#Stuff that’s worth leaving him for. He has to make the world scary and unknown and not pay him and not let him have connections | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crookedkryptonitebeliever · 2 years

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Yandere Hitman (No, not the game franchise.)

You know that trope where big quiet scary Hitman man who is known for being so skilled and heartless that you need him to at least tolerate you first before placing a hit. Or else he would just straight up kill you when he thinks you're mildly impolite.

Yeah that AND you, the reader, as the only soft spot for BQSHMM (Big Quiet Scary Hitman Man).

No don't give me flak about how this is just a bootleg of [Insert similar character here] because you are wrong, this is inspired by every Stoic and Brooding Contract Killer Character Ever and Batman even though I have never watched any movies or read any comics about him.

All I know that he :

Rich

An orphan

Can punch

Quiet

Does parkour

Hot buff nerd with all 20/20 vision

Acted by Christian Bale at least once

Have a family of other bat millennials and bat gen z's

Hates clowns

Wear smudged eyeliner

fast car

Cool belt

I get my sources from tumblr, occasional memes and snippets of batman conversation I happen to be in. I don't know if they are canon or not.

And also actually heavily inspired by the Korean movie Door Lock (2018) , except in this fic you're the ONLY victim <3

And this fic is just something to make your pussy or bussy or nonbinarussy throb, nothing too serious. Goes without saying, don't do this shit irl.

Enjoy.

Tw: AFAB reader, yandereness, violence, sex things, non con, somno oral, basically smut

(pt 1 out of 2)

You don't know squat about the underworld. Naive, innocent little you, still thinking that the black market is like a farmer's market except the vendors are selling not-so-legal-or-Farmer-y stuff such as... Oh, I don't know, like... Unpasteurized Milk?

You never once dabbled anything remotely legally dark, not even jaywalking. You are a law abiding citizen, following all the rules to a "T".

Oh, the Irony. You caught the eye of a person who kills people for a living. And that is highly illegal. Probably more illegal than Jaywalking.

He is lean and muscular with a large frame. Yet, so stealthy like a fucking cat that can squeeze through a dime sized hole with no noise and no complaint. Face, hands and basically vulnerable parts of his body like the neck are scarred from previous missions.

Stare into his eyes and you will see a void. All humanity has been scraped clean, who gives a shit if granny falls to her death in front of him? He doesn't see her as human or animal, simply something invaluable. At most, he's going to be slightly irritated that her blood got onto his coat and he is running out of peroxide.

No one catcalls you anymore. They're all dead or silenced in his own, crazy, silly way. Like getting their tongues cut off, or getting lobotomized (and miraculously surviving) to get the point across to everyone in the overworld and the underworld.

He is like what Santa is to kids in the 60's, he watches you 24/7. Knows if you've been good or bad. He could be watching you from a roof, using his rifle scope . And using his sniper rifle if he sees a threat.

Fresh syndicate criminals sees you as meat, a leverage to control the world's more notorious assassin. Seasoned ones know to stay the fuck away from you. Veterans know to not even think about or look at you. Your Hitman stalker is like a bloodhound for things that threatens your safety, as soon as anyone looks at you wrongly, it's bedtime forever.

It doesn't even take a look. He just knows if you're thinking about it. Actually, he takes no chances, everyone he doesn't trust is dead. That includes just about everyone he meets. Really puts the fear in the hearts of huge crime rings when he managed to leave the decapitated heads of their best men on the doorstep of their supposedly 'unknown' and 'unidentified' and 'anonymous' leaders.

From there, no matter how many of their members he kills off or WHO he kills off...gangs, mafias, crime syndicates and corporations knew not to go after him OR you. It's just not worth it, they're better off just cutting their losses and advising their members to steer clear at all costs.

This one man band is so scary that he gains protection somehow. Why?

Well, imagine this:

A rookie hitman decided to execute the most foolish task and try killing him.

So the rookie gets captured as expected and gets tortured.

Rookie says Mafia X sent him.

The entirety of Mafia X is going to disappear in a week unless someone can give Big Scary Gary Stu Hitman OC an explanation, saying Mafia Y framed them.

Then Mafia Y will be in deep shit. Provided Mafia X managed to convince them or else BOTH X and Y will get fucking nuked to bits.

But hey, business is good on his side. He's everyone's default hitman to go to (if you have the money), because it's almost always a 300% success rate.

Why 300%? It's because he's going to kill the intended target (and their entire family), the one who paid him and a person who is at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Hmm. Maybe the guaranteed death of the customer isn't good for business. As long as you follow the rule of thumb:

Don't be a dick.

Then you should have a pretty good success rate. Maybe.

You really can't tell.

Make a comment about his only joy in this world, which is you, the reader, and you're (not the reader) is getting instant death. It's like saying Voldemort's name.

He is the monster under your bed. Literally, he lives under your bed, sliding out at night to sniff your hair. That seems to keep him content.

For now.

Maybe you've noticed that your fridge is a little emptier than you remembered. Sometimes you don't remember buying a jar of pickles and opening them. There seem to be always something to eat these days, you're not one to shop responsibly. Then why are there actual healthy foods like fresh produce and meats instead of frozen, TV dinners?

Maybe the spirit of New Year's Resolution came and possessed you during the weekends. Maybe. Definitely not because you have an unknown roommate around.

You're not complaining, you get to eat delicious and healthy "fresh leftovers" in the fridge even though you have no memory twisting the gas knob of your stove.

You swore you just replenished your body wash, why did it decrease so much?

At times, you're sure that your toothpaste is about to run out, only to see a slightly used, plump tube on the sink shelf. Did you replace them while you're drunk? Why did you not have any recollection of it? Why is your toothbrush already wet?

The toilet paper holder never seem to run out of toilet paper too. Usually, once a month, you would have to awkwardly waddle out of the bathroom, pants around your ankle just to get a fresh roll. You stopped doing that now.

Yeah, these stuff leaves you weary and pretty much on edge. But you're already dead inside from working 12 hour shifts at minimum wage in customer service. Having a little spice in your life would give you that kick to keep you going once in a while.

Plus, free food and toiletries. The stuff you get back is way more than you can ever afford. Which you're grateful for and would even turn a blind eye to the fact that it's very clear someone is living with you without your consent or knowledge. And your place is much more cleaner and neater. A win for you.

Or you're just that fucking oblivious and airheaded that you don't think anything is out of place, I don't personally know everyone who reads this.

For the sake of plot, you will be the latter. It's easier to write for.

So you think all is sunshine and rainbows, you're fed, your chores are done and the trash took out itself. Yay!

You sleep better, like, much better. Too better. Too quickly as well, you missed the dip in your mattress.

You shouldn't have drank that mysterious cup of your favorite drink that mysteriously appeared in your fridge and has some white residue at the bottom!

You don't even wake up when he drapes his arm over you, cuddling you until the sun shows itself over the horizon. Sometimes the hugging can make your eyes open a bit, but you shut them back cause you thought it's just your sleep paralysis demon feeling a little loving towards you.

Having fingers gently running through your hair while you're off to dreamland is... Nice. Having a pair of lips tenderly kissing your face is... Nice.

Having that same pair of lips trailing kisses from your jaw down to your chest is... Questionable. But somewhat nice.

Having that same pair of lips trailing kisses down from your chest to your already exposed, vulnerable pussy is... Well. Up to your intepretation.

Hey, it's not like you're awake to stop him from spreading your legs, pumping your hole with his fingers and lapping you up, right? Who is going to stop him? Not you, definitely. You're just egging him on by cumming on his tongue as he tongue-fucks you like he's dehydrated and you're his only source of water.

No worries, your bedsheet won't be drenched when you wake up. He is sure to catch every single drop of your sweet, sweet, love nectar. What a thirsty menace, he is. Pleasuring you with his mouth in your sleep for hours and hours on end.

Actually, one hour and a half on average. He has other things to do, unfortunately. Like, putting a bullet in one of his target's cerebrum? He has a job too, you know.

The room would be silent save for his slurping, smooching, smacking and the stirring of Mac n' cheese. Gulping too, he swallows everything you give.

Once he has his fill, he would press one last kiss on your sex and a few more against your inner thighs as thanks before wiping his chin and lips with his thumb. He isn't going to let any of it go to waste, he's licking the left overs from his drenched digits. Eating you out seems to satisfy him.

For now.

He smiles as he slowly puts your underwear and sweatpants back on.

Hygiene is important. That is why, after every meal, he would brush his teeth.

With your toothbrush of course.

He would stare at himself in the mirror as he scrub his molars clean, already missing the taste of you. He tries not to put too much focus onto his own reflection as he dislikes staring into the deep, dark, depressing abyss. He is indifferent about himself, so apathetic that it's... Hollow. Empty.

He gives no shits about the world. They could burn for all he cares. Only you made him feel something, made him feel pure bliss, only you mattered to him, only you can make a tent in his pants. Only you, only you.

God, you were his only will to live. If you go, he goes. Period. You are irreplaceable, special and extremely important, his life, his happiness depends on yours.

You are perfection, no one can compete. Anyone who says otherwise is wrong and deserves to be waterboarded before getting impaled on a stick like shish kebab. You are his escape to his bleak reality, a drug, an addiction. A severe, addiction. He is too far deep, you can't pry him away from you, crowbar or by otherwise.

He lives for you. No, I don't think you understand the intensity of his love for you. He LIVES for you, if it wasn't for your existence, he would have taken his own life long ago.

I'll say it again, only YOU can get his dick up by looking in his general direction. Only YOU can get away with so many fucking things others had died for doing.

If the world is going to have this... Mega wipeout and he is given a chance to save 1000 people, he would only save you. No one else-- and also himself. The 998 empty slots would be wasted.

Only YOU... Could make him smile.

He gargled and spat into the sink, washing your toothbrush before replacing them in their original spot.

He sniffed your face towel deeply before using it to pat his face.

Your self proclaimed boyfriend went on to take a nice, hot shower. Steam fogs up the mirror and shower screen, he scrubs himself clean with your body shampoo. Stripping any smell, grime and blood off him.

He makes sure to remove the hair clogging the drain.

Again, he took a deep whiff of your shower towel before using it as intended.

He dries his hair with the towel as he gets out of the bathroom, wearing a fresh set of his pyjamas. His eyes softened as he sees your sleeping form on your bed, he mumbled a:

"I'll join you in bed in a minute, honey."

Under his breath. It's not like you're conscious to know what the fuck is going on.

He pecks your forehead and brushes the hair away from your face.

"I love you." He whispers. He receives zero (0) responses.

It's always like that. You go to sleep, he gives you the best head in your life, but you're to asleep to realize, he then brushes his teeth, he showers, he fix himself something to eat, he brushes his teeth again because... Smells. And finally, he goes to bed with you.

He likes pickles. It's salty, sour, briny and helps replenish his electrolytes. Anchovies too, its... Fishy, salty, oily. Lemon sorbets are also nice, it's sweet, sour and refreshing. Natto is great for his brain, he also likes the slimy texture of it and he doesn't mind the bitterness.

Okay, he just likes the taste of pussy. Specifically, your pussy. It should taste kinda salty, kinda sour, kinda sweet and kinda bitter.

Whatever.

But usually, he would just fix up a ham and egg wrap for himself. It's quick to prepare, not too smell offensive, not too noise offensive.

He would munch on it as he goes back to your bedroom. There is a TV in front of your bed, so he would turn it on and put the volume on zero. Your self proclaimed boyfriend would pull you to his chest, making you use him as a pillow as he enjoys his simple dinner and watch whatever is on TV.

One hand holding his meal, the other rhythmically patting your rear.

Sometimes, he pats a little too hard, the screen is a little too bright, the wrap is a little too tasty, you would wake up. But not fully.

You would slur and stir. Eyelids heavy, it's a struggle to even pry them apart.

He would remedy this by bringing his wrap to your lips, which you would, without fail, get a nibble. That's enough to send you back to sleep, subconsciously chewing and swallowing that micro bite.

You always thought your sleep paralysis demon has the sexiest chuckle and the softest kisses.

The next day rolls by and you're alone on your bed. The thing between your legs feels funny and you have a faint taste of ham and eggs in your mouth.

You yawn and swung your legs over the edge. Letting your feet touch the ground, giving him full view of your ankles from under the bed.

It's your off day today and he knows you would usually spend these doing nothing. Just lazily laying around, rot your brain with social media, cry about your mediocrity, then go back on social media, binge eat, cry about your mediocrity again, social media, binge eat and finally sleep until the next day.

These are the days where he so badly wishes to fuck your brains out, to fuck the tears away. To give you orgasm after orgasm to forget whatever is making you sad, to make you prefer him thrusting into you instead of seeing suspiciously successful lives on the internet, to overstimulate you so you think about nothing but pleasure.

Let the room reek of sex, let the moans and wet slapping bounce off the thin walls, let the taste of you coat every square inch of his mouth. Let his hands roam all over your body and let him worship you as this deity having a gorilla grip on his life.

These are the days where... It's best for him to leave your apartment to carry out a hit. As he might simply just lose control and take you as soon as he hears your sniffling. Stuff you full of cock and tongue, kissing your sorrows away.

The aftercare stuff excites him too, he would want to see you relax in his hold, letting him work his masseur magic. Allowing him to feed you proper, warm meals after a pleasant, sensual shower.

He may be obsessive and unhinged. But not delusional. At least, not THAT delusional to think you'll see and accept him as your boyfriend if he jumps out of his hiding place now. You're going to have a panic attack and possibly throw up and die.

So he has no choice but to suppress it. He will have to strike when an opening comes. Maybe, enact a cliche romantic meeting and work up from there? Perhaps, that sounds like a good idea.

He is satisfied with what the bottle of sleeping pills hidden in his pocket can do.

For now.

#yandere assassin #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere concept #yandere content #x reader #tw afab reader #tw somnophilia #tw yandere #yandere scenarios #tw noncon #tw: graphiccontent.#yandere hitman

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precisemuseum · 3 years

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Puyo Puyo PC-98 Manual Translation

Once upon a time, in the age when the power of magic was bestowed upon the world, a powerful sorcerer created a great spell named "Owanimo." One of the strongest spells of all, it could banish monsters to a space between dimensions, but he sealed it away, recording it only in his "Book of Magic."

Not because it was forbidden knowledge or incredibly hard to use, but because to him, it seemed useless. And thus, the spell entered a dormant state, awaiting a day when a new sorcerer would come forth...

Years came and went until finally, the seal came undone with the appearance of a great sorceress: Arle Nadja. One day, this auburn-haired girl with golden eyes came across the Book of Magic.

"Owanimo...?" Arle studied the chapter on forbidden spells for what seemed like hours. "When four monsters of the same color are in your sights, chant this spell loudly. The Goddess of Time shall listen, and whisk the monsters away to a space between dimensions."

Arle continued to read, learning the Owanimo spell, but then closed it with a heavy sigh once she finished.

Why set it aside like that? Well, Arle had never seen "four monsters of the same color" as the spellbook described.

"I spent so much time reading, and it's not even a spell I can use for anything..."

But just as fate brought the Book of Magic into Arle's hands by chance, so it brought from the world of darkness the very monsters she had read about.

And thus, a great battle awaits. With her great magic abilities, and the newfound power of "Owanimo," Arle Nadja sets out to protect the world.

CHARACTERS A・C・P

Arle Nadja The protagonist of the game and the (aspiring) sorceress who released the spell "Owanimo". Nobody knows how she ended up this way, but despite looking like she wouldn't hurt a fly, she's actually a merciless girl that slaughters innocent Puyo. She currently attends a magic school, but she's already too scary for anything to stand in her way. That's my opinion, anyway.

Carbuncle During the game, when you find your eyes moving towards the center of the screen... Awww~! He's sleeping!!! This is Carbuncle. When he's lying still, he almost looks like a loaf of bread, but as he sings and dances he shows off a wide range of movement and facial expressions. A truly profound deuteragonist.

Puyo Puyo Despite their fate as short-lived, jelly-like monsters who are stacked and popped, they have managed to secure a leading role this time around, and even get to dance on the title screen. They're sure to enjoy this special opportunity to perform on a grand stage in five different colors. Looking at them with an empty stomach will reveal their appetizing nature and make you hungry. Hehe.

Arle, the protagonist, is brimming with curiosity.

PRACTICE STAGE ENEMY MONSTERS

Skeleton T While he appears as the epitome of a tea-loving Japanese man, he is a fine monster as well. He will be the first opponent you face during your trials. But you'll find that in a rather endearing way, he's a miserable fool who doesn't even know how to rotate his Puyo. Boohoo. Sipping bitter green tea during battle will instantly make you one of his tea-drinking buddies.

Nasu Grave An eggplant. Specifically, a Kamo eggplant. On top of that, he makes for a rather strange presence. Just what the heck is this thing? Despite appearances, his defensive power is high, so novices might find themselves struggling a bit. You'll have no choice but to keep at it and apply a steady technique. But in the end, your opponent is still just an eggplant. A regular talking eggplant. …Heh.

Mummy Even though it's called Mummy, it isn't a mommy. It's a mummy. What? You already knew that? Oh, deary me, I'll wrap it up then. (←One-man comedy routine.) Mummy is an opponent that makes you want to bully it because the crying face it makes when it's about to lose is just too cute. Sorry, Mummy.

The Goddess of Time whisking the monsters away.

BATTLE STAGES 1-6

Draco Centauros As you might expect from someone who shouts "Rawr", this half-dragon being takes pride in those sharp horns. Appearing as the first obstacle of your quest, this opponent has top tier judgment and piece precision but takes forever to think things through. Because of that, she's a pitiful lass who is only ranked as a third-rate monster girl... You heard me right! Draco is a girl. I'm sure someone around you thought she was a boy...

Suketoudara A pollock who has an aura of coming from some far-off sea. However, he seems to have the character of an Edokko. He's an athletic-type who tends to err on the side of caution. However, he's also arrogant. When he wins, he makes a face that screams "You're no match for me!", which is truly aggravating. Many say they especially don't want to lose to him.

(TL Note: Literally meaning “Child of Edo”, Edokko is refers to a person born and raised in Edo (renamed Tokyo in 1868). It implies personality traits such as being assertive, straightforward, cheerful, perhaps a bit mercantile.)

