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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 1 year

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God, Being an Accessory to Murder is Exhausting

(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, decapitation, gore, light mentions of violence, implied mutilation, implied cannibalism, mentions of organs, descriptions of illegal business, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

(One of the characters in this story does not belong to me. That honor goes to the amazing @sammys-magical-au. I highly recommend giving them a follow, because the stories and headcanons they post are always, always worth reading. Also, this fic is actually kinda-sorta connected to one of theirs, which you can read here. It should clarify some of the plot points you’ll be seeing soon. As for the character that does belong to me, you can find more information about him here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob he and Murdock work for, go here. Murdock/Murderplier belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, but if you’re interested in my personal headcanons on him, go here.)

Sam considered xerself someone who was open to surprises.

When you owed a favor to a literal hitman—and, by extension, the mob that hitman just so happened to work for—not being adaptable could be very hazardous to your health.

Earlier that day, the hitman in question had contacted xer. Apparently he’d taken on a last-minute job, his other accomplices were busy with their own errands, and he was gonna make it xer problem.

(To be fair, Murdock had later explained that The Pentas Family was preparing for a particularly important, unnecessarily macabre auction. It would be taking place at midnight, and would require all hands on deck in order to be kept quiet and hidden.)

Sam never appreciated being dragged into something that didn’t directly involve xer. Regardless, Murdock loved reminding xer that xe had pushed for the alliance between xer organization and his. Not to mention how incredibly generous it’d been of him to accept xer offer, to convince his peers to work with xers, and to have vouched for xer to The Boss.

So, for the sake of personal safety and integrity, Sam had agreed to help with the job.

Xe’d accompanied Murdock to track down his target.

Xe’d assisted him in capturing, interrogating, torturing, and eventually killing his target.

And then. . .

“See?” Murdock asked. A patented smug grin was on his face as he wiped his knife clean with a silk handkerchief before returning it to one of the many pockets in his black overcoat. “I told you that wouldn’t take too long.”

Sam rolled xer eyes, quickly putting on the neutral mask xe’d learned to wear when interacting with him. “You sure did. Must’ve been hard to keep your usual commentary short.”

“Hey, you weren’t exactly just spectating back there,” Murdock retorted. “So don’t preach to me.”

“Who said I was preaching?” Sam folded xer arms across xer chest. “You just tend to make things. . .dramatic.”

Murdock was right; Sam had partaken in mocking the target before he’d died. Sam was more sensible (read: sane) than Murdock, but xe was still human. And with the knowledge that the target was profiting off of a dog-fighting ring, Sam had been all too happy to let him know how much of a pathetic, worthless, disgusting waste of space he was while Murdock did what he did best.

Murdock shrugged. “Say what you will, but at least I appreciate theater. Not enough people do these days, y’know?”

Sam hummed nonchalantly. On one hand, Murdock did have a valid point. On the other hand, Murdock had used a pair of slip-joint pliers to pull out the target’s teeth one by one, and Sam, while definitely not being a prude, wasn’t sure if that could be compared to theater.

Murdock tapped at his cellphone’s screen. The device emitted a few beeps, and he smiled as he put it away. “The cleanup crew is on their way; they’ll take this guy to the crematorium. Once they’re here, we’re free to go.”

Sam nodded, relieved that she’d be taken back to the hotel soon. “Sounds fine to me.”

Murdock dug around in his leather “toolkit,” which was always full to bursting with an honestly comedic amount of gadgets that boasted their own unique ways of making someone wish they hadn’t pissed off the wrong person. He unfolded a clean body bag, laid it on the floor, and held it halfway open like a trick-or-treater would a pillow case.

Sam got the message. She ventured closer, loosening the ropes that attached the target to a folding chair, then maneuvered the corpse into the person-sized tote. She stepped back and watched as Murdock began zipping the bag up. It was halfway closed when he suddenly stopped.

A few seconds of total silence came and went.

Sam blinked at the hitman, immediately tense. Even with his glasses on, it was somewhat easy to read Murdock’s expression. The current expression was one of realization. . .and panic.

And when a contract-killer panicked, anyone with two brain cells to rub together knew that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

“Shit,” Murdock said quite eloquently. “Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit, fucking damn it—!” He stood up from his kneeling position and began pacing the floor, raising both hands to grasp at his head as though his brain was trying to crawl out of his skull.

“What?” Sam asked cautiously. “What’s the matter?”

“I must’ve mixed up some things on the agenda,” Murdock groaned. “One of my buddies is expecting a carcass this month, and I have to wait at least a week before I can take on another job.”

Sam immediately felt obligated to ask why in the fresh hell someone would want or need a dead body delivered, but then she remembered who Murdock was and the types of people his “buddies” usually were.

“You’ve. . .already got this guy,” Sam said, awkwardly gesturing to the target’s corpse. “Why not just cancel with the crematorium and give him to your friend?”

Murdock peered at Sam over his tinted glasses, the look on his face suggesting that Sam had just asked him if water was wet.

“We can’t afford to dispose of bodies in just one way! If we did, we’d risk having concentrated amounts of evidence on our hands.” He looked back at the target. “This guy was a big name in the underground. We need to erase him entirely! His cronies will come looking for him, and the sooner we can lead them astray, the easier it’ll be for us to pick them off!”

Sam held up her hands in defense. “Alright, alright! I get it! Don’t bite my head off just for asking a question!”

Murdock was about to counter, but he suddenly froze in place. His mouth hung open, as he’d been mid-rant, and his eyes grew so wide that Sam could nearly see his scleras through his glasses. His expression slowly but surely shifted from panicked to contemplative; if you listened closely enough, you would’ve been able to hear the gears turning in his head.

“There’s a cooler in my trunk,” Murdock announced. “Go get it.”

“How’s that gonna help anything?”

Murdock’s only response was to frantically wave at Sam with one arm as he dug through his toolkit. “Just go get it! Now! Hurry up!”

Sam flinched at his tone, then jogged down the corridor and up a concrete staircase. She made her way outside the old factory that, according to Murdock, the target had used to host his matches. She cursed under her breath as gravel loudly crunched under her boots; she never thought she’d be grateful for a job-site to be in the middle of nowhere, but now would’ve been the absolute worst time for a potential witness to pop up.

He rushed to the car and popped the trunk, which was filled with bags and boxes of spare weapons and the like. It was actually pretty organized—how else would Murdock be able to transport dead bodies? Even so, it took what felt like an hour before Sam managed to find a red n’ white container meant for preserving organs that had been selected for a transplant. It was heavier than it looked, but it didn’t slow him down as he hurried back into the factory. The sound of skin being torn didn’t stop him. . .well, at least not until he returned to the room. Then he was frozen in the doorway.

Until he’d started working with Murdock, Sam hadn’t known what a Gigli saw was. For one thing, it hardly looked like a saw at all. It was a pair of handles connected by a long, flexible steel wire. And unless you got too close to the wire in question, you’d never know that it was covered in hundreds of small, razor-sharp barbs.

It also typically required two people to each take a handle and pull it back and forth. But Murdock was nothing if not a tenacious bastard, so he was keeping one foot on the body’s chest to hold it still as he leaned side-to-side in a pattern, grasping both of the handles. The wire was looped around the target’s neck, forcing his head to shift as blood oozed down his shirt. This method was definitely unplanned and only semi-coordinated, but it actually seemed to be working.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Sam shouted, nearly dropping the cooler in shock.

“What’s it look like?!” Murdock fired back, not looking at them. “Don’t just stand there! Bring the cooler over!”

Sam’s stomach twisted as they approached, coming to stand beside Murdock. The metallic stench of blood practically punched them in the face, and they couldn’t help but gag.

“Oh, don’t get all squeamish on me now!” Murdock snapped.

“Are you fucking kidding?!” Sam barked. They obviously didn’t want to look at what Murdock was doing (the target’s neck almost resembled a chewed-up apple core), but staring at the floor meant staring at the spreading pool of red. “I only agreed to help with neutralizing! I never signed up to be involved with dismembermAAAAAAAHH!”

With a loud, sickening pop, the target’s neck broke, leaving his head to tear away from strands of brutalized flesh and bounce once, twice against the floor with a soft crack. It rolled dangerously close to Sam’s boots, and Sam responded in a very warranted way via kicking it across the room with another scream.

“Hey!” Murdock squawked, running after the head, stooping down to pick it up and tuck it under one arm like it was a football. He glared at Sam as he came jogging back. “What was that for?!”

“Take a wild guess, you psycho!” Sam had to force themself not to back away. They opened up the cooler, holding it aloft for Murdock to deposit the target’s noggin, then slammed it shut before the target’s glassy, unseeing eyes could stare up at them.

Murdock paused, then gave a quick nod before kneeling down to zip up the body bag. And although Sam was grateful to not have to look at a now headless corpse, they were also very confused, very disgusted, and very frustrated.

“Can you please tell me what the fuck is going on now?” Sam growled, just barely able to keep a tremble out of xer voice.

“Change of plans,” Murdock responded. “When the cleanup crew is finished, you’re gonna take this and go with them to the crematorium. You’ll be able to access the tunnels from there; Cal’s place is connected to one of our dens.”

When the subway tunnels were still operating, more than a few above-ground buildings had been connected to the platforms and used as stations. So, of course, after the tunnels were condemned, those buildings had been repurposed; most of them were now relatively small shops and the like, though a precious few had been turned into houses.

The Pentas Family had managed to purchase every single one of those former stations. Its members either lived in or worked out of them. Thanks to this, the public eye was drawn away from the tunnels, which were now a network of hidey-holes that offered discreet movement far beneath the noses of local authorities.

“Why?” Sam inquired, despite already having an idea of where this was going. “Who’s Cal—is he the one expecting a body?” (Sam had heard Murdock mention that name a few times before, but xe’d never had a chance to meet the guy in question. Until now, apparently.)

“Obviously he is!” Murdock answered, sounding incredulous. “I’ll let him know about what’s happened, so it shouldn’t be too hard for you to find him once you’re down there.”

For a short moment, Sam’s mouth opened and closed without any words coming out. Xe slowly began shaking xer head, pushing the cooler towards Murdock.

“No,” xe eventually said. “Nononononono, you’ve already dragged me into enough of your schemes for today.”

Murdock threw up his hands. “The auction is happening in two hours, and The Boss needs me to help prepare for it! I can’t be in two places at once!”

“Then maybe you should talk to The Boss about this!” Sam replied. “You’re always bragging about being her right-hand!”

Silence.

Murdock didn’t go on the defensive, didn’t get all offended that Sam had questioned his place in the rankings. He simply gaped like a fish for a couple seconds, then shook his head and stared at the floor.

Sam had only ever met The Boss once, for a very brief time after xe’d offered Torchwood’s deal to Murdock and The Pentas Family. Despite being a new ally, Sam was still an outsider, which meant that xe didn’t even know her name. Only the mob’s representatives got that privilege, and even then, they hardly ever referred to her as anything but. . .well, The Boss.

Sam’s first and only encounter with The Boss had been in a dimly-lit office, so xe could barely remember the woman’s facial features. She’d spoken softly when she explained the terms of a partnership, when she’d revealed to Sam that she’d been looking for another organization to work with and that Torchwood seemed like a good candidate.

Other than her clear Us versus Them mentality (as well as the fact that it took a very, very special type of person to earn the respect of murderers, then corral those murderers and dare their enemies to do something about it), the only thing Sam knew for sure about The Boss was that she was assertive, but not a tyrant. The way Murdock was acting right now proved it.

He always spoke highly of her, but shockingly enough, it wasn’t out of intimidation. He wasn’t panicking because he was afraid of being made into an example; he was panicking because he genuinely didn’t want to disappoint.

It was, honestly, a bit poetic. . .

However, that wasn’t exactly the point of this scenario.

“Murdock.” Sam stated through gritted teeth. “It’s been less than an hour since you had me tag along to kill somebody. And now you think you can just send me on an errand? To take a severed head to one of your pals?!”

The hitman pursed his lips, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

“Well. . .Cal actually has some of the stuff we need for the auction, so, I was kinda hoping you’d help him move it to the base. . .”

By now, Sam’s grip around the cooler’s handle had become so tight that it was a miracle the container hadn’t fallen apart right there.

“Look,” Murdock said pointedly, trying to shake off the rare bit of vulnerability he’d just shown. “I’m not thrilled about this either. We both know that I’d rather be the one to take care of these things. And that’s for the sake of my reputation, thank you very much.”

Sam scoffed, but still couldn’t think of what else xe could say, so xe let him continue.

“I’m man enough to admit when I’ve fucked up. And trust me, you’re not the only person who’s gonna give me hell for this. Just help me out one more time today, and I swear that I’ll come through in spades the next time you need a favor.”

Sam narrowed their eyes, chewing their lip. While Murdock was the type who treated threats and promises as the same thing, there was still some odd degree of honor among killers (just ask anyone who owed a killer something). He’d fulfilled debts before—although that depended heavily on who he was working with. And he knew damn well that he had Sam to thank for The Pentas Family becoming stronger than it already was.

“You know you’ll be owing me an actual favor, right?” Sam asked. “On top of what you’ve already promised. . ?”

Murdock, who had agreed to give Sam a cut of this job’s payment for her trouble, rolled his eyes and nodded petulantly. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Another moment of silence dragged on, but Sam eventually sighed. “Fine. But if you try to spring something else on me at the last-minute, you will be sorry.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will,” Murdock deadpanned, offering a stressed, sardonic half-smile. His phone buzzed again, and he fished it out of his pocket, the blue glow reflecting off his glasses.

“Cleanup’s here,” he muttered. As if on cue, the muffled-yet-unmistakable sound of car doors slamming shut sounded from somewhere outside.

Sam hummed in response, slowly turning on their heel to head outside. They paused in the doorway, glancing over their shoulder.

