why you would drag your dumbass out here again. ”
John swallowed hard. She was right. Who was he to just show up here again? After what happened?
But there was no turning back now, he had to go through with this.
“You’re right.” He spoke in a low tone to try and seem less intimidating and also attempt to soothe her temper towards him.
“I am sorry about what happened, Ellen. If I could go back and do it any different, then I would.”
A lie. She knew that. He knew that she knew that. Still - she didn’t interrupt, just kept glaring at him, so he decided to continue.
“But unfortunately, I can’t. And I know you have every right and reason to hate me now.”
Agreeing and empathizing with her.
“But there is something extremely important that I need to ask of you.”
Again, he didn’t have much time to talk, before Ellen raised her voice.
“You damned son of a bitch!”, she yelled, tossing the kitchen towel onto the counter with such force, the leftover water splashed around.
“You ain’t got no right walking in here, after what you pulled, and ask a goddamned favor of me!”
Her voice was loud in the silence of the Roadhouse and John lifted his hands up in defense.
“Ellen, please! Listen to me!”, he pleaded. Ellen wasn’t yelling at him anymore, but her jaw was still clenched and her entire body tense.
“I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options. Like you said, I must have a Deathwish to show up here. And I understand that. But you are the only person that I can trust with this. You can toss me out all you want after. You can yell, and scream, and punch me, and shoot at me. Just please, hear me out first. ”
There was silence, where John just stood there, his hands still raised in the air in front of him, and Ellen grinding her teeth as she thought about what to do now.
Because by God, did she hate him. And a part of her wanted to take a rifle and first shoot a bullet into his feet and then his di-
But on the other hand, she could not recall a time that John Winchester had ever gotten himself into a position to beg.
No, he was too proud for that. So whatever he wanted must be goddamn important for him, really.
“Tell me what you need, Winchester,” Ellen said eventually, “And let me decide afterwards.”
Her body language didn’t show one sign of hospitality still, but John interpreted her words as somewhat of a good sign.
Hopefully.
༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻
Now
After their talk with Maria, Sam and Dean settled on questioning Betty Langston.
In the middle of the wall in the entrance hall, a big frame with the pictures, names and duties of the working staff was hung up.
Above the name ‘Betty Langston’ was a picture of a friendly looking woman in her mid-twenties, with a pointed nose and blonde strands of hair framing her face.
Underneath, the duties “Social Worker” and “Deputy Manager” were listed.
When they knocked on the door which was labeled “staff”, a young man opened and told them that Betty Langston was currently positioned on the second floor.
Dean wanted to take the elevator, but Sam dragged him up the stairs.
“It will be faster,” he guaranteed, and Dean just rolled his eyes with a groan.
The hallways on the second floor were surprisingly wide, with doors placed across each other in a zig zag pattern.
Here and there were a few paintings on the walls, old and new, and green neon signs pointing toward the emergency exit.
They met Betty after they turned around the first corner. She stood in front of a pinboard and was currently hanging up new posters.
Her hair was different from the picture, slightly longer now ending halfway down her back, and copper colored with only a few blonde highlights.
The brothers made their way over to her and flashed their fake FBI-badges when she let off her work and shifted her attention to them.
“Hello, my name is David Shields, my partner’s name is Jarvis Stark,” introduced Dean. “Are you Betty Langston?”
The young woman gaped at them, slightly caught off guard. “Uhm yes, that’s me,” she eventually got out and lowered her arms. “What can I do for you?”
Dean caught a glimpse of the writing on the poster. It was a few phone numbers, and in dark blue, a text above read: ‘DON’T HESITATE TO ASK FOR HELP!’
“We’re here to ask you about Roy Kendall,” Sam carefully approached, “We understand that you are the one who found him.”
Dean couldn’t help but notice how Betty Langston’s eyes shifted to the floor and she nervously trailed her fingers up and down the paper in her hand.
“Um yes, I … I found him.” Her voice got small and she swallowed hard.
“But what does the FBI want with that? I thought it was a wild animal.”
“Given the unusual occurrence of Roy’s death, we thought it necessary to at least have a look at this case and find out what we can,” Sam said.
“That doesn’t have to mean anything, though,” Dean quickly tried to soothe her when he noticed the tears springing in the woman’s eyes. “Exactly,” Sam hastily agreed. “Only a few questions, just in case.”
Betty nodded and blinked away her tears. “Okay,” she quietly said. Sam reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his notebook and a pen.
“Did Roy mention something … I don’t know, unusual before he died?” Sam asked, clicking the pen and bringing his notepad in position. The young woman hesitated.
“Well, not that I know of,” she eventually said, “But, you see, kids at that age … they don’t talk to us adults much anymore. If you want to know something about Roy, you better ask his friends.”
Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “His friends?” He repeated. She nodded. “Mhm.”
“And, uh - who are his friends, if I may ask?” Sam tuned in again. Betty thought for a second and then clicked her tongue. “Well, there’s Cassandra, Cassandra Claire,” she said and started counting the listed names on her fingers. “And, uhm, Finnegan Beckett.” Sam repeated the children’s names under his breath as he quickly wrote them down.
“And Y/N Winchester,” Betty finished.
Sam abruptly stopped writing at the ‘n’ and looked up. He felt Dean visibly tense and shift next to him.
The younger brother just put on a smile and folded the small notepad back into the inner pocket of his jacket. But not before completely writing out the last name on the list.
“Thank you so much, Miss Langston, you helped us a lot. We will let you know if there are any more questions. And, our condolences,” he added.
She shyly smiled back at him and slowly continued gathering thumbtacks to hang up her posters, and the brothers left.
Sam waited until they were out of hearing range, then turned to Dean. “So…that was something,” he carefully started.
“What do you mean?”
Sam threw him a look. “You know what I mean. The witness list. Roy’s friends. That last name…”
Dean sighed heavily. Sam waited for him to say something. And when he didn’t, Sam just shook his head but decided to not stress it any further.
“So, where to now?” He asked instead.
Dean took a look at his watch. “The morgue, I’d say. As far as I know they’re closing soon, and a dead body is not exactly the first thing I need to see in the morning, so-”
Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, alright. Sounds good.”
They made their way out of the castle.
“You want to take Castiel?” Sam questioned when he rounded the car.
“No,” Dean decided firmly and opened the driver’s door. “Remember what happened last time? Exactly. I don’t need Cas smelling some dead guy again.”
Sam grinned at the memory. With a creak, the Impala gave in to their weight as they sat down, and the gravel gnashed under her tires when they drove off.
༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻
Central Nebraska 2006
Roughly, the dark minivan tuckered over the bumpy earth of the pathetic excuse of a road, and Dean’s insides flinched with every squeak the old car made.
When they finally came to a stop, he tossed the keys somewhere and maybe slammed the door with a bit more force than necessary. A lot more.
“This is humiliating,” he grumbled, as he took in the atrocious excuse of a vehicle they just stepped out of. He missed his Baby.
Sam ignored him, and stepped forward, towards the old wooden – house? Shack? – the mysterious phone number on their dad’s cell had led them to.
The huge letters ROADHOUSE flaunted above them, and Dean thought that these were probably made to light up when the sun disappeared.
The rest of the house looked abandoned, frankly, from the outside, and that, in combination with the four-month-old voicemail, made Dean not like his odds very much. The chances that this Ellen chick was still alive, knowing what his father had needed her for, were slim in his mind.
Or hell, maybe she just called from here, got the phone from some rando, and got on her merry way when she realized John wasn’t calling back. It’s probably what he would’ve done.
Safe to say, Dean didn’t like their odds. Even less so when they entered the eerie quiet of the bar, and spotted a man lying unconscious, probably dead, on the pool table.
Dean felt his shoulders stiffen. He didn’t like this one bit, and every second he spent here made the alarm in his head shrill even louder than before.
Dean only just turned to take a closer look at one of the shelves, when he felt something hard dig into his lower back, and heard an all too familiar clicking sound.