Sukiyapodes Let's just get this out of the way; he has a giant foot. It measures about 16 mon. Even though he has a complex about it, he directs that frustration into bettering himself. Well, we're not sure if that last part's true, but he always has a cheerful expression on his face as he slowly and steadily builds precise chains. He's a bit of an unpleasant guy.

(TL Note: mon is a unit of length for measuring the size of one's foot. 1 mon is equivalent to 2.4 cm. His foot is 38.4 cm, or 15.12 in.)

Harpy Now then, it is time for Miss Harpy's song. She loves singing more than she loves having three meals a day. She could sing for ages if no one stopped her. If there was something like a "Puyo Puyo World Karaoke Tournament", she'd win for sure. But unfortunately, this is only Puyo Puyo.

Sasori Man “How d'ya do, partner? I’m a famous Naniwa salesman known 'round these parts as Sasori Man. Put 'er there! Huh? Yer askin' for my secret to success? I ain't spillin' the beans no matter how much ya beg. That's somethin' to look forward to when we do battle. Till then, happy trails.”

Panotty A flute-playing boy. But honestly, he's nothing more than a noisy, mischievous brat. He disrupts his opponent's chains by dropping large amounts of Nuisance Puyo on them. Everyone has fallen victim to his antics at least once. What a truly ruthless Puyo technique. For when his last flute sounds, the dead shall be raised. Just kidding.

BATTLE STAGES 7-12

Zombie A zombie. All of his lines are stuff like "Ugheeee." This zombie is quite the formidable trickster. Sometimes he will be swiftly defeated, and other times he will take you by surprise and suddenly pull off a huge chain. If you don't take him seriously, you'll find yourself in a tough spot. Battle with caution.

Witch In the forest stands a grand mansion. Living there was a very ordinary family whose lineage can be traced back hundreds of years. The family's only daughter was born and was raised in a very ordinary fashion. But there was one thing that was not so ordinary...That young lady was a haughty witch. Ohohoho! Ohohohoho... *fadeout*

Zou Daimaou Pawoo! The mammoth mogul has arrived! A young aristocrat who comes from an ancient and distinguished line of royal Indian elephants. An irritating fellow who likes bad puns, gives his words an elephantine quality, and casually rhymes. He also enjoys Puyo Puyo. Plus, he's strong. An aphant-garde aristocrat whose ground-shaking chains are as sharp as his tusks.

Schezo A silver-haired man with deep blue eyes. Schezo, the embodiment of picturesque beauty. However, he's been deemed a pervert thanks to Arle, and strives to restore his honor by challenging her.

B-E-A-U-T-Y! Perfection won't pass you by! P-R-I-N-C-E! Of the Puyo Puyo World, it's meant to be! Go now! Go forth! Show us what you're really worth!

...Well, this has turned into something rather silly..

Minotauros Risking life and limb for his duties, a bull who lives by the code of chivalry, leaving a flurry of cherry blossoms in his wake. That is Minotauros. Ever since Rulue rescued him long ago, he has served as her devoted attendant like a faithful dog. Seeing him like this brings some to tears. For Rulue, he'd go through hell and high water. He's giving it his all today, and his one-eyed look is as cool as ever.

Rulue A woman truly worthy of the title of "Fighting Queen". The queen of the Puyo Puyo world. There's nothing that she can't obtain... Oh wait, there is something — Satan's love. Possessing a very jealous nature, Rulue is always lying in wait, ready to obliterate anyone who gets close to Satan. It's rumored that her true strength is even greater than Satan's.

BATTLE STAGE 13

Satan He is the king that rules over heaven and earth. He soars the skies with wings that slice through wind. His two horns point towards the heavens. His sharp eyes are like glistening gems. Cloaked in the veil of night, his devilish hand beckons you in. He is darkness’s cherished protege. It seems playing Puyo Puyo is a guilty pleasure of his. His true strength is unknown. It's said he's won the Puyo Puyo World Championship a countless number of times. In any case, he's obviously a bigshot. Can you truly defeat Satan, who boasts of elite skills in speed and chaining?

(You can download the PDF here)

#puyo puyo #translations #tl acy #text #puyo puyo pc 98 #source florek #photo

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

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Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1 part 2 belongs to this

i think I should warn you. This is an old!Jaskier fic. Meaning, eventually Jaskier will lose his memory and there won’t be some magic spell to bring it back. He isn’t immortal either, so eventually there will be major character death. Neither happens in this chapter (it won’t happen for like 6 more chapters probably).

On the bright side, this story isn’t heavily plot-based, so if at any time you want to stop reading, you won’t be missing any big revelations or something. I will give content warnings when we get to the heavy stuff, but be warned that it will come to that eventually.

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It should have been strange. Sitting in a tavern simply because he wanted to and not because he needed to look for the next contract. It should be strange, unsettling even. It hadn’t been for a long time. Though it took weeks getting used to, Geralt came here with Jaskier time and time again, for the sole reason of enjoying themselves.

It should have been strange. A witcher and a bard – travelling no more, but collecting sea shells on their window sills, taking walks along the shore, hand in hand and without the pressure of knowing they’d have to leave soon, going to taverns like normal people did. Geralt was never going to be normal and as far as he was concerned, Jaskier was as far from ordinary as it could get. And yet. There was something beautiful, something soft in the simplicity of the life they were building here.

There was something so fiercely right about the way people referred to Geralt as “that lovely man’s beloved” instead of as a witcher.

Still, Geralt couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over the patrons, couldn’t keep himself from straining his ears. Even Jaskier’s arm around his waist wasn’t enough to counter decades of training and drilling instincts into him. As much as Geralt wanted to only feel Jaskier next to him, only hear his voice, whispering sweet nothings that were everything to him into his ear, he couldn’t help but pick up what he was trained to hear amidst the laughter of the crowd.

“It’s true, there is no way for me to bring my wares over to Blackrocks.” The voice was relatively new in town. A travelling merchant, probably. Though he forced his words to sound frustrated rather than scared, the hidden emotion was obvious to Geralt. Too often had he met people desperate to hide their fear. “Ol’ Olek – may his soul find rest in Melitele’s amble bosom – tried weeks ago and I’m not stupid enough to follow in his steps. Bandits and the occasional arsehole tollkeeper I can handle. But a griffin? I’d rather sit on a scorpion bare-arsed than coming across one of those.”

Immediately, Geralt tensed, but willed himself to remain seated. Years of being low on coin and desperate for any contract he could get were hard to shake off. He forced himself to relax. He didn’t need a contract. He didn’t. His place was with Jaskier. He didn’t need to go. He couldn’t do that to Jaskier, to them.

“Are you alright, love?”

Geralt closed his eyes when Jaskier’s concerned voice interrupted his desperate thoughts. As it should. Jaskier was what mattered most. He should always be at the forefront of Geralt’s mind. Not some merchant whose livelihood was threatened because of a monster that Geralt was trained to slay.

Geralt managed a grunt, not confirmation, merely acknowledgement of Jaskier’s words.

“Oh, dearest.” Jaskier twisted in his arms to face him, laying one hand on Geralt’s cheek and softly guiding him to look at Jaskier. “Ah,” he said after a moment, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “I know that face.”

Geralt let out a long breath, surrendering to his fate as Jaskier continued to study him as if he were a child’s poem, easy to read and easier yet to analyse.

“That is the face you make when you tell me ‘no’ before I even told you what I want.”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “Because most of the time I already know what you want.”

“Which is?” Jaskier lifted his chin in playful defiance.

“To come with me on a hunt.”

Jaskier laughed, freely and loudly and oh so beautifully. “Is there a hunt to accompany you on?” He asked as though they hadn’t talked about this before. As though Jaskier’s admission that he wouldn’t be able to go on hunts with Geralt any more hadn’t already broken his heart. As though the promise of a quiet life together hadn’t mended it faster than any spell had been able to heal his wounds before.

“No. There isn’t one.”

Jaskier cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. A few heartbeats passed and Geralt held his breath praying that Jaskier wouldn’t see, that he wouldn’t know –

“Geralt,” he finally said in a tone that suggested Geralt was a student who had been caught sneaking alcohol into the classroom without sharing it with the teacher. “May I remind you of how often I have seen you react to mentions of monsters near-by? The fact that I couldn’t hear whoever was talking doesn’t change a thing – it never has, whether it’s me being old or you having superhuman hearing. I know you.” His thumb brushed over Geralt’s cheek and his tone became fond once more. “So, what is it?”

“Griffin.” Geralt forced his eyes to let Jaskier in, needing him to understand. “I am not going.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a new one. Isn’t it normally ‘you are not going’?”

“What we have isn’t normal.” It’s so much better. It’s too precious and fragile to worth risking.

Jaskier sighed, his hand falling from Geralt’s face and dropping down to his chest, coming to rest on his heart.

“No, it’s not,” Jaskier said and undoubtedly he could feel the skip in Geralt’s chest as the relief of Jaskier’s agreement seeped through him. “But that doesn’t mean you have to give up your old life for me completely.” A sly smile stole onto Jaskier’s face and there was something in his eyes that Geralt couldn’t begin to name. “My eyes might not be the best and whatnot, but I assure you, my mind and memory are still sharp as ever. You might pretend it didn’t happen, but I very vividly remember having this talk before.”

Geralt’s shoulders sagged. “I know.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, filled with a heart-shattering amount of fondness. “We both know you can’t just sit around doing nothing forever. Spending every day with you being idle was wonderful, but it is not who you are.”

“It’s who I could be.”

Jaskier didn’t answer. His look, tilted head and eyes so knowing said more than even a poet could express with words. Geralt might have that face he always made when he was going to deny Jaskier his request – his scary face, as Jaskier so fondly and teasingly called it - but Jaskier had this one expression, the one he would always use shortly before Geralt would relent and grant Jaskier his wish. Who was he to deny a bard in need of inspiration to come with him? And who was he to deny the man he loved and who so desperately needed to feel like he didn’t stop Geralt from being himself to give him that freedom to leave him?

“I will come back to you,” Geralt said and the smile Jaskier gifted him was almost worth the clenching of his heart at the thought of leaving him behind, however briefly.

“Of course you will.”

“Blackrocks isn’t far. Only three days on horseback. Two if I’m fast.”

“Don’t be.” There was an inexplicable strain to Jaskier’s word, an edge that didn’t cut, as his hand gripped Geralt’s shirt tighter. “Don’t be fast. Don’t rush. Don’t let the world pass by in a flurry. Take your time.”

“I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

“And I don’t want you to miss out all the details.” His tone was back to teasing, but the unknown weight was still there. An unspoken need that Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever be allowed to understand. “You do know that I will pester you for the grand tale of your adventure, don’t you?”

Geralt’s mouth quirked up involuntarily. “Naturally.”

Jaskier pointed a finger at him. “I am being serious about the details. Don’t just tell me about the griffin. I need to know about how the people you helped looked at you when they realise that they are safe now. I need you to stop and notice the different shades of the sky at dawn and the smell of the wildflowers. Try to find strange shapes in the clouds for me, will you? Promise me, you will see all of that.”

Something in Geralt’s throat grew tight. He gently took Jaskier’s hand that was still pointing at him and held it close. “You’d be far better at describing those things.”

“I don’t need you to describe them like a poet would. Just… see them. Can you do that for me?” Desperation coloured his voice that Geralt vowed to himself he would do anything he could to banish from Jaskier’s life.

“I can.” His voice, barely a whisper grew stronger. “I will.”

How could he not? To Jaskier, the world was so big and bright and beautiful. Geralt would not stand between Jaskier and this beauty that he deserved to breathe in with every inhale and feel with every heartbeat. Jaskier might be unable to leave, confided to the coast like the mermaid in his story was to the sea. Every step father from home would pain him, but staying in his confide unable to know what he was missing would hurt his soul just as much. Geralt would not subject him to this fate. He would do his best to make Jaskier see the world, even if it meant learning how to paint pictures with words instead of showing it to him first hand.

He lifted Jaskier’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against his fingers, a silent vow.

Jaskier understood. He always did. His eyes brightened and his smile grew warmer. The look he gifted Geralt with was so tender it almost hurt and Geralt knew what he had started to learn years ago; that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to see that look on Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier needed him to be himself and do what he did. Geralt still needed to help people. And Jaskier still needed stories. almost as much as he needed arms to hold him close and whispers telling him that there was nothing as important as him.

He gently gave Jaskier’s fingers a squeeze and stood up to talk to the merchant.

---

“The sunrise was more pink on the third day than on any other day. It was… the colour looked like that one doublet of yours. The one you wore on midsummer in White Orchard.” The words were awkward and nowhere close to the vivid descriptions Jaskier no doubt would have found, but Jaskier’s eager eyes were worth it. The familiar scratching of a quill on parchment accompanied Geralt’s words, lulling him into a sense of comfort. “When I told the people I had slain the griffin, one woman cried and the merchant looked like Bieberfeld did when he had realised that Dudu actually knew what he was doing with his money.”

A grin spread across Jaskier’s face at the memory. “Who would have thought. You do know how to tell a story after all.”

“I am sure you will find better words for it when you make it into a song.”

Jaskier tilted his head and gave his notes a long look, before setting his eyes back on Geralt. “No. I think I quite like the words as they are.”

He lay the quill to the side. Ink-stained fingers of parchment-skinned hands found Geralt’s hand. “Thank you, love.”

Warmth blossomed in Geralt’s chest as he looked at their intertwined fingers. Maybe this was good enough. Maybe life could continue to be like this. Maybe it could be that simple.

----

Against all odds, against all the rocks destiny was known to throw in his way, it truly was that simple. Despite everything, Geralt was allowed to have this.

He continued to bring Jaskier stories and Jaskier in turn would tell him what he had done while Geralt had been away. Somehow he managed to make the most mundane things sound like the biggest adventure. The knowledge that this was the life that they had, that when he returned from his hunts, they could experience these ordinary, domestic adventures together, made Geralt’s heart swell in his chest.

He brought Jaskier descriptions of the sky and Jaskier told him about the unruly sea.

When Geralt finally made true on his promise to go to the harvest festival in Corvo Bianco, he brought Jaskier a bottle of wine and a summer jacket and Jaskier in turn gifted him with the sight of immediately donning the garment and grinning at him with a flush that the alcohol was only partly to blame for.

“What do you think?” Jaskier asked, twirling around as much as his joints allowed him to.

I think I never want to give up what we have here. I think you are gifting me with the best life. “You look good.”

“Good?” Jaskier huffed. “Come on, Geralt. I taught you better than that. You were doing so well describing the world to me.”

Geralt sighed, but it held no annoyance. “I think…you look like you could make the flowers jealous.”

Jaskier threw his head back laughing and if Geralt were a poet, he would have thought that somewhere out there, a rose was seething with envy that she would never be able to give a lover the same indescribable feeling that Jaskier’s laugh gave Geralt.

#editing? never heard of her #in my defence my laptop decided to delete a good chunk of what i had written and i had to rewrite it #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #Geralt #old jaskier #old!jaskier #do i use the word 'gift' far too often in this?#eh probably #fic #fanfic #my writing #the coast #accidental multichapter #witcher #jaskier #Birds still sing when they fall from the sky

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misskittyspuffy · 3 years

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To a better future (15x20, alternative ending)

[Takes place in 15x20, alternative ending]. When Dean and Sam find out that Chuck has manipulated them once more, they decide to take control of their lives again. (Dean/Cas, Sam/Eileen, Dean & Sam)

Note: Like many of us, I was truly hurt, angry and devastated after the finale, that was a huge slap in the face. I decided to wrote my own ending, the one I was sure we were getting (if the show had followed its narrative). Feedbacks are more than welcome ♥︎

Please note that English isn't my mother tongue, if you have any remark or spot mistakes, feel free to let me know! :) This is a translation of my fanfiction "À un meilleur avenir".

Ao3 link

Their saturday nights were usually made of binge-watching sessions in the Dean-cave. Beers and pop-corn were their driving force for the evening. They usually were sitting on the couch Dean had especially set up in front of the big screen. Some other nights, they were going to the movies —which they rarely did in the past.

But that evening, duty was going to prevail.

An empty warehouse, deserted thirty years ago, had some strange —their kind of strange— activity in the past few weeks and the eldest Winchester had decided that it was worth to take a look at what seemed to be a ghost case. Three rash people had died at the place and some survivors had reported violent attacks.

A year ago, they had regained their free will. As it turned out, Chuck hadn’t played his last card that day, near the lake. After turning him into a human —at least, that’s what they had thought— the Winchester brothers hadn’t realized that they just had been trapped in his last scenario.

To remove a threat, you need to make believe to your enemy that he has successfully beaten you. And that’s exactly what Chuck had done. He had made them believe they had won. And had largely benefited from it.

The trap had taken the form of an illusion that had led Dean to his death and Sam to the perfect family life he had once hoped for. There had been a shift in the way Sam was feeling though —when he had gotten married, when his son was born, he had felt that something was off, but he had never succeeded to put his finger on what.

Seven years had passed after Dean’s death when one morning, while Sam was off to his daily jog, he had found Jack on his porch, waiting for him. He was looking unusually worried, which had led the Winchester to believe that something very serious had happened. Little did he know, by this time, how much his life had been about to change. The Nephilim had then explained to him that he was about to break the divergent timeline Chuck had created and in which he had locked them in. The trick was ingenious, but Jack had been more clever. He had perceived a breach while moving from one world to another —he and Amara were rebuilding the parallel dimensions Chuck had meticulously destroyed, in order to preserve the Balance of the Universe.

It had taken a while for Sam to fully accept the idea that what had been his life for so long was a lie. The illusion created by the former God had become his new reality. Getting out of it was scary and had seemed impossible at first. He had spent hours contemplating the life he had built, watching the son that was born from his marriage —born from an illusion. But looking at him playing in their living room, he had felt very real. When he had called him “dad’’, handing him over a drawing he had just made of their perfect little family, his throat had tighten. In the next few days though, he had come to terms with the fact that Jack was right, and a deep feeling of gravity was now taking over. What was about to happen was probably one of the most painful things he ever had to experience. Losing what he thought was real did feel real, but intellectually, he knew something wasn’t right. It wasn’t who he was, it wasn’t his life.

As soon as Jack had told him about Chuck, about the fact that he still had his powers —to some extent— and had only conceded a part of them to him, including Amara, Sam had known he was telling the truth. Seven years ago in that barn, it wasn’t the ending Dean had deserved.