“Is there anything I should know about Cal?” They asked. “What do I need to look out for?”

Murdock considered this for a few seconds. “He’s got some screws loose, but he’s not unreasonable. As long as you’re smart and polite, you’ll be on his good side.”

Sam raised an annoyed eyebrow. Murdock’s profession required him to be careful about who he worked with, but it still wasn’t promising for him—a serial killer who basically took commissions—to vaguely hint at someone else having issues.

“Hey, if you associate with my crowd, then you’ll end up working with Cal sooner or later,” Murdock remarked, shrugging. “Might as well have you two get to know each other.”

___

Sam trudged along an old, decaying railway. Caged lights lined the walls every ten feet or so, which distorted the shadow Sam was currently casting as she walked. The illumination was dim, but that was much, much better than the tunnels being pitch black.

“‘iT sHoUlDn’T bE tOo HaRd To FiNd HiM oNcE yOu’Re DoWn ThErE,’” she muttered to herself in a mocking tone. Murdock had said he would let whoever Cal was know to expect her, but she’d been venturing through the tunnels for what felt like thirty minutes.

And it wasn’t like she’d assumed this place to be small. She just hadn’t expected the tunnels to be so unnecessarily labyrinthine. She was sure she’d already taken a wrong turn or two by now. She didn’t bother texting Murdock; even if he wasn’t too busy with whatever preparations he was needed for, the directions he’d potentially give would be cryptic at best.

Unsurprisingly, the concrete walls weren’t clean. There wasn’t as much graffiti as one would’ve expected, but Sam had already passed a few colorful paintings here and there. Sam hadn’t been working with The Pentas Family long enough to know if it had some kind of special code, but she had a feeling that these pictures were an equivalent to street signs down here.

(She supposed they could just be the work of some random artist, but even though the mob kept its business nicely hidden, anyone with a shred of self-preservation would instinctively know to avoid this place. Sam chose to just ignore what that said about her right now.)

After yet another turn, Sam halted, having discovered an intersection. The mouths of three tunnels yawned open before her. The railway she’d been walking alongside up until now stretched down the middle as far as the eye could see. Two more branched out from it, slightly curving as they led into the shadows.

Not only that, but there was yet another work of graffiti adorning the wall of the tunnel to Sam’s right. It resembled a small animal, while all the other pictures Sam had seen so far were abstract shapes—

Wait, no. It turned its head when Sam approached, causing xer to stop once again. Now that xe was closer to it, xe could tell that it was a real creature, but it’d been standing so still a moment ago. . .

The animal’s fur was the color of a thin veil of snow on the sidewalk. It sported four thin legs, with hind paws that were longer and wider than the front ones. A pair of oval-shaped ears protruded from the top of its head. A Y-shaped nose decorated its little muzzle, twitching in a way that would’ve been quite adorable if not for its eyes. They were a deep, dark shade of amber, almost seeming to glow against pale fur.

Sam’s vast knowledge of lapins began and ended with the fact that they didn’t eat carrots nearly as much as television suggested. Even so, it didn’t take long for xer to realize that the creature xe was looking at couldn’t be a rabbit. Its ears were longer and wider than those of any bunny xe’d seen. Plus, its body was just too large and wiry; rabbits were round creatures, small and soft around the edges.

This thing had to be a hare, right?

It shuffled closer to Sam, amber eyes still wide, curious, and maybe a little cold. Sam took an experimental step forward, and it didn’t scurry away as xe’d expected. Instead, it chose to rear up on its hind legs, its front paws hovering in the air as though it wanted to T-pose but just didn’t have the shoulders to do so. Its nose fluttered in an oddly distinct manner. Like it was smug about using such a cute gesture to smell rising paranoia.

Sam blinked. The animal did not.

Yep, definitely a hare.

The impromptu staring contest lasted about ten more seconds. Then, the hare lowered itself back onto all fours and turned away. It tossed one last glance at Sam over its shoulder, then raced down the tunnel and out of sight.

Sam listened as the hare’s footsteps got more and more quiet until they disappeared altogether. Xe wasn’t the type to make something deeper than it needed to be, but xe’d already heard plenty of cautionary symbolism about following a rabbit down a hole. Following a hare down a hole would probably be even riskier, since xe was already below the surface, and hares had no business stalking a network of abandoned subway tunnels.

Lightly shaking xer head, Sam went back to looking between the three tunnels.

Eeny-meeny-miney-mo. . .

Sam had just barely heard a new, louder set of footsteps approach before an unfamiliar voice called out, “Hey!”

Sam flinched, then turned xer head to find a man trekking out of the shadows within the tunnel to xer left.

Both of his arms were adorned by patches of hastily-wrapped bandages. The adhesive was stained red around the edges, but that was nothing compared to the man’s right hand. Layers of gauze were wound about his palm, simultaneously succeeding and failing to hide the stump where his right pinkie should’ve been.

Sam had to keep herself from staring. When it came to stuff like interrogation, mutilation was pretty common in the underground. She couldn’t be sure what had happened to this guy, but she still knew for a fact that it’d been gruesome. Especially since it was probably a measured tactic in comparison to more permanent alternatives.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Bandages snarled. “You got business here?” He stood on the middle railway; he might’ve wanted to get in Sam’s face, but now that he’d gotten closer, he could see just how tall and well-built she was. I.e., clearly not someone who would take much shit from him.

“Yeah, I do,” Sam answered flatly. “So why don’t you mind your own?”

Bandages rolled his eyes. “No such thing as having your own business in places like this.”

“There is, actually. But if you really think otherwise, then it’s no wonder someone got sick of you.” Sam nodded to Bandages’ arms and missing finger, the lack of pity evident in her tone.

Bandages scowled in a very unpleasant way. He seemed to be trying to make himself look bigger. His efforts were unsuccessful.

Sam’s instincts told her that Bandages wasn’t part of The Pentas Family. Though she’d only seen a couple affiliates other than Murdock, she got the impression that there was a bit of a dress code. (Specific clothing wasn’t required, but various shades of red seemed to be. Murdock always wore that currant-colored turtleneck when on the job.) Bandages was wearing a simple gray T-shirt with a pair of jeans. Both articles were grimy, which meant he either got into quite a few scrapes or just didn’t care about his appearance.

“What’s in the box?” Bandages interrogated, pointing to the cooler in Sam’s hand.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” Sam replied.

One part of her felt annoyed, since it was be pretty easy to figure out that her cargo was a transplant container and do the math from there. Another part of her felt a little proud at how Bandages ever-so-slightly faltered; she knew she’d been getting better and better at intimidation. And yet another part of her was desperately clinging to her stone-faced demeanor in order to hide the nausea creeping around her teeth.

If Murdock were here, he’d probably take the cooler from Sam’s hands, open it, and show the target’s head to Bandages. Sam wasn’t about to do that, but she couldn’t deny that it certainly would’ve gotten Bandages to back off. (Unless it somehow didn’t, in which case Sam would have a whole new problem. . .)

Sam was about to just try her luck with the middle tunnel, but she hadn’t even started walking when she felt a hand come down on one of her arms. She retaliated by shoving Bandages back with the aforementioned arm.

“Don’t touch me!” She nearly shouted, her voice just loud enough to slightly echo along the walls.

Bandages tripped over the railway, landing on his back against rusty metal. He was quick to pick himself up, though it took him a bit longer to wipe the shock off his face.

“I’ve never seen you around town before—above or below,” he spat, folding his arms across his chest. Sam snorted, as this guy was desperately pretending that he hadn’t been knocked flat by the person he’d been trying and failing to belittle.

“I can say the exact same thing about you, dumbass. What’s your point?”

“My point,” Bandages said jeeringly, “is that you’re not supposed to be snooping around unless you want trouble.”

Sam narrowed her eyes. “Just because I’m not looking for trouble doesn’t mean I won’t put someone out of commission if they try to give me any. Besides. . .”

She trailed off, subtly gesturing to the enamel pin attached to her shirt. Not that said pin would’ve been hard to notice; it’d been designed in the shape of a poison dart frog with an appropriately neon color palette.

Murdock had given it to her at the beginning of this arrangement—according to him, The Boss mandated that pins like this one were always provided to Pentas associates. That way, if Murdock or any of his peers were somehow unaware of a new alliance, they’d still be able to tell that the allies in question were A. not intruders despite still technically being outsiders, and B. strictly off limits (to both Pentas representatives and other outsiders. Unless they did something to change that, at least. . .).

Bandages scoffed, though his eyes turned slightly wary. “Just because you’re under protection doesn’t mean you get to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Good thing I’m not sticking my nose anywhere, then,” Sam shot back tersely. “I was specifically sent here as part of a favor that I owe.” A millisecond passed before she clarified, “To Murdock.” She made sure to put emphasis on the name. He was one of the higher-ranking killers in this organization, so it was only fair.

Bandages’ face fell. He lightly shook his head, forcing his mug back into the scowling mask he’d been aiming at Sam. The movement was quick, but Sam, ever observant Sam, had already noticed sudden panic on Bandages’ expression.

Though they only felt annoyance towards him, they also couldn’t help but emphasize a bit. Murdock was a cold-blooded maniac, after all. Even—perhaps especially—those in his good graces wouldn’t be spared from his demented two-cents. (Which, in hindsight, made the calm-cool-collected demeanor he boasted seem less arrogant and more fucking terrifying.)

“Yeah, well,” Bandages snarked, “Murdock isn’t in charge around here. What’s more, these tunnels aren’t his turf.”

“Eh, you’re half-right,” a new voice interjected from somewhere up ahead. “This territory belongs to The Boss, but as of late, I’m one of the people in charge of it.”

Sam ever-so-slightly startled, turning xer head to discover a man walking along the tracks towards xer and Bandages. Like most people, he was shorter than Sam (xe estimated he was 5’11), sporting fair skin and a head of neatly-kempt, chocolate-colored hair that nearly matched his eyes. The crimson leather of his racer jacket complimented the black hoodie and gray jeans he was wearing it over.

A sharp gasp erupted from Bandages’ direction. Sam glanced back at him, and was surprised to see just how pale his complexion had become. Not only that, but his eyes were practically bulging from their sockets. His stoic facade might as well never have been witnessed, because if he didn’t resemble a deer in headlights right now, nothing would.

As he grew closer, Jacket-Hoodie-Combo continued. “I’m usually willing to let people pass through here. As long as they’re not wasting any time or space, of course.” He halted a couple feet away from Sam and Bandages, taking a second to peer at the former.

Sam peered right back, making sure to keep her expression neutral. Now that Jacket-Hoodie-Combo was closer, it was easier to see exactly how calculating his eyes were, regardless of his relaxed disposition. Sam knew damn well that she was being analyzed, being put into a category. Plenty of people had looked at her the way Jacket-Hoodie-Combo was right now.

Sam raised their eyebrows, trying to send a silent message along the lines of, I’m not afraid of you.

Jacket-Hoodie-Combo responded by smiling in a way that all but screamed, Maybe not right now. . .

He then tilted his head to look at Bandages. “Care to tell me what’s going on here?”

Bandages faltered, swallowing a visible lump in his throat. He looked in the opposite direction, as though he was hoping, praying that another person would suddenly pop up and volunteer to be a meat-shield for him.

“Nothing’s going on,” he finally answered, lowering his head.

“Really?” Jacket-Hoodie-Combo asked. “Because it looks like you were trying to instigate something with this visitor.” He nodded to Sam, or rather, to the dart frog pin. (So, this guy was part of Murdock’s “family.” Sam couldn’t be sure if that was a good thing yet.) His voice was light and positive, set in a bit of a Midwestern accent with that edge you could expect to hear from some kind of announcer. Even so, his tone was mischievous, sarcastic, conniving.

“What? You think I was starting something?” Bandages’ eyes were still filled with fear, but now a tiny bit of hope had been thrown into the mix. He shook his head and pointed at Sam. “She was the one who came up to me.”

Sam snarled. “That’s bullshit!” Despite xer desire to handle this carefully, Sam’s current levels of adrenaline made it pretty easy for a nerve to be struck. Especially considering how a complete stranger was trying to lie about xer.

Jacket-Hoodie-Combo’s smile gradually faded. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Bandages, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “Oh, come on. I could hear you from all the way down the tunnel.”

That tiny bit of hope vanished. Bandages glowered at Sam, but his expression quickly shifted back to a pleading one at Jacket-Hoodie-Combo’s comment. He tried to say something else, but Jacket-Hoodie-Combo cut him off.

“Stirring the pot with a protected colleague is already a punishable offense, y’know. And that would only be so much to worry about if this was your very first mistake with us.” He took a step forward. “But I distinctly remember The Boss telling you to stay out of here.”

Bandages was visibly shaking as he took a few steps back. “I-I heard that you’d all be busy today! Didn’t think I’d be in the way of anything—!”

Meanwhile, Sam glanced back and forth between the two of them, quietly edging away. Bandages had been trying his damnedest to toss his weight around just a few minutes ago, but now he was clearly making an attempt to not piss himself.

And Jacket-Hoodie-Combo hadn’t even tried anything yet. If he had a muscular build or any questionable injuries, then they were well-hidden by his clothing. There was a small, jagged scar on the left side of his upper lip, but other than that, he didn’t seem too intimidating.

Don’t judge a book by its cover, a voice in Sam’s head chided. By now, she knew that phrase all too well, and for all the wrong reasons. Hell, Murdock was able to come off as pretty unassuming—charismatic, even—when he needed to. And even when the real Murdock came out, he was still so disturbingly casual about it. So, if someone fell for that act, it was already too late for them.

“Oh, we’re busy alright,” Jacket-Hoodie-Combo agreed. “And that gives you even less of an excuse to be sneaking around right now.”