Dean closed his eyes. “Please tell me that is a gun.”
“No, I’m just very happy to see you,” came the fast answer from a very snarking - and female? - voice.
In one swift motion, Dean whirled around, grabbed the barrel, ripped it out of his attacker’s hand, and uncocked it. The bullet fell to the ground with an echoing clatter.
Dean almost smirked triumphantly at the blonde girl in front of him, when he felt a sudden, blinding pain in his face.
And if Dean had thought pulling up in a 30-year-old, barely functional van, of all things was humiliating, he didn’t calculate how it would feel to be absolutely sucker punched by a girl, not even as old as him.
Aside from the obvious nosebleed, his ego took a severe bruise.
“Sam! Little help here!” He called, hand still holding his hurting face.
The door swung open, and Sam walked out, hands raised to his head, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry Dean,” he said, “I’m a little tied up right now.”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, as he watched another woman with dark brown hair follow his brother close behind, a revolver held to his head in fair warning.
He would be impressed, if his vision wasn’t swimming right now.
The older woman behind Sam furrowed her brows. “Wait, Sam? Dean?” She asked, exchanging looks with kick-ass Blondie in front of him. “Winchester?”
There was a beat, before the brothers pressed out a unison “Yeah?”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Mom, you know these guys?” Dean’s head hurt with how much he was swinging it around to keep up.
“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys.” And that made Dean perk up.
The woman let out a laugh as she lowered her weapon.
—
A few minutes later, Dean was served with an iced cloth for his nose, and he and Sam seated themselves on a few of the bystanding bar chairs.
The brunette woman, who had threatened Sam, turned out to be the mysterious Ellen, whose voicemail on their dad’s phone they followed here. Jo, her daughter, and also the kick-ass blonde that had held the rifle to Dean’s back, looked about as unknowing about the whole situation as the brothers did.
Turns out Ellen had contacted John about the demon he was hunting. Said she could help him with it. Why John had never mentioned her, or her daughter, she didn’t say. Told them to ask him themselves. Dean didn’t say anything to that.
“So why exactly do we need your help?”, Dean asked, repositioning the cloth on his face.
Ellen scoffed. “Hey, don’t do me any favors. If you don’t want my help, fine.” There was a snarking edge to her voice, and Dean started to realize why his father would associate with her.
“Don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out,” she continued. “But John wouldn’t have sent you, if–“
There it was.
Ellen stood straighter. A haunted look crossed her eyes. “He didn’t send you.” It wasn’t a question.
Dean looked away.
“He’s alright, isn’t he?” Dean hadn’t known Ellen Harvelle for very long, but even he could sense the way her voice wavered. And know that she was a smart enough woman to not truly believe what she was asking.
“No.” Sam cleared his throat, and the simple word echoed through the deafening silence. “No, he’s not. We think the demon did it. Got to him before he got to it.” The thankful feeling of not being the one to have to tell her what happened felt like a sin in Dean’s gut. Then again, what’s one more on his plate.
“I’m sorry,” Ellen said. It’s what everyone said.
“It’s alright. We’re good.”
Ellen didn’t believe him, he saw it in her eyes. But she didn’t bother him more about it, either.
“So, look, if you can help us,” Sam said, and Dean threw him a look that showed just how much he wanted to smack his little brother across the face, “we’d be real happy about all the help we can get.”
Ellen’s lips twisted. “We can’t help you.”
Is this lady for real-
“But he can.”
And then the dead man stood up from the pool table.
—
Ash was a tech freak, with a haircut like Billy Ray Cyrus and the mouth of a southern cowboy. Jo called him a genius. Dean didn’t know what to think of that.
Still, he had passed him their dad’s journal, told him to go nuts, and Ash had drooled over John Winchester’s handiwork like a child over a lollipop.
Ash had left with the journal and the promise of new information in the time of fifty-one hours.
Dean thought that was long enough time to take a drink.
Jo Harvelle was a pretty woman. When she wasn’t threatening him with a rifle or punching him in the face, that was. Her soft, blonde curls fell long over her shoulders, and those jeans did wonders to her curves.
Dean started conversing with her. While he had moved to one of the tables, Sam had stayed with Ellen at the bar. He found out that her father died, a long time ago. In the back of his mind, a mean voice cackled at the irony. He paid his sympathies.
Then, suddenly, one of the doors to the backrooms flew open, and a small whirlwind of colorful fabric and y/h/c hair came dashing into the room.
“Aunty Ellen, Aunty Ellen! Look what I made!”
Dean’s head whipped around at the sound of the high-pitched voice and he spotted a small girl, not older than five years probably, squeezing herself behind the bar table. When he noticed Ellen bowing her head, he figured that the little girl had probably reached her destined spot next to her.
Dean, though he would never admit it, was an easily curious person, so he followed Jo on her way to the bar and leaned slightly over the tablewood to catch a glimpse at the small intruder.
Little Lady was tugging at Ellen’s pantleg, and expectantly holding up a colored paper for her to look at.
“Look at what I drew, Auntie Ellen!” she repeated, in that same excited tone as before, when she had stormed into the room.
Dean watched as Ellen abandoned her washcloth somewhere behind her and crouched down to meet with the little girl eye-to-eye, as she inspected her drawing.
“That’s so amazing, baby, is that us?” The girl nodded, her pigtails wiggling up and down as she bopped her head enthusiastically.
“Yes, that is you, and that is Jo, and that is me. And look, I made my own fingerprint!” She dashed her finger into a spot on the paper, and then proudly held up the red-colored tip to shove it in Ellen’s face.
The woman had a wide, genuine smile on her face. “I can see that, baby, well done, it looks so nice!” She praised. “How about we hang it up there next to the menu?”
The girl nodded her head again, and let Ellen scoop her up gently. Only then, when Little Lady was at height with them, she seemed to notice the strangers standing in the room.
In the matter of a second, Dean saw her whole demeanor shift from bubbly and open, to a more closed off version, sinking further into Ellen’s embrace and clutching the fabrics of her shirt. Something about it made Dean’s heart sting.
“Auntie Ellen?” The girl tried to whisper, but Dean had learned soon that children were terrible whisperers, “Who is that?”
Ellen looked first to Sam, then Dean, and back at the little girl in her arms. “Those are friends of Jo and me, sweetheart. Their names are Sam-“ Dean’s little brother gave a wave and a smile when Ellen introduced him. “-and Dean.”
Dean grinned and carefully stretched his hand out. “Very nice to meet you, Little Lady. Who am I speaking to, may I ask?” He laid a formal accent on his voice, one that he knew had always made Sam laugh when he was a child. It was an olive branch, but something in him hoped she would grab it.
The small giggle that Little Lady let out made Dean’s heart bloom with a warmth he didn’t know he was able to feel.
“My name’s Y/N,” she said. With a pointed look at Dean’s still outstretched hand, Ellen murmured in her ear, “And what do we do when someone gives us their hand to shake?”
Y/N nuzzled her face into the crook of Ellen’s neck, and Dean almost drew his hand back again, when a small warmth settled into his palm and closed around it.
He smiled at the girl and shook her hand. As they both pulled back, Dean twisted his hand around and huffed. “Ouff, someone has got a firm grip! Your Auntie Ellen teach you that?” Y/N grinned proudly at him and nodded her head. Then she held up her hand and showed him four fingers. “I’m already this old!”
Dean gasped. “Really? Well, that is a great age, no wonder you are so strong!”
Y/N was beaming now.
She didn’t hide in Ellen’s neck again.
“So, what about that picture now?” Ellen bounced the girl on her hip once, and it seemed like she was snapped out of a trance. Determinedly, she pointed at a space next to a hung-up blackboard. Dean figured Ellen usually wrote her daily specials on that.
The woman made a few steps over where Y/N had led her and gestured toward an already hung drawing of blue water and grey – fish? – above it, that was already taped to the wall.