It wasn’t them back then, it wasn’t him right now. Their lives had been taken away from them.

He had finally put his finger on what felt wrong. Jack had then mentioned a certain Eileen, and at this moment, that name hadn’t even ring a bell. Donna, Jody, Charlie, Claire… So many people that Chuck had erased from their lives. People that were once family had become strangers. Sam had finally accepted Jack’s plan to restore his life and Dean’s life the way they were before everything went wrong. The bonds the youngest Winchester had formed in that illusion were left behind, and he knew it was a wound that wasn’t going to be easy to move on from. But he knew his brother didn’t deserve to die the way he did. It had been enough for him to find the courage to move forwards with Jack’s scheme to fix their lives.

The natural order of things was back in the space of a few minutes, thanks to Jack. He had brought Dean back on Earth, had given them back their memories and —in the process— had restored their real personalities. Sam was again the same age he was before they fought against Chuck. The fallout had been truly hard to accept, for both of the Winchesters. They had been screwed, big time. Dean had fallen on his knees, right in the middle of the Bunker, feeling more numb and devastated than ever. Only a few hours had passed for him when he was in the fake version of Heaven Chuck had created, but it had been too much already. He had received a call from Donna and Jody, who had felt the need to talk to him, after feeling like they had gone through a fever dream.

What a f*cking asshole, the eldest Winchester had yelled, while throwing his phone away.

He wasn’t as expressive as his brother, but Sam shared the same state of mind. He was still processing, especially considering what he had left behind, but now that everything was back the way it used to be, the seven years he had spent in that illusion of life felt like a blurry dream. They were now in control of their lives again.

Jack and Amara had been enough to overpower Chuck —for real this time. Using his idea of a lie, they had turned him into a real human being. He had quickly gotten a chance to learn that the Universe had a really strange sense of humor, and had died a few weeks later from an unknown disease.

One year later, on a saturday night, Dean was getting ready for his hunt. Standing in front of the Bunker’s table, he was putting away weapons in his bag, making sure that they hadn’t forgotten something that could be useful : the EMF meter, pouches of salt, guns… At some point, he frowned and rummaged at the bottom of the bag, and finally found a nunchaku.

“What the hell?!’’ he grumbled. “Damn it, Sam!’’

A man’s hand appeared next to his, adding a blade in the bag, which the Winchester opened a little more to give his partner a better access to it.

“You really like this one, don’t you?’’ he said with a smile.

Cas shrugged. “You’re the one who told me that I was going to have my favorites.’’

“Right,’’ he nodded.

The former angel was standing next to him, dressed in a leather jacket, wearing jeans and a red shirt, that completely detonated with his previous usual wardrobe. Dean was partly responsible for this new looks, he had dragged him to a few shops after Cas had came back human.

“You think it’ll be enough?’’ the blue eyed man asked.

The Winchester looked up and leaned on Cas, kissing him briefly on the lips. “Looks good to me.’’

A disapproving look appeared on the former angel’s face. “Dean.’’

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What?’’

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the grenade-launcher?’’ he sighed.

While he was speaking, Cas opened the bag again, pointing out the weapon in question.

“So what?’’ the Winchester said with an innocent look.

“Ghosts, Dean. We’re going to fight ghosts. The grenade-launcher’s usefulness will probably be close to nada.’’

“Oh yeah, because your blade is going to have so much effect on them,’’ Dean said in return in a teasing tone.

Looking a little bit offended, Cas squinted. If a look could kill…

“You being so cute when you’re mad really should be a crime,’’ Dean said with an affectionate expression on his face.

The former angel was standing still and Dean kissed him again on the lips before grabbing his hand and leading them to the Bunker’s stairs, making him follow his steps. “Let’s go, you can still sulk in the car,’’ he said in an amused tone.

Sam appeared in the hall, coming from the corridor. “Hey,’’ he said to the couple. An intrigued look appeared on his face. “What are you up to?’’

Dean and Cas exchanged a look.

“Nothing big, a haunted place. You know, the usual stuff,’’ the eldest Winchester shrugged.

Sam frowned. “You got a serious lead on that?’’

“Yeah, three deaths. We’re going to take a look.’’

“If you give me a minute, I could—’’

“No,’’ Dean interrupted him firmly. “You and Eileen got plans for tonight. Go. Watch your dancers in tights, or whatever, we’ll take care of the dead.’’

Sam rolled his eyes. “Really, Dean? That’s all you’re taking away from ballets? Dancers in tights?’’

“Never saw one, but I’m fine with it,’’ he answered with a half smile.

Cas grabbed his boyfriend’s arm, pushing them in the direction of the stairs. “Don’t pay attention to him Sam,’’ he said midly-amused, midly-exasperated. “Dean is right, we’re taking care of it. Enjoy your night,’’ he ended with a smile.

While they were leaving, Sam realized his nunchaku was in the trash. “DEAN!!!’’

***

What was supposed to be a classic hunt turned out to be more challenging that what they were expecting. A demon also occupied the Warehouse, and a second one had appeared during the fight. Cas’ blade ended up being useful. After killing one of them, he was projected on a bunch of cardboards. Dean killed the other one, and once it was over, he ran in the direction of the former angel, worried.

“Cas, you’re okay?’’

“I’m fine,’’ he answered while breathing heavily. He grabbed the hand Dean was giving him. “I didn’t expect this turn of events.’’

“Yeah, two little surprises that weren’t on the program,’’ Dean said, looking down at the corpses. “You’re sure you’re okay?’’ he asked again, sliding his hand along Cas’ arm.

Cas nodded and kissed him on the cheek, near the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry that much for me. I can handle myself. You’re human too… and you’re still here.’’

“I’ve been human a lil’ bit longer than you have,’’ Dean said. “I got my fair amount of injuries before properly kicking ass, you know. Takes time.’’

“Our training helped me to improve.’’

“Good, that’s what it was meant for,’’ he said firmly.

Dean started remembering their first trainings and what had led them to this situation. Which reminded him how things went the year before, after they had gotten back on their reality.

Flashback - A year ago

After learning that Chuck had manipulated them once more, Dean had locked himself into his bedroom, on the edge of breaking everything that was in it. The person he used to be probably would have done it at this point. But Cas’ words still resonated with him. Love was the force driving his actions, he wasn’t made of hate or violence, and he wanted it to be the thing that would prevail from now on. He had every intention to honor that.

Once he had hugged his brother and catched up with him about the recent events, Sam had left the Bunker to meet Eileen, who he had been talking to for the past hour. They both had felt the need to see each other, considering how things had gone since the last time they had interacted, the day she disappeared. With Sam away, Dean had taken the opportunity to do what he knew his little brother would probably have dissuade him to try. He had went to see Jack, who hadn’t left the Bunker yet. The young man was quietly sitting in the library when the eldest Winchester approached him, a determined look on his face.

“Can you open a breach to the Empty? Do you have that power?’’

“I know what you’re thinking,’’ Jack said, slowly closing the book he had in his hands. “I was expecting you to ask me that. Can I do it? Sure. But… the actual state of things with the Empty is not stable enough yet. I’m… negotiating with her.’’

“I have to do it, you know I can’t let him over there,’’ he ended with a trembling voice despite himself. “I’m not asking you to bring him back for me, I know it might not be possible right now, this is something I have to do by myself. I’m just asking for a little boost.’’

Jack quietly nodded. “You think you can win this? That you’ll have something to offer that the Empty will be interested in?’’

“Let me handle this part,’’ the Winchester replied.

A beat.

“So? The breach?’’ he asked again, looking impatient. He had tried to cover it, but his voice had came out as a little supplication.

“Of course. It’s Cas.’’

Dean’s throat tightened and he had a sudden difficulty to swallow. “Yeah… exactly. It’s Cas.’’

“But if things go wrong… I don’t know if I’ll be able to step in. There is a new balance, I’m not the only one ruling on the Universe, and I have no power over the Empty. That’s why I didn’t have a chance to bring Cas back myself.’’

The Winchester nodded, nothing would make him change his mind.

A few minutes later, the breach was open. A dark circle had taken place on the Bunker’s wall, undulating and growing second after second, the same way it had the day it came to collect Cas. Dean took an inspiration and with no hesitation, threw himself into it.

“Good luck,’’ Jack said once the Winchester had disappeared.

A smile took place at the corner of his mouth.

He knew everything was going to unfold the way Dean had planned it.

***

The Empty was a vast place, it really was doing justice to its name. The darkness was the only thing Dean could contemplate, with no beginning nor end in sight. He wasn’t even sure that he could actually see anything beyond fifteen or twenty feet. He was destabilized at first, didn’t know where to start, turning around and contemplating the void, trying to find any form of activity, a sign of Cas’ presence. Unsure of the direction he was supposed to take, he blindly started to walk around, and did the only logical thing he could do at this moment. He called Cas’ name. Once, twice, ten times, twenty times, fifty times —but for a moment, silence was the only answer he had gotten. He shout out his name until the Empty finally appeared right before him as Meg.

“Cas! Cas!’’ she said in a mocking voice. “WILL YOU SHUT UP??!!!’’

Dean took a few seconds to adjust to his new interlocutor, on his guards.

His jaw clenched. “Where is he?’’ he asked firmly. He wasn’t there to negotiate.

“You’re here to get your sweet little angel back, that’s cute… but not enough. Your weapon will have no effect on me,’’ she said while pointing out the blade he held in his left hand.

The Winchester looked briefly in the same direction and tighten his grip on the blade even harder. “It’s not for you.’’

The Empty looked intrigued. “Really?’’

“Where is he?!’’ he asked again.

She sighed while crossing her legs, sitting on her throne. “Somewhere… between here and there… I saved him a seat at my best spot.’’

A creepy smile distorted her face and she raised a knowing eyebrow in Dean’s direction. Cas’ treatment was probably one of the most painful she could inflict to someone. At this mere thought, the Winchester started to feel sick in his stomach. How long Cas had been here? How many days, months, years maybe had he been stuck in this place while him and Sam were living the scenario Chuck had planned for them?

The Empty hadn’t seen it coming —to be honest, Dean hadn’t either— but in the second that had followed, he had thrown himself to her and gave her a powerful punch in the face, that destabilized her for a second. She sent him away from a movement of her hand, he landed harshly on the ground. Dean got up pretty quickly, but the rage hadn’t left his face, his eyes were still dark and fixated on the Empty.

“WHERE THE HELL IS HE??!’’

“You and your angelic boyfriend are really insufferable,’’ she said furious, matching his own tone. “You wanna know where he is? He’s reliving his worst torments on loop. In which you’ve done many cameos, actually,’’ she added amused. “I’m not gonna pretend I’m not enjoying watching him suffer. Because I do.’’

Dean clenched his jaw. “One last time, tell me where he is or I swear I’m g-’’

“You’re gonna what? Yell at me to death?’’ she said mockingly. “You can do nothing against me.’’

“Maybe. But I can get quite inventive, I’ll be the biggest pain in your ass. You like quietness? I can promise you you’ll never find peace again. I’m human, you have no power over me.’’

The Empty’s face suddenly fell.

“Tell me where he is,’’ Dean said, once more.

She looked contemplative for a few seconds and a sigh escaped her lips. “Good luck, Dean. But remember… no matter what you do, Castiel is mine.’’

With a snap of her fingers, she teleported him to Cas. Dean landed harshly on the floor of a cold room, only to find himself surrounded by four walls. There was no door, no way to escape. The place was dark and he had a hard time seeing where he was, but after adjusting his vision to the place, he discerned the presence of Cas, who was lying down, facing the floor, unconscious. He wasn’t physically hurt, but the pain on his face was very telling about the hell he was emotionally experiencing in whatever the Empty was putting him through in his nightmares. His face looked worried and scared.

Dean kneeled next to him, hanging the blade at his belt. He turned him on his back and tried to wake him up, putting a hand on his face.

“Cas! Hey, Cas! Wake up. I need you to wake up.’’

It took a little while, but after insistance, Dean finally succeeded to bring him back to conscientiousness. Cas had a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“Dean?’’ the angel finally said in a husky voice. He wasn’t sure if he was truly awake or if dream and reality had just got mixed up again.

“It’s me,’’ he said. “Hey, hey, stay with me, okay?’’ he added when he saw that Cas was falling out again. He tried to keep him in a sitting position.

“You’re not real.’’

“I am. I promise you. I’m sorry it took me so long…’’ His voice broke. He kept the angel’s face between his hands, looking deep into his eyes, trying to convince him it was really him. “I’m gonna get you out, okay?’’

Cas seemed lost. “Where are we?’’

“The Empty. You sacrificed your life to save me, remember?’’

A beat. Cas’ eyes seemed to focus and find a semblance of consistency. “I remember.’’ His face fell. “Dean… what are you doing here?’’ he said in a worried voice.

The Winchester was baffled. “You really thought I was going to leave you rot here?’’ His throat tightened. “You saved me, Cas. More than once. You really thought I wasn’t going to look for you?’’

Cas frowned. “You might not be able to leave this place.’’

“Oh believe me, I will. We will. You’re coming with me.’’

The angel shaked his head. “I can’t, Dean, the deal…’’

Dean stopped him. “The deal doesn’t matter anymore. I have a solution.’’

He took the blade at his belt and showed it to the angel, who seemed lost in return. He didn’t understand.

“But… you have to agree with my plan,’’ he added, nervous.

“What do you mean?’’

“The Empty can only hold angels and demons. If you’re human, she won’t have any hold on you.’’ He pointed out the flask that was attached to his necklace. “If we extract your grace, if you become human… you’ll be able to come home with me.’’

Dean was anxious, he didn’t know how Cas was going to react to his proposal.

“Do you agree with this plan?’’ Dean asked hesitant.

The angel nodded, still feeling groggy. “Of course.’’

“Awesome,’’ Dean said, relieved. “Look, I don’t know what the Empty is up to, we should hurry up, okay? You’re ready?’’

As a sign of agreement, Cas extended his neck, giving free access to Dean. After a short hesitation, the Winchester cut him a little with the blade, placing the flask near the incision. The process started and only took a few seconds. The blue light, glittering, started its transfer to the container, making the angel feel suddenly weaker.

“YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO DO THAT!!’’

The Empty, still wearing Meg’s traits, had just appeared next to them. Furious.

“Castiel is mine, you had no right!’’

“We did actually, and we took it,’’ Dean answered in a defiant voice, while helping Cas to get up. “He’s human now, he doesn’t belong to you anymore.’’

She was about to throw herself at them but the portal leading to their world appeared again on the wall of the room they were in. Dean put Cas’ arm around his neck and led them to the breach, which they quickly got aspired by. In the next second, they were on the Bunker’s floor, catching their breath.

“Excellent timing, kiddo,’’ Dean said to Jack while getting on his feet.

He promptly ran to Cas’ side, helping him to stand. He was noticeably weakened, but seemed to be okay.

“How are you holding up?’’ he asked to the former angel, his full attention on him.

Cas leaned a little on him. “I think I’ll be fine,’’ he assured. Cas then realized who was standing next to the table. Jack. He fixated his look on him with a questioning look and the young man finally ran to his father and took him into his arms. “I missed you, Cas.’’

“How long… how long was I gone?’’ he asked while they were breaking the hug.

Dean and Jack looked at each other, uncertain. The timeline had been changed, distorted, rebuilt. What had represented a few days for Dean had been seven years for Sam. And they didn’t even know how it was for Cas. It was a difficult question to answer.

“We should save this for later…’’ Dean said, with a tap on his shoulder. “Let’s take care of you first.’’

***

Ten days had passed and things were back to the way they used to be. Not everything was the same, of course, but their life had now found a semblance of normalcy again. Dean had rearranged everything in Cas’ bedroom, to adjust and adapt the place to his new needs. He had given him some of his clothes and they had gone shopping to complete his wardrobe.

Cas was feeling way better and, like he once had to do, was now adjusting to his new life as a human, rediscovering the pleasure of eating food that didn’t taste like molecules.

Things with Dean had slowly changed during the course of the last few days. At first, they had been all focused on his new condition, helping him to find a new balance, but now that things were pretty much coming back to what they were, the dynamic between the hunter and the former angel had slowly became awkward and a strange tension had taken place between them. Not that they were avoiding each other, far from it, but they were walking on eggshells —even Sam had noticed it. Cas was particularly cautious about the way he was acting around Dean. After his confession, which they had never talked about since he had came back, he was very attentive to not causing any discomfort.

Little did he know about the inner battle that was currently raging in the eldest Winchester’s mind —battle he had lost many times in the past few days, actually. Hesitation, fear of doing everything wrong, of the unknown, of giving his life a new turn, of experiencing his feelings in a way he never had before… all of this was holding him back. The love thing wasn’t something Dean was comfortable with. Not because he didn’t felt it —he felt it too much actually— but he had never been good at expressing it. He was good at pretending things didn’t affect him, his nonchalance was preserving him. But Cas’ confession had changed everything, had made every single wall he had built around his heart shiver. He had been aware of his feelings for the angel for quite a while now, years even. He had slowly realized that there was nothing brotherly about the way he was feeling about him. Their relationship had always been quite unique.

Every time he had lost him, Dean had known. The deepness of the hurt had been beyond reparable. When he had offered him that mixtape, shortly after he had almost died a few years ago, it had been his way of expressing it, even if he knew the angel wasn’t going to understand the true meaning of such a gift. He knew it was the love language that had made his parents fall in love, and in some kind of way, it had been the language he had chosen to use.

But he was tired of being silent. Tired of not being who he was. Of not following his heart.

He had no reason to hide anymore. He couldn’t pretend Cas didn’t feel the same way. All his life, he had been solely focused on Sam’s happiness, because that was all what mattered. He wished for him to have the perfect life he had always wanted. Who would have guessed that one day, Dean Winchester would start thinking about his own happiness, would believe that he might actually deserve it too. Better days were coming. They were now free, a world of new possibilities was opening to them. Maybe, just maybe, he actually deserved something different than the life made of sacrifices he had always imagined for himself.

It hadn’t taken that long for things to take a new turn. Cas had decided to come to his first hunt as a human, which had immediately activated in Dean his protective mode. The Winchester had tried to stay as chill as he could, but he had stay right beside him, not letting him out of his sight. Once they had been back from their mission, the former angel had complained about it, telling him that he did not want to be a burden for him, which had led to a grumpy answer from the hunter.