The smile was back on his face, but it was a different smile than before. It wasn’t calm. It was unnecessarily wide and crooked, revealing two rows of pearly whites. Save for a silver canine-cap directly beneath his scar, that is.

Sam chewed at the inside of her cheek. Yep, there was definitely something wrong with this guy, and he’d most certainly made a reputation out of it.

Jacket-Hoodie-Combo moved closer to Bandages; just a few more steps and he would’ve been able to pin him against the wall. As Sam watched, she realized that Jacket-Hoodie-Combo wasn’t making eye-contact with Bandages. Instead, he was staring at Bandages’ arms, at the injuries hidden beneath patches of gauze. It was then that she finally realized what really made his grin seem so wrong.

It didn’t just look unhinged.

It looked. . .hungry.

“Wanna try again? Or should I just go straight to disciplinary measures like The Boss said I could?” Jacket-Hoodie-Combo’s hand was a blur as he spoke, reaching into a pocket to produce a wicked damascus-steel cleaver. (Sam couldn’t help but wonder exactly how the hell a tool like that had fit so perfectly inside the man’s coat.)

“N-no, NO!” Bandages nearly shrieked. “I’ll leave and I won’t come back, I swear! You won’t have to deal with me again!”

Jacket-Hoodie-Combo hummed at this. “There’s more than one way to make sure I don’t have to deal with you again.”

He paused, then side-eyed Sam, probably remembering that she was still here. He pursed his lips in thought for a few long seconds before stepping away from Bandages with a melodramatic sigh.

“Move it,” he snapped, pointing toward the opposite tunnel. “Go back to your stupid gang. I’ve got more important things to focus on.”

Bandages began turning on his heel, presumably to bolt like a greyhound. But not before Jacket-Hoodie-Combo’s free hand lashed out and cuffed him on the neck, fingernails digging into skin. Bandages let out a cry of despair, screwing his eyes shut.

“The next time you feel like trying to pull a fast one on us,” Jacket-Hoodie-Combo hissed, holding his cleaver about an inch from Bandages’ face, “just remember that you have nine more fingers. . .and two legs. . .and a whole smorgasbord of things that, should you lose them, would leave you in much worse shape than what you’ve already lost.”

With that, Jacket-Hoodie-Combo shoved the other man away. Bandages quickly regained his balance and fled down the tunnel, the sound of his terrified footsteps still bouncing off the walls even after the shadows swallowed him up.

Jacket-Hoodie-Combo stared after him before rolling his eyes. He then straightened his back as he returned his focus to Sam. “Sorry you had to wait through all that. I’m just so fed up with people; I really thought he’d gotten the hint last time.”

Sam blinked at him, then cleared xer throat. “What exactly happened last time?”

“It’s not really a story worth telling. Just a bunch of wannabes trying to be competitors. They seem to think random street violence makes them look cool.” Jacket-Hoodie-Combo shook his head dismissively. “No tact at all, but they somehow managed to jeopardize one of our more recent plans. So, a message had to be sent. And I was assigned to do the sending.”

Sam tilted their head to the side. “One less person on their roster would probably be a more effective message. Isn’t that what this family specializes in?”

“Yes to both of those things, but The Boss wants certain problems handled more delicately.” Jacket-Hoodie-Combo slipped his cleaver back into his pocket. “I’m Caliban, but most people just call me Cal for short.” He then extended his hand, offering it to Sam.

Sam hesitated, but still reached out to shake. Ja—Caliban may have put away his blade, but she’d seen how quickly he’d been able to fish it out. Even so, he was the person she’d been looking for, and being polite was typically an easy way to stay safe.

That particular sentiment promptly threw itself out the window as an unnatural shape suddenly started moving inside Caliban’s hoodie.

Warning bells rang throughout Sam’s head as she remembered all the strange yet elaborate weapons that’d nearly cost her an eye, a few teeth, or varying amounts of blood in the past. She immediately took a couple steps back, but before she could draw The Lion’s Breath, something popped up through the hoodie’s collar.

Something with white fur. . .and long ears. . .and a pair of amber eyes above a twitching nose.

“And this is Snare,” Caliban chortled with a warm, knowing smile. “Don’t worry, he’s only dangerous when he needs to protect himself. Just treat him nicely and he’ll return the favor.”

This might’ve been the part where someone let their guard down due to a small animal entering the scene in an admittedly adorable way. To Sam, however, the fact that the hare had just been curled up in his owner’s hoodie while said owner threatened someone else with a knife wasn’t reassuring. Plus, despite Caliban’s cheerful tone, something in Sam’s gut told xer that he wasn’t actually joking about Snare being more deadly than he appeared.

“Nice to meet you,” xe coughed. “Thanks for intervening back there.”

Caliban nodded. “No problem. You must be Sam, yeah?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “That depends: how do you know?” (She decided to play along and just ignore how Murdock had obviously followed through with alerting his accomplice.)

“You’re kind of the whole reason this family’s been working with Torchwood. Besides. . .” Caliban shrugged cheekily. “Well, ‘Doc has a couple stories about you.”

“Murdock is the kind of guy to have a couple stories about everybody,” Sam pointed out.

Excepting the typical violence and death, xer interactions with Murdock had been pretty offhand, if not ominous. So, at the sound of this, Sam was unsure whether to feel complimented, insulted, threatened, or some vague combination of the three.

“True, true. But apparently you’re the only person with green eyes he’s ever met.” Caliban then tilted his head, taking a second to seemingly regard those same eyes. “Very pretty, I’ve gotta say.”

It wasn’t the first time Sam had heard this; having such a rare eye color was a solid bragging right. And despite validation being one helluva drug, unfortunately, when you worked in underground businesses, flattery was often a display of ass-kissing at best and downright slimy at worst. Then again, Sam could tell that Caliban wasn’t trying to flirt or kowtow—

“I’ve never had green eyes before,” Caliban stated, hunger creeping back into his grin. “Wonder if they taste any different from brown or blue.”

. . .Well, then.

Sam’s throat suddenly felt very dry. Not surprising, since it would’ve been a miracle for their jaw to not have hit the ground. They could practically feel their tan skin turn a shade that was roughly on-par with Snare’s fur. They only realized they’d backed away several paces when Caliban started cackling.

“Oh my God, that was perfect!” Caliban wheezed, shoulders bouncing, barely able to speak through his laughter. “And I thought I’d never get a chance to use that one!”

Sam stared at him, trying and failing to stop shaking. She was no stranger to morbid humor, and thanks to her arrangement with Murdock, she’d thought she’d gotten used to those kinds of jokes being aimed at her.

But the way Caliban had said that. . .his voice had barely changed. He’d sounded so calm and casual about implying that he wouldn’t mind eating her fucking eyeballs.

Caliban eventually calmed down enough to form coherent sentences once again, heaving a sigh.

“Ah, don’t worry. Eyes are an acquired taste, and I honestly don’t want to acquire it. They combine the texture of grapes with the flavor of fish.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Pretty damn unpleasant unless they’re cooked in a special way. And I just don’t have the time or patience for that. Not when the body has plenty of other parts that are so much better.”

Sam instantly remembered the complete and total horror that had been on Bandages’ face, as well as his missing finger and all that gauze he’d been wearing. . .

The words hung in the air for an uncomfortable moment until Sam finally found her voice again. “Let me guess: those ‘other parts’ include chunks of skin out of someone’s arms?”

It took almost everything she had to keep from stammering. She’d already shown fear when she really shouldn’t have. Even though she was taller and clearly stronger, she couldn’t let him think that she was some shrinking violet.

“More or less,” Caliban answered with a shrug. “It had to be done, so what do you care?”

“I care because nobody bothered to tell me that I’d be working with a cannibal today!” Sam exclaimed, understandably incredulous. “Near-death experiences may have become the norm for me, but that doesn’t mean I can just deal with someone who might want to chop me into butcher’s parts!”

Caliban blinked at Sam, then rolled his eyes in an exasperated manner. “I already told you that you have nothing to worry about.”

“You only said that about my eyes!”

“Do you really think I would’ve scared that guy off if I wanted you dead?”

“I didn’t need anyone to scare that guy off for me. And if I’ve learned anything from Murdock, it’s that killers tend to get pissy when they don’t get to take someone off the census. So what assurance do I have that you won’t try something?”

Caliban mulled this over, then leaned against the wall behind him, looking Sam up and down again.

“First of all, you’re wearing that pin. If The Boss decides to protect you, then we all need to protect you, and I’m not looking to be reprimanded anytime soon. Second of all, I can’t afford to butcher anyone who the family hasn’t decided needs to disappear. And third of all. . .”

Something distant and unreadable manifested in his eyes.

“. . .Anyone who’s a friend of ‘Doc is a friend of mine.”

Sam furrowed xer brow. On one hand, Caliban was being pretty logical about this; he also hadn’t made any moves to try and harm xer, which was already a lot more than xe would’ve expected from a cannibal. On the other hand, however, having a conversation with a man who was a body-disposal resource for a mob, whose signature method for disposing of the bodies in question was to make meals out of them. . .

It was quite difficult to process. Especially considering how he thought taunting others with this fact was FUNNY.

(Plus, Sam couldn’t help but notice how Caliban had said “friend” in a snide tone, and that he clearly knew damn well how dangerous it was to associate with him or Murdock.)

“I’m not saying you have to trust me,” Caliban continued, “and I’m not much better than Murdock. But the options are always limited. So, you might as well take what you can get.”

Sam would’ve very much liked to call BS, but she couldn’t. Despite all the voices clamoring in her head, she knew that Caliban had a legitimate point. Besides, she couldn’t exactly ignore the sole purpose of managing to get Torchwood to partner with The Pentas Family. There were some unbelievably fucked-up people in the world; people who made Murdock look like a regular saint. And since those people would never be a big loss to society. . .well. . .

If Sam had been able to convince Murdock and his peers to target those who actually deserved all the terrifying things this mob specialized in, then that meant Caliban had been cannibalizing those same targets.

So, in the grand scheme of things, Caliban really was one of the better options of people to work with in an environment like this.

Sam sighed, straightening her back. “You left out how I’d knock you into next month if you gave me a reason to.”

Caliban offered a calm smile. “Probably, but I wouldn’t make it easy for you. Plus, you’d still have to worry about this guy avenging me.” He scratched Snare’s ears, to which the hare purred in an odd-yet-cute way.

Sam felt obligated to ask what exactly Snare was capable of, but Caliban gestured to the container in her hand.

“I’m assuming that’s for me?” He asked.

“. . .Yes,” Same answered, awkwardly lifting the cooler a bit.

“What is it? That thing’s too big to be transporting just one organ.” Caliban’s expression was curious and excited, like that of a child trying to guess what was hidden beneath Christmas wrapping paper.

Sam cringed. True, xe’d had to kill before, but dismemberment was a very different story, even though Murdock had been the one to divorce the target’s head from his body. Xe drew a line in the air around xer noggin, then made the slit-throat gesture.

Caliban chewed his lip. “A head? Really? That’s odd.”

“The rest had to be disposed of quickly,” Sam replied. “And I get the impression you don’t appreciate char-grilled stuff, so it’s this or nothing.” (The target’s corpse was probably a big pile of ashes by now, and it wouldn’t have taken a genius to guess that no one, cannibal or not, would appreciate being given ashes to eat.)

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Caliban retorted. “Decapitations are just hard to pull off, so it’s pretty rare for ‘Doc or any of the others to do it.”

For whatever reason, Sam couldn’t really respond in any way other than shrugging. Eventually, they pronounced, “Aside from this delivery, I was told you needed help taking some. . .other things to the auction.”

“It’s not something I can’t do myself, but I wouldn’t say no to some extra help.” Caliban looked briefly surprised, but understanding returned to his features quickly enough. “‘Doc really needs to start using a planner, huh?”

“No kidding.” Sam glared at him before sighing. “Might as well happen, if I’m gonna be working with you guys.”

“Thaaaaat’s the spirit!” Caliban beamed in a very unconventional way. He turned away from Sam, then beckoned for her to follow as he started strolling into the tunnel on the right. Sam glanced at the other tunnels, then padded along, though she made sure to stay on the opposite side of the railway.

The cannibal walked at a quick pace, keeping both hands in his pockets. Snare didn’t budge from his owner’s hoodie; Sam couldn’t help but wonder if said hoodie had been modified to have a special interior pocket for the hare to ride in.

“So,” Caliban pronounced. “How did ‘Doc kill this guy? If he actually managed to take the head off before he died, I’m gonna be really impressed.”

“Why do you want to know?” Sam inquired. She realized too late that there had to be more than one reason, and that she would have approved of exactly none of them.

“Because if the head hasn’t been too damaged, then I might be able to sell some of the less-than-edible parts.”

Sam bit her tongue, barely able to keep repulsion out of her face. “Stabbing. Multiple times in the stomach.”

“Yeah, that sounds like ‘Doc.” Caliban glanced around Sam to analyze the cooler. “So, that’s a brain, two eyes, one tongue, at least twenty-seven teeth or so. . .”

“Uh—no, actually,” Sam piped up, cringing. “Murdock pulled all the teeth out during the first phase.”

Caliban quirked an eyebrow. “Probably should’ve expected something like that,” he admitted, sounding vaguely disappointed. “Oh, well. There’s no way the cleanup crew didn’t pick up the teeth themselves. Maybe they’ll drop ‘em off at the base.”

“And they would do that because. . ?”

“Because of the auction,” Caliban stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Teeth are easy to clean, and a whole mouthful can fit into the smallest jars. They’re probably the only pieces that can be sold on the same day as a job.”

Sam remembered that one time in her youth: when she’d been unable to sleep because she’d gotten so nervous about what a fairy could possibly want with the baby teeth she’d lost.