“But we already put a picture there. We would have to remove that one if you want your new drawing to hang here.” The girl shrugged, and already reached for a roll of clean tape on the shelf.
“That’s okay, I don’t like dolphins all that much anymore anyway,” she explained nonchalantly. “I will just put it in my drawing box.”
Dean watched as Ellen carefully picked the old drawing from the wall to make space for the new one. He was so caught up in the scenery, he almost didn’t notice how Sam was scooting closer to him.
“You know who she is?” Sam asked. Dean turned his attention to his brother.
“Well, her name’s Y/N,” Dean answered simply. Sam didn’t roll his eyes at him, but it was a close call.
Dean just shrugged. “Guess she isn’t Ellen’s. Otherwise, she wouldn’t call her Auntie.” He pitched the last word high, to mimic the child’s voice.
Sam furrowed his brows as they watched Ellen and the small girl.
“Makes you wonder,” he said, “What she’s doing here.”
Dean just hummed. He made brief eye contact with Y/N, as she stole a look in his direction, but she averted her eyes quickly, as if she had been caught.
Dean found himself slightly smiling.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam looking at him. His brother was grinning.
“You love that kid.” It was a statement.
Dean scoffed. “Oh, shut up, I don’t even know her. Also, I love kids, plural.” He added.
Sam nodded, that smile still on his lips. Dean ignored him.
“Come on, ask him. Don’t be shy.” Ellen and Y/N had finished putting up her drawing and were now standing closer to them again. Ellen was still carrying the girl on her hip and had bent down to whisper to her.
Y/N had buried her face in Ellen’s shirt again, clearly shy to say something.
“He ain’t gonna bite you,” Ellen said, nudging her. “Go on.”
Y/N lifted her head, and shyly looked at Dean. Her eyes were flickering all over him, but never exactly to his face.
“Doyouwantodrawwithme?” She spluttered. Dean’s eyebrows shot up.
“Don’t think he understood that. Try a bit slower. You can do this, come on,” Ellen encouraged her.
Y/N clutched her shirt.
“Do you want to draw with me?” She asked, head lowered and looking at her fingers. Her voice was quiet, but to Dean it felt as if she had shouted that sentence.
He felt warm inside. “Of course I want to.”
Y/N’s head shot up, and Dean Winchester had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime, but the gleaming eyes of that small child before him had to be at the top of the list. He never wanted to look at anything else.
Ellen set her down and pointed at a table in the corner of the room.
“Her colors and paper are already set up. Every day, before we officially open,” she explained with a look at Dean, and he nodded. While Sam got comfortable on one of the bar chairs, he made his way over to where Y/N had already set up her coloring tools and begun drawing on a piece of yellow paper.
Her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Dean pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.
“What are you drawing?” He asked, stretching his neck to take a closer look. Y/N leaned back and showed him her creation. Lines of red and yellow. Maybe a tomato? An apple? He turned his head. From that perspective maybe?
“It’s Lighting McQueen!” Y/N told him triumphantly. “I saw cars with Jo.”
Dean nodded. So no apple. He also wasn’t going to point out the girl’s grammar. She was only four after all. And who was he to talk.
“How did you get that?” Y/N suddenly asked, and pointed her small finger at Dean’s forehead, right where a big scar stretched over his skin, consequences of the fatal car accident.
Dean tried his best not to wince. He didn’t need to expose his lingering trauma to this pure soul.
“I was … in an accident,” he said instead. “But I’m okay and it’s almost healed now.”
The girl nodded. Dean was almost astounded at how easy it was with her.
“Whenever I hurt myself, my Auntie Ellen takes me to the Doctor. Or Jo. Or Ash.” Her face scrunches up as she thinks hard. Dean thinks it’s adorable. He finds himself smiling again.
“They always give me colorful plasters! I always get the dinos.” She leans in closer to him when she says the last bit, almost like it’s a secret she only wants him to hear. Dean’s heart warms at the thought, and he doesn’t even know why.
“Really? I’m jealous. I think dinosaurs are amazing.” He used the same hushed tone she had before. Y/N’s eyes widened. “You don’t get dino plasters?” She asked. If Dean hadn’t known better, he would’ve said she was outraged at his confession.
He shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “only boring beige ones.”
Y/N’s eyes widened even more, and her mouth fell open. Then, her lips curved into a beaming smile. “I can give you some of mine! Jo bought me so many the last time she went shopping!”
Before he could even give it a thought, Dean felt her small hand take his, and he was yanked from his seat. Geez, how did a four-year-old kid have so much strength?
His enthusiasm was short-lived, as Sam shouted from the other side of the room.
“Dean, Ellen got us a case!” His little brother was waving around a beige folder, a few newspaper pages hanging out at the sides.
He looked at his brother, then at the girl still clinging her small hand around his fingers.
“Does that mean you have to leave?” Dean’s heart clenched at the quiet, disappointed voice. He crouched down and looked Y/N in the eye.
“Yes,” he said, honestly. “ I have to go to work.”
She tilted her head. “To save people?” She asked. Dean nodded. He didn’t know how she knew, but maybe Ellen told her.
“Yes, exactly. But I will be back soon, and then you can show me your plasters, alright?”
Y/N seemed to think about it, and then nodded her head. Her pigtails were still wiggling up and down. “You promise?” She asked.
Dean nodded. “In fact,” he said, shifted his weight, and held out his pinky finger in front of her. “I pinky promise.”
Y/N grinned up at him. Dean grinned back. She linked her small finger with his.
“Can’t break a pinky promise,” Dean said as he stood up.
She shook her head violently. “Never!”
Dean laughed and waved her Goodbye.
“Let’s go,” he said to Sam as he passed him, and grabbed his jacket.
“Bye, Ellen, Jo.” Sam lowered his voice seriously. “Y/N.”
“Bye, Sam! Bye, Dean!” Y/N waved her hand after them.
“Good luck,” Ellen said. Then they closed the door behind them. The light of the sun was a heavy contrast to the dusky air inside the Roadhouse, and Dean’s eyes needed a while to adjust to the change.
He made his way over to the abomination car, Sam close next to him. His brother bumped his shoulder.
“Plural, huh?” Sam asked, smirking.
And if Dean sped the van up a bit faster, just to give his little brother a good scare now and then, well, that was between him and the Lord above.
#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester#dean winchester x daughter!reader#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x female!reader#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester imagine#sam winchester#dean winchester x you#castiel#castiel imagine#castiel x reader#supernatural#supernatural imagine#dean winchester au#dean winchester fanfiction#winchester reader#jensen ackles x reader#jared padalecki x reader#winchester!daughter#winchester!reader#yourmomxx#father of mine
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So we all love Nibbly's look, right?
Hyper gum pop girly king
What if this human form is influenced by the Honey Queens? The women he gets as sacrifices either influencing him from within like a tiny conscious or from his own experience with the hungriest, most passionate, sweetest people in Hatchetfield?
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one night i put honey queen on and fell asleep and then woke to nibbly ditty playing and i find THESE MFS STARING AT ME LIKE BACK UP
I screamed once i came into consciousness and then went to bed 10 minutes after EDIT: YALL IM WATCHING THIS SCENE AGAIN AND I REMEMBER SCREAMING AFTER THEY SAID NIBBLY WANTS A SACRIFICE
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The Lords in Black and their obsession with wants
I've already had the theory of tgwdlm and how it relates to wants, but NPMD takes it to a whole new level. The Lords in Black are obsessed with wants. This is easily show within the Lords in Black song, specifically the:
"whatever we want we want we want whatever we want we get, whatever you want you want you want forever in our debt!"
This line is super interesting. It even stuck out to me the first time I watched it. Once you get your want, you are indebted to the lords in black. It's a 'I scratch your back you scratch mine' scenario. And we have seen it before!