When Dean had come to his door that night, to make sure Cas’ wound after their hunt didn’t need more care, their conversation had derailed incredibly fast.

Cas had been shaking his head, not breaking eye contact with the Winchester. “You should stop worrying that much about me, Dean.’’

A beat.

He had then given him an earnest answer. “Can’t. Won’t.’’

They had stayed silent for a moment, staring at each other from opposite sides of the room. Dean had felt his hands become sweaty, his breath racing. He had taken a new step inside the room, had closed the door behind him. He was now standing near the entrance, his eyes fixated on Cas, who was next to his bed. The silence of the room was only troubled by the sound of their respective breath, which added some kind of weight to the moment.

“I’ll never stop worrying about you…’’ Dean said with a new intensity, tilting his head on the side.

He had taken a new step towards the former angel, hesitant. His eyes had been fixated on the floor for a moment, before he had brought them back on him.

“Cas…’’

He had shaken his head, opened his mouth like if he was about to say something, about to speak his own truth, but no words had come. So he had decided to do the only thing he knew how to do: let his actions speak for him.

Once he had reduced the distance between them, Cas’ heartbeat had incredibly increased. He hadn’t dare to hope. Never. But… what if? In the spare of a few seconds, he had gotten his answer. Dean’s face had come really close to his own, his green eyes never breaking the contact with his blue ones. There was so much left unsaid, but right now, he needed to show him how he felt. He had leaned closer to him, closed his eyes and their lips had finally met. Shyly at first, but when they had realized how good it felt, how it was everything they had needed, they had reinforced their embrace. There was no hesitation left. The Winchester’s hands had cupped Cas’ face, while the former angel had wrapped his arms around him. When they had first broke the kiss, their faces remaining close, a silent tear was running through Cas’ cheek.

“I love you too, Cas,’’ Dean finally succeeded to say, like if he was reprising their conversation from weeks before. Tears were flooding his eyes and he was shaking. “We… never talked about it, since you came back. I never got a chance to thank you for… everything. Absolutely everything, Cas. Things went so fast back then. But I want you to know how much I love you. I have for years, actually. Everything you are… and I always miss you, so much. But I never thought… I never thought we could have this. And I’m sorry, so sorry, that it took me so long to say it.’’

Cas’ throat had tightened. He had been physically incapable of saying anything in return. It was all he had ever wanted, but had convinced himself he would never get. He didn’t think he would deserve it. He had taken the initiative of the second kiss, which had started as tenderly as the previous one and led them to explore a physical and emotional intimacy neither of them had known before.

From this day, every piece of the puzzle had started to fall in place. Their life had taken a new turn —but this time, it was one they had chosen.

Present day

Dean had just parked the Impala at a gas station. Once he had turned off the motor, he had rotated his body to face Cas’, who was sitting next to him and was consulting his phone.

“Claire and Kaia are coming by on friday,’’ he said, meeting the Winchester’s eyes.

“It’s her birthday, isn’t it?’’

Cas nodded.

“We should get her something,’’ Dean suggested.

“I’m gonna need your help,’’ the former angel said, a hint of panic on his face.

The Winchester winked at him. “Don’t worry, I got an idea of something she might like. She loves music, right?’’

Cas sighed. “Yes, she… tried to make me listen to some of it, actually. It was… quite an experience.’’

Dean bursted into laugher when he remembered the day he had found Cas listening to The Pretty Reckless.

Since the day he had become human, Cas and Claire had been more in contact than ever. They had talked on the phone and had met each other a couple of times. Claire was still living with Jody and Donna, but along with Kaia, they were now doing things their way. The young blonde was pretty invested into the hunting life, a choice Jody and Cas weren’t sure they were approving. But she wasn’t taking no for an answer and the only thing they could do was let her make her own experience. Everyone could see that Kaia had a good influence on her, though.

“At least, we don’t have that kind of issue with Jack,’’ the Winchester said. “Well, when he comes by,’’ he then muttered to himself.

The former angel agreed. “I understand his questionings way better.’’

“A Nephilim who became our new God and now juggles with multi-dimensions and handles existential kind of stakes… Yeah, makes sense for you,’’ Dean said with tenderness in his voice.

A half smile appeared on the former angel’s lips and he shrugged. “I’m a few millions years old, Dean. I mean, I was.’’

“And you’re really not doing bad,’’ he added, taking his hand in his. “You’re doing a lot of good, actually.’’ Cas tightened his squeeze, intertwined their fingers.

Adjusting to life as a human being had been a whole new challenge, Cas was still processing and learning, even though he wasn’t a stranger to this. But with the help of Dean, Sam and Eileen, he was getting more and more comfortable and used to it. A month and a half after he had returned from the Empty, he had decided to seek for a way to help and be active in this new stage of the world. He had joined social workers in a shelter and had offered his help for the place five times a week for the past months. He had gotten very invested, and Dean had joined him more than once, especially when some supernatural events had collide with the work they were doing there.

“Offering guidance and protection to these kids seemed more appropriate than spending days in bed watching Netflix with you… even though I really enjoy Netflix,’’ he ended with humor in his voice.

Dean raised an eyebrow, midly-offended. “What about being in bed with me?’’

The former angel rolled his eyes, accentuating his grasp on the Winchester’s hand. “Like if you didn’t already know that I enjoy that part.’’

An amused smile appeared on Dean’s lips, before he became serious again, looking at Cas lovingly. “We did a lot of good lately, you and I…’’

They stared silently at each other for a few seconds, lost in each other’s eyes. Cas got closer and leaned into Dean to kiss him slowly. “We did.’’

***

When they arrived at the Bunker, they saw that Eileen and Sam had returned from their night out. They were now comfortably sitting on one of the couches that were in the main room and were both looking at the youngest Winchester’s screen, laughing at what they were watching.

Dean and Cas came down the stairs and walked in their direction.

“So, how was it?’’ the eldest Winchester asked in a skeptical voice, while putting his bag on the table.

“Amazing,’’ Sam said with an emphasis. “I know what to get you for your next birthday.’’

Dean’s face fell. “Sam, if you drag me to one of your ballet things, I’ll never talk to you again, capiche?’’

The youngest Winchester shrugged, side-eyeing the former angel. “Maybe Cas wants to see one.’’

“Ha! Doubt it,’’ Dean said in a pretty confident voice.

“Well…’’ Cas seemed to seriously consider the option. “Why not.’’

“What?’’ Dean said incredulous, looking at his boyfriend with a look of betrayal. “Really?’’

“Life is short,’’ Cas said with a shrug. “There is a lot of different forms of art, I don’t want to limit myself to only a few of them.’’ He smiled and teasingly nudged Dean, who looked disappointed.

“You should consider it,’’ Eileen added, laughing a little. “We made pop-corn, do you want some?’’ she then signed, pointing them the bowl that was on the table. The moment she said it, she realized it had gone empty. “I’m gonna get us some more,’’ she added.

“I’m coming with you,’’ Cas signed.

He put his jacket on one of the chairs and while talking about his and Dean’s last hunt to the young woman, they left the room together. The eldest Winchester and the former angel had taken some sign language classes online, adding that learning to their almost daily practice, allowing the efforts to be split in two during conversations.

Dean watched them leave, looking contemplative for a few seconds, and then came to sit next to his brother, after grabbing one of the beers that was on the table.

“No bad surprises? During your hunt?’’

The eldest Winchester was lost in his thoughts and he took a moment before answering. “Two demons, who came out of nowhere. But we got rid of them pretty easily. They were the ones responsible for the attacks and murders. The ghosts were harmless…’’

“They’re gone too?’’

“Yup, we did what we had to do.’’

“Awesome, I’m gonna put the informations on the app.’’

“Don’t worry about it, Cas did it on our way home,’’ he said while patting his brother’s leg.

“Good. Hey, did you know that the app had now spread in Europe and Australia?’’ Sam said while showing him the screen of his computer. “Charlie took care of everything.’’

Dean smiled proudly. “They would have been stupid not to do it. It’s a genius idea that you had.’’

As soon as they had found their free will again, Sam had spent months thinking about what was going to be his next step. With the exception of his relationship with Eileen, which was the only thing he was pretty much confident about, the possibilities about his future, especially in terms of career, were very uncertain. The life he had in Chuck’s ending was now a fuzzy memory, but it had led him to question his ambition.

After hesitating, he had decided to follow his gut and pursue his will to become a teacher. Law school was his past self’s dream and after years of fighting, he had realized that he wanted to pass on his knowledge and connect with other people. At the same time, he had developed an app with the help of Charlie, that was reuniting hunters in the same virtual place and allowing them to share precious informations about their hunts, the supernatural spots, informations and datas about the creatures they had fought, the places and dates of their hunts. Every case that was solved was signaled as such on the app.

It was a worldwide and virtual version of John Winchester’s journal, that had allowed him to unite thousands of hunters through the world and had facilitated the fight against ghosts, demons and other creatures. Sam had invested a lot of time in the making of the app, which was now the biggest database that ever existed on the subject. Rowena, as the Queen of Hell, had a better control over the demons than it was the case by the past, but many of them were still off her authority.

Watching his little brother be so invested in his new missions had made Dean very proud.

“You’re doing great, Sammy,’’ he said while looking at his brother. “The way you handled this whole thing… you made a difference.’’

He raised his beer in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t know if you realize it, but you’re not doing so bad either,’’ Sam said after a few seconds of silence.

Dean shrugged. “Doing my best.’’

“The bar is practically yours, Dean. There’s only some paperwork left, it’s a done deal.’’

For the past month, the eldest Winchester had started to see his dream of possessing his own bar slowing become a reality. They had found it during one of their hunts in Lebanon, with Cas, Sam and Eileen. It was well located but the place had been haunted for years and the previous owners had much trouble selling it. In exchange for the Team Free Will’s services, they had offered to sell it to Dean at a very interesting price.

“I guess,’’ Dean said with a proud little smile

“And Cas…’’ Sam added gently. “You seem to be doing great together. After all these years… you deserve it.’’ He tried not to push too much, knowing how bashful his big brother could get on this kind of topics.

Dean was looking at his hands, but his face had clearly brightened up. He nodded. “From day one, he changed everything for me.’’

Sam smiled. “Who would have believed it.’’

“All those years ago, I wouldn’t have seen us coming this far.’’

“Clearly, me neither…’’

The youngest Winchester was hesitant for a second, looking nervously in the direction of the framing of the door Eileen and Cas had went through.

“You know… I’m gonna propose to her,’’ he finally said.

Dean’s eyes went wide open, even though he wasn’t exactly surprised, knowing his brother.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now… I’m confident that what we have is what I’ve been looking for my whole life. Everything just… clicks, when I’m with her. I didn’t think it would happen again, after Jess.’’

Dean bowed his head for a second, smiling.

“You’re… you’re not going to cry, right?’’

“What?! Me? NO!’’ Dean replied in a defensive voice. He took a new sip on his beer, trying to hold it together. “I’m just very happy for you, Sammy.’’

He took his little brother in his arms, gently patting him on the back.

“Are you scared?’’ he asked once they ended the hug.

The youngest Winchester sighed. “A little… I mean, I’m not really afraid that she would say no, even if this is a possibility, of course. But, I trust what we have and I know she’s sharing my dream of building our own family.’’

Dean looked confused. “What scares you then?’’

“Well… the last time I thought about marriage, it was with Jessica… and I lost her. In the worst possible way.’’

“Our lives went pretty well since the day we defeated Chuck.’’

“I know, but… a part of me is still afraid that everything is going to be taken away from me, you know? We lost so much since our childhood, I’m just… not yet used to things being so simple. I don’t know if that makes sense?’’ he said, looking at his brother.

Dean slowly nodded, with an understanding look. “It does. I woke up more than once in the middle of the night just to make sure Cas was still lying down next to me…’’

“We had our share of traumas and losses…’’ Sam sighed, taking the beer he had left on the floor. “To a better future,’’ he finally said, raising his bottle for a toast.

“To a better future.’’

THE END

#Destiel #DeanCas #Saileen #Sam x Eileen #Dean x Castiel #Supernatural #SPN 15x20 #SPN fanfictions #Fix-it fics #My fanfictions #To a better future

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superheroesofbothuniverses · 3 years

Text

Kidnapping Number Eleven (Wintershock)

Darcy grumbled and swore as she woke up in yet another dank cell in some unknown baddies’s lair. Working around Avengers and being married to one made her life wonderful, thrilling and…….prone to being kidnapped. She twisted around in the chair she was restrained in and glared at her bare left hand.

“Bitches stole my wedding ring!” she complained. “I will cut them!”

“I’ll join you,” said a similarly grouchy male voice from across the room.

Darcy whipped her head around to see she wasn’t the only prisoner. A man was tied up in similar fashion to her, wrists and ankles cuffed to the chair. His handsome face was bruised and cut, and he looked decidedly disgruntled. She squinted in the dim light and then recognized him.

“Sousa?” She asked. “They nab you too?”

“Yes and yes,” he confirmed. “I thought I had left the kidnappings behind in my field agent days.”

Darcy chuckled.

“Even being supposedly dead doesn’t mean one is exempt from being snatched, apparently,” she sighed. “I was on such a roll. Ten months since the last kidnapping. Guess I’ll have to reset the counter.”

“You have a kidnapping counter?” Daniel asked, with some amusement.

“Yep,” she sighed. “Twenty attempts and eleven successes, counting today. I do PR work with the avengers and that tends to make me a target. Not to mention, I’m married to someone that tends to make evildoers’ lives miserable and short.”

“Sounds familiar,” Daniel admitted. “I sure hope they aren’t being lured into a trap. I have no clue how many people they’ve got stationed here.”

“No worries. My husband’s pretty badass. He can take ‘em, and if he brings his buddies, well, it will be lights out for our captors,” Darcy said confidently, while Daniel fiddled with his leg.

“Are you hurt?” She asked, concerned again.

He shook his head and pulled up a small metal device, which he used to pick the cuffs and free himself.

Darcy’s jaw dropped.

“Smooth, Daniel. I’m only halfway there.”

She’d been working on her own cuffs with the hairpin she’d had hidden away, but it was slower going than usual for her. She was rusty. She made a mental note to ask Natasha to run some practice sessions with her.

“I gotta know, where did you manage to hide a lockpick?” She asked, as they rubbed the circulation back into their limbs. “They searched me pretty thoroughly, except for my shoes.”

In answer, Daniel pulled up his pant leg, exposing a prosthetic limb, which had a tiny compartment built in. He smirked and shut it again.

“Nice!” Darcy admired. “Tony’s work?”

“Jemma Simmons, actually,” Daniel said. “Though it would be something a Stark would do as well.”

“Bucky will be jealous,” she joked. “Don’t think he’s got any cool compartments in his metal arm.”

“He could also break down this door with that metal arm in a heartbeat, though.” Daniel said, eying the very thick cell door that so far was impervious to their attempts to pick the lock.

Darcy shrugged. “Yeah, most likely. I’m not hearing much from outside right now. Where are all the thugs and mad scientists?”

There was no window in the door, so all they could do was sit and wait and hope rescue came before their captors came back.

“You’re with Quake, right? What’s that like?” Darcy asked to make conversation.

Daniel’s eyes grew soft and warm, and she could tell she’d picked a good topic.

“It’s wonderful,” he said fondly. “She’s so incredibly smart and funny, and strong and loving. After all the stuff life has thrown at her, she still has such a huge heart. I think I was smitten from the first day I met her posing as a CIA agent.”

“Awwe,” Darcy cooed, heart melting at how massive his heart eyes were as he talked about Daisy. She’d only met Quake a few times, but she could totally understand how Daniel could have fallen for her right off the bat.

“What about you? What special someone will be bursting through here to carry you to safety?” Daniel asked her, a knowing sparkle in his friendly brown eyes.

Darcy chuckled.

“That would be one Bucky Barnes, badass extraordinaire and the world’s most adorable cinnamon roll of a husband.”

Daniel looked confused.

“Cinnamon roll? Is that some modern slang term? I’m not familiar with it.”

“Yes,” Darcy said, thinking back to how much Daniel reminded her of Steve with his general confusion about modern day idioms. “It means he’s got a sweet, gooey personality underneath all those layers. Despite everything the War and Hydra did to him, he’s still got that irresistible charm and gentlemanliness that seems to be a thing with the men of your era. I bet Daisy appreciates that too.”

“I think so,” Daniel acknowledged. “She does call me a square a lot, though.”

He gave an adorable sheepish grin that Darcy guessed meant the term square had become one of endearment.

She heard gunshots and banging noises and quickly hit the deck, self preservation instincts kicking in. Daniel was crouched down, too, listening intently.

About three minutes later, the door was violently opened and three figures appeared: one of which was obviously Captain America, the second a tall brunette woman she quickly recognized as Daisy Johnson, aka Quake, and the third was a very ferocious looking Bucky Barnes, gun aimed and ready.

“We’re alright!” Darcy declared before he could get himself more worked up, but he carefully checked her over anyway, needing to see for himself.

“I see you’ve picked the cuffs already. That’s my girl,” Bucky said with a proud grin, pulling her into a relieved hug.

“They took my rings,” she said with a pout against his chest. “Did you leave me anybody to yell at?”

“A couple. I’ll ask Barton to search them.” Bucky told her.

“Everything okay, Johnson?” He asked, nodding to Quake, who was tenderly wiping the blood off of Daniel’s face.

“Yeah,” she said absently. “Doesn’t look like more than some surface wounds. I don’t know what these idiots were trying to prove except how dumb they were in their terrible planning and execution.”

Steve, seeing that things were under control and he wouldn’t be needed to carry an unconscious body, shared a look with Bucky, and left the room again.

“So it wasn’t Hydra?” Daniel asked.

“Doesn’t look that way,” Bucky replied. “Looks like a wannabe who was tryin’ to impress someone. The guys we’ve caught are already squealing like stuck pigs.

“Did you make your scary murder face at them?” She asked. “I bet they peed their pants.”

Bucky chuckled. “Didn’t have to. Steve and Nat beat me to it. Besides, I have Resting Murder Face as you so frequently remind me, doll.”

“Yup. And it’s an awfully cute murder face, too,” she told him fondly. They gazed at each other for a second and then heard a sigh behind them.

“If you’re done with the flirting, could we please get out of here? I have a hot date I need to get to.”

Darcy pretended to roll her eyes.

“Oh, fine, Quake. I guess I can jump my hot husband a little later.”