She shuddered at the thought of some suspicious character drilling tiny holes into a handful of teeth in order to line them up on a thin chain, and then wearing them as some awful necklace or bracelet. (Then again, a person would have to be pretty damn stupid to slip on a piece of evidence and show it off, but Sam supposed there wasn’t anything stopping that person from only wearing said evidence around places where they wouldn’t be questioned.)

“How do events like this work?” Sam blurted. She nearly froze in place, unsure whether to keep talking or to clamp a hand over her mouth.

Caliban tilted his head at her, smirking in a way that suggested he’d been waiting for her to say something she really didn’t mean to.

“Why do you want to know?” He questioned, making sure to mimic the tone she’d used just a couple minutes ago.

Sam suddenly couldn’t look at anything but the ground. The cooler felt like it was holding a few bricks. “. . .Just in case I ever have to deal with one of them for a mission.”

“Are you sure that’s the reason?” Caliban pressed. “There’s nothing wrong with morbid curiosity.”

“That’s a load coming from you,” Sam snarked. It wasn’t like she was afraid of silence, and she already knew that she wouldn’t like the answers Caliban would give. “If information is important enough, then I might as well ask questions.”

This was actually true. Sam may not have been inexperienced, but the underground was constantly changing and expanding.

(Assassinations and organ-trafficking were the pies The Pentas Family had its thumbs in. They most certainly wouldn’t guarantee anyone a spot in heaven, but Sam was still aware that, somehow, other illicit businesses managed to be much, much, much worse. . .)

Working with The Pentas Family would mean eventually having to face even more shady groups.

So, if xe had an opportunity to learn more, then xe needed to take it. For xer sake as well as the sake of xer peers at Torchwood.

“Well, for the most part, it’s pretty much just a simple market,” Caliban explained. “Plenty of customers make their offers ahead of time and come to collect, though they might browse if they have the time. Unsold items are displayed and open for bargaining. The auction itself starts near the end, and it’s only used for the most valuable stock.”

“Is part of that value the fact that you’ve managed not to eat it?” There was a generous amount of sarcasm in Sam’s tone, which xe used to distract xerself from how Caliban called human body parts items and stock.

“I feel like you’re trying to say I couldn’t pass the Marshmallow Test,” Caliban replied. “Which kinda stings, not gonna lie.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Sam rolled xer eyes. “Last I checked, human organs are not at all similar to marshmallows.”

“You’re right: they’re a thousand times better than marshmallows, and that’s not my fault. Besides, they turn a nice enough profit to make it worth having to wait for another delivery.”

Sam stared at him, slowly shaking xer head in shock. Another moment passed before xe glanced between him and the cooler. “What kind of profit are you talking about?”

Caliban seemed genuinely excited to inform. “Prices can always fluctuate if the product has seen any damage. For example: let’s say I’m trying to sell a human skull. If the skull is in perfect condition, then I’d be able to expect three-thousand dollars or so. But if it’s missing teeth or has any cracks, then the most reasonable price would be about eight-hundred.”

“But why would someone even need a spare skull?” Sam interjected. “Even if it was possible to replace bones like organs, it’d still be way too late for someone who needed a skull donation!”

Caliban snickered. “‘Skull donation.’ I wouldn’t put it past some people to try making that a reality. . .” He then shrugged. “Maybe they’re running hidden experiments that require bone marrow. Maybe they’re testing out different types of weapons. Or maybe they just know something about art deco that you don’t.”

Sam, who always saw fake skulls in stores around Halloween season, couldn’t really argue with that last option. Xe wanted to, but xe couldn’t.

“I’m assuming someone would buy a femur just to give their dog an authentic chew toy?”

“Sure! Snare would know all about that. Just one phalange is enough to keep his teeth from getting too long.” Caliban raised a hand to chuck Snare under the chin. “Your bite’s already bad enough, isn’t it, buddy? Yes, it is!”

The hare responded by craning his neck to nuzzle against his owner’s cheek, his amber eyes practically sparkling. . .until he glanced over at Sam, that is. Then he contrived to look smug and a tad evil.

“A single kidney can sell for ten thousand,” Caliban continued, “and a matching pair can be worth up to two hundred-thousand.”

“‘Matching?’” Sam echoed, somehow having been caught even more off guard.

“. . .Okay, matching might not always be the right word. Especially if you’re harvesting from multiple bodies at a time.”

Sam’s stomach roiled at the thought. It was shocking that bile hadn’t started creeping into xer throat by now. Caliban kept going, and it was genuinely impossible to tell whether he was toying with Sam’s disgust or was just in Infodump Mode.

“Blood can sell from three-hundred-thirty-seven per pint to one-thousand per gallon. Livers go for five-hundred-thousand on average, but you’d be lucky to get three-hundred for intestines, large or small, since they’re naturally so contaminated. Eyes can be about thirty-thousand each, as long as they still have corneas.” Caliban paused, then grinned at Sam. “But that price can be even higher depending on how rare the color is.”

Sam listened before taking a subtle deep breath. Then she inquired, “. . .What about hearts?”

“Oh, a heart is worth a cool million! Even one with minor damage, let alone a perfect, untouched one.” Caliban chuckled. “Ah, maybe not quite untouched, but you get the idea.”

Sam imagined organs being organized into rows on a small table, each sealed inside a glass jar full of ethanol or isopropyl (xe supposed that could be one way of keeping Caliban from snacking on them). Xe imagined bones being displayed in a similar manner, albeit polished and maybe hung on metal racks. Xe imagined any number of people—probably way more than xer mental health was prepared for—peering at all those specimens, inspecting them, commenting on them.

Xe wondered what it was like from their end; it would be impossible for them to not ask questions, but those questions would likely be about quality that they’d learned to look for via fuck-knows-what. They could certainly try to ask about how the organic wares ended up for sale, but The Pentas Family couldn’t afford to give out that information for several reasons.

“Wait, don’t tell me,” Sam declared. “Human skin is typically ten dollars per square inch?”

Caliban did a doubletake that was almost neck-snapping. “Wow. You got it right on the nose!”

Sam blinked. Then blinked again. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not!” Caliban insisted. “An entire body’s worth of skin can go for up to thirty-thousand, but it’s rare for someone to buy it in bulk. Especially when you consider how difficult it is to remove it all in one piece.”

Goosebumps prickled on Sam’s arms; it almost felt like bugs were crawling all over her.

Sam knew that skin grafts could be used for perfectly kosher reasons. They were essential to a person’s recovery when severely burned, infected, or even cancerous tissues had to be removed. Plenty of dental offices used them for gum repair procedures.

But that was in normal society.

In the criminal underground, Sam had to assume that human skin could find its place as a watch strap, or a handbag, or seat covers for cars, or even an entire fucking sofa for whatever godforsaken reason. . .

Sam became extremely worried about what that meant for Caliban’s leather jacket.

“Wait.” Caliban suddenly halted in his tracks. “Waitwaitwaitwaitwait, hold on.”

“The first couple ‘waits’ didn’t tip me off,” Sam remarked, though they stopped walking in suit.

“Since we’re on the subject of skin. . .was that guy crying before he died?” Caliban’s eyes were fixated on the cooler.

Sam raised an eyebrow. She’d literally just told him about Murdock’s back alley-esque dental procedure. “Crying? He was bawling like a CEO who’s been told he can’t buy a tenth yacht to sink.”

Caliban’s eyes bulged from their sockets. His grin grew wider than Sam thought possible, to the point that he almost seemed to have too many teeth. His body language wasn’t violent, but the vibes he was giving off were now even more unsettling than they already had been.

Sam, who was debating on whether or not to draw The Lion’s breath, nervously asked, “Is that a prob—”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Caliban interjected. “ If a target cries, then lead with that when you make the delivery!”

Sam squinted at him, silently motioning for an elaboration. The cannibal didn’t seem angry; he didn’t even seem disappointed. If anything, he was practically bouncing up and down like an excited child.

“The skin on a person’s face usually isn’t worth cooking. There’s only enough of it for one sitting, and I always have to worry about acne and other nasty stuff like that. But tears have so much more of a kick than regular table salt!”

And just like that, Caliban was walking again, faster than before, making a clear effort to not break into a sprint. “C’mon, c’mon! We’re close to my basement! If I hurry, I can take the skin off and prepare it before we leave for the auction! Then it’ll be ready for me once I get back!”

Sam reluctantly quickened her pace. Even before she’d decided to follow a vegetarian diet, Sam had been thoroughly grossed out by the concept of eating chicken skin. And now her guts were turning to water because Caliban was chattering about how human skin compared to chicken skin.

At least her assumption about his jacket had been incorrect. . .

@that-bat @sammys-magical-au @insane4fandoms @ayoreneehere @callmegkiddo @anxious-ace @dleep-deprivation-idk-jelp @overemotional-cactus @congratscat @neons-trash-blog @butterboyfly @echoing-night @sw33tst4rs @cmaniac123 @i-dont-like-it-here-please-help @xyzkiss @fluidfluxsomeone

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celestialodysseys · 1 year

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thinking about Supernatural again against my better judgement and like. it’s hard to describe my experience with the fandom and the show because unlike any other fandom i’ve been a part of, someone saying they’re a fan of Supernatural is not a guarantee that we will enjoy talking to each other about it. in fact, i usually become more wary lolol

but it’s hard because as much as my view about Supernatural (and obviously in particular Sam) has been informed by and tied to my own life experiences and trauma, making me not super objective about it, i know that’s the case for the hardcore Dean stans (and the destiel shippers that often come along with that). and i want to respect that! i totally get how seeing yourself in a character, having a character or storyline be there for you in dark times, etc, can make you feel really connected and overprotective of that character! so it’s hard to express why the way the general fandom views Dean and Sam is so painful and upsetting to me.

i think i’ve got it now though.

in the movie Everything Everywhere All At Once, the character of Evelyn has been through a lot. This has made her jaded, dissatisfied, frustrated. She often lashes out at the people who love her. She is comparable in some ways to Dean, a man who went through an extremely traumatic childhood and even more traumatic adulthood, who has abandonment and shame issues.

the character of Waymond has also been through a lot. This has made him quiet, a bit of a doormat, eager to help people. He often tries to believe in others because he does not believe in himself. He is comparable in some ways to Sam, a man who went through an extremely traumatic childhood and even more traumatic adulthood, who has guilt and self-worth issues.

the movie sees Evelyn heal and learn to love and open up again. We also see how Waymond chooses kindness instead of shutting people out or shutting down (like Jobu). they grow and heal as individuals and as a couple (i should note i am NOT implying dean and sam are a couple- their relationship is similar to Evelyn and Waymond only in the fact that they are two people who care about and spend a lot of time with each other, who also have a very dysfunctional relationship).

ANYWAYS, both Evelyn and Waymond are loved by the fandom. People relate to one or the other or both based on their life experiences, but both characters are loved and appreciated for who they are and who they grow to be.

Supernatural is like if people said actually Evelyn has some problems but she’s in the right at the beginning of the movie, and people just don’t love her enough. It’s like if people said obviously Evelyn has been through a lot, so she shouldn’t have to apologize to Waymond or Joy; everyone should just automatically move on.

Supernatural is like if people hated Waymond.

Obviously this is not the whole fandom, but it is a LOT of fandom. And it’s frustrating, because I do think Dean deserves love and happiness! I think he deserves to heal! But most fans seem to think that means he shouldn’t apologize for the way he’s treated people, and if we point out how he's acted we’re mean mean haters. And I get that people might not relate to Sam. But most fans either seem to either hate Sam, find him whiny/boring/unsympathetic, or simply just disregard him for anything other than a plot device. And it’s SO WEIRD and so so frustrating the way this fandom treats its characters.

#spn #supernatural #sam winchester #dean criticial #BUT NOT REALLY I SWEAR #dean winchester #and the warrior said: i am the storm #stardate log

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diamond-coral · 3 years

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Bargaining Chip

Hello! This is my first time posting on Tumblr ever:) I pulled this one-shot from a fic I posted on AO3 a few months ago but the plot is irrelavent and I changed it from first person to second as well as some details so it can be read as a stand alone. There’s some plot from the actual story but you really don’t need to know it at all.

There might be a few errors, especially because I changed the entire point of view and converted it to present tense from past tense so sorry:)

Loki manages to get his hands on you and exchanges you and your body for his ticket to independence from the Avengers. Bucky gets to go first.

Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Characters included: Loki, and a little bit of Tony, Steve, and Thor

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY!!! SMUT (NON-CON TOUCHING, FORCED ORAL SEX (m receiving), KNIFE THREATS, DARK! AVENGERS, BUCKY’S AN ASSHOLE IN THIS, DEGRADATION, BASICALLY FORCED PROSTITUTION) READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

You awake in the passenger seat of your own car with only foggy memories of you and your partner before everything had gone dark. Your mission from the CIA...breaking and entering the motherfucking Avenger’s facility and managing to escape...you were so close. If it weren’t for him. In your haze, you look to see who could possibly have the audacity to be driving your car, and there sits Loki, the God of Mischief, who you had only scene on the news, driving one hand and inspecting something in his other.

“Good evening my lady. Sleep well?” he mocks without taking his eyes off the item in his hand which upon further inspection from you looks to be... a red leash?

What the hell?

“I do hope you like your outfit,” he continues. “I think I assembled quite the get up for you.”

Looking down, you let out a muffled scream that was cut off by a strip of duct tape. Your hands are bound in your lap, but that isn’t what horrifies you. It’s what’s underneath them. You take into account your bare legs, fully on display, with a black dress leaving little to the imagination. The top half is just as horrifying with it’s plunging neckline. Your legs end with a pair of strappy gold heels that ensures any chances of running away to be futile while your upper arms are adorned in golden bracelets accented with emeralds. Whether the emeralds were real or fake, you could care less. You have bigger problems to worry about.

“What the fuck?!”