Pokey - Once you get your want within tgwdlm, that is the seal to your death. I could go into a whole in depth theory here, I have on in my google drive, but I will keep it shorter than that here. Paul originally wanted a black coffee, which we knew wasn't his actual want, and the hive tried to provide that with CORC/COPC and that would've been it, but Paul actually wants Emma and he gets the promise of Emma after the helicopter crash and gets her officially in Inevitable. Emma wanted a pot farm and to not die in hatchetfield, and to finally see paul. She got all three. Ted wanted to screw around with another man's wife and he definitely did that. Bull wanted his daughter. Charlotte wanted to be wanted/loved. They all got it and they all died. TLDR is that once anyone admitted to their want in tgwdlm, they would get it and proceed to die. It was a game of chess. Also the line "What do you want, Steph?" that is a clear mirror to TGWDLM- GOD!
Wiggly - He focuses on the want for more than you have; the want of happiness and to fill those holes. Everyone wants that, but it's more prominent in adults within Black Friday. In exchange for those holes to be filled, you give him power. You give him the means to escape and be free in your world, but you don't know that. Nothing comes free in Hatchetfield, and it isn't just the simple price of 49.95. You're in his debt.
Tinky - The want to change the Past. In exchange he drives you to insanity, satisfying his sadistic needs. Once again, not that you know that. But there is always a price to pay for a redo in time.
Nibbly - The want for Power. Not only does Roman literally channel his power from Nibbly, but it is also shown in the Honey Queen Festival itself. Anyone who ends up being sacrificed to Nibbly was hungry for power, but instead of you getting it, Roman does and it ends your life as your soul gets devoured.
Blinky - The want for knowledge / to see all. This one you might be confused by. Alice wants to be at the party and to know that her girlfriend isn't cheating on her, and the one thing holding her back is her father. Meanwhile, Bill wants to know what is going on in Alice's life so he can have a closer relationship to her. The debt that must be paid for blinky is complete corruption of your mind, as you lose sight over what is truly important. It's a game for him.
Once you have gotten what you have wanted from the lords, committed your trade, there is always a major sacrifice. But for stuff like Grace's situation, it also opens up a new door for the lords. The ability to gain valuable resources/people to serve them. Grace was such an easy person to manipulate to serve her want, to rid the world of dirty dudes, while also serving their want. The want to feed on others souls so they can wreck havoc on the world when the time comes.
#hatchetfield#npmd#npmd spoilers#nerdy prudes must die#nerdy prudes must die spoilers#hatchetfield theory#theory#lords in black
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Group D, Round 1, Poll 1:
Propaganda under the cut
Morgana Pendragon
yes
Linda Monroe
Alright. So. Linda Monroe, President of the Hatchetfield Boating Society, mother of four beautiful blond boys, wife of Dr Gerald Monroe, daughter of Roman Murray. How does one begin to describe Linda Monroe? In Black Friday, she gaslights, gatekeeps and girlbosses her way into becoming a cult leader. Now, to be fair, that hadn't been her initial goal. The only reason she was headed to ToyZone that Black Friday was to buy four of these new Wiggly dolls for her sons. She didn't know, of course, that 'Wiggly' was really Wiggog Y'Wrath, an eldritch being from between universes who was planning to enter and destroy our world via the dolls. But after the queue leading into ToyZone escalates into a brawl over the doll, Linda fights harder and more viciously than anyone else. After the mob scatters and Linda is left doll-less, she is of course approached by one of Wiggly's loyal servants, who offers her the choice position of being Wiggly's prophet and forming the cult that will construct the portal for the dark god to travel into our world through. She's such a girlboss that she gets TWO villain songs - her power ballad, Adore Me, about how epic it is that she has all these people mindlessly obeying your will, and the eleventh-hour villain song, Wiggle, about how glorious it'll be when Wiggly rises to reshape the universe. She's such a girlboss that she escapes being physically restrained by our heroes by just screaming really loudly at them and breaking someone's wrist. (deep breath) And that's just Black Friday. Let me tell you about what went down at the Honey Queen Pageant. Linda REALLY wanted to win this pageant. And to win it, she'd to anything - blackmail, bribery, fabricating an entire fake Broadway audition to cause her opponent to lose her voice the day before the pageant, targeting all other opponents she considered a threat and taking them out one by one, in various ways including but not limited to: trapping them on a fake cruise that crashed on purpose in order to delay them, digging up old dirt on them to force them to drop out due to the controversy, and full-on murder them backstage (to be fair, though, that one was playing just as dirty). She wins by bloodthirstiness alone, then executes an incredible Queen B-style rap ballad to cement her victory. Too bad the whole thing turned out to be a front for determining the next sacrifice for Nibblenephim, or 'Nibbly', a dark eldritch being and one of Wiggly's brothers. Linda Monroe gaslit, gatekept and girlbossed her way into becoming a prophet for a Lord In Black - twice. And that's why she deserves to sweep this tournament. Hopefully the prize for winning this one WON'T be 'being eaten alive by a giant mouth'.
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finally sharing my nibbly devotee grace/nibbly and grace duo propaganda
i've always thought that grace, post-npmd would work with + harness the power of nibbly more than the other lords in black, and i need other people to understand why
devouring souls:
nibbly and grace both specifically talk about devouring souls. in 'dirty dudes must die' grace starts by saying "this spell lets me devour your soul" + throughout 'the summoning' nibbly talks about wanting to eat/swallow max's soul. I thought this was very interesting because it's mentioned before that nibbly is the only lord who eats souls/eats his victims, so grace using that phrasing was an immediate link.
parallels/symbolism:
grace's main story arc throughout npmd is about her lust and desires. her name is literally just 'chastity' with one letter removed, and she's obviously fighting against having or showing any sort of desire. now, this might not SEEM like it has anything to do with nibbly, but hunger and lust are very symbolically linked, especially in christianity. roman murray mentions (in 'honey queen') that nibbly prefers sacrifices of people who were hungry, not for food, but for anything. power, fame, love, sex, respect, etc. i imagine his disciples and devotees would have a similar hunger, and grace is obviously hungry. nibbly being basically a creature of pure desire also is a perfect opposite to grace being a symbol for chastity, but grace working with nibbly would be a good representation of her giving in to her desire through her story arc.
also i think they would be a fun duo and grace already wears a lot of pink :) thank u for reading
#hatchetfield#hatchetverse#nerdy prudes must die#npmd#starkid#nibblenephim#lords in black#grace chasity#hatchetfield analysis#we (i) deserve a nmt episode where grace kills ''dirty dudes'' and nibbly eats their souls#nibbly#hatchetfield theory#kinda of
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something about stephanie yum yum maybe her mom won the honey queen pageant but didn’t want it the most, solomon did. he was running for mayor for the first time and wanted his wife to look the best. so they tried to sacrifice him instead of her, and he made a deal with nibbly for her to be eaten if he wins the election.
#nerdy prudes must die#npmd#starkid#hatchetfield#stephanie lauter#steph lauter#solomon lauter#nibbly#nibblenephim#lords in black#The Rambles
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OKAY okay so. AU where Linda Monroe becomes the Prophet for Nibbly instead of Wiggly
The "Snackolyte" (get it because. Snack + Acolyte. Anyways.) or "Nibbly's Prophet" AU is an AU in which the events of Black Friday and Honey Queen are merged. It begins after the events of Black Friday, and the citizens of Hatchetfield- those still alive, anyway- shelter in Hatchetfield Mall after the retaliation of Russia (Hatchetfield was deemed not large/important enough to nuke, but was still bombed). Linda Monroe survives in this AU as Becky shot the portal for Wiggly instead of Linda.
The destruction of the portal seems to snap everyone in the cult out of it, and the portal pieces, along with every Wiggly doll, are burned. Morale is extremely low, and so Mayor Lauter announces they will be hosting an early Honey Queen pagent to boost everyone's spirits and have some semblance of normalcy.