She heard Daniel make a choked sound even as Bucky cracked up.

“No filter Darcy is the best Darcy,” he whispered.

“And don’t you forget it,” she ordered, winking at him.

The four of them met Steve, Clint, Nat and Sam in another room, where ten restrained men were sitting or lying, depending on their state of consciousness. Darcy recognized the thugs that had taken her and upon pointing them out to Bucky, watched in glee as he menaced them until they begged for mercy and gave up their boss. Clint, who had been searching them, found Darcy’s jewelry and she gave a huge sigh of relief as she put her rings back on.

“Better now, doll?” He asked her.

“Much,” she told him, admiring the way the Ruby and diamonds sparkled on her hand. Bucky’s proposal had been incredibly romantic and she would never ever forget the way her heart had throbbed when he’d gone down on one knee in front of her and looked at her so lovingly as he’d asked her to marry him.

After all the prisoners were rounded up and loaded on the quintet, Darcy took a seat beside Bucky and snuggled up against him as best she could.

“Thanks, babe,” she whispered. “You’re awesome.”

“You are, Darcy,” he told her. “You could have run FAR and fast from the Avengers chaos, but you stuck around and I’m very grateful.”

“Despite the Chaos and kidnappings aside, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. We’re worth it, Bucky,” she told him, squeezing his hand with hers.

#wintershock #dousy #my Fic #Darcy Lewis #Daniel Sousa #daisy johnson #bucky barnes

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horrorslashergirl · 4 years

Text

The Hacker: Real or Not?

I decided to talk a little about my Slasher OC: The Hacker also known by his other pseudonims: Erron, Cyber Killer, ERROR 666.

The first question about any slasher is: What makes him scary?

Despite the fact that I’ve created supranatural characters like Dave Anthony and Samuel Grayson, my favorite type of scary is the one that gives you the impression that everything is real or it can be real at some point.

I think what’s really scary about the Hacker is that as his name states, he can be real. Hackers are as real as you, me and everyone who reads this. What’s not scary about a stranger than invades your privacy, because that’s what he does; stalks, gains all information about you, name, age, your location, even hack into your webcam (one of the many reasons for why I cover mine, after all Mark Zuckerberg does it, so why not us too?). Nowadays, it’s pretty easy to hack on someones phone, PC etc. with all the information on the internet (and the deep web).

Violation of privacy is the most disturbing thing ever, because we all have our secrets and the Hacker uses these secrets to get what he wants; no wonder he knows where you’ve been yesterday at 4:25 pm.

Why the internet and the virtual world?

In the 80s, most slashers were put into locations like small towns and camps (the real world), because back in those times the internet was still under constructions, and not everyone could afford computers, let alone the fact that smartphones were just a dream, but now?

We are literally living our lives on the internet. I have to ask you: How much time do you spend on the internet? Much more than in the real world, that I assure you. The internet, a perfect place to buy whatever you want, be whoever you want and of course, HUNT. That’s what the Hacker does, he is an online predator and if you take everything for granted, you might fall into his trap.

Just an urban legend?

If you are fascinated by hackers, you might known about the deep web or better say the dark web. I read a lot of forums about what really is there (not everything evil, but there are some sick shit out there) and I even surfed the deep web myself (for informational purpose only).

I took my time and wrote down below some basic ‘distubing’ stuff that there is in the dark corners of the internet.

Warning: Gore, Death, Disturbing themes. BEWARE.

I’m gonna be short on this and say that you can find inside anything you could possibly think of down from full markets that sell illegal weapons and drugs to even humans. Traffiking isn’t something unknown nowadays and dark web has plenty of it; think about it like an Amazon of Deep Web. EVERYTHING.

Going back to my character, the Hacker who sells his skills into hacking for a fat load of money, that’s what you can find on deep web: Need a Hacker to break into someones PC company or just simply your lovers phone? Hire a Hacker, there are plenty of it.

Ever seen movies with Hitmen? That’s another thing you can hire on the darkweb. Need someone to be killed or evaporated from earth? With a price of measure you can have it done, while you’re sitting with your friends eating lunch.

Illegal porn. That’s pretty basic on the deepweb, because that shit is fucked up and the visible internet will bane it imidiatley. I don’t want to go into details, because it’s a sensitive subject, but...There have been real cases where the fantasies became real. A very much real and sick to the core shit was Daisy’s Destruction. If you want more information just simply search it, but I warn you, it’s very disturbing. Other associations with gore were Violent Desires, Hurt2TheCore and No Limits Fun.

RedRoom’s.....Probably the most sickest things ever; most say it’s just urban legend, but....are we really sure?

What is a RedRoom on the Dark Web?

I’m gonna talk about it more, because that’s what my character, the Hacker, does.

Red room is the website where viewer is shown video on his demand. It generally contains explicit harassment and torture of subject by some person of evil intention. First intended viewer will send the email id to website owner. Then website owner will send them the link to pay the charges. User will pay the money and in return will get the access to enter into website. User will use that password and live cam show will be shown to the viewer where some person whose face is hidden behind the mask will show the subjects. The user will demand some action to be done with subjects and that action can be torture, cutting body parts, even torture to death. The higher the torture more the money demanded. Pretty terrifying, huh?

Now, I never tried to figure out if they are real or not, because in order to be a spectator, you have to pay up (0.1 BTC which means 925,85 euro at this very moment). Plus, it’s pretty dangerous and like other people advised; DO NOT ENTER A RED ROOM.

So, yes, the Hacker does what I stated up.

The UNKNOWN

This is a part with two cuts, one which is that us humans are fascinated by the unknown and curious, then the other part, the FEAR. We are afraid by the unknown by nature.

Remember in our childhood that we were afraid to go into the water because we didn’t know how to swim or because we didn’t know what’s deep in there?

What’s not frightening about a stranger with a creepy mask? I do say so myself that I would be scared, especially because you cannot predict what he will do. The Hacker is a very unpredictable character.

That’s one of the reasons I didn’t gave him a certain background story or a specific identity. The UNKNOWN, he can be anyone; your neighbour, the guy that’s working in the electronic shop, a guy you just passed down the streets to work? Endless possibilities.

Now the question is: Is it worth to make a horror movie with him? There are so little horror movies that include the virtual world. I will leave this question out to you to answer. Why make a movie with the Hacker? Is it gonna have an audience boost? Will he become a horror icon? So many questions...

I do hope you enjoyed ready this small article of my Slasher OC.

Oh...And remember...He is always watching you.

#the Hacker #cyber killer #erron #ERROR 666 #slasher oc #original character #This is what I wrote after midnight #I shouldn't watch deep web videos at night

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caramelslate · 4 years

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Two updates in a day after being inactive? Shocking, I know.

Day 2 of Moms Made Fullmetal Week 2020.

Prompt: Growth or School or First Steps

AO3 link here.

Enjoy reading!

The train station is full of people this Thursday noon. It was stupid to think that the station would be emptier because it is in the middle of the day on a Thursday but Chris completely forgot about the launch of two new steam trains in Central Station. The entire platform is filled with people, both here for the launch and traveling to God knows where.

“I told you we should’ve left earlier, hurry up, you slowpoke. Don’t let your tardiness be the reason your alchemy teacher sends you back here next week.” She wasn’t supposed to be the one to send him off, but Annika had a family emergency and the rest of the girls are on their day jobs and day-offs and Chris couldn’t bear to disturb them on their rest day. Chris turned to her nephew, Roy, who was stretching on his tiptoes to look over the mass of people and she noticed that his pant leg is now a bit short. The boy hit another growth spurt. That’s twice in a week. He’ll get even taller and soon be taller than her.

“Well, it wasn’t my fault that the train ticket was moved from the shelf I was keeping it in,” Roy grumbles about how people should just leave his stuff where it is because that’s exactly where he’s going to look for it. But living with women who like to fuss over him and clean after him, that would be impossible.

“Those are train tickets. It’ll be even worse if you lost it by leaving it everywhere, you know. Besides, it wasn’t even about the tickets. Who was it that was so excited about leaving, he couldn’t sleep and took a tiny nap in the bathroom that lasted two hours? Everyone thought you were already in your room getting ready already.” Chris rolled her eyes. Her nephew had the ability to sleep in the oddest places like a cat.

Chris remembered how two members of the military police entered her small bar seven years ago bearing the news that her brother and his wife perished in a car accident and her three-year-old nephew was hurt but is alive and resting in the nearest hospital. She kept up a correspondence with her brother who decided to live in the country in a small family house with his wife and son. Chris would often open his letters and would find several photos of him and his family, his new radiant wife and baby boy standing in front of a white porch, looking positively happy.

She planned to visit but instead of using the money for train tickets, she had been saving up to purchase the bar in which she was working as a bartender for years. The owner is planning to retire and had promised her that once she got the payment and the bar is hers. A year later, she sent her brother a photo of her grinning behind the bar with a little sign that says, “Mustang’s”.

Chris only saw her nephew in photos and he only saw her photos. And as the last remaining relative, she was given the choice to take in the child, or else he would be entered into the orphanage. Without hesitation, she took in Roy.

Looking at her nephew now, it was very different when she saw him standing behind her bedroom door, tousled black hair and tear-filled dark eyes, clutching a tiny bear and asking if she could “shoo the monsters in his room” because his father used to do that when he’s scared. The poor boy is missing his parents. Chris caved in that night and asked if he’d like to sleep in hers now because monsters are afraid of her and wouldn’t bother him if he slept here. She woke up that morning with drool on her arm and a four-year-old boy snuggled against her side.

Chris made a mental note to send one of the girls to go and buy more clothes for Roy because given the rate that he’s growing, he’s going to need more.

A train whistle interrupted her as Roy took her wrist and dragged her over to the waiting area, his beat-up brown luggage hitting several people in the shins. Chris quietly apologized to them and let her nephew drag her to a bench. The train Roy needs to take is arriving in 10 minutes and she couldn’t help but notice that Roy gets more fidgety as the clock slowly crawls overhead. He smooths back his hair, picks lint off his trousers and fixes his collar in an effort to contain his nerves

Roy glances at the clock, his eyes widen and he mutters, “Eight minutes.” before his knee goes bouncing up and down again, clearly agitated.

Chris sighs and patted the young boy’s knee. “You’ll do fine. Don’t worry about it. He’s not going to eat you.”

She found out about this Hawkeye person from one of the girls who learned from an officer that this man was a very talented alchemist who refuses to join their ranks due to some unknown reason. Apparently he has taken in some students for a fee, so Chris wrote him a letter to ask him and in a week, she received his approval and she was told to send her nephew the next month.

“What if he’s scary? What if he thinks I’m just a city boy who just wanted to experience country life to look cool for my friends?” Roy rambles.

She chuckled under her breath. “So? You prove him wrong. You show him you deserve to learn. Make him see that you’re worth his time. I told you before right? Who cares what other people think?” Chris turned to him. “People take things at a face value, they are quick to judge. Use that. Surprise him and show him what you’re capable of.” Chris stared at the face very much like her brother’s, that same gleam in their eyes. Like him, Roy is very persistent. So persistent to the point of annoyance.

His knee stops bouncing, a small smile slips into his face with a hint of mischief. “You think so?”

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I know so. You’re like someone I knew. He wanted to travel the world, to see things he’s never seen before.” Chris leans back as the memory takes her again.

“That’s my father, right?” the boy asks, the same small smile on his face. Chris nodded, “We came from a poor family. My parents worked hard but not enough. I decided against college and went to work in a small store in town. But my brother was smart enough to go to college. They said he couldn’t do it and have been waiting for his return to town after the ‘tragic college attempt’. Wouldn’t you know, he became involved with the peace treaties in Xing and they were invited there for possible negotiation.” Chris beamed with pride as she remembered the shock of the town that the would-be-college reject was now one of the ambassadors of Amestris to Xing.

Roy hummed. “That’s where he met my mom, right?”

Once again, she nodded. Her brother had everything. The house, the career, and a family. Until it was all gone in a flash.

Chris cleared her throat. “My point is, if he turns out to be judgmental, let him. Sometimes, being underestimated is a good thing.” She flashed him a wink, and Roy laughed out loud.

His laugh was cut short by a train whistle, as emerging from the smoke, Roy’s train arrives. It slowly crawls to a stop and slowly opens its doors and the bustle of people get on.

Both of them rose up and walked towards the doors. “Now remember, it’s the country. People are not going to do stuff for you. You have to pull your own weight, okay. You have to wake up at dawn, don’t let them even wake you up. Help around the house and show them that you are raised in a house that expects cleanliness. For God’s sake, don’t leave your stuff everywhere.”

“Aunt Chris, I’m going to be fine,” Roy reassures her. “I’m going to leave all my horrible traits here. Once they let me live there, they’ll be so impressed, they won’t let me leave. I mean I’m awesome, who can resist me?”

“Brat.” Chris reaches out and ruffles the boy’s hair while he tries to swat her hands away. “You write, okay? The girls will be sad if we don’t hear from you in a month. If you don’t I’m personally coming down there to whoop your butt.”

Roy smiles at her. “Take care, Aunt Chris. I’ll see you soon.” Chris just smiles in return as Roy turns away and disappears into the train.

She stays on the platform to watch the train go. A week later Roy sends his first letter, filled with how his alchemy lessons are (she honestly glossed over those as it was filled with a lot of scientific terms, she can barely keep up). He went on about his alchemy master, who is incredibly smart but is somewhat a recluse so he leaves him alone after lessons. Chris breathes a sigh of relief when Roy tells of another child, the master’s daughter, Riza, and how she taught him how to plant tomatoes in the yard and various chores around the house. So he isn’t exactly alone there.

Until now, years later, Christmas still keeps that letter and all the letters from Roy in a box under her bed, along with her brother’s old things.

#moms-made-fullmetal-2020 #fic #Day 2 #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma #fmab #chris mustang #roy mustang

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forever-more-never-again · 5 years

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A Different Kind of Family

Requested: Anonymous

Word Count: 1737

Warnings: None

Pairing: None

Request: How about a avengers x cast reader where u have to go through the audition process similar to Tom Holland’s and u maybe have a screen test where there’s a portion of the script where it’s either in a different language or you have to do a trick (like Holland lol..) and the Russo’s and stuff are there and u get the part and maybe some first day on set fluff. Maybe a friendly athletic competition between the reader and some of the male cast members and the reader (female) wins... <3

Masterlist

“Sorry!” You yelled back at the woman you had almost tripped, not breaking from your run.

You were so late. So, so late. Your alarm clock had not gone off this morning and you scrambled. You couldn’t miss this audition. Not after your agent had worked so hard to get it for you.

Knowing how much you loved the Marvel Universe.

The doors practically came off their hinges as you burst into the office.

“I’m here!” You panted, leaning over, your hands on your knees as you caught your breath.

“[Y/n] [L/n], I presume?” A scornful woman's voice reached your ears.

Feeling heat in your cheeks, you looked up at the receptionist and saw the dislike on her face.

Dredging up your courage, you walked up to the desk, “Yes. I apologize for being late. Is there any chance that the Directors could see my audition today?”

The woman sighed as if you had asked for the moon, but clicked on her computer before picking up her phone and waiting. Holding up a perfectly manicured nail at you, she pursed her lips.

“Yes. Your Ten o’clock is here at Noon. Do you still wish to-” She was cut off abruptly by whoever was on the other line.

Grimacing, she listened. Her eyebrows pinching together in anger and frustration.

“But sir...Yes. Okay.” Hanging up, she faced you, “Room 213. They’re waiting for you.”

You smiled, not letting her get under your skin, “Thank you.”

Walking down the hallways, you reviewed the script in your head. You had poured over it the past few days until you had it memorized.

Room 213. You knocked politely before clicking the handle and opening the door.

“Hello? I’m [Y/n] [L/n]..is this-?”

Three men turned at your entrance.

“[Y/n]! Thanks for joining us! Your agent only told us great things. Why don’t you get situated up by the screen and we’ll do a quick read-through before we move to the stunts?”

You nodded along to the words, but your attention was on the third man. Chris Evans was standing in front of you, smiling, in a stretched grey t shirt.

“Hello. [Y/n], right?” Chris stretched a hand out towards you.

You shook yourself out of your stupid and reminded yourself to act professionally. Shaking his hand you nodded, “Yup. You’ll be reading with me?”

His laugh was so pure.

“Yeah, Joe and Anthony asked me here today.” He looked over at the two middle aged men sitting behind the table.

“Well...let’s get started. Since I was late. I’m sorry for that…” You bowed your head slightly at the men.

Joe laughed you off, “Nonsense. From what we’ve seen of you onstage and what your agent told us, I think it will be worth the wait. Why don’t you take it from page 16?”

You filed through the pages in your mind until you found the scene he was talking about.

Mulling it over, you nodded and got into position across from Chris Evans.

Captain America:(Looking sternly around the room) Hydra has gone too far this time. Using children as a shield so that we can’t openly attack.

[Character]:(maintain eye contact) I thought I knew what they would do next...It’s my fault we failed the mission.

Captain America:(Walk over, place hand on shoulder) We don’t place blame. You told us what you knew. And it did help.

[Character] walks away, muttering

[Character]: Ich dachte, wir hätten es diesmal (I thought we had them this time)

“Alright, we’ll stop there!” Anthony called out.

You squinted, sure that you had messed up on the translation. You had practiced the German words, but they still felt odd and tough coming out of your mouth.

“Chris!” Joe called the actor over with a wave of his hand and the three men huddled up.

You shifted your weight, wondering if you were done, if you were supposed to leave, or what.

When you decided to leave, and reached the door, the three men broke apart and scanned the room.

“[Y/n]!” Chris was smiling.

You paused, turning back to them. “Thank you for the opportunity to Audition.” You bowed your head again.

“[Y/n].” You raised your head as Joe said your name. He was smiling as well. He shared a look with Anthony before looking at you again, “Welcome to the Marvel Universe.”

It took a moment for his words to register. You bounced, your excitement threatening to break through, “Wait! You mean?”

Chris came over and wrapped his arms around you in a hug, “Welcome to the cast! You got the part!”

Two months later, you were walking onto the set for the first time. Your eyes wide and your whole body practically vibrating with anticipation.

You thanked all that was right in the world that your alarm clock had actually gone off. It wouldn’t do to be late to auditions and the first day on set.