Is what you try to say, but the gag only makes it come out as a mangled ball of muffled murmurs. Though the chuckle Loki lets out implies he understands your enraged speaking attempt.

“You, my dear, are going to be a bargaining chip. I heard about your little escapade at the Avenger’s facility last night. Impressive, I must say, but my brother and his little hero posse had been looking for you relentlessly after that. They are practically obsessed with catching the women that managed to break into their high security building.”

Loki takes a sharp turn into a parking garage, narrowly missing the wall. You squeal as your precious car runs over the curb.

“I forgot how much I hate mortal transportation devices. But Stark had to build this tower in the middle of New York to feed his ever-growing ego and now I’m the one that has to rely on a car to get me there,” he grumbles while pulling into a parking space. He takes a deep breath once the car is parked. “Now, I’m going to remove that gag out of your mouth, and if you scream, I will peel your skin off of your body in the slowest, most painful way imaginable. Understood?”

You nod frantically and he rips the tape off, extracting a whimper from your now stinging mouth. You open your mouth for him to take the wad of cloth out that was under the duct tape. As he extracts it, you snap your mouth shut in an attempt to bite him, but he’s quick to evade and grabs your jaw harshly.

“What did I say before?” he seethes.

“You said not to scream. I didn’t scream. Now let go of my face.”

Loki roughly throughs your face to the side, letting go, and looks around the surroundings of the car, probably checking for any unwanted onlookers.

“Out of the car. Now,” he orders and you hastily oblige using your bound hands to open the door.

As you shut the door, you catch a glimpse of your own reflection and grimace. You look like a hooker. Aside from the skimpy outfit, your hair was pinned up and intertwined with gold strands. Your makeup is done as well. Sultry eye shadow and dark red lipstick.

“I didn’t know the God of Mischief was a makeup guru,” you jab.

He ignores you and harshly pushes you forward. “Walk.”

“Where’s my partner?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Loki replies. “She has other uses than the one I currently need you for.”

“And what use am I needed for?”

“I already told you. By the gods, you mortals are stupid. You are to be a bargaining chip, (Y/N).”

Your blood runs cold. “How do you know my name?” you ask.

“I know everything about you. Including your peculiar abilities.”

You stop dead in your tracks.

“Now, don’t worry,” he adds. “As amusing to me as it would be, I have no interest in enlightening the Avengers to your secret identity. As far as they will know, I am simply giving them the criminal that broke into their compound.”

“And what’s in it for you?” you ask as he guidesyou into an elevator.

After pushing a button, he goes to fix his dark green tie. “Clever girl now aren’t you?”

“Answer the question.”

“How about-no?” he muses and a soft ding resonates through the elevator.

The doors opened and, for a moment, you forget the predicament your in. Inside was the most beautiful penthouse you had ever seen. The opposite wall was made entirely out of glass allowing a view of the New York City night skyline. Everything little piece of furniture each looks as expensive as your car, but your focus becomes drawn to the minibar. The Avengers were all sitting there, laughing, and most were obviously drunk.

“Here James, try some of this,” Thor booms.

Bucky makes a face. “Why would I drink something from another planet meant for Gods?”

“Jeez Buck it’s the only thing that can get you and I drunk,” Steve slurs and claps Bucky on the shoulder. “It’s your birthday. Live it up a little.”

Bucky hesitates before grabbing the flask Thor offers him and throwing his head back, downing the flask in one go.

Loki seems to have enough of the party scene as he clears his throat to interrupt them.

“Gentlemen-”

Before Loki uttered another word all the Avengers clambered from their seats to grab their weapons, but their intoxicated state just makes it a comical sight. Captain America falls over in an attempt to reach for his shield below the table. Tony Stark’s iron man mask smacks him over the head as he fails to turn in time to catch it on his face. Sam Wilson chokes on his drink and falls backwards off his barstool in shock.

“I come bearing no ill tidings.” Loki spread his arms.

“Then why bother coming at all?” Thor growls, shifting his hammer to his right hand.

“I’ve come to make an offer.”

With that, Loki snatches your wrist and throws you towards him and the other men. You stumbled in you stilettos and let out a yelp as you land on the floor looking up at the 5 present Avengers: Thor, the Winter Soldier, Captain America, Iron Man, and the Falcon. They all look down on you with perplexed looks etched onto their faces.

“You guys have been so caught up and stressed about finding your security breaches that I was generous enough to do some finding myself,” Loki explains.

“And how do we know you didn’t just pluck some prostitute off the street?” Caps eyes rake up and down your body.

Loki scoffs. “Always the skeptic captain. Does this answer your question?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flash-drive.

Tony snatches it from his hands. “Jarvis, what’s on this drive?” he asks, holding the drive up to a scanner in the glasses he’s wearing.

“It appears to be the files you have been collecting the 2 vigilantes you have been tracking and-.”

“Okay thanks J!” Tony interrupts quickly before Jarvis could spill any more information. He proceeds to storm up to your cowering and kneeling form that hadn’t dared move and harshly grabs your jaw.

Jesus, what was with these men and your poor, bruised jaw?

“Why would you possibly need this information?” he asks calmly, but his eyes are feral. He studies you and his brows furrow. Did he manage to piece it all together that you were the alleged vigilante they had been hunting? He lets go of your jaw and throws you back on the floor. “What business do you have looking for them?”

Looking for them? You let out a sigh of relief.

“None of your business,” you spit.

“Anyways,” Loki continues, and the drive suddenly disintegrated in Tony’s hand while reappearing in Loki’s. “I will happily hand over this seemingly important information along with the girl for you to do with her as you please, but…” He pauses. “Only if you stop tracking my current whereabouts.”

“And why would we do that, Loki? You’re dangerous,” Steve notes.

“I was dangerous,” Loki interjects. “I have been a good boy haven’t I? I would like to lead a normal life without you imbeciles tailing my every move. If I slip, Thor here will know within the second if I’m involved with anyone wrong doings, won’t you brother dear?”

Thor grunts at that statement.

“Besides, Stark’s satellite can track any magical energy if I use it. Which I won’t.”

“Fine. Now hand over the drive,” Tony snaps and holds his hand out.

After Loki drops the small gadget into Tony’s hand, he hauls you up and spins you around to face him.

His voice is quiet and low. “Be glad I didn’t tell them about my plans for you friend. It would be a shame if they found out about her abilities...and yours.”

He spins you back around to face the 5 men whose eyes were now raking up and down your body. “Easy on the eyes isn’t she?” Loki mentions, hands falling on your waist making you squirm. “You know, I almost considered keeping her for myself. Her exotic beauty is that of a pleasure maiden on Asgard.” Your struggles are invigorated at his implications. “Enjoy your whore.” And with that, he gives you one final shove before vanishing.

It’s silent for half a minute before one of the men speak up.

“Alright who wants to take her for a spin?” Tony asks, clapping his hands together. “I vote the birthday boy gets first dibs. Huh, Buckaroo?”

You blanch at the idea. Were they really going to go through with what Loki wanted? What happened to the valiant heroes you saw on your screen?

“Wait Tony, you can’t be seriously considering Loki’s suggestion?” Sam Wilson sounds surprised.

Tony shrugs. “Why not, Birdie? It’s either this or high security prison and I don’t think she wants to rot in a cell.”

“She is standing right here and would rather rot in hell than do what Loki had in mind,” you hiss.

“Well it’s a good thing we weren’t asking for her opinion,” Tony says.

“Tony’s right, Sam,” Steve adds slowly. “We bust our asses out there. We deserve something nice.”

“Day after day we save this pathetic world, and no thanks are given. Just everyone saying what we did wrong. We should’ve left the world to fend for itself after they tried shoving those ridiculous accords down our throats,” Thor murmurs

Sam raises both of his hands up in defense. “Fine. Do what you want with her. I’m gonna head out.” And with that he leaves. Your heart sinks, watching the only glimmer of hope, your knight in shining armor, walk out the door. Your self-pity party is cut short by an arm snaking around your waist.

Bucky Barnes, trained assassin, mass murderer, and now current Avenger, puts his face in the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, sending shivers down your spine while you stand frozen like a deer in headlights. “What do you say, doll? Wanna finish what we started the other night?” His hand on your waist slowly drifts down to your ass.

You stomp your heel down on his foot eliciting a groan of pain. “Last time I checked, you were in the dirt, and I was driving away that night after a successful robbery. There’s nothing to finish.”

He moves quickly as he rips your hair out of what’s securing it up, using the opportunity to tangle his hand into the roots and drag you away to a separate room. He wrenches open and throws you in, leaving you to stumble and trip. A searing pain on your forehead signaled that you hit your head.

“How about we use that snarky mouth of yours for something better hmm?” His voice is ice cold with malice as he grips your hair and yanks you up.

You cry out in pain, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he sneers down at you. Hearing the sound of a belt unbuckling and pants unzipping, you shut your eyes.

A tear escapes, cascading down your face, but his thumb gently wipes it away.

“Open your eyes, doll,” he coos.

You shake your head and screw them shut even tighter.

“I said...OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!” he roars and your eyes fly open only to see his member sticking out of his slacks right in front of your face. He’s almost fully hard as precum dribbles out of the tip. “Good girl,” he praises. “Now, since you can’t seem to keep your snarky mouth shut, let’s put it to better use. How bout that?”

You don’t move, and he sighed as you look down to the floor. You hear some shuffling, a small click, and suddenly something cold and sharp is pressing under your chin, tilting your gaze to his steel blue eyes.

“Let’s try this again.” He pushes the knife harder, digging it a little deeper, but not enough to draw blood. A knife. This dirty bastard has a knife. “Suck. My. Cock.”

Pushing all your pride aside, you direct your gaze to the task in front of you. Bucky lets out an approving hum and the knife is removed from your throat. You swallow before opening your mouth and dragging your tongue from his base to the tip before wrapping your lips around him and sucking lightly.

Bucky was no slacker down there, you had to give him that. You ease your mouth down his shaft and his head tilts back.

“Oh fuck that’s it,” he moans. “Take my dick down your throat.” He grunts. His metal hand fists your hair to push your head down, sliding a few more inches into your throat. “Oh-that’s a good whore,” he breathes.

A gag is torn from you and you slap your hands against his thighs to imply you couldn’t take much more. Bucky’s only response is another grunt as he jams the rest of his length down your throat leaving your only intake of oxygen to come from your nose which was now mashed right above the base of his thick cock. As quickly as he pushed you down before, he pulls you back off by your hair, letting you go to wretch, gasping for air and freedom. A strand of saliva still connects from his tip to my lips.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He snags your hair again. “Open wide, slut.”

You do just that and he begins to fuck your throat at his own pace, sliding his entire length down every time. Tears brim at your eyes, not just from the lack of oxygen, but the humiliation of the moment as well. The time passes much too slowly for your liking, minutes dragging on for eternity, before he begins to reach his climax.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” His cock twitches in your mouth.He holds your head with both hands as he releases straight into your mouth, warm thick strands of his release coating the back of your throat. He pulls out with a pop and smirks down at you. “Good little sluts swallow” he orders.

You glare up at him, making a show of not doing anything.

“Well?” he demands and raises a dark brow.

You spit his own climax onto his expensive shoes.

“Why you-!” He raises his hand, getting ready to send a smack to your face.

“Barnes!” A female voice comes from the doorway as the door flies open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

There stood none other than the Black Widow.

#dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #non-con #bucky x female reader #dark!fic #loki x reader #avengers #idk how to tag this #fanfic #am i doing this tag thing right?#no i'm not #smut #dark!mcu #marvel #dark bucky x reader #dark!marvel

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usernamesuggestionsarefunny · 3 years

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I have been watching many dudebro channels roasting endgame and let me tell you, they notice logic fails, technical details and other plotholes tumblr fans usually don´t, but at the same time, they sometimes miss or don´t put as much emphasis on many failures the movie had when it came to the characters and the relationships between them. They don´t place as much importance on the bonds between the characters (*cough* and how endgame and the previous movies as a whole fucked everything up/missed great oportunities to show friendships and other bonds between the characters *cough*) as they do on the logic of the story. They don´t notice the lack of closure for Bruce and Natasha, or the whole civil war deal with Tony. They don´t notice the fact Steve is thinking about Peggy in the snap support group what an asshole when it was Sam, Wanda and Bucky who he lost recently in the snap.

Like for example, many are willing to give a lot of thought to how stupid the avengers´ time heist plan was but when they get to Steve´s ending or Natasha´s pointless death they are like “sure, that was fine, whatever”. At most they complain about Nat´s sacrifice being unnecessary (And come up with other alternative ideas that would have been more logical than the set of circumstances that made Natasha´s sacrifice a plot device in the first place), or complain about how out of character it was for Steve to stop fighting, or about Steve abandoning his friends for a second, but then get back to other logic-plot-related stuff. In summary, dudebros complain more about Steve´s ending breaking the time travel rules the writers themselves created (Which, same, that was sooo annoying) than about the end to literally all of Steve´s friendships in the future.

It just seems interesting, the differences between the criticisms men and women make (I am going by the assumption a great deal of us on tumblr and fanfiction in general are women, I know not everyone is) about the same piece of media, the things they find more important to enjoy entertainment. Obviously those are just stereotypes based on gender roles and all individuals are different but this is just based on what I have observed.

None of those criticisms are useless btw, all those issues are valid and actually complement each other to explain why endgame sucked.

#anti endgame #anti endgame steve #anti steggy #just in case #mcu critical #mcu criticism #endgame steve is a skrull #you thought I was going to diss dudebros?#well no #all fans are valid #and most of us can agree endgame sucked #lets bond through that #brutasha #slight mention I guess

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fucktheroyals · 3 years

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You know after reading and reading and reading peoples theories and the meta from before the spn finale aired and the meta writers reactions to the finale I think I have a theory of my own. We don't have any answers tho, so this is pure speculation. If you wanna add something to support or discredit any of this that's cool but there's too many things floating around. Know I dont have proof for this conclusion at all. A lot of what I say is just guesses based on previous facts.