Things from here go pretty much identically to Honey Queen- Linda uses her power and influence, even though Hatchetfield is in shambles, to ward off most competition. She still ends up fighting with Zoey, who's more of a threat in this competition as she couldn't find a way to wear down her voice, though it ends in the same result: Linda kills Zoey for the crown.
After her crowning, Linda is taken to a large abandoned store in the mall where the Church of the Starry Children have gathered the deceased from Black Friday for Nibbly to inhabit. Linda is intended as a sacrifice, but once Nibbly takes form, he devours her father instead and faces her.
Nibbly admires Linda's ruthlessness and passion, and cuts her a deal. He knows either an evacuation or fighting over supplies will inevitably kill most of the people in Hatchetfield, leaving him with very little to consume and perhaps no one to worship him the following year, and he refuses to eat anything that isn't fresh.
His offer to Linda is that if she lends him her body for him to roam and feast in, he will protect her husband and sons. She accepts, and becomes the new Prophet of Nibbly and defacto "leader" of the Church of the Starry Children.
That's the basic gist of it, so technically Linda kinda was a prophet for Wiggly for a little bit but now she's one for Nibbly instead! I do plan on adding more detail to this very soon so anything I add onto this will be tagged "snackolyte au" if you wanna follow along!
#starkid#hatchetfield#hatchetfield au#black friday#honey queen#nightmare time#linda monroe#nibbly#nibblenephim#wiggly#wiggog y'wrath#“do her sons actually stay safe during this” well i typed this up while listening to eat your young so. take a guess.#snackolyte au#also wiggly is PISSED that nibbly has linda now#they're throwing hands in the black and white
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Bad Ritual (Vincent Sinclair x Reader)
Summary: Some pageant queens sit on parade floats. Being crowned Miss Ambrose requires you to get your hands a little dirty. [This is an AU]
Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. Heavily inspired by The Wicker Man and Midnight Mass, as well as my own spin on St. Ambrose, who, among other things, is the patron saint of wax melters. Since this is a cult AU, please check the warnings before reading. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 3k
Warnings: Emotional and spiritual manipulation, morally gray reader, religious sex negativity/sex shaming, elements of Catholicism, human sacrifice. Do not interact if you’re under 18.
The stage lights threatened to melt your carefully applied makeup off. You held a wide smile for so long your cheeks ached. Your eyes nervously flitted about the crowd of Ambrose’s residents, just barely able to fill three-quarters of the movie theater for the event. When your gaze fell on Vincent in the front row, he gave you a small nod of encouragement that manifested butterflies in your already twisted stomach. Could you help being hopelessly in love with your best friend?
“After much deliberation by myself and the other judges,” Trudy began in her soft drawl, harsh on the edges from her decades-long smoking habit, “we agree without a doubt, the winner of the third Miss Ambrose contest is—“
The microphone screeched when Trudy spoke your name, and the dam broke, bringing about uncontrollable tears of joy and relief. The sound of cheers and applause filled the theater, almost dictating the rhythm of your heartbeat. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done if you lost. In the weeks prior to the competition, you craved victory so badly that it filled the marrow of your bones.
With tears blurring your vision, you made your way over to Trudy. She smiled, placing the ornate wax tiara on your head and satin sash reading ‘Miss Ambrose’ in glittering crimson lettering over your shoulder. She wrapped her arms around you in an unexpected hug.
“Congratulations,” she whispered. “You deserve it.”
Hardly able to utter your thanks, you attempted to compose yourself while she addressed the crowd again.
“I believe we can all agree that this young woman here exemplifies the qualities this community holds dear,” she said, her gaze shifting to you with pride evident in her features, leaving you overwhelmed at the praise of your community’s leader. “If you’d like to share a few words, honey, now’s your chance.”
You nodded, trembling as you stood in front of the microphone. “First, I wanna thank the judges, Ms. Trudy, Father Julian, and Ms. Louann for giving me such a great honor. I also wanna thank my parents for believing in me as much as they believe in this town. Most of all, I wanna say that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than Ambrose, and I just—“ the tears began to flow again, and you managed to get a hold of yourself long enough to add, “I’m so grateful to St. Ambrose for everything he’s done for us. I don’t feel worthy to represent him on his feast day, but I’ll do my best. Thank you.”
Taking a step back from the microphone, you smiled as Louann handed you a bouquet of flowers. Louann was the previous Miss Ambrose and as such had the privilege of serving on the judge’s panel to decide who her successor would be. You were sure she would’ve preferred her own daughter, but she wasn’t interested in competing, an oddly reclusive girl around your age you’d long since given up befriending. Since there were so few people in Ambrose, the pool of young women eligible for the coveted crown was small, and therefore the competition could only be held once every seven or so years. Besides the feast day of your town’s namesake patron saint, the Miss Ambrose competition was one of the most highly anticipated events around.
Being Miss Ambrose was a commitment, but one you’d taken on with pride. Besides helping lead the usual procession through town, you’d serve as an ambassador to the hundreds of tourists who flooded your small town to view the spectacle. Most importantly, you’d finally be allowed to attend the celebratory mass held the night of the Feast of St. Ambrose. You weren’t sure what exactly the criteria for attendance was, but being Miss Ambrose surely meant you were worthy enough to finally go.
You were too young to remember Ambrose being on the verge of ruin when the sugar mill shut down, but your parents never failed to remind you how Trudy convinced them and the other families that comprised your close-knit community to stay. Her unorthodox ideas of shifting the town’s economy to reflect that of its patron saint was risky, but it worked, and Ambrose had carved out a niche for itself in beekeeping, wax-melting, and the artistry associated with it. As such, she was the person everyone deferred to for just about everything. Her word uncontested law. And why not? You all had it pretty good in Ambrose compared to the horrors you’d heard of going on outside the town’s limits.
The festival’s celebrations brought in abundant tourists who would patronize your small town’s shops and businesses en masse. While you understood the importance of the tourism during the festival, you found the raucous way they acted almost disrespectful to St. Ambrose and the reverence he deserved for providing so much for you.
At the very least, photography wasn’t allowed in the church. It was there that the town’s offering to St. Ambrose was displayed, a wax figure, always carefully detailed to look almost indistinguishable from a real person. Tourists could marvel at the statue, but not document it. You didn’t care for them and how they seemed to regard you all as sideshow freaks for being so insular. It especially bothered you that Vincent had to wear his mask whenever they were around. You’d hear them whisper about it, speculating why he wore it. They had no idea it was because of them.
Otherwise, he presented his bare face to your community who regarded it with normalcy. When your family would join the Sinclairs in the pew at mass, you’d occasionally end up sitting next to Vincent. You’d feel his hands, strong and soft from his work, holding the one next to you a little tighter than you normally would during the Our Father. For the sign of peace, in which you’d exchange blessings between clasped hands and chaste kisses on the cheek, he presented the unscarred half of his face to you. Still, you silently wondered what the other half would feel like against your lips.
It felt like you blinked, and you were surrounded by the people you’d grown up with, all looking at you with an unfamiliar yet welcome respect. You basked in the attention like a sunbathing snake, each compliment and affirmation filling your chest with a warm pride.
“Congratulations, sweetheart,” your mother said, giving you a hug with tears in her eyes.
Your father agreed, giving you a pat on the back. “You earned it! We’re so proud of you.”
“Y’all did a great job with this one,” Trudy said.
Your family was one of the dozen or so original families that stayed in Ambrose at Trudy’s urging. She never forgot your family’s loyalty and trust in her, and it wasn’t uncommon for you to sit with them at mass or be invited to their house for a meal or a holiday. You reveled in any extra time you got to spend with Vincent, although being in the presence of your town’s savior always left you in awe.
“C’mon, a lot of that’s thanks to you, Trudy, mentoring the kids and teaching catechism on top of everything else you do,” your mother said.
While Father Julian was the parish’s pastor, most spiritual matters went to Trudy, and her decision was final. She taught catechism and set the standards for receiving sacraments. It caused friction with the larger diocese, and not long after you made your first communion, St. Ambrose’s parish split from the Vatican. Trudy had explained they lost their way, and that Ambrose was the only place practicing real Catholicism. That was why new families moved in, looking for the truth. You felt lucky to live in such a place.