“Hey! You must be [Y/n]! Chris told us about your audition!” A man you recognized from the movies and news walked around cameras to you, a broad smile on his face.

“Hi! Yes, you must be Sebastian.”

The man laughed loudly, “Please, call me Seb! So..you’re going to be playing my Hydra counterpart. You ready?”

You bounced, “Yes! I’m so excited! This is a dream come true!”

“I’ve heard that before.” Another man walked up.

Sebastian pounded his back, causing the man to stumble, “Awe, Come on Anthony, be a little more happy for the new cast mate.”

Anthony smirked at you, “Welcome to hell. Enjoy your stay.”

You couldn’t help the giggle.

“Are you boys trying to taint the newbie already?” Scarlett Johansson walked up to the group, dressed in her black widow outfit.

“Oh my gosh...Scarlett! I’m a big fan!” You held out your hand, shaking the laughing woman’s hand.

“So young and energetic.”

“I see you all met [Y/n].”

You whirled around, “Hi Chris!”

Chris Evans walked over with the rest of the cast with him.

“Everyone, meet [Y/n]. [Y/n] meet...everyone.”

The next few minutes was chaos as people introduced themselves and asked you a million questions.

Your smile was going to break your face if you weren’t careful.

“Alright. Let’s put you to the test.”

You turned with a confused look at Sebastian and Anthony, both were wearing a scary looking smirk.

You hesitated, “A test?”

Seb nodded sagely, “To prove that you belong in the Marvel Universe.”

Now you were more confused, “But..I already got the part…?”

Tom Holland put an arm over your shoulders, glaring playfully at the two grown men, “Don’t fight it, [Y/n]. It’s just them pranking you. You’ll get used to it.”

You nodded. “Alright.”

Anthony paced before you, “I challenge you to beat Chris Evans in a coffee race.”

“A coffee race?”

Chris piped up, smiling, chuckling, “Why me?”

Sebastian ignored him as he took over Anthony, “You two will race to get a specific order that me and Anthony will text to you as soon as you leave here. First to return with the correct order, wins.”

You laughed, “This is just your way of getting free coffee...isn't it?”

Tom Holland laughed beside you, “My first time on set, they had me run and buy a carrot cake. This is most definitely them trying to get free coffee.”

You thought it over, then shrugged. Turning to Chris, you outstretched your arm for a handshake, “May the best cast member win.”

Chris shook your head, flexing his muscles a little to show off, “Oh, you’re on.”

Soon bets were being placed, money exchanging hands.

Anthony and Sebastian pulled out their phones.

Anthony yelled out, “Ready! Set! Go!”

You took off with a laugh. Racing out. You knew the perfect coffee shop. It was a block away, you had scooped it out earlier that week.

Chris ran in a different direction, but you couldn’t focus on where he was going.

Your phone dinged with an incoming message and you read the text.

[Unknown] 9:58am: Your order is a Caramel Macchiato, Venti, Skim, Extra Shot, Extra-Hot, Extra-Whip, Sugar-Free. Good luck :)

You smirked.

Bursting into the cafe. You startled the barista. A young teen.

Running to the counter, you laughed, “Sorry! I’m in a race and I have to order this.” You showed the kid your text message.

He got a knowling gleam in his eye and smiled at you. “Well let’s make sure you win then. Stacy! Veronica! Get up here and help!” He yelled to the backroom.

Two young women walked out and once you explained to them what was going on, they were full of laughter and rushing around the machines to get your drink done.

Only ten minutes had gone by when your drink was presented to you, two paper cups to prevent you from burning yourself.

“Thanks! I’ll tell you guys how it goes if I see you later!” You yell back as you run out of the cafe.

Breathing hard, you burst back onto set, hand holding the coffee outstretched. “Got it!”

Everyone had been standing around talking. They froze and turned to you, shocked, “How did you get back so fast? Did you drive?” Anthony asked, suspiciously.

You shook your head, right as the door banged open behind you and a sweaty Chris Evans ran in, covered in spilled coffee.

“[Y/n]?” He asked, surprised to see you there already.

You muffled a giggle, “What happened to you?” A giggle slipped out.

Chris sighed, “I spilt the first cup, so I had to run back and reorder it.”

Sebastian walked forward, taking the cup from you, “Which Cafe did you go to?”

You waved in the general direction, “The one on the street a block over. It’s pretty small. I nearly missed it when I was exploring earlier this week.”

Everyone shared confused looks, “There’s a cafe that close and you guys never realized it?” You asked, realization dawning on you.

You started laughing, and soon everyone else joined in.

“Well. Thanks [Y/n]. You won me fifty bucks!” Tom Holland patted your back as he headed towards the set.

“Alright guys! We’re ready for you!” Anthony and Joe Russo yelled.

“Welcome to the Marvel Universe, kid. It’s a different kind of family...but it’s a good one.” Chris smiled at you.

FOREVER Taglist:(Strike through means I couldn’t tag you)

@sxph-t @mialeelavellan @rainydaysrnevergrey @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @ayyidkeither @mcuimxgine @mythixmagic @chas-z @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger

Avengers Taglist:

@jadepc

#Avengers #Avengers Cast #avengers cast x reader #avengers tower #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #Sebastian Stan #anthony mackie #tom holland #imagine #imagines request #reader insert #tag list #please give credit #please give feedback #rose writes

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mugen-monogatari · 5 years

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Kabukimonogatari - Mayoi Mishap; Time Travel Done Right

Let’s talk about time travel. From superhero movies to crime thrillers, across all forms of media, anime to live action, everyone wants to give their take on time travel. From the critically acclaimed shows, such as Doctor Who, to more unique takes on the format in shows like Re:Zero, it has begun to feel like an overused Deus Ex Machina (In my opinion Kiddos, don’t shred me please). Which is fine- Some people really like that, some shows and movies play really well off the idea of being able to alter past events, which is understandably something people really really love.

However- Not me. So imagine my surprise when Monogatari threw their two-cents in, providing another take on the plot device. Except this- This was different, this was time travel that didn’t take itself too seriously, yet used this to deliver a serious plot with heartfelt emotions. Something that hadn’t really come across to me in other form of media, having watched plenty of movies and shows that contrive themselves with all these serious rules they shove down your throat, before painfully breaking each of their own rules. Monogatari is the sort of show you expect dumb stuff from, silly shenanigans, so when the established rules are broken, you’re not left gazing at the screen pondering everything saying; “But- Wait…. What?”

That’s why Kabuki ended up blowing me away with two of the most powerful scenes in the series. Scenes only possible with the time travel element. The following is a discussion based around Mayoi Hachikuji and her role in Kabukimonogatari. From this point onward, I’ll be discussing spoilers for everything up to episode 39 of the entire Monogatari series (Episode 4 of Bakemonogatari season 2/Episode 9 of Monogatari Second Season). So if you haven’t watched the arc- I recommend turning back now.

Little side note kiddos, this is all my opinion, I don’t think this is fact, it’s just how I interpret the series and my thoughts on it. I hope maybe my personal insights can give you guys something to think about yourselves.

Just so we’re clear, the images used are just screenshots from the anime, with the exception of this one above, I’ve only edited them, they’re not my original art work. If you like the edits though, feel free to use them.

One of the main plots of this arc, arguably the main plot, is saving Mayoi Hachikuji. A brief recap since many of you probably haven’t watched in a while; Shinobu and Koyomi accidently travel to the past 11 years to the time of Mayoi’s death. Koyomi realises he has an opportunity to save Mayoi, choosing to do so, allowing her to return to her mother. However, upon returning to the future, we discover, Shinobu, who never returned to Koyomi in this reality, ended up going insane and bringing an end to the world.

Towards the end of the arc, we find (much to our relief) that Hachikuji ends up being one of the survivors of the apocalypse. A pretty touching moment, when Koyomi finally lays eyes on the girl that he had saved in her past- A bittersweet moment considering he allowed her to live, at the expense of bringing an end to her world. For those of you who have read it, this is pretty similar to the egg and birdcage analogy from Tokyo Ghoul- Which I’ll touch on later.

The first thing I noticed about all of this- is the parallels. Mayoi Hachikuji is a constant in Monogatari. Even during the arcs where she doesn’t appear or play a major role, she still exists in this world, as a spirit, as an undead. She is persistent in her existence. This is shown at the end of the arc, where Koyomi finally confronts her about her death, and asks if she would have been happy alive, to which she responds she is indifferent towards it, dying was an unhappy thing, but it is what it is. To Mayoi, she’s happy with existence, with being able to experience things, be it alive or dead, that’s why she remarks that she was happy to have a chance to meet Koyomi, even if dying was an unhappy thing.

This ‘existence at all costs’ mentality is then reflected into the adult Mayoi, who lives, even if the world around her goes to the dogs. She survives so long, because to her, it’s not about how you use your time, just the matter that you have time. A world in an apocalypse is a bleak one, and yet she survives. While the world as a ghost is a lonely one. You are permanent, forced to continue existing, even when those around her are no more. See the parallel? One chooses to live in an awful world, while the other is forced to in a pretty okay by most standards world.��

No matter what though, she cherishes her time, even when it’s lonely or scary, whether dead or alive, one thing is constant; Hachikuji. And that’s strangely profound to me. This idea of cherishing time is then carried over to the second part of this scene I loved. When Koyomi finally gets to see the fruits of his labor. The girl he saved. His friend, someone he cherishes deeply. But all he can do, tragically, is just walk away.

And that- That just struck me so hard. It was Monogatari saying; “No. Time travel isn’t a ‘get-out-of-jail-free card, it’s not some plot device that fixes everything. You mess with the past and your future, is no longer yours.” This is one of my favorite, absolute best scenes from any time travel series ever. This was tragedy done right. This was Mwah- Spicy stuff.

Koyomi leaves because that’s not his Hachikuji. The girl before him is a Hachikuji, but not the one he knows, that one he ‘loves’, that we as an audience love. By saving Hachikuji, the one from his reality- never came to be. That’s why he leaves. He says nothing really, pretending to not know her, just regretfully gazing upon her, realizing how lonely and scared she must’ve been as a result of his actions.

Koyomi remarks upon returning to his reality, that the Hachikuji we all know and love, is a result of his interactions with her over the course of the series. We have the power to shape those around us, we influence people every day, we change how they act, speak, the way the look at things or feel about something. That is how the personality of our Hachikuji was born. But by saving her, Koyomi in this reality, would have never met her. They would’ve never interacted. Instead, they would live Blissfully unaware lives, maybe meeting in passing, but never having really interacted.

This adult Hachikuji may sound the same, look the same, even act the same, but it’s not the same one from our reality. She doesn’t hold the same experiences and memories, making her a different person. Koyomi realizes this, knowing that there was nothing he could really do, having to just suck it up and move on.

That’s kind of what is really beautiful about this whole arc. He saves a girl, he gives someone a chance at life, but it’s not who he thought it was, it’s not ‘his’ girl, it’s not ‘his’ world. Ultimately what is the cost of one girl’s life, and if that cost is too high, are you just making that life worse for her? These are the sort of questions and ideas the series forces our main character to realize and contemplate.

The idea of worth and exchange moves back to the idea of the egg and the birdcage. If Hachikuji is the bird, the egg is her world, and the birdcage is reality. Within the egg, there is comfort, there safety and bliss. However, for the bird to live, it must break free from the egg, destroy it’s own world, escape from comfort and bliss into the unknown, only to realize- that unknown is limited. It’s not freedom that awaits the bird, it’s both knowledge of what is outside it’s world, but the lie of happiness or freedom. In our case, the Adult Hachikuji broke free from the egg, She destroyed her world, ruined the reality where she dies and returns as a spirit, instead choosing to live a limited life as a human in a world that isn’t much better than the confines of the egg. Adult Hachikuji was given a false freedom by Koyomi. He destroyed her world, almost literally, and forced her into a reality which isn’t that much better than the other choice, the birdcage. There’s this idea of potential, this idea that she could live a life but at the expense of being released into an awful world.

The opposite is true for our Mayoi. Our Maoyi never left the egg, never deviated from her set path, being killed, returning as a spirit. But as a result, she lives a safer and more comfortable life, having both friends and people to stay with, people that will take care of her, never having to deviate into a harsh reality, at the expense of not having the chance at even slight freedom and life that Adult Mayoi received.

In both cases the metaphor is just that, but both a metaphor and almost literal. The creature in the egg and the one that breaks free are the same creature, but different at the same time due to having different experiences, neither is the correct or wrong one, both just exist. I think to me that’s what Mayoi’s arc is about. Just existing. It’s not about what path you take, it’s not about what option was right or wrong, it’s not about maximizing your time and using it efficiently.

To me, this entire arc was profound. Hachikuji to me embodied the idea that it’s not about how you necessarily use your time, but just the idea that you should appreciate the simple fact that you have time. That’s why I’ll never forget this one scene and how much meaning it had, how much weight it had, about coming to terms with one’s actions and consequences, and realizing that right and wrong don’t matter, as long as you do something with the time you’re given.

And that’s where the first scene ends. However has gone on long enough, so I’ve decided to split this into two separate parts, one for Shinobu’s scene and this. If you enjoyed reading or want to share your opinions, feel free to comment or message me, I always love hearing what other people think. All the support is appreciated, and if you made it this far, well then- Like go outside, why did you spend so much time reading the ramblings of a mad man?

#monogatari #bakemonotagari #hachikuji mayoi #araragi koyomi #shinobu #anime #theory #light novel #discussion

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stellardeer · 3 years

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been watching "You" lately because my roommate put it on, and I had avoided it previously because I'd heard some negative things about it from people on here (it's told from the perspective of a man stalking a woman in the beginning which made me uncomfortable at first but i kept watching anyway and got sucked in), I wouldn't recommend it to teenagers but the writing is really compelling and it's really good if you like shows that make you go 'WHAT is gonna happen next??'

(more opinion/possible spoilers under cut)

(cw: stalking, killing, [unrelated to show] sexual assault mention) The reason I say that it's not for teenagers is because the show does kind of normalize the stalking/murdering to a degree, to an extent that might put wrong ideas into the heads of younger people who are still learning and developing. And I use the word "normalize" instead of "romanticize" or "glorify" because the show does repeatedly remind you that none of the main character's actions are okay, the response from all of the other characters is negative, none of the characters are going "aww it's okay what you did because you did it for love :)", which I believe is where the line is crossed when writers intend to make a negative behavior seem good. When I say "normalize", I mean that they're giving his perspective on his actions through his inner monologue, and his attempts to explain everything away and make it rational definitely give off the idea of like "People who do bad things are damaged too and not necessarily the monsters we think they are" and maybe even a little bit of "what if i stalk and kill people as a coping mechanism?? :(" And that's maybe not an idea that we want to be putting into the heads of young, impressionable people. Not saying that adults can't be affected too, but I think that it's less likely to change the mind of an adult, unless someone already thinks that way in which case they might just feel validated.

THAT BEING SAID THOUGH, I'm recommending this show because I think the storytelling and directing is phenomenal from a purely technical standpoint, disregarding the content. If you like shows with crime/mystery or just any story that leaves you wanting more, then it's a good show for those reasons. I don't necessarily think that it is the responsibility of the entertainment industry to show us 100% wholesome content at all times, and if there are already adults out there who think like "what i'm doing is fine because i'm doing it for the right reasons", then I don't think that avoiding showing that perspective in fiction is going to reverse that thinking. It's true that it may make it harder for people to justify their own actions if they never feel validated by a piece of fiction, and if you believe that is the right way to handle media then I can't really argue with that and I understand why you wouldn't support a story like this. I'm not trying to say "We should be promoting this show on every billboard across the world!" I'm just 1 person recommending this to my few meager followers who might actually even read this post, who may or may not enjoy media that depicts crime/violence.

If you've read this far and you have decided that this piece of media is not for you, then I definitely understand that, especially if you're someone who has experienced interpersonal violence of that kind, it could be very triggering. The first episode opens with the main character/narrator meeting a woman and then immediately stalking her for what I think is several weeks? (timeline slightly unknown) And the first season ends (spoiler alert, skip to next paragraph to avoid) with him murdering that same woman in what could be considered a crime of passion. It's terrifying to watch as a woman/woman-adjacent person. It makes you feel like nothing and no one is safe. I felt the same way about 13 Reasons Why in the end when (also spoiler, but not for 'You') the character who committed multiple sexual assaults WENT TO TRIAL was NOT convicted despite being FOUND GUILTY, it was infuriating and triggering to me, so if you have had a stalker and don't think that you could watch a show in which a stalker/murderer basically gets away with it (altho i dont fully know since it isn't over yet), then I would not recommend this for you either!

NOW FINALLY ON TO WHY YOU MIGHT LIKE IT, contains minor spoilers about general content but no specifics This is not a show like Hannibal or Dexter, about a serial killer who can't stop himself (I haven't watched those shows so sorry if I'm wrong). It's a show about a quote-unquote seemingly "normal" guy who essentially accidentally let his life get a little out of control, but ends up repeating the same patterns every time he thinks that he's out of the woods. Which, who knows, maybe he IS just like Hannibal or Dexter, who probably also think that what they're doing is justified somehow. But in 'You' this character is not someone who seeks to harm people, he doesn't want to harm anyone, he usually doesn't even plan to harm someone it just happens in the moment but he doesn't know what to do about it after. His goal is not to harm, his goal is love, and he ends up harming people who get in his way of his love.

I will say that I was put off by the first couple episodes because this man is just obsessively watching this woman from afar and claiming it's because he wants to make sure she's worth it before trying to date her, and I kept watching because I'm like "surely this will end poorly for him. surely justice will be served", and after a couple episodes and the twists and turns that ensue, I'm like.. well it's not ending in justice necessarily but what the FUCK is happening I need to see where this will go.

And then things get worse and you think "Well surely NOW he will get caught and there will be consequences??"

And somehow there are still no consequences. And eventually you find yourself (I use general 'you' because my roommate agrees) not necessarily rooting for him, not in a sense of "Wow I hope you get what you want and every bad thing you did is justified and never discovered and you live happily ever after (:" but it's more like... "Please just stop doing bad things. Please this one time just walk away and don't do the wrong thing. You can still salvage this. It's not too late in this one instance. REALLY you should be turning yourself in for what you've done, but it's not too late to avoid doing more harm!"