This all came together in my head when I realized how much this finale REEKS of the original producers and who the show was originally for. It REEKS of Robert Singer. Like if the execs started saying they didn't want it, Robert Singer was the one pushing that the story was about the brothers. That kinda thing.

Then, I was thinking of the problems in this episode and it struck me these are all of Supernatural biggest issues and to be honest all of it feels completely deliberate.

Take the sexism for example, Supernatural in it's later seasons largely out grew this, we have Jody, Rowena, Donna, Charlie, Mary, Claire (and even a wayward sisters pilot with MORE women/girls) all making regular appearances. They're mainly good characters and mostly aren't there to hurt our boys. Rowena, of course, is the one outlier being very about herself but it's clear she still cares for them, I mean its part of her development. But they're all real, with character flaws just like everyone else. (And we have Death too and she was POC 😭 THANK GOD)

Now look at the earlier half of Spn, we have Ellen and Jo, who's appearances were far in between. There's Bela in season 3, recurring for quite a bit (5 eps), but she is a character that is only there for herself, definitely not found family (unlike Ellen & Jo), and she's got more episodes in season 3 than Ellen and Jo in season 2 who aren't seen again til season 5. The "fans" send in hate mail after hate mail to try to get these characters off, and eventually they are. Then there's Ruby who's character stayed for a whole two seasons and was a largely recurring character. Why does she get to say so long? She's a plot device. She's supposed to be there to betray Sam. She has to stay (plus Jared obviously likes her). But she's not just a character the writers like writing about. Same with Lilith. Obviously not as recurring but still a plot device. Did they get hate mail tho? You can bet on it. Why? because tHeY'rE gOnNa PuSh ThE bOyS (Dean and Sam) aPaRt ThE sHoW iS aBoUt ThE bOyS oNlY. Without even thinking about the hate mail, just notice how large the difference is from how women are seen in the earlier seasons to the later seasons. Misha got tons of hate mail too for being a character that could split up the boys (probably only being allowed to say because he a man, thanks sexist producers and execs).

Only after Castiel was killed off and then Castiel fans successfully (thank you guys) got him back on the show did the hate mail largely simmer, which means female character's were allowed to stay! Which has lead us to a show with a good amount of female characters. But can you imagine having to kill characters off time and time again because people keep complaining that the show is "only about the boys." Fun times really.

So now we get to this final and we see sexism. But it wasn't just the plain old regular sexism you find in the earlier days of spn. Because now, there ARE women to talk about, talk to. But this episode was DESOLATE women wise, unless they were used for plot (which is also sexist!). Small scenes, they're barely there. Women gets her tongue cut out. Random women from s1 gets killed. Sam doesn't SPEAK of Eileen. Nothing. No mention of any female characters from the boys mouths unless they were from/in this episode itself. That's WIERD. I know we've all said it. But that goes beyond forgetting about characters. I mean its SAM'S GIRLFRIEND for Christ's sake. There is NO REASON they couldn't have said Eileen's name. Notice how Sam's wife is just... faceless. This is literally an age old sexist trope. Like... one of the things about bringing Mary back to life for s12+ is that it takes this trope... of basically a generic mother, and gives her life and feelings, whether you like them or not, they're real feelings. They said Mary isn't just a mom she's a person. Mary's existence in the later half of spn is to fix this kind of female tropes that fall upon her character, to not let these her stay a 2 dimensional character. They said we should know she's more than just the mom who tried to save her kid. Do that is the exact opposite of Sam getting a nameless, faceless wife. The sexism of the old spn wasn't just brought back, it was completely amplified. It wasn't just accidental or some exec "fixing" the story it was DELIBRATE. Whoever wrote that, didn't do ALL OF THAT by accident. Because an exec or a producer who doesn't see the flaws in old supernatural isn't going to write it that deliberately.

Let's bring it back to s10 when Charlie was killed (singer was mainly to blame). Dead in the bathtub, age old classic of burying ur gays. If you were here you know people never let Supernatural live that down. THEY KNOW what bury ur gays means. Hell, Robbie Thompson left because of Charlie's death and you think the writers don't know what it means? I mean both Bobo Berens (especially) and Steve Yockey's careers are centered around LGBT+ storytelling and you think they don't know? They know. They know.

And Dean wasn't just apart of the bury your gays trope, it is so far BEYOND that. Dean being killed on a rusty nail/screw, the tongues ripped out, things that seemed to be meant for other people. Jensen's acting in the last two episodes was giving us "DEAN RECIPROCATES" but no one ever actually saying it. I think it's clear that Dean was killed for being Bi. They didn't address it for a reason, they just silenced him. His narrative was supposed to be about letting him be HIM for the first time, to say what his feelings are instead of having them miscommunicated, and instead of doing that, they just silenced him. And the more we look at this scene the more horrific it gets. The more it's a complete slap in the face and it's supposed to be. Some guy who knows nothing about the LGBT can't write a scene this horrific.

Some guy who knows nothing about Dean couldn't write a scene that deconstructs all of Dean's character development and gives Dean his worst nightmare. I MEAN DEAN WANTED TO LIVE HIS LIFE! THEY DIDNT HIDE THAT JOB APPLICATION (or whatever job related thing that was) IN THERE FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES THEY WANT YOU TO KNOW THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST SITUATION. Dean isn't Barney from HIMYM. If you watched HIMYM then you'll know Barney went from being a stereotypical ladies man and treating women terribly to being in love with a women and treating her right and working hard for it. The last episode of HIMYM (why its so bad) Barney's character development is thrown out and he's back to being a stereotypical ladies man. You don't need to know Barney's character very much to do that.

To kill Dean during a hunt his father never finished, to not have anyone at his funeral, to have Dean die young like his life didn't matter. Those are Dean's worst fears and you'd only truly know that if you watched the gin episode in s3, where they are basically laid out for you. You HAVE to know Dean's character to tear him apart like this.

This episode took all the core elements of the show and did a complete 180° the name of the episode itself is "Carry on" and Dean and Sam very much did not carry on. Sam grieving his entire life so that he good get to heaven and see Dean again. Dean being ready to live his life, despite the enormous pitfalls and learning to love himself only to be killed. "Family don't end with blood." Um.... it did in that episode either literally with Dean's death or you know BECAUSE NONE OF THEIR FOUND FAMILY WAS THERE. Not Jack, Not Cas, Not Eileen, Not Donna, Not Charlie, Not Jody, Not Claire... on and on we go. No one was there, nobody was even mentioned. Dean's funeral, no one even called that we know of. It was just Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean. And Bobby. Don't forget Bobby. But yeah Sam and Dean.

That's what the show is about right, the brothers.

Except it's not anymore. It hasn't been for years.

Cas not being there was deafening but it brought us to a major point. Becky. Becky's telling us about the terrible ending.

And many of us are wondering why would they literally tell us this is the worst ending and then... make it the ending.

Now before we move on, it very apparent many of you think Dabb doesn't ship Deancas. And Dabb doesn't care about the characters.

Say what you will about any plot holes in his writing, the point he is VERY GOOD at writing the characters, and giving us good ones.

Why do we know Dabb ships Deancas? (ill say when its cowrote, other wise its not) cowrote ep 8.02 - purgatory "I prayed to you, Cas, every night" "Cas, Buddy, I need you." "I have a price on my head, and I've been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to – to keep them away from you." 8.08 Hunteri Heroici - Cas helps them hunt! 😊❤ Dean & Cas have a serious convo about why Cas doesn't want to see/go to heaven. 8.22 Dean's mad at Cas. Sam's explanation of why Dean should be easy on Cas: "It's Cas." Dean then points out how he'd knife anybody else if they did what Cas did. 9.10 - Cas comforts Dean when Dean can't take seeing Sam (Gadreel) being tortured anymore. Also tons of Cas. 9.20 (bloodlines) - Canonical couple parallel "I was there, where were you" 9.22 The angels make Cas choose between them and killing Dean and he "gave up an entire army for one guy" 10.09 Claire's reintroduction. Cas heavy ep. DeanCas date. 10.22 THE PRISONER - u know the ep where Dean beats the shit out of Cas but loves him enough to not kill him.

We COULD keep going but I think I've made my point. If Robert Singer is the guy that is like "the show is about Sam and Dean only" Andrew Dabb is the DeanCas shipper. And you could even say a Cas stan.

Notice! How in s13 for SEVEN episodes we have a story that revolves around Dean's grief about losing Cas. Notice! How often the stories in all these seasons have a focus on their relationship. THAT is Andrew Dabb. If it weren't for him doing that, we wouldn't be able to easily say after Dean's lack of a response to Cas' confession, that Dean reciprocates.

To me, when I was (binge) watching s12 for the first time, I thought damn this is really got a lot of DeanCas. So I went to look at who was in charge, who was writing. I saw Andrew Dabb, associated him with Deancas episodes, saw all the new writers, Bobo, and then I saw that Yockey is known for same sex stories and it clicked. Dabb assembled a team to give us Destiel. THAT WAS IN SEASON 12!!!!!!!!

The amount of people saying he's homophobic flabbergast me. Open your eyes! That isn't what's going on.

Imagine making a show and trying to right all the wrongs of Supernatural. Imagine trying to write the greatest love story ever told and you have the entire season planned out for it to end off beautifully, it may possibly be your greatest achievement when it's done and then boom. someone comes in and tells you you aren't allowed to make Dean bi or make destiel endgame, after he was most probably already given the go ahead.

Sure. You could imply he's bi or into cas still in a way. Still make nice-ish ending. just give everyone what the kinda want.

Or you could scrap the last season, nothing close to a canonical bisexual Dean Winchester or Deancas endgame in site. People can be done with it be happy with the show, continue to live their lives in ignorance as to how close they were to Canon destiel.

OR you can lead everyone to the very closest you can get them to what you were aiming for and then show everyone the ugly truth and reality. Light it all on fire. Burn the show to the ground in your wake. Try your darnedest to making these people's (the people saying no) pockets suffer. Show us, the audience, what happened. Show us what this show really is.

I've seen people talk about the ending being changed during covid but I dont think that happened. I think what happened was Dabb already had this season planned out before it even started. Obviously the details were wobbly but it was all lead up to this ending. Destiel endgame, Canon Bisexual Dean, whatever it was. They were ready to write the greatest love story ever told and then someone shut it down.

Imagine the pain that must have caused them to be told no when they already said yes. They must have been so excited to give this to us.

I think someone (some producers) told him what this show is "really" about. The brothers. Can you imagine, after being told no, some kinda bullshit like this is said to you: "Why aren't you bringing it back to the brothers, Andrew? that's what the shows about. What with all this homosexual stuff, you know the audience won't like that. Not really." Imagine the original producers pushing this kind of view on you. "You know when we started it was Sam and Dean. It should end with Sam and Dean." That kinda sounds like someone huh? huh.

So why give us a nice acceptable finale, when you can take every problem Supernatural's had either up front or behind the scenes and create a finale so incredibly bad that people don't want to watch it anymore.

Someone made a good point about how Sam was originally supposed to be the main focus (this isn't to put any hate on Sam or Jared). Dean and Sam are the main characters but Sam was supposed to be the focus and for Dean to have become the focus, must have annoyed the producers because... well here we are. They wouldn't listen to Jensen. The producers liked this ending. Jensen's opinion didn't matter to them.

In some ways, if this is really what happened, it can be seen as childish from Dabb. To hurt all of us like that. Yes, he's hurting the producers, the execs, the cw. But to hurt us? Yeah it stings.

But in other ways, if this is really what happened, this is Dabb showing us the muck and gunk under the shiny surface. The hate for Misha. The hidden hate for Jensen. The underlying sexism. The underlying homophobia. The people REALLY in charge don't care about us, they just want our money. He needed to open our eyes and free us, at least free the people that he was writing for. The people he sees that care about this show.

This is the ending the powers that be wanted and its a big fuck you for a reason. I dont think this is Dabb spitting in our faces for loving this show, I think this is him trying to get revenge for us.

But from here, you can see it how u want it. If this is really what happened, I'm not in charge of your emotions, if you wanna be mad be mad if you wanna be grateful be grateful. And you don't have to believe me either I said this is speculation.

Also, as for all of the rumors like there being shots to the confession scene that we didn't see, which Jensen himself implied, I think that might have been a last ditch effort to canonized DeanCas but obviously it was cut. Like the name change was pretty clear. As for Misha possibly having shot some stuff for 20 I dont know what to tell you. If it's true I dont know where the blame would lie.

I do think however, that if all this was the case, the writers were prepared to become villians here. I mean they told us the writers were villians with Chuck right? So. Who knows what went down so they could give us such a vile ending. It could've been the producers or the writers, who truly knows. I do think tho that people we "trust" did some pretty shitty things to push the narrative in certain directions so now one would see this as the actual ending that was coming.

So again do with my SPECULATION what you will. This was in no way meant to put Dabb on a pedestal or anything. Just meant to give a bit of perspective.

(Also Jensen didn't unfollow Dabb recently he was already unfollowed for years)

#15x20 wank #spn finale wank #spn finale meta #15x20 meta #Andrew Dabb #spn #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #misha collins #jensen ackles #long post #sorry im on mobile #this is the longest post i have ever writen

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legobiwan · 2 years

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Hey, I actually went to see the new Spiderman movie the other night! (Masked and boostered, I am a responsible Lego). Spoilers ahoy, exit now if you would prefer to remain uninformed.

The first part of the movie went fast, like the Roadrunner on a cocaine binge fast. And I've seen some interpretations that the turbo slideshow running from Peter's identity being revealed to the trial to the court of public opinion to the whole school/MIT situation could be a mirroring of how the events both felt and unfolded for Peter in real-time, especially as a teenager.