“I’ve got big plans for you, girl,” Trudy said. “‘Specially with the festival coming up.”
You nodded. “Of course, Ms. Trudy. Whatever you need.”
She walked away, and you noticed Vincent subtly motioning toward the service exit behind the stage.
“Ready to head home?” your mother asked.
“I’ll catch up. There are a few people I want to talk to first,” you said.
Your father nodded. “Alright, well, don’t stay out too late.”
Once they had left, you didn’t see Vincent in the theater anymore, and managed to slip outside undetected a few minutes later, fending off your horde of admirers. There was only one person whose attention you really wanted, anyway.
He stood outside, waiting for you in the shadows of the building. Your heels clicked against the asphalt as you walked over to him.
“Congrats, Miss Ambrose,” Vincent signed. He smiled, reaching up to adjust the tiara atop your head.
“I don’t look ridiculous, do I?”
He shook his head. Your face heated up when his hands made gentle contact with your skin. He traced your gestures with the pads of his thumbs, brushing your forehead, down to your cheeks, and finally to your lips. Vincent cradled your face in his hands for a moment longer before kissing you.
Without hesitation, you kissed him back, taking in the texture of his lips, the warmth of his body. His hands fell to your hips, pulling you closer. Steadying yourself on his bicep, you silently marveled at his strength, gasping into the kiss and allowing his tongue access to your mouth.
Despite having heard homilies at mass and ramblings from Trudy about the sin of fornication outside of marriage, you didn’t know what exactly they were talking about until the summer after you started high school. Bo had taken pleasure in explaining the dirty details, offering to give you a demonstration. You rejected him in disgust at how lewd he made the act sound, and until then, in Vincent’s arms, you didn’t understand how anyone could fall into that trap.
You whined softly when he pulled away from the kiss.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he signed.
“Why did you wait?”
He nodded toward the door. His mother. For how similar he and Trudy were, they always seemed to butt heads. Still, he was the son she spoke most highly of. Vincent, the focused, dutiful son who’d inherited his mother’s artistic ability and connection to the spiritual core of the town. Her feelings on Bo changed with the weather, though it seemed he was poised to become the public face of Ambrose. A good fit, he could talk his way in or out of almost anything. Lester kept a lower profile, but he was always around to help whenever someone needed a hand. If you were being honest with yourself, you thought he was the best fit to take over Trudy’s leadership duties in Ambrose, but she always had a clear preference for the twins.
With Vincent being Trudy’s favorite, she’d be incredibly selective about who his potential partner would be. All relationships in town had to be cleared by her. She’d shut people’s requests down for petty reasons. Now that you were Miss Ambrose, there was no reasonable way she could object to you being with Vincent.
“Maybe after the festival, we can ask her,” you whispered hopefully.
He nodded, though he practically jumped away from you when the door outside swung open, clanging against the brick wall behind it.
Bo stood in the doorway, a knowing grin on his face, partially obscured by the shadows. “Lookit you. Bagged Miss Ambrose herself. Never thought you had it in ya, Vinny.”
“What?” Vincent signed.
“Mama’s lookin’ for y’all. I can tell her you’re busy.”
Vincent rolled his eye at Bo, “We’ll be right there.”
When the door slammed shut, Vincent kissed you again, more quickly this time, and the two of you set off to find Trudy.
Still backstage, socializing of course, her time was a precious resource nearly everyone in town was vying for. The Miss Ambrose contest was as good of a time as any for people to catch a few minutes with her, bring up concerns or ask for advice while she was available. Her eyes lit up when she saw you and Vincent together.
“Just the people I wanted to see,” she said, as if she hadn’t sent Bo searching for you. “Vincent’s gonna be making the offering for the festival this year, some other things too to help his old mama out. Can’t do as much as I used to. You’ll help around too, won’t you?”
“I’d love to. Anything you need, just tell me.”
“You got a good head on your shoulders. Wouldn’t’ve dreamed of crownin’ those other two. Daphne had some nerve even competing after that stupid stunt she pulled last year,” Trudy spat.
The previous year, Daphne had publicly challenged Trudy on a new directive regarding new families that moved into town and their church attendance. It was an innocent enough remark, but the principle of the thing got to Trudy. She was spiteful and vindictive, one to hold a mean grudge, but you supposed those traits were necessary to be a leader like she was.
“Then that Christine’s a hussy. Tried to make my Bo stumble.”
You had a sinking feeling it was the other way around, and Bo had sold his mama some backwards story after his advances were spurned. You once heard someone say he could flirt the panties off of a nun. Not entirely untrue, but he was too impatient and entitled to accept anything other than complete compliance with his sexual desires.
“I’m sure you’re not surprised Louann’s daughter didn’t bother. Might’ve given you a run for your money,” she said, looking almost unimpressed by you for a split second.
“Well, I guess we’ll never know,” you said. “I can’t tell you enough how much this means to me.”
“You deserved it, honey. Gonna be a lot of work for you the next few weeks, but I think you can handle it.”
She shooed you away, telling you to go home before it got too dark. You almost laughed. In your small community, everyone knew each other. You were just as safe walking around at 2pm as 2am. Nothing bad ever happened in Ambrose. At least, not like the horrors of the outside world you’d gleaned from the few times you bothered to watch the nightly news. All it did was confirm how lucky you were to live in a place like Ambrose, where you wanted for nothing and had few worries, didn’t have to fear what could be lurking in the dark.
“I’ll walk her home,” Vincent volunteered.
Trudy nodded. “Good. You give my parents my best, now.”
“Of course, have a good night,” you said.
When you were a safe distance from the movie theater, far from wandering eyes, Vincent took your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the top of it. The walk to your house would be short, but you wished for miles more to spend walking alongside him. Alone. He stole half a dozen more kisses from you while the two of you dragged out the walk to your front porch. If not a kiss, then his hands would be on you–the small of your back to guide you along or intertwined with yours as his thumb brushed soft circles on the top of your hand.
“I’m not going to see much of you for a while, am I?” you asked softly as your house finally came into view.
He shook his head. From what you understood, the offering was the most important part of the Feast of St. Ambrose. He’d already gotten lost in his work, whether additions to the wax museum or personal projects, but something so crucial would be sure to consume him until the day arrived.
A sad smile spread across your lips, though you understood.
The next few days, you didn’t see much of Trudy or Vincent, instead helping around town with the various preparations for the Feast of St. Ambrose. You decorated the statue in the middle of town, an elaborate wax effigy of the patron saint, created by Trudy herself. As you covered it with carefully crafted floral wreaths and vines, people already began leaving small offerings at the base of the statue.
Just before the festival, you found time to visit Vincent, basking in the warmth of his studio, practically a furnace. Opera music grew louder as you approached. You’d spent time with him down there before, able to find your way from any of the subterranean entrances throughout town.
Either the music was too loud, or he was too entranced in his work to notice you enter. His broad back was turned to you as he leaned over a work table in deep focus. A woman. Nude, bound to the table yet seemingly unable to move otherwise. Still you heard them through her gag. Her moans. Vincent’s hands were all over her body, caressing her curves with care, fingers tracing her features. A blinding envy flashed through you.
“Vincent,” you snapped.
He turned around, shock that quickly twisted to rage. “What are you doing here?” he signed. “Get out!”
“No! Who is she?”
“It’s not what you think—“
“I’m Miss Ambrose!” you shouted. “Me! What does she have that I—“
“She’s the offering,” he signed.
You froze, your gaze shifting to the bound woman once more. “That’s not–you’re lying.”
“Why would I lie?”
“You’re going to kill her?”
He nodded. Her muffled screams grew louder. “The offering is killed and then encased in wax for St. Ambrose.”