Which, again, is where it may get kind of dangerous, since even I went from "Wow this guy is fucked, i hate him and anyone like him and they should all die" to "Okay I get that you're messed up, but can you just fucking stop?" Throughout the series I just keep turning to my roommate and basically reminding myself out loud "he killed people, wtf" The show doesn't really let you forget, either. Again, it's not like the writers of the show want you to forget what he did and forgive him and let him be happy, they repeatedly remind you that he has done unspeakable harms, and then just when you think it's over and the jig is up, he manages to make it out unscathed.

If you've seen Death Note, it's very similar to the way that's written. In Death Note, you get Light's inner monologue. You almost want to support him because he's convinced HIMSELF that what he's doing is right and hearing his perspective almost convinces YOU that he shouldn't be punished for what he's doing. Death Note is a little different because Light is trying to "save the world" whereas the MC of You is just trying to fall in love, so you might find it harder to sympathize. However, the storytelling is pretty much the same. And what happened to Light? Justice caught up with him. He got what he ultimately deserved, no matter how much you might have wanted to root for him. It's a little harder to root for the MC of 'You' because his end goal is not as "noble" as "ridding the world of evil" or whatever, but I think that's better. It's easier to hate and fear him, especially if you feel like it's something that could happen to anyone. It's something that could happen to you. Which is why I think they chose the name 'You' for the show. For that matter, the you could even be the main character. He just seems like a normal guy. He's just trying his best to survive and make meaningful connections like anyone else. This could be 'You', given the right(wrong) circumstances.

Anyway, I've written a whole lot, glad I put it under a cut, but if you've paid attention to my blog at all you'll probably know that I don't normally talk about media too often on my blog, I'm not too much into "fandoms" or ranting and raving about the stuff I like, so I feel like the fact that I feel compelled to tell other people "omg have you seen You?? can we please talk about wtf is happening in this show??" is honestly reason enough for me to recommend to others and say "it's good!"

But I felt like all these caveats were necessary! Because I do remember seeing a lot of negative reactions from Tumblr users when the show first came out due to the nature of the content and its presentation. If the story were told from the perspective of the women, it would be a horror story. In fact, it wouldn't even be a horror story until the very end when the love-interest finally discovers what's been going on. It would be more like a boring love story until you finally found out "omg he was stalking her? how disgusting!" But that's how it is in real life, too. Real life horror stories aren't always actually horrible until it's too late. You often don't see the atrocities coming when they're committed by someone who you know and trust. That's how the majority of traumas/tragedies go.

By telling it from the bad dude's perspective you get an interesting story, you see how scary it can really be, you see how easily someone's good intentions and average crime-free life can turn sour by a few poorly calculated emotionally-driven decisions. You see how the trauma is created from the actions of authority/parental figures. There is a repeated theme throughout the show of neglected children, and the the people that they can become when it goes unchecked. I feel like that biggest takeaway from the show is that every child should be shown love and kindness. Lest they grow up to be fucking serial killers.

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popshield · 4 years

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Room 101

The Corporation’s legendary Maid of Orleans studios have, at one time or another, been frequented by most of the famous musicians in the land. Once home to Ray’s Bionic Glock Shop, creators of incidental music for early television programmes, its endlessly long and confusing corridors spawned a myriad of crazy sound sculptures including the Doctor What Theme. And for the past sixteen years, inexplicably, it has been one of my places of work. Hello Cleveland.

It’s 7am on Sunday morning and I’m parking up outside the building’s long white façade. Upon entering, the security guard on Reception looks, quite frankly, put out to have to engage with another human being. I feel the same. It’s too early. Come 8am today we are going to have our work cut out because a film crew are invading with their own unique type of bizarre military organised chaos. They are making a TV documentary series about the history of electronic music. They will be filming Ray showing off a vintage bionic glock from a collection belonging to the Corporation. Which is curated by my friend and yours, the legendary Sir Roger Andrews, head of everything.

I use the term ‘curated’ loosely. It’s mostly bits and pieces packaged in bubble wrap and hidden in crumpled cardboard boxes stuffed into wonky metal cupboards around the building. Some items are ‘filed’ in Room 101, more of which later. The important thing is that Roger Andrews recognises the important difference between, say a piece of extremely valuable legacy equipment worthy of being exhibited in a museum, with a load of old tat. Which no-one else does.

Roger Andrews has set this booking up. In the trade, it is known as a ‘Roger Andrews Special’. This is when Roger Andrews dreams up something unfathomably complicated in his head and it’s everyone else’s job to try and reverse-engineer what he might be thinking.

Roger is a small, quiet and helpful man. I say man, he is actually half man, half rucksack. He walks quite fast but prefers to travel using a combination of white magic and MIDI message, and can easily vanish to any room in Maid Of Orleans and back in a split second. The catchphrase during these bookings is “Have you seen Roger?”. Whereupon he sometimes apparitions, already having just done what you were about to do, and sometimes not, but then he appears when you phone him. None of his devices have ever run out of battery power. The trade-off being that precisely one minute prior to any live radio transmissions broadcasted from Maid of Orleans, the equipment has a tendency to drop out and then inexplicably restore itself, having been perfectly fine during the soundcheck.

The entire building is dark, and so I play a little game of Automatic or Not? with the lights. Interspersed by a few rounds of Switch Hunt.

I pull a giant lever to power up Room 333, where Ray and his fellow pioneers of early sampling used to work. Whiling away their days tweaking test tone oscillators with their toes, hitting piano strings with whistling kettles, and running five mile tape loops to The Mothership and back via a secret hatch in the basement leading down to the Bakerloo line. This is one of two spaces I am to offer the film crew. The other is Studio 5 downstairs.

As well as the famous bionic glock, Ray will need two old tape machines, a rare vocoder and a vintage analogue synthesizer (now worth two million guilders). Roger has told me that he would set everything up in advance. However, there is no sign of any equipment anywhere.

I head downstairs to Studio 5 to throw a few more giant switches and play a few more rounds of Automatic or Not? No gear. Hmm.

My phone rings. A man called Luke and his crew of thousands have arrived at Reception. I head upstairs. Looking at the throng, I have no idea who is who, and just say hello to anyone and everyone then instantly forget their name. Aha. Here is someone who looks organised. “Hi, my name is Pop, I say. “So is mine” says Pop. “That’s easy!” says Pop. “Yes Pop, it is.” Pop seems to be in charge.

Luke asks me where to load in. He now seems to be in charge. I explain that one space is upstairs and one is downstairs, but they are a few miles apart and it rather depends where the filming is going to be. And that depends on where the equipment is. It is time to send a 16 bit trigger message to Roger Andrews’ brain via carrier pigeon. He generally responds just before you press ‘Send’. In the meantime, Luke and I do the sixty mile round trip to view the two spaces and back, whereupon Roger Andrews both calls me and apparitions in Reception at the same time.

“Morning!” I exclaim. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today but I sure am glad to see you”. “Ah yes, it got a bit complicated. I’ll explain later” he says. He never explains. “We’re in Studio 2.” My phone goes again. It’s Pete from the film company. Pete seems to be even more in charge. “Hello Pop” he says. “I’m in charge and I’m rather concerned you haven’t got the message that we’re in Studio 2”. “It’s ok, I have just received it.” I reply. “Sorry about the delay and the confusion. Load in at Door D.” The security guard interrupts me. “Because the crew has more than twenty people, the unreliable goods lift is therefore out of action.” He says. “Load in at Door C”. “Load in at Door C” I repeat pointlessly to Luke. “Let me show you where that is.” We do another sixty mile round trip. “You’re going to have to carry all your gear down the steps. Sorry once again for the delay and confusion”.

Roger disappears to start setting up all the crazy stuff. As I mentioned, one of Roger’s many unique talents is hoarding old equipment. I have never known one person to gather up so much near-obsolete gear in my life. It lives everywhere, but most of all in Room 101 in a backwater of Maid of Orleans. Room 101 is a nightmare. It is full to the rafters with shelves upon shelves crammed with unsorted gear.

The master key for Room 101 is long-since lost, probably inside its four walls. In order to get in there you have to go to the engineers’ room and borrow their spare key which is attached to a brass candlestick so that no one can lose it. If their room is locked, which it is today, you have to do the sixty mile round trip to Reception to borrow their key, which is attached to a concert grand piano so that it definitely cannot leave the building.

Roger teleports to Reception, puts the piano and the key in his rucksack and disappears.

Meanwhile, I open up Studio 2 and play a quick game of Switch Hunt in the control room. Hundreds of people appear, all of whom seem to be in charge. They start setting up tables of croissants and asking for access to WIFI, which only works every other day. It never works if the visiting artists are taking a flight or staying in a hotel within the next 36 months.

Just after the crew have loaded in, Pete appears and says “Hey, this isn’t the right studio. It’s next door’. The crew then do some kind of crazy stop-frame animation thing, with tables of croissants and tea urns jumping from studio to studio all around the building, until everyone is in the right place and logged onto WIFI. It takes about 25 milliseconds.

Meanwhile Roger keeps disappearing and reappearing, during which time the other Pop and I try and reverse-engineer where he is by looking at some recce photos on Pop’s phone. I play detective and try to guess which room he is in by the distinctive vintage colour tone of the seamless flooring in the picture. I get it wrong about five times, during which we cover another few hundred miles of the building. We later discover Roger has been in a secret room that no one else has ever noticed. It houses Ray’s famous bionic glock, one of the world’s rarest electronic instruments.

I give up trying to find Roger and instead focus on collecting spanners and kettle leads and GPO to igranic connectors. I am quite good at this as I’ve tidied them all up into a special entropy-free zone.

Whilst we are setting up, a camera lady, who seems to be in charge, starts randomly wheeling valuable kit around to make the frame look pretty. She seems completely oblivious to the fact that the items are (a) priceless (b) plugged in to power and attached to each other with cables and (c) that I am lying on the floor right next to them like a car mechanic trying to find inaccessible output sockets of unknown connector-type. She does her best to run over my precious head at every available opportunity. I glare at her incredulously, which has zero impact. So I ask her to stop it. Immediately she is at it again. If she takes Roger Andrews out we’ll really be in trouble.

Then my phone rings. I do another sixty mile round trip to Reception to collect Ray. Ray is not in charge. He is going to be interviewed about the history of Ray’s Bionic Glock Shop. He is wearing a kaftan with a brown lab coat on top. His glasses are upside down and he merrily spouts endless fascinating facts about the former activities that lay behind the 527 doors that we pass along the corridor before taking the stairs down to the studio.

From there on in it all runs very straightforwardly. Roger Andrews evaporates. We record for one minute whereupon the massive crew pack everything away via stop-frame animation teamwork in about 30 seconds. “Bye” says the other Pop. “I’ll never forget you!” “Bye!” I reply, and instantly forget her.

It then takes a couple of weeks for my weary head and body to work out where to put all the incredibly heavy equipment back. During the course of this, I find new routes and several other rooms I have never seen before, and probably will never again.

The building falls silent and somewhat eery once more. I throw some things into Roger Andrew’s scary lair and shut the door, slipping the latch and turning out the lights as I go.

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geek-patient-zero · 5 years

Text

Part 1, Chapter 7

Or: Lameth the Suburbanite Schlub

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Death Trilogy Volume 1

St. Louis—March 11, 1994

When we last left Dire McCann, he had three problems: the mystery of the Red Death and what connection he could have with the rising Nictuku, Flavia figuring out that he’s secretly an ancient and powerful Methuselah possessing a human body, and Rachel Young, the singer from The Club Diabolique and suspected assassin of Tyrus Benedict, stealing his mail from his office while he was out. Now he’s leaving his office and going home to have a drink, think about those problems a little more, and hit the hay.

For the first two pages, the narrative further establishes how the World of Darkness is a Harsher, Crueler Version of Our World, and how cautious, suspicious, and prepared McCann is as a result. He waits ten minutes and spends more money for a security guard to get his car out of a city-run underground parking lot.

Despite security cameras and motorcycle patrols, muggings, rapes, and murders were common occurrences in these parking garages. Rumors had it that the security patrols were the ones responsible for many of the crimes. No one knew for sure, as dead men told no tales.

Evil rent-a-cops aren’t the only plague on the city.

McCann didn’t mind spending the extra money if it avoided unnecessary confrontation. The city was a dangerous place. Urban America was increasingly becoming a jungle in which only the strongest and smartest survived. More people died these days from gunshot wounds than from any disease.

But don’t worry. Our government’s hard at work making sure preventable illnesses come in at a close second.

The government claimed that crime was under control. But nobody believed the politicians. The truth was on the streets.

Survival depended more on recognizing the perils that haunted daily life and adjusting to them than on superior firepower. A fact of life in the nightmarish world of modern society was that someone else always possessed superior weaponry.

Good to know in the Stark, Desolate Landscape of the World of Darkness, with all it’s vampires, werewolves, and wraiths, gun violence is still the bigger problem. ‘Murika!

McCann lives in the suburbs, instantly losing some cool points. I bet you thought, after all that talk about Urban America being a jungle where only the strong survive, he’d live in a shitty apartment in the city where you need to have street smarts to survive just getting to your floor. Nope. Suburbs. It makes all the stuff about how dangerous the city is sound like a sheltered suburbanite repeating something Tom and Susan told them in hushed tones at the Nelsons’ yard sale.

But McCann doesn’t want to live just anywhere. He wants somewhere private and secure.

McCann lived in a small brick home in a new development a few blocks off Highway 80. Located on a wide lot at the end of a quiet street, it was surrounded by a wrought-iron security fence, isolating the building from the rest of the block. Which was exactly what the detective desired. He wanted to be left alone. In these troubled times, no one considered his security measures the least bit unusual.

One of those homeowners, huh? There’s at least one house on the block that has security cameras or a pack of doberman guard dogs or something, even in the safest neighborhood. Who knows, there could be an “urban” person a few blocks closer to the highway just waiting to case your home.

He had bought the house for cash less than a year before, when he first decided to settle in the St. Louis area. He knew none of his neighbors and had no interest in meeting them. He worked at night and slept during the day. The few times he had seen anyone he had raised a hand in greeting, but said nothing. McCann considered his home a safe place to rest and relax. His office served as his base of operations. He socialized in neither of them.

Someone’s never watched The ‘Burbs. Buying a house with cash, surrounded by a wrought-iron leave-me-the-fuck-alone security fence, working and sleeping at odd hours, and never speaking to anyone? All while living near people often stereotyped as gossipy rumormongers who never mind their own business and spy on anyone “unusual”? A private person like McCann should never be able to rest and relax. He’d live in fear that somehow, someday, Tom Hanks would break into his house and discover all his World of Darkness secrets.

Alright, enough talking about suburbs like I don’t comfortably live in one. McCann parks his car in the garage but before he enters his house, he checks on his real security system by placing his hand on the wall.

Certain arcane rituals from the dawn of civilization imbued a home with the personality of its owner.

McCann’s house is also a smug secretive jerk who thinks it’s the greatest and wisest schemer ever. Aww, look, he’s comforting the sexy white house across the street whose neighbor burned down. Oh no, it accidentally gave away its biggest secret!

A master magician, and McCann was among the greatest ever to walk the Earth, could immediately sense any disturbance in their dwelling.

I know I said McCann only knew simple parlor tricks to barely pass as a mage, but I might’ve downplayed the true extent of his powers. A bit.

There was none. McCann was safe. At least for the moment, neither the Red Death nor the mysterious Ms. Young had discovered his hideaway.

Shame. It would’ve been funny if he went inside and scary ol’ Red Death was casually relaxing on his couch like Darkseid.

Later, McCann’s sitting in his sofa, drink in hand, listening to Billie Holliday on the stereo. We get a description of the room, and it’s nothing special. Sofa, coffee table, no TV. McCann believes in “simple comforts” but the real point is that he doesn’t have many valuable possessions because he moves around a lot, never staying in one place for long. Reminds me of a friend of mine. He said he had wanderlust, but I suspect he just didn’t know what he wanted to do in life, chasing one passion before getting distracted by another. Lost track of him somewhere down in Florida. McCann moves around for a very different reason, though. His wandering was necessary for his “complex scheme.”

But as he relaxes, he wonders if all his moving around and plotting is even worth it anymore.

At times, he wondered why he still bothered playing the game. So many of his kind no longer struggled. Some had plunged into the great unknown from which there was no return, while others had retreated from cruel reality into a dreamworld of their own creation. He was among a handful who continued fighting. In truth, the prize hardly seemed important any longer. It was the diversion that kept him amused.

The detective shook his head and finished his nightcap. He had engaged in this mental exercise a thousand times and never arrived at a satisfactory conclusion. He was like Ol’ Man River, ‘tired of living, but scared of dying.’ For those like himself, there were no easy answers. Just more questions.

McCann finishes his introspective episode and thinks about the group he learned the Red Death was part of thanks to his bullshit telepathy power; The Children of Dreadful Night. He’s never heard of them before, but the “Dreadful Night” part makes him suspect they’re a Gehenna cult. They’re typically groups of vampires who either want to prevent Gehenna or find a way to save themselves from the Antediluvians when it begins. Then there are the ones who want to help bring it about, but the narrative is focusing on the ones who fear Gehenna for one reason or other. Technically the Sabbat is one huge Gehenna cult, but they’re much more powerful and influential than the smaller groups the term usually refers to. More cults have been springing up lately.

As it did many mortals, the approaching end of the millennium frightened them.

Oh right, the Y2K bug. I doubt that’s calming the Kindred down either.

McCann used to think the cultists were just a bunch of fringe crazies, but now, with the Red Death...

Speaking of, remember when McCann used his brain probe on the Red Death and learned that he both recognized him and had a pretty awesome counter for his psychic powers? He’s worried about that too. It means that Red D. knows his true identity somehow. He’d kept a low profile the past few decades, presumably while separating his Dire McCann identity from whatever one he was using just before that, and preferred “to forward his schemes through unsuspecting agents.” Whatever those agents were doing, no one should have suspected McCann was involved.

He felt certain no evidence existed associating the human detective, Dire McCann, and Lameth, the Dark Messiah of the Kindred.

Wow, okay, so that’s one of the floweriest wannabe impressive not impressive fucking 90′s Image Comics titles you can give a shmuck like McCann. Not to mention redundant. We already had ~*~The Dark Angels~*~, did we also need ~*~The Dark Messiah~*~ too?