This being said, I think that's a generous interpretation. Admittedly, I haven't actually watched the other MCU Spiderman films, but I know enough through internet osmosis to be familiar with the backstory. And even with that, the first act felt like a roller coaster about to careen off the tracks.

Charlie Cox is awesome. His inclusion in the film was 110% fan service plus introducing him into the greater, non-Netflix MCU. I'm curious if Feige and co. will "sanitize" the Netflix characters, as Disney seems afraid of going as gritty as Netflix.

I need to think about Stephen Strange's characterization in terms of casting the memory spell. (And yes, the spell was 100% hand-waving and Strange's presence in this movie was also 100% as a plot device). While I know he is kind of flippant, in general, he seemed to be casting aside any form of responsibility here. Maybe because he doesn't have the Time Stone anymore? Or he's just burnt out from the whole Thanos thing?

Speaking of Strange, I LOVED that he got his Loki, "I've been falling for 30 minutes!" moment with the Grand Canyon. If Loki ever met this universe's Peter Parker, I'm sure he'd be thrilled, hahahaaha.

Honest to gods, I would have been happy with an entire movie of just the villains talking and fighting and negotiating. Especially Alfred Molina and Willem Dafoe. The sequence where they were all zapped into Strange's chambers was easily my favorite. (Something tells me I will go feral if some form of Thunderbolts movie/show ever manifests as there is nothing better than a bunch of complicated villains trying to work together).

My theater freaked when Andrew Garfield came on screen. Far more so than Tobey.

Out of the three, I have to say Andrew's version was by far the most charming and my personal favorite. It has been a very long time since I've seen those movies (if I even saw all of them, which I honestly don't remember), but I really enjoyed his particular iteration.

I thought the detail with the Statue of Liberty carrying The Shield was fascinating. Apparently, this movie takes place after Falcon and the Winter Soldier, so I'm thinking the symbolism of the shield falling might have to do with John Walker's fall from grace? But maybe not.

(Also, I'm just picturing Bucky having a shit-fit about the fact they are retrofitting the bloody Statue of Liberty with the shield. Also, as an in-universe thing, just...wow. This movie also apparently takes place just before the Hawkeye series, meaning Rogers: The Musical! is in previews. Meaning a lot of people are pushing the Steve Rogers narrative even after John Walker crapped things up and Sam came out as the new Captain America. Which I find interesting in that you have to think certain factions are desperate to recapture the past (Steve), ready to steamroll over the unpleasant, recent present (John), and not willing to accept the future (Sam). And, you know, looking at our real-world political climate...)

(Yeah, if this timeline holds, then the surge in Steve Rogers imagery can't be a fluke. Forget John Walker and yeah, we're not "sure" about Sam Wilson *ahem*, let's just venerate Steve Rogers and his crew and our glorious past and attach the shield to the fucking Statue of Liberty which sends all kinds of weird-ass messages in this context and I want that conversation between Sam, Bucky and whoever else about that because wow.)

Anyway, I'm a little obsessed with the whole shield/Statue of Liberty thing and I'm glad the Spidermen plus Green Goblin took that out. And hopefully, it stays out.

Getting back to the movie...was it just me, or was the soundtrack a little overdramatic for the action? Lots of full-on choral music, high symphonic, Strauss-ian stuff and it felt really overblown for what this movie was.

I will say the humor was pretty well-balanced for an MCU flick. And Jonah Jameson 1000% channeling Alex Jones by not only emulating his speech style, but hawking supplements at the end of his piece made me cackle.

Honestly, Tom Holland and Zendaya and all of the "nu-crew" are good actors, but Molina, Dafoe, and Garfield (and Foxx, too) stole the show for me.

Like many recent MCU movies, there was just so much packed into this film that it barely had any time to breathe and really explore the issues it set forth. The second act, for me, was by far the best, as we at least touched briefly on the villain characterizations and their interactions with their alternate universe nemeses.

Rushed, but entertaining. The action scenes were what they were, but there was potential in there for so much more. Added points for fan service although I would have swapped that for some more character development. 7/10

#hello there #spiderman no way home #no way home spoilers #nwh spoilers #legobiwan goes to the movies

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princecharmingwinks · 4 years

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Sterek Fic Rec - November 2020. Its that time again! More sterek coming at ya. Hope you find some gems in my recommendations for the month.

Cop Car by 67Kansas (1/1 | 1,724 | Teen)

Inspired by Sam Hunt/Keith Urban's song Cop Car

For the hour of great humiliation by Naicele (1/1 | 8,294 | Explicit)

There are witches, but maybe they are mostly a plot device to get Stiles and Derek to spend time in very close proximity. -- “Stop that,” Derek growls. “Stop what?” he whines, because, this situation is worthy of some complaining on his part “Stop smelling like that,” Derek hisses, breath hot on Stiles’s ear. “How do I stop smelling? Dude that’s insane,” he whispers back. “What do I even smell like,” he adds and then immediately regrets it. Surely Derek can’t smell that on him, can he?

can't be hateful, gotta be grateful by HalfFizzbin (1/1 | 6,260 | Teen)

"Be cool, Dad, we've decided to con Grandma."

(Or, the one where the Stilinski men drag Derek to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's and she gets the right wrong idea.)

Safe Haven by AnnoyinglyCute, eeyore9990, Loup_Aigre, Michicant123 (3/3 | 13,200 | Teen)

Derek's life as Prince of Hale was nothing but charmed... Until one night, when he was a mere nineteen years old, Gerard and Katherine Argent, welcomed into the castle under banner of friendship, slaughtered nearly the entirety of his family. Now, two years later, Derek is finally free and running for his life. Luck favors the unfortunate prince by leading him straight into the home of seven courageous young rebels, one of whom might just prove to be the love of his life.

A Fairy Tale AU

The Final Cry in Bethlehem by circa (stealthturtle) (1/1 | 8,152 | Teen)

"Derek," Stiles spits out his name like it's blasphemous, tells him, "If you for a second think I won't follow you out there, then you don't fucking deserve this pack."

His breath rattles in his chest. "Maybe I don't."

"And that's where you're wrong," Stiles responds immediately, coiled tension shaking the vowels his mouth forms. "I'd take a bullet for you, I'd go into fire for you. I'd cut off your arm if it meant keeping you alive because you're my Alpha and you'd die for me even if it was some two-bit demon who asked you to."

"Without question."

Or:

The five times they risk it all for each other out of loyalty, and the one time it was out of love.

What the World Needs Now by Jmeelee (4/4 | 25,526 | Explicit)

Scott and Malia’s engagement announcement throws Stiles into a quarter-life crisis. Derek is there to help him through.

Alternate title for this fic: Everyone is bisexual and nothing hurts so fuck you, Jeff.

Unknown Power by LadyDrace (1/1 | 2,244 | Explicit)

Stiles never really understood what Derek actually saw in him. But thanks to some filth and the scientific method, he finally starts getting the hint.

Our Little Wolves by SassyStarboard (1/1 | 3,628 | General)

“As you wish.” Stiles sighed dramatically and flipped the page with flair, pausing for effect far longer than he needed to—seeing as he hadn’t needed to at all.

“Finish the book, farmboy.” Derek said lightly, teasing.

“I suppose that makes you Buttercup.” Stiles informed him. Derek fluttered his eyelashes. Stiles laughed.

***

Derek and Stiles read a wolf-themed bedtime story to their babies and adorably smother their children with love because they deserve to be happy and fluffy.

Unofficial Deputy Stiles Stilinski by elliot_edison (1/1 | 3,483 | Teen)

In which Derek gets arrested by Sheriff Stilinski for public nudity, unofficial deputy Stiles handles the intake paperwork over the phone in an inappropriate manner, and the Sheriff plays wingman to two pining teenagers.

Welcome Home by musicofthenight (4/4 | 6,098 | Teen)

Just two dorks bonding over a video game.

Or: Stiles teaches Derek about self care via Animal Crossing

princecharmingwinks special mention (this fic hit me in the feels, it may be small but it is mighty!)

We're Born to Return to Home by LiviKate (1/1 | 2,201 | Not Rated)

Derek slumped to the ground, bleeding like a glacier, slowly loosing parts of himself. The pack was safe. Scott would keep them safe.

He closed his eyes and smiled a little, listening to his body trying to knit itself together too slowly to stop all the falling apart it was doing. The pain in his side was hot, radiating through him, flames of agony flickering inside him. He thought it was right for him to die in flames.

Almost the end of the year, hope everyone is doing ok!! Please spread the word if you love these works. All the love to the amazing authors on this list and all fic writers in general <3 Happy reading!

#sterek #fanfiction #fic rec #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #princecharminglists

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killianmesmalls · 3 years

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On your comments about Jack: ye-es, in the sense that Jack is a character who definitely deserved better than he was treated by the characters. The way Dean especially treats him reflects very badly on Dean, no question. But, speaking as a viewer, I think the perspective needs to shift a little bit.

To me, Jack is Dawn from Buffy, or Scrappy Doo. He’s an (in my opinion) irritating kid who is introduced out of nowhere to be both super vulnerable and super OP, and the jeopardy is centered around him in a way that has nothing to do with his actual character or relationships. He’s mostly around to be cute and to solve or create problems — he never has any firm character arcs or goals of his own, nor any deeper purpose in the meta narrative. In this way, he’s a miss for SPN, which focuses heavily on conflicts as metaphors for real life.

Mary fits so much better in that framework, and introducing her as a developed, flawed person works really well with the narrative. It is easy for us to care about Mary, both as the dead perfect mother on the pedestal and as the flawed, human woman who could not live up to her sons’ expectations. That connection is built into the core of SPN, and was developed over years, even before she was a character. When she was added, she was given depth and nuance organically, and treated as a flawed, complex character rather than as a plot device or a contrivance. She was given a voice and independence, and became a powerful metaphor for developing new understandings of our parents in adulthood, as well as an interesting and well-rounded character. You care that she’s dead, not just because Sam and Dean are sad, but for the loss of her development and the potential she offered. So, in that sense, I think a lot of people were frustrated that she died essentially fridged for a second time, and especially in service of the arc of a weaker character.

And like, you’re right, no one can figure out if Jack is a toddler or a teenager. He’s both and he’s neither, because he’s never anything consistently and his character arc is always “whatever the plot needs it to be.” Every episode is different. Is he Dean’s sunny opportunity to be a parent and make up for his dad’s shitty parenting? Yes! Is he also Dean’s worst failure and a reminder that he has done many horrible things, including to “innocent” children? Yes! Is he Cas’s child? Yes! Is he Dean’s child? Yes! But also, no! Is he Sam’s child? Yes! Is he a lonely teenager who does terrible things? Yes! Is he a totally innocent little lamb who doesn’t get why what he is doing is wrong? Yes! Is he the most powerful being in the universe? Yes! Does he need everyone to take care of him? Yes! Is he just along for the ride? Yes! Is he responsible for his actions? Kinda??? Sometimes??? What is he???

Mary as a character is narratively cohesive and fleshed-out. Jack is a mishmash of confusing whatever’s that all add up to a frustrating plot device with no consistent traits to latch on to. Everything that fans like about him (cute outfits, gender play, well-developed parental bonds with the characters) is fanon. So, yes, the narrative prioritizes Mary. Many fans prioritize Mary, at least enough that Dean’s most heinous acts barely register. To the narrative (not to Cas, which is a totally different situation), Jack is only barely more of a character than Emma Winchester, who Sam killed without uproar seasons earlier. He’s been around longer, but he’s equally not really real.

I debated on responding to this because, to tell the truth, I think we fundamentally disagree on a number of subjects and, as they say, true insanity is arguing with anyone on the internet. However, you spent a lot of time on the above and I feel it's only fair to say my thoughts, even if I don't believe it will sway you any more than what you said changed my opinions.

I'm assuming this was in response to this post regarding how Jack's accidental killing of Mary was treated so severely by the brothers, particularly Dean, because it was Mary and, had it been a random character like the security guard in 13x06, it would have been treated far differently. However, then the argument becomes less about the reaction of the Winchester brothers to this incident and more the value of Jack or Mary to the audience.

I believe we need to first admit that both characters are inherently archetypes—Mary as the Madonna character initially then, later, as a metaphor for how imperfect and truly human our parents are compared to the idol we have as children, and Jack as the overpowered child who is a Jesus allegory by the end. Both have a function within the story to serve the Winchester brothers, through whose lens and with whose biases we are meant to view the show's events. We also need to admit that the writers didn't think more than a season ahead for either character, especially since it wasn't initially supposed to be Mary that came back at the end of season 11 but John, and they only wrote enough for Jack in season 13 to gauge whether or not the audience would want him to continue on or if he needed to be killed off by the end of the season. Now, I know we curate our own experiences online which leads to us being in our own fandom echo chambers, however it is important to note that the character was immediately successful enough with the general audience that, after his first episode or two, he was basically guaranteed a longer future on the show.

I have to admit, I’m not entirely sure why the perspective of how his character is processed by some audience members versus others has any bearing on the argument that he deserved to be treated better overall by the other characters especially when taking their own previous actions in mind. I’m not going to tell you that your opinion is wrong regarding your feelings for Jack. It’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it, it harms no one to have it and express it. My feelings on Jack are clearly very different from your own, but this is really just two different people who processed a fictional person in different ways. I personally believe he has a purpose in the Winchesters’ story, including Castiel’s, as he reflects certain aspects of all of them, gives them a way to explore their own histories through a different perspective, and changes the overall dynamic of Team Free Will from “soldiers in arms” to a family (Misha’s words). In the beginning he allows Sam to work through his past as the “freak” and powerful, dangerous boy wonder destined to bring hell on earth. With Dean, his presence lets Dean work through his issues with John and asks whether he will let history repeat itself or if he’ll work to break the cycle. Regarding Cas, in my opinion he helps the angel reach his “final form” of a father, member of a family, lover and protector of humanity, rebellious son, and the true show of free will.