No wonder photos weren’t allowed in the church during the festival. He eyed you cautiously, expecting you to run away screaming.
“Can I watch you do it?”
He hesitated.
“Please, Vincent?” you asked softly.
“I just don’t want you to think of me any differently.”
“For doing what’s right? For making sure we’re provided for? We’re not messed up. The rest of the world is.”
With a newfound confidence, he grabbed the knife on the tray next to the bound woman, and you watched in awe as he lifted his arm above her chest and swiftly plunged it perfectly through her heart. Before he could pull the knife from her still warm flesh, you placed your hand over his and dug the blade in a little deeper.
#vincent sinclair x reader#vincent sinclair#house of wax#house of wax 2005#slasher x reader#slasher community#slasher fandom
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Say hello to the Honey Queen and the sacrifice to a dark god.
#art#fanart#queen#the lords in black#nibblenephim#Nibbly#linda monroe#honey queen#starkid#nightmare time#nightmare time Starkid#lauren lopez#queen b#president of the Hatchetfield boating society#Linda#Black Friday#starkid fanart#nightmare time fanart#Starkid is my current hyperfixation#im hyperfixating again#hyperfixating fanart#drawin#I don’t like backgrounds
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part of the reason why i find nightmare time episodes so interesting is because in half of them, i'm not even sure who the writers want me to root for.
take honey queen, for example. linda's the focus of it and we see her emotions, motivations & family, so it's expected that she would be the "hero" of the episode. but she isn't. the episode consists of her doing horrible things to zoey, zoey doing horrible things to her, and it gradually escalating to the point of kidnapping and murder. it's due to linda that zoey dies. and she gets what she wants, what the whole episode has been about her vying to achieve, but we as viewers don't feel satisfied, because how can all that's happened possibly be worth such a tiny, temporary, meaningless title? linda's father seems to be proud of her, which is what she's been hoping to gain and added an extra element of sympathy for her character. but in the end, he sacrifices her to an eldritch being because she "the hungriest". honey queen is tragic and comedic and messed up and chaotic and there are The Horrors and nobody is distinctly good.
and that stays the same in every nightmare time episode. so many of these characters wouldn't care a bit if they killed someone, as long as they were able to survive. but that's just hatchetfield. a strange community of selfish people with no clear morals, because that's all they know and that's all they can be if they want to survive. they have a magic child fighting ring, they have evil weed birds, they have clones in the technical department, they have an asexual axe murderer in the woods, they have a wealthy doting mother who's been alive for centuries, they have a 1986 foxbody mustang possessed by a dead psychiatrist, so on and so forth.
the whole hatchetfield universe is so surreal: this is a place where people go missing every day, where gruesome murders are dismissed unless it threatens their football team losing to the clivesdale chemists, where a character can do the most horrendous things or seem absolutely irredeemable, only for the narrative to put them through so much that the audience ends up loving them.
each character is so complex and unique (i could write an essay about literally any of them if i tried to- and yet that includes peanuts the hatchetfield pocket squirrel). none of them are meant to be all good, and none of them are meant to be all bad. they're realistic to their environment and screwed over by their universe and they all have their own lives to focus on.
the vast majority of the antagonistic characters are very beloved in this fandom, because this is hatchetfield, where the most horrifying things are normalised in-universe, so they begin to be for us, too. we don't think it's as awful when we see zoey's body hanging from the rafters, or watch boy jeri be killed by his own son, or see eldritch beings hunt people down, since that's all seen as far more normal in this world. besides that, people like to have flawed characters, it's good to have little fictional freaks committing atrocities since it means the episodes are completely unpredictable.
every volume of nightmare time is a rollercoaster or a fever dream, because they'll take the most unexpected characters and the most random concepts ever and throw them into a completely absurd plot. so many modern pieces of media follow a specific genre or structure, but the hatchetfield universe does whatever the hell it wants, and it's so investing to see. there aren't any limits here, and each episode is a separate timeline, so the creators can go wild and do literally anything with this town. it's like a treasured collection of cracky aus that have been written and performed astonishingly beautifully.
anyway, this is your sign to go check out nightmare time and @blinkysrewatchparty! it will be entirely worth it, i promise <3
#nightmare time propaganda#LOOK IT'S SO UNHINGED I NEED MORE PEOPLE TO RAMBLE ABOUT IT WITH ME#nightmare time#nightmare time 2#exposing myself#i still have over half of the episodes to watch#i've seen lots of snippets from tumblr of what happens in each#(e.g. tom makes love to a car#ted & tinky's whole thing#paul 23 and emdroid)#but the only ones i've watched to completion are#honey queen#abstinence camp#daddy nmt#and#hey melissa#they were all phenomenal though & i'm very much looking forward to finding time to watch the rest of the series!#watcher world seems especially up my alley :)#nightmare time starkid#starkid#starkid productions#hatchetfield universe#hrhhghhff it's so insane <3#linda monroe#zoey chambers#team starkid#hatchetfield#hatchetverse#i'm pretty sure the only 2 characters the fandom genuinely despises are pamela & melissa#the rest are our blorbos <33
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One piece headcanons/oneshots
Anonymus req : Could I get some husband or boyfriend sanji headcanons
A/N: ive never done headcanons before so this will be a first for me. Hope you like it.
SANJI: Boyfriend/Husband Headcanons Sfw
• This is a man who will love every part of you from the beginning
• You honestly can get him to do anything for you
• Will cook anything for you, want Chinese food he’s gonna make it as quick as possible. The man is your very own portable restaurant
• If we are talking about comfort and helping you love yourself better, he is the best will literally tell you to think more highly of yourself. If you have self-esteem issues do not fear Sanji is here.
• Will help clean and he will do most of the cooking unless you convince him to let you do it for the day.
• Praises everything you do, makes everything you do sound like an achievement (not in a mocking way but more of a everything this woman does deserves to be recognised as greatness)
• The chessiest man you could ever have as a boyfriend would be the fluffiest guy in the room
• Ready to protect and sacrifice himself for you if need be.
• Insults Zoro the moment he talks to you for more than 5 min
• As a husband Sanji would definitely spoil you rotten like I said before anything you want done he’s got you covered
• Will use pet names like darling, love of my life, honey, my sweet, sugar plum, princess etc.
• Idk why I feel Sanji would come up with some of the corniest pet names ever
• He’s N. o1 supporter and hype man
• Sometimes a bit clingy but don’t mind him that much he’s makes up for it in all his good qualities
• Basically treats you like a Queen
#vinsmoke sanji#black leg sanji#x reader#one piece x reader#anime one piece#headcanons#roronoa zoro#sanji vinsmoke#boyfriend#husband material#husband tag#Sfw
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there is something to be said about the pathetic and ridiculous stansas' strawman argument that Sansa is being hated for enjoying romance and fantasy stories and songs 😂;
When i) I have never witness this, its only ever said by her stans that she gets hated for that. So much so it's her most prominent hate that has to be called out.
iii) What takes the cake however is the hypocrisy (as always); childlike naivety is something to applaud when Sansa displays it, it makes her promising for any power role ("emBodImEnt Of hOpe foR fuTUre") a romantic idealist, but with Daenerys? Oh honey no, in that case its pathologize as megalomaniac delusion, first displayed trait of the genetic madness that slumbers within her. Sansa's qoute "If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me" gets her rewarded with the fandom's marxist nobleprize, meanwhile Daenerys gets thousand edits from them with the qoute "the way to hell is paved with good intentions" and is a cult leader and tyran unseen before for wishing to beloved by her subjects for her ACTUAL work and sacrifices.
ii) The idea alone that she; one of the most safe character in the series: a passive status qou conforming highborn girl with the most disproportionated popularity amongst the fandom, is single out in the series and hated for THAT is so ludicrous her stans should come up with a better strawman argument. She is not in the least unique (which is were her actual problems lies) for that; a lot of female AND male character in the series do so.