The funny thing is, I think Weinberg knew that title was over-the-top. Back when McCann was thinking about the Children of Dreadful Night, there’s a line about how “Kindred possessed a bizarre fondness for nicknames.” Like he thought that if he didn’t show at least a hint of irony, every nerd, geek, or corporate suit that worked on nerd and geek franchises would rise as one, like a perma-virgin hivemind, and institute a cross-genre ban on “The Dark” as part of a character’s title, rank, or nickname. And then where would vampire fiction be?

Shaking his head, McCann wondered if Anis was behind the attack. She was one of the few Kindred who knew many of his secrets. And, like him, she continued to plot, undaunted by the centuries.

Hold up. I know what you’re all thinking. Anis is a perfectly legit Arabic name. Quit giggling.

McCann considers the other weird things that happened last night. Ms. Young was genuinely terrified of the Red Death, convincing McCann that they weren’t working together, but he still believes she killed Tyrus Benedict, stole the Baba Yaga photos, and later stole his mail from his office. And there was that phone call he got, the one warning him of the attack before it happened, made from an out of service phone booth, whose information was erased from McCann’s recording devices the moment it ended. Or, as the narrative puts it:

Reality had twisted immediately after he received the warning, which hinted that an extremely potent mage was at work.

Oh great. Actual mages.

Then there’re the assassins. We already know that Makish hired them on the Red Death’s orders, but McCann doesn’t yet.

He still has the billfold he pocketed from one of the assassins.

Except for the money he had removed earlier, it was absolutely empty. However, that didn’t mean that it couldn’t reveal secrets.

The detective rested the leather billfold on the coffee table. Placing both hands on it, he let loose the full power of his mighty will. The air wavered with titanic energies. Squeezing his eyes shut, McCann concentrated on a solitary word. Find.

Despite that whole thing about the air wavering with titanic energies, what he’s doing is most likely The Spirit’s Touch, a power from the third tier of the Auspex discipline, which let’s you use an object’s “resonance” to learn things about it and its owner. Pretty basic, and you don’t have to be a Dark Messiah from the dawn of time to use it, but handy for detective work like this.

This is also the second time that a Kindred discipline being used is described as someone using their “mighty will.” I know some powers were namedropped earlier, like Fires of the Inferno and Body of Fire, but it makes me wonder how many listed disciplines actually have names in-universe. If a player has their character activate Awe, in-universe does the character think “I’m using Awe, the first tier Presence power”? Or “I will extend my mighty will to get everyone’s attention”? Like how Superman’s laser vision is just called laser vision and not “Burning Gaze of Rao.”

Not that Weinberg should’ve used the discipline name every time. “The detective used Auspex” would be much duller writing.

The detective learns that the billfold’s from Washington, D.C. It was stolen from a government file clerk by the assassin, just so he’d have somewhere to keep the money McCann found in it. We learn about the Kindred’s political situation in Washington. The part of it that doesn’t involve the spreading gang wars.

The nation’s capital had long been a source of friction between the Camarilla and the Sabbat. Though the Camarilla controlled the city, both organizations had agents in the suburbs.

Must be like a cross between Desperate Housewives and Cannibal Holocaust out there. A bit of Weeds, too.

The constantly shifting population also brought in new Kindred. Each sect controlled politicians and lobbyists.

I always had my suspicions about the Long Pig Lobby.

However, the frequent changes in government officials thwarted their ambitions for absolute domination of the government.

That darned democracy, making life in Washington for the vampires inconvenient. Someone should do something abou- Actually, no, that joke doesn’t work. Certain officials come and go in the capital even faster nowadays.

The city was a potential battleground between the cults. The Camarilla held it, but Sabbat forces surrounded it. Sooner or later, warfare between the two groups was bound to explode.

McCann had carefully avoided the city. He disliked being too visible anyplace where the balance of power was in flux. He worked best when in the shadows. However, this assassination attempt hinted that perhaps he had made a mistake by ignoring the metropolis.

After much time spent thinking and thinking, the detective’s all thunk out and decides to go to bed. He mentally checks his magic defenses on the way to his bedroom. And one other thing.

With a wan smile, he rested one hand on a small, detailed sculpture resting on the end table in his bedroom. Carved from sandstone, it depicted a man’s face remarkably similar to his own. Not particularly large or impressive, the statue originally came from Egypt and was over four thousand years old. It had been with McCann for a very long time.

Did you get that Dire McCann is super old? Need it hammered in a little more? You dumb bastards?

If you got rid of that last sentence, this could be a nice little moment for McCann’s character. Him looking at the statue, briefly allowing himself to feel nostalgia for an age and people gone by. A moment where he drops the master schemer act and let’s the old man out. A little heartwarming. A little sad. But the last sentence turns it into another reminder of something we already know.

Eh, maybe I’m being too nitpicky. Looking too hard for flaws.

The detective grinned, remembering Flavia’s tale of Masqueraders. It was an entertaining fable. He wondered how she would react to the truth. Maybe, someday, he would tell her.

No, fuck it, this one I have something to say about.

Back when Flavia was explaining her “tale of Masqueraders,” this was how McCann reacted:

McCann laughed, trying to appear amused. “What utter nonsense.”

and

McCann forced himself to remain quiet. He had said too much already.

And when he’s back in his office, reflecting on his conversation with Flavia:

McCann, sitting behind his desk in his office an hour later, sighed heavily. The detective folded his arms across his chest. For all her grief, the Dark Angel had not stayed in mourning very long. He trusted Flavia not to reveal her suspicions to the Prince for as long as it suited her purposes, and not a second more. If not handled properly, the Dark Angel could prove to be as dangerous to him as the Red Death

Those aren’t the actions and thoughts of a guy who a few hours later would be thinking “Silly bitch, what an amusing fable. Maybe one day I’ll tell her what I really am.” That’s someone whose intimidated by what she knows, and wary of what she’ll tell her fifth-generation vampire boss.

Flavia said that Masqueraders are Methuselahs who possess mortal bodies while in torpor in order to experience life like a mortal again, while giving them some Kindred powers to protect them. McCann is secretly a Methuselah named Lameth, over four thousand years old and notable enough to earn a title like “The Dark Messiah.” We’re also told that his current body is mortal, aside from a few Kindred powers. A detail we’ll learn in a few chapters may complicate things, but for now the similarities are spot on, and back in Chapter Five McCann knew that.

Flavia may be the very definition of what feminist media critics call a Strong Female Character (i.e. a character whose presented as a well-written woman because she’s physically strong and capable of *gasp* holding her own against a man, but in the overall narrative is a satellite character revolving around a male character, often used as fanservice, a love interest, or a prize to be won despite her “strength”) and maybe it’s a leap of logic to get “secret ancient vampire” from a human who can stop one of her attacks, but she more or less figured McCann out, and he knows it. The detective shouldn’t get all haughty or dismissive now because she might not know every detail. Or because she doesn’t know he’s actually ~*~Lameth, the Dark Messiah of the Kindred~*~ and not Sven, the Socially Awkward Apostle of the Kindred. She got your number, dick.

Anyway, the smug bastard goes to sleep and the chapter ends.

#vampire the masquerade #vampire: the masquerade #vtm #vtmb #world of darkness #blood war

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emilyzh2019-blog · 5 years

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My Craziest Travel Story

Somewhere In Mexico…

This is the story of how I accidentally wandered into an extremely remote Mexican village that was openly controlled by a ruthless drug cartel — and what happened next.

The other week I was taking an Uber from the airport, chatting with the driver about traveling and working around the world as a nomad.

After asking the standard question everyone asks “what’s your favorite country”, he wanted to know if I’ve ever felt in any danger while traveling.

Sure, I’ve been scared before.

When I crossed the border into Afghanistan by myself on foot.

Balancing on rusty beams 300 feet over a canyon in Spain.

Attempting to wade across a crocodile-infested river in Costa Rica.

Scuba diving without a cage in Fiji face-to-face with bull sharks.

Spending the night on an erupting volcano in Guatemala.

Illegally hopping a freight train while hitchhiking across America.

Yes, looking back, I’ve done some stupid & risky stuff over the years…

But the most scared I’ve ever been — was on a journey through Northern Mexico about 7 years ago. And it’s a story I’ve NEVER shared on this blog.

I wrestled with writing about this experience for a long time.

It just didn’t feel appropriate to share publicly, or even very safe for that matter. I was worried about the possible consequences for myself and others.

Yet I think enough time has passed that I finally feel comfortable sharing my crazy (and pretty dumb) encounter with dangerous members of a notorious drug cartel in the lawless mountains deep within Mexico’s Copper Canyon.

Maybe the story will be entertaining, but I hope you’ll learn something too.

The Sierra Tarahumara Mountains

Once Upon A Time In Mexico…

My tale begins in the Mexican tourist town of Creel. A major stop for the popular Copper Canyon Train which runs from the cities of Chihuahua through the Sierra Tarahumara mountains to Los Mochis on the coast.

After a very scenic (but uneventful) train journey through the mountains, I planned to explore more of this mountainous area on my own. Hoping to spend time with the Tarahumara, a Mexican indigenous group.

While chatting with locals, I learned of small villages at the bottom of the canyon that would present a more “authentic” Northern Mexican experience. Off-the-beaten-path if you will.

These places were not easy to reach, and the drive would take hours on rough mountain roads. I mentioned my plan to a local guy (let’s call him Fede) who I’d worked with earlier, and he offered to take me in his vehicle.

Fede wasn’t just some random dude. I’d already spent a few days traveling with him. Even crashing overnight at his family’s house. He was a well-known local professional. I trusted him completely.

Rugged Dirt Roads in Mexico

Surprises Down In The Canyon

I’m not going to name the specific village I traveled to in this story. However, I’m sure if you dig deep enough, you’ll probably be able to figure it out.

Because it’s not like what goes on down there isn’t unknown within Mexico.

Over the course of our 4+ hour drive down winding dirt roads into the depths of the Copper Canyon, Fede starts to share some unsettling information with me.

“When we get there, you may see some stuff that’s alarming. But don’t worry. They know you’re coming.” – Fede

“Wait, what?! What kind of stuff? Who knows I’m coming?” – Me

“The Cartel. They control this town. But when the guesthouse has a tourist, the owner informs The Cartel. They won’t bother you as long as you don’t do anything stupid.” – Fede

“……….” – Me

The Cartel he was referring to is the Sinaloa Drug Cartel. Aka Cártel de Sinaloa, aka the Guzmán-Loera Organization, aka The Blood Alliance.

The same cartel controlled by the notorious drug lord Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzman, who was just on trial in the United States for drug trafficking, murder, and money laundering.

What the hell did I just get myself into?

The Golden Triangle – Drug Production Area in Mexico

Mexico’s Golden Triangle

The Golden Triangle is the nickname given to a remote and mountainous region in Northern Mexico that encompasses the states of Chihuahua, Sinaloa, and Durango.

It’s where Mexico’s powerful cartels have been growing billions of dollars worth of heroin & weed to supply an insatiable demand for drugs from the United States.

Cartels are able to produce drugs in the Golden Triangle because the area is so rugged & inaccessible that it can take hours to reach these small villages on unmarked dirt roads.

Mexico’s Copper Canyon, if you haven’t heard of it before, is a massive canyon that’s technically larger and deeper than the US Grand Canyon. It is the perfect hiding place for fields of illegally grown opium poppies & marijuana plants!

Combine this fact with a desperately poor workforce of indigenous people called the Tarahumara, and you’ve got a Mexican drug lord’s wet dream.

This is where I found myself.

On the edge of the Golden Triangle, in a village controlled by the Sinaloa Cartel.

The Only Bridge Into Town

A Surreal Travel Experience

As we pull into the village, over a narrow bridge, I see a kid talking into a military-style radio. He’s announcing our arrival to the cartel. My heart begins to race.

Further down the road, we pass a group of men dressed in black, armed with assault rifles. I begin to sweat.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…

Fede notices my apprehension and assures me everything will be ok. I’m not the first tourist to visit this town.

Because the cartel doesn’t want to draw any attention to themselves, they’d never harm a tourist. That would force the military to intervene and ruin everything.

I check into my guesthouse, the only one in town, and we eat lunch at his friend’s place, which is basically a small restaurant run out of her home.

One of the Cartel’s Trucks

Keeping Tabs On Me…

Fede says his goodbyes and leaves town. He has to go back to work. So I’m on my own now. I walk around town. I visit some abandoned silver mines nearby.

I stop into the local museum and sign the guestbook (the last signature is over a month old).

I pass by the group of cartel members I saw earlier. We say hello to each other. While they certainly appear to fit the stereotype of hardened criminals, they seem friendly enough.

I still can’t quite believe this is happening.

My goal for the day is to visit an old Spanish Mission, located a few miles out of town. On the way, I run into a pickup truck with blacked-out windows on the side of the road. As I approach, the driver’s side window rolls down.

“¿A dónde vas?” says a large scary dude in a cowboy hat. There’s a beautiful woman half his age in the passenger seat.

“La misión Española” I reply. He nods, and the window slides back up. They’re keeping an eye on me. Making sure I don’t stumble into their fields of poppy or marijuana.

Friendly Mexican Drug Farmer

This Sack is Full of Weed…

Everyone Works For The Drug Cartel

Over the next few days, I learn that basically the whole town is working for the cartel. They are the sole employer.

I’m not sure if it’s by choice, or by the threat of violence, but growing and trafficking drugs for the cartel is how this town survives.

And some of them are not afraid to talk about it. Growing marijuana is as normal as growing corn. It’s just another crop — only one that pays much better.

After chatting with one local farmer for a while, he takes me up to a small barn behind his house, pulls out a large sack, and offers me two giant handfuls of freshly picked marijuana buds!

I start laughing, thanking him for his generosity, but explain that there’s no way I can bring his gift back into the United States with me.

But… because I’m a polite guy, I accept a few flowers so he isn’t offended.

This man isn’t some murderous cartel member, he’s just a friendly, impoverished farmer trying to make a living for his family with very limited opportunities.

Making Friends in Town

A Very Surreal Experience

So while the whole cartel situation had me feeling pretty nervous, this next part was the scariest moment of the whole few days I was down there.

My comfort level had been improving. I was getting used to chatting with cartel members each day. Maybe too comfortable.

One evening, a young Mexican guy dressed like a rodeo cowboy walks into the home-based restaurant where I’m eating dinner.

He’s wearing a pair of beautiful, very fancy white-handled revolvers on his hip. Like right out of your typical Spaghetti Western movie.

A heavily armed bodyguard wearing a bullet-proof vest waits for him outside.

We happily chat for a minute in Spanish, asking how I like the food, before they both disappear into the darkness of night. Everything is getting very surreal, and I seriously feel like I’m trapped in a movie.

On another occasion, I watch a team of five armed men loading blue 55-gallon drums of something from a truck into a guarded building.

Weed? Opium poppies? Human remains dissolving in acid? My imagination starts to run wild…

Sinaloa Cartel Members (Faces Censored for Safety)

Getting The Shot

I REALLY wanted a photo of one of these guys. No one would believe all this happened to me unless I had a photo!

So the next morning, I cut a small hole into the side of my backpack and tape a GoPro inside. My plan is to use “time-lapse” mode, quietly shooting photos automatically as I walk past them.

However as I approach, I decide to stop and chat. With my adrenaline pumping, I simply ask them directly. Pointing at the camera around my neck. What’s the worst that could happen?

“¿Puedo tomar tu retrato?” (Can I take your portrait?) – Me

“Jajaja… no.” – Cartel Dude

“Please? My American friends back home would love to see your big gun. I can leave your face out of it if you’d like.” – Me

“Jajaja… no. But you can get a photo of my amigo here.” – Cartel Dude

So, without thinking about the consequences, I aim my wide-angle lens at the truck driver sitting next to him. *CLICK*

Cartel Dude is in the photo too, but just doesn’t realize it.

Immediately I start to panic — internally. What if he asks to see the photo? That was so dumb! I’m going to get myself killed. Maybe I can quickly use the zoom button before showing it to him…

Fortunatley he never asks — and just assumes the camera wasn’t aimed his way.

I try to act normal, end the conversation, and walk off down the road contemplating just how stupid that was.

I think it’s time for me to leave this town.

Patrolling the Village

Mexico’s Remote Golden Triangle

Cartel Wars In The Mountains

As someone who has spent almost 2 years of my life both living and traveling through Mexico, I’ll be the first to tell you it’s one of my favorite countries.

I certainly don’t want my story to scare you from visiting Mexico. This is NOT a typical Mexican vacation experience.

I specifically went out of my way to visit a remote area that isn’t very safe. Even for the Copper Canyon itself — if you stay on the normal tourist trail you’ll be fine.

However if you venture off-grid in this region, there’s a lot of sh*t going on.

Mexico is an amazing and beautiful destination, but like any country, it can also be a dangerous one if you go looking for danger.

Golden Triangle In Flames Again (Borderland Beat)

Extreme Race in the Shadow of Extreme Danger (New York Times)

Drug Gangs Delay Sierra Trail Riders (My San Antonio)

One particular story that shook me recently was the murder of North Carolina teacher Patrick Braxton-Andrew, who was visiting a similar remote village in the same region last year.

That one hit close to home. A curious traveler looking for adventure, trying to get off the beaten path, exploring a dangerous area on his own… mistaken for a DEA agent and shot by the drug cartels.

When I first started traveling, I did many risky and stupid things seeking that addictive jolt of adrenaline. Hell, I haven’t completely cured myself of it even now!

Luckily everything has turned out ok so far, and I have some pretty incredible memories and stories to show for it.

But that isn’t always the case for everyone.

My Scariest Travel Story

I’m not sure if there is a lesson in this story. Maybe there are many.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes? Young people traveling with no responsibilities often take unnecessary risks for fun? Don’t be an idiot like me?

I’m sure I’ll be judged and ridiculed a bit for writing about this. That’s ok. It happened, and I have to live with it. I’m probably lucky to be living at all…

Have you ever done anything stupid like this while traveling? Taken on too much risk? Gotten yourself into a sticky situation that you regret later?

Frequent travelers have this insufferable tendency to “one-up” each other’s travel stories — and this one is mine. The one I share at bars after a few drinks.

Now it’s your turn to share.

Take a minute to quickly describe your scariest/dumb travel story.

If only to make me feel like I’m not the only one out there who’s done something stupid on the road…

Maybe we can turn it into a guide on “what-not-to-do while traveling.” ★

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