From strictly the story, he has several arcs that work within themes explored in Supernatural, such as the argument of nature versus nurture, the question of what we’re willing to give up in order to protect something or someone else and how ends justify the means, and the struggle between feeling helpless and powerless versus the corruptive nature of having too much power and the dangerous lack of a moral compass. His goals are mentioned and on display throughout his stint on the show, ones that are truly relatable to some viewers: the strong desire to belong—the need for family and what you’ll do to find and keep it.

With Mary, we first need to establish whether the two versions of her were a writing flaw due to the constant change in who was dictating her story and her relationship to the boys, which goes against the idea that her characterization was cohesive and fleshed-out but, rather, put together when needed for convenience, or if they both exist because, as stated above, we are seeing the show primarily through the biased lens of the Winchester brothers and come to face facts about the true Mary as they do. Like I said in my previous post, I don’t dislike Mary and I don’t blame her for her death (either one). However, I do have a hard time seeing her as a more nuanced, fleshed-out character than Jack. True, a lot of her problems are more adult in nature considering she has to struggle with losing her sons’ formative years and meeting them as whole adults she knows almost nothing about, all because of a choice she made before they were born.

However, her personal struggles being more “mature” in nature (as they center primarily on parental battles) doesn’t necessarily mean her story has layers and Jack’s does not. They are entirely different but sometimes interconnected in a way that adds to both of their arcs, like Mary taking Jack on as an adoptive son which gives her the moments of parenting she lost with Sam and Dean, and Jack having Mary as a parental figure who understands and supports him gives him that sense of belonging he had just been struggling with to the point of running away while he is also given the chance to show “even monsters can do good”.

I’d also argue that Jack being many ages at once isn’t poor writing so much as a metaphor for how, even if you’re forced to grow up fast, that doesn’t mean you’re a fully equipped adult. I don’t want to speak for anyone else, but I believe Jack simultaneously taking a lot of responsibility and constantly trying to prove to others he’s useful while having childish moments is relatable to some who were forced to play an adult role at a young age. He proves a number of times that he doesn’t need everyone to take care of him, but he also has limited life experience and, as such, will make some mistakes while he’s also being a valuable member of the group. Jack constantly exists on a fine line in multiple respects. Some may see that as a writing flaw but it is who the character was conceived to be: the balance between nature or nurture, between good and evil, between savior and devil.

Now, I was also frustrated Mary was “fridged” for a second time. It really provided no other purpose than to give the brothers more man pain to further the plot along. However, this can exist while also acknowledging that the way it happened and the subsequent fallout for Jack was also unnecessary and a sign of blatant hypocrisy from Dean, primarily, and Sam.

And, yes, Jack can be different things at once because, I mean, can’t we all? If Mary can be both the perfect mother and the flawed, independent, distant parent, can’t Jack be the sweet kid who helps his father-figures process their own feelings on fatherhood while also being a lost young-adult forcing them to face their failures? Both characters contain multitudes because, I mean, we all do.

I can provide articles or posts on Jack’s characterization and popularity along with Mary’s if needed, but for now I think this is a long enough ramble on my thoughts and feelings. I’m happy to discuss more, my messenger is always open for (polite) discussion. Until then, I’m going to leave it at we maybe agree to disagree.

#long post #long ask #so long answer #guys it's 1 am #i hope this made sense #watch me read this after sleep and register things i wish i said #oh well #jack kline #mary winchester #spn #supernatural #spn critical #supernatural critical #kinda?#eh just in case #spn meta #supernatural meta #jack meta

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funkymbtifiction · 3 years

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Thanks a lot for answering! I wonder could you please give examples of everyday deeds/types of behavior of different primaries and secondaries? Like what are they like when there's a school test or when they need to visit a doctor? The more the better. Something more down-to-earth than the situations from the fantasy movies listed on the website that may never take place in the real world, something found in everyday life that will help someone identify themselves and mb others around them

I’m not sure I can do that, because frankly, your Primary House is a state of mind. It’s what you want and how you feel about things (or do not feel, in the case of Ravenclaws, ahem). But I can talk about a few things, particularly in response to Harry Potter, that can shed light on the state of mind of the Primary.

What I have most noticed about people in general is that we all have a built-in bias, and in order to find our true type—whether that is our MBTI type, our Enneagram core and tritype, or our Hogwarts House combination—we must abandon our ego defenses. What does that mean? We have to overcome our biases and want to know our true self, and own it, more than we want to fight against an answer that might not please us. In the Enneagram, I’ve noticed particular biases against being a 2 or a 6. Everyone wants to be the more “glamorous” 4 or the elusive, bookworm 5.

Harry Potter, for better or worse, introduced us to the concept of Hogwarts Houses, but also introduced us to a bias, because it made Gryffindor the most glamorous House, due to all the main characters (however unrealistically) hailing from that House. Or, at least, all the main characters we like. Ravenclaw is full of wise weirdos like Luna Lovegood, who irrationally believes in things no one can prove. Slytherin is host to mostly back-stabbing, snobbish cheaters. And Hufflepuff is an “afterthought” where all “the boring, nice people are.”

What I like about Sorting Hat Chats is… they made the entire system more interesting and a lot fairer. Now, Slytherin isn’t the only House with villains automatically placed in it: their villains have to be specific in their love (and not betray their family, because it is the house of My Family is My Life). This also means people, fictional or real, who prioritize their loved ones, are Slytherins. Such as Mr. Darcy, or Katniss Everdeen. Suddenly, being a Slytherin doesn’t seem so bad, right? Not if you are loyal to the ones you love! That alone will appeal to the mindset of a Slytherin, because they will think, “Of COURSE I am. Of COURSE my loved ones come first! They SHOULD!”

I have friends in all four Primary Houses, but I will use myself as an example of the Ravenclaw. When I was reading the books, having all the main characters in Gryffindor bothered me, because not only did it show a bias, but I felt some of the main characters ‘belonged’ in other Houses—such as Remus Lupin being a Hufflepuff rather than a Gryffindor. I also felt like Hermione belonged in Ravenclaw. But that is neither here nor there… my objections to the system came from the logical flaws in how she arranged it. It wasn’t realistic to have everyone ‘important’ or ‘admirable’ within the story come from Gryffindor. It was easier to have them share Common Rooms, but people don’t isolate like that and only befriend someone from their House. They look for like-minded friends who share interests, and would make them all over the place. It was my little Ravenclaw brain, pulling away at her system and finding flaws in its logic, but reacting from a place of logical reasoning rather than moral indignation.

When I took the SHC test, it placed me in Slytherin. And I was not opposed to that. In fact, I explored it for a long time, as I thought about how I respond in various situations. Slytherin appealed to me, because… I wish I could stand up for my family automatically. I wish I could prioritize my loved ones all the time. But I kept hitting upon the fact that – I like to think about things in a detached manner, and come to what I feel is a rational consensus. It’s more clinical and less emotional than Slytherins are—and it helped at the time that I knew a Slytherin, and could easily see both how possessive she was of people (they are “mine to protect” – she always reminded me of Slytherin Sam Gamgee in The Lord of the Rings, with his “MY MR. FRODO”) and how, without fail, her sister came before even me, her best friend. Through comparison, I knew I had to be something else. So in typical Ravenclaw fashion, I went through and considered them all. Because, as a Ravenclaw, I want to be RIGHT more than protect my ego. I am always looking for the truth, even when it hurts. And I am always measuring the world against an ideal in my head, built up of my belief system. I do not go against my beliefs; I mold myself to them. And it shocks me to find others who do not, but who claim to be the same as I am. I take, for example, my Christian faith seriously—so what do you mean you are ignoring what your faith says, and doing whatever you want??? YOU MOLD TO YOUR BELIEFS, DON’T YOU? Well, yes, if you are a Ravenclaw, you do. If you are any other House, you do not.

The Hufflepuff Primary I know has a far more ‘felt’ opinion of the books and their sorting system. She got livid reading them, and thinking about how constantly unfair it all was, how biased Rowling was, and how Dumbledore was clearly playing favorites constantly with Gryffindor House. She developed a bad attitude about him as a result… which, of course, is coming from her being a Hufflepuff. To a Hufflepuff, people come first. They are all treated fairly and seen as equals. You do not discriminate, you do not alienate, you do not give unfair favors to Harry and his friends, just so Gryffindor can win the House Cup over and over again. She was actually so angry about this, from a Hufflepuff perspective, that she was willing to be a Slytherin in defiance of ‘The System’ until she realized that kind of mindset is… pure Hufflepuff. “You are not being fair about this, I will oppose you.” It’s all instinctual, it’s all emotional, and it’s all loyalty to the human race, which includes Slytherins. (This caused us some friction for awhile, until I realized it was “just a Hufflepuff” objection, because... how can you be mad at Dumbledore for that? It’s just a convenient plot device in the book! ... says the Ravenclaw who isn’t getting too emotionally involved. ;)

The Slytherin I know, by the way, denied being a Slytherin at first, because she felt ashamed of it. She has been taught to act like a Hufflepuff, that she SHOULD care about everyone all the time, but… she does not. She cares about her loved ones the most, and she would protect them above other people, every time. I pointed out to her that Hufflepuff fits her less than Slytherin, because “You ARE Katniss. You told me that once. That you identified so heavily with her, because you would go into the arena for your Prim.” And then she admitted it, and saw the gloriousness that is being a loyal Slytherin.

The Gryffindor I know is always looking for a Cause, and… as a Ravenclaw, I find that exhausting. She wants to be mad about things, because that anger gives her the fire she needs to do something about it. She has taken on big Causes by financially supporting the Causes she cares about, and done physical things about smaller Causes. For example, as a teenager, she came upon three guys tormenting a dog. It made her so livid, she charged straight at them, swearing and screaming at them to leave the animal alone, and it scared them all so much, they turned tail and ran. She just knew it was the right thing to do, and she and I often butt heads a lot, because she expects everyone else (meaning me) to be as passionate as she is about doing the ‘right thing.’ My more detached “well, let’s look at both sides of this issue” has no place in her black and white Gryffindor mind (no, that is WRONG).

Secondary Houses are… something that may take a little more time to figure out, as you think about how you handle the ‘unexpected.’

Gryffindors… have to speak up if they see an injustice, or hear something they disagree with. They are they person who cannot keep their mouth shut, they need to voice their opinion. They don’t care if you don’t like it or don’t agree, to not state their views would be antagonistic to their central self. My Hufflepuff friend is a Gryffindor Secondary. Not only did she get mad about the biases in Harry Potter, she complained loudly about it, to me, and to other people, and even in a blog post, because the injustice of it needed drawn-attention to, and dealt with, and she doesn’t really care if you disagree. That’s just how she rolls, about EVERYTHING. Because Gryffindor Secondaries state their views. They see an injustice, and they rush toward it. (My Gryffindor friend is also a Gryffindor Secondary: see dog being abused, rush in to do something about it!)

Ravenclaws… want to prepare for everything, and then rely on their own skill set to handle problems as they arise. They are the person who, when their bike breaks down halfway home, consider what they know about bikes (can they fix this easily?), and what they know about public transportation (am I going to be able to catch a bus home?), and make decisions from there. Or who study for a test in advance and show up, only to panic because they found out they read the wrong chapter in the book and know nothing about it. My father is a Gryffindor with a Ravenclaw Secondary, and he over-prepares himself with any useful knowledge he thinks he might need to combat a wide variety of situations—and then is stumped if confronted by something he did not prepare for, and knows nothing about. He is always trying to think ahead and prepare so that he doesn’t have to improvise anything at the last second—because he sucks at it.

It was a comparison with him that actually shifted me away from assuming I had a Ravenclaw Secondary, because… I don’t suck at improvising. I’m actually quite good at it. And I don’t over-prepare, because in true Hufflepuff Secondary position, I figure I can ask someone for help. And they always give it to me. But what really cemented the deal for me, in terms of recognizing my Puff Secondary House, were two—no, make that three, truths from my life. 1) Ravenpuffs distill complex information and put it back out into the world for others to enjoy (hello, Funky!). 2) Puff Secondaries show up and do the tireless work, clock the hours, and are highly reliable, which is… me. I have run this site day in and day out for years. I am punctual, fastidious, I put my responsibilities ahead of all else (even turning down fun occasions because I need to work), and I will painstakingly work on perfecting something, finishing something, improving something, or polishing something (even when I’m bored). In short, I show up and do the work. And 3) the truth that Puff Secondaries have friends to stand up for them, because they have proven themselves reliable and trustworthy, is no joke. A few years ago, I had trouble with someone online and, without being asked, three of our mutual friends came to my defense. Proof of the Puff.

Lastly, Slytherin Secondaries are highly adaptable. It’s no problem for them to shift their approach given the needs of the situation. It’s the equivalent of a friend you admire, but who puzzles you (if you don’t share their Slytherin Secondary trait) because… it seems like they are a different person everywhere you go, because whatever is needed, they can become it. They are the person who has no trouble with change and no need to plan, because they just trust that it’s all going to work out fine, based on their ability to adapt. It’s the person who shows up at a friend’s birthday party expecting it to be formal, finds out it’s casual, sneaks into the bathroom to rearrange their attire, and emerges ready to play Twister. Or who will be serious with you, joke constantly with your brother, and behave like a saint around your mom, according to whatever works and appeals to you the best.

Hope some of that helps, though it wasn’t explicitly what you asked for. Best this ENFP can do, since in-depth sensory specific examples require a heck of a lot more Si than I’ve got. :P

#question #hogwarts houses #ravenclaw #gryffindor #slytherin #hufflepuff #submission

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