#asoiaf#✨vent time✨#fandom wank#fandom double standards#fandom hypocrisy#anti sansa stans#anti stansas#daenerys targaryen#targnation
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📓 DAEMYRA FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS
• Someone You Knew In Another Life by @spreta-invidia - My current obsession. I made this post just for this story! Time travel fix it fics are popular for a reason with the Dance characters but in my opinion this fic does it best. Told from different points of view, this story centers on Aegon III going back in time to tell his parents about the coming war and their own deaths! What follows is deliciously written political scheming, deep discussions of what parenthood means for Rhaenyra and Daemon, and a tender family story that brought tears to my eyes more than once.
Complete || 65 Chapters || M || 176K || (link)
• The Sacrifice and the Sea Dragon by Fayte2008 - As someone who writes alternative fantasy asoiaf fics, I’m deeply partial to any writer that dares to reimagine these characters in new fantasy settings. So discovering this short but delightful tale of Daemon being sacrificed to a sea dragon made me incredibly happy. Written like a fairy tale, this story would not feel out of place in an anthology of Valyrian legends.
Complete || Oneshot || E || 1.7K || (link)
• your ivy grows (now I'm covered in you) by @charlie-leau - Personally I think anything by this writer is well worth your time! But what I love about this story of Rhaenyra facing an unexpected pregnancy is that it delves deep into both her complicated relationship with being a mother and the stigma of childbirth out of wedlock in a world like Westeros. Despite this series being only five chapters long, the Daemon/Rhaenyra love story feels earned at the end!
Complete || 5 Chapters || E || 87K || (link)
• put down that gravestone by darkgods - This fic will always be special to me because it was the fic that really got me into Daemyra fic in the first place! I don’t think I would even be writing fanfiction if I hadn’t read this series! And that’s because it so wonderfully balances the political intrigue we know so well from canon with a deeply satisfying love story that is all about family. In this canon divergent tale, Rhaenyra gets pregnant from a tryst with Daemon the night of the brothel (unbeknownst to them both). When Daemon is sent away and Rhaenyra is forced to marry Laenor, she raises her sons as true Velaryons. That is until Daemon returns to take his place at court, and Rhaenyra finds she can’t hide her sons’ true identities from the man who sired them.
Ongoing/Hiatus || 28/45 Ch || E || 249K || (link)
• Lavender Haze by madgirlslovesong (sympathy4thedevil) - In this AU, Viserys has a dragon dream of the coming war in which he sees Rhaenyra’s death. In order to change his daughter’s fate, he names Aegon heir and grants Rhaenyra the title of Princess of Dragonstone as a consolation prize. Resigned to a life denied, Rhaenyra finds renewed freedom when Daemon arrives offering her a world of new possibilities. If you want a fluffy, sexy, what could have been for Rhaenyra and Daemon, this is the one! This fic explores life outside of court and allows Rhaenyra to see more of the world than she got to see in canon. It gives the fic a completely unique feeling. There’s also some great fun with Viserys and his reaction to Daemyra’s relationship in a follow up oneshot!
Complete || 8 Chapters || E || 96K || (link)
• Deep Tissue by @luthien-under-bough - Rhaenyra gets a massage that has her feeling especially relaxed! Just trust me on this one, you should read it.
Complete || Oneshot || E || 4K || (link)
• Blood Sweeter Than Honey Wine by Me! - Yes, I’m including my own fic on this list. If you want a taste of my writing or if you’re interested in a completely different kind of fantasy AU, you might like my twisted tale of a Prince who washes up on an island long thought to be abandoned but is actually home to a mysterious Queen with a dangerous secret!
Complete || Oneshot || E || 11K || (link)
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Can I have Emperess Undyne ending where the skeleton are forced to join the Royal Guard to prepare for the war to come?
Undertale Sans - He understands his brother wants to prove to Undyne he's more than worthy to enter the guard, but that's his dream, not Sans'. Sans is not a soldier, and many hours of training won't change that. He doesn't want this war anyway. The kid made some mistakes, sure, but that doesn't mean all of humanity has to die. He prefers to disappear and goes to live with Toriel in the Ruins. At least she doesn't want to commit genocide.
Undertale Papyrus - At first, he was excited! Undyne is finally noticing he has the skills for the job, and he's doing very good in training, to the point she thinks of promoting him as captain. But... You know, annihilating an entire species just because of old legends and what Frisk did to some of his friends seems a bit extreme. He tries to reason Undyne at time goes by, but when he realizes she's too far gone, he decides to drop his position. He doesn't want to become a mass murderer or die stupidly because Undyne has no idea how many humans there are outside. When she starts calling Sans a traitor for refusing to fight, that's his limit. Papyrus decides that if she wants to arrest his brother, she'll have to arrest him too. Between his family and his best friend, he will always choose his family, even if it hurts.
Underswap Sans - Blue is agreeing with Alphys plan. He's too angry at Chara to be reasonable at this point, and Alphys makes sure he doesn't change his mind by manipulating him. In months, he becomes one of the best warriors of the Underground, but he has to sacrifice his relationship with his brother in the process. Honey can't understand. Unfortunately, by the time he realizes he has lost his brother, Alphys already convinced him it's for the best.
Underswap Papyrus - He's devastated and lost. He's not a fighter. He hates fighting. He's dragged into training, but he hates every second of it, slowly giving up on everything. When he tries to reach his brother to make him understand how wrong all of this is, he realizes Blue completely falls under Alphys' influence. Powerless, he could only watch as his brother completely gave up on him as well. Not so long after, disgusted, Honey fled the army, becoming a war criminal. He found a welcoming home in the Ruins, with Asgore, who assured him he made the best choice in this situation. He's still bitter. He hopes his brother will soon realize how wrong he is.
Underfell Sans - Like hell, he's going to fight. Now that Asgore is dead, he refuses to be dominated by another monster ever again. For someone who wanted to change the Underground, her little plan sounds awfully familiar to Asgore's one, and that's bullshit. Red keeps going with his life, completely ignoring the letters asking him to show up for training. He gets arrested a few months later, and then executed. He doesn't even care in the end.
Underfell Papyrus - He wanted to help Undyne, but then she executed his brother behind his back. This is over. Edge doesn't trust her anymore, and he refuses to serve a Queen who pretends she doesn't even know she made her brother get executed. On the first occasion, Edge tries to assassinate her. He doesn't care if he fails or not.
Horrortale Sans - Lol. She just made a massive hole in his head, like hell he's going to follow anything she says. She can still try to force him. He'll show her the skeleton she left for dead but still knows how to fight. He already took half of her face, he's not scared of her anymore.
Horrortale Papyrus - He can't say he's not surprised that after the famine and everything that happened already, Undyne decided to start a war. That's the moment Willow realized he lost his best friend for good. Undyne is too far gone, there's nothing to be done anymore. He has to resign himself to do the right thing, for the Underground, even if it's not easy. Undyne has to go.
Swapfell Sans - Alphys soon realizes that Nox is loyal to the Queen. But he is certainly not loyal to her. As a general he has a better view than she has on the situation: it's suicide and he doesn't want anything to do with her stupid plan. He has enough years of service to retire anyway. Good luck with that, he's done with the Royal Guard.
Swapfell Papyrus - He's grateful his brother didn't follow Alphys. He's not either. He joins the resistance instead, to find another way out of this. He's sure starting a war won't help anyone, and he prefers to die a traitor than some dog slave she's going to send die for her.
Fellswap Gold Sans - Alphys is clever and knows she has no chance to convince Wine to join her. She knows also that if he can find a way to take her throne, he will. So she tries to assassinate him. It fails miserably as Wine obviously knew already she was going to do that. He goes to challenge her in a fight and kills her instead like a true warrior should.
Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Well, nothing changes for him. Wine is still protecting him from the world. He can tell something bad is happening, but when he tries to know what's going on, Wine blocks the way. Maybe it's for the best. Even though not knowing is stressing him out, finding out about the situation would make him freak out even more.
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