The Most Disturbing Things in John Winchester’s Journal: A Comprehensive Study.
@jaredsnuggles made a really incredible post about all mentions of the boys in John Winchester’s journal. It’s incredibly helpful for writing reference, and filled with genuinely heartwarming moments and an interesting glimpse into John’s POV.
But as someone who’s pretty infamously critical of John’s parenting skills, what I most noticed was the progressively disturbing way in which the boys were brought up, the responsibilities placed on them, and the way in may have impacted their psyches (performing!Dean, anyone?)
So let’s take a look at some of the most blatant examples of the Winchester’s upbringing that would have had the Child Protective Services knocking on most people’s doorsteps, and how it may have influenced the people they’ve become.
1. Encouraging violent, illegal, and womanizing behavior:
Dean turns fourteen today. He took off to the movies with a girlfriend. I think her name is Katie. Quite the ladykiller, that kid. Like I was at his age. Hell-raising, foul-mouthed, full of piss and vinegar. Silas had it right: he’s like me. If I’m not careful with him, by the time he’s twenty he’ll have left a trail of kids and arrest warrants all over the country.
For some reference, Dean was not “a lady killer” at that age. He was fourteen at the time, and didn’t even have his first kiss until he was at the boy’s home (where John dropped him) at age sixteen. At fourteen, he was still a child, having a presumably very chaste relationship with another child, seeing as it didn’t even involve the rudimentary making out.
Dean turns twenty-one today. I’d buy him a beer if I thought it would be something new. He’s also old enough to buy his own guns now. I tried to raise him right, and looks like I did. He’s a scam artist, a ladies’ man, and an absolutely loyal son. He knows what’s right and doesn’t hesitate to do it. I’m proud of him. Now that he’s hunting on his own I don’t see as much of him, but I know he’s out there. When I call him in on a job, he’s right there every time. I’ve spent the last sixteen years afraid that I was going to screw him up somehow. Maybe now I can forget about that.
This one is just messed up on multiple levels. For one thing, there’s a lot of talk about “performing!Dean” within the fandom, and it’s easy to see where that persona comes from: this, along with his ability to shoot, kill, and protect Sam, is one of the few times John expresses overt pride in Dean. Of course a child/young man struggling to garner his father’s affection and approval would adopt the most suitable persona possible to do so.
It’s my opinion that Dean, at his heart, isn’t a “scam artist” or a “ladies’ man:” he’s a homebody who loves to cook and clean and take care of people, with a lot of traditionally feminine characteristics. He can also be interpreted as having a lot of internalized same-sex attraction.
Would John have accepted that? From what I’ve seen, probably not. Performing!Dean is just the son John wanted.
I took the boys, said good-bye to Missouri, and got the hell out of Lawrence. If I never go back, it’ll be too soon. Not for Dean, though. The first thing he wanted to know was when we would go home. But we don’t have a home anymore, Dean. The sooner you get used to that, the better. We don’t have a home until we find what killed your mother.
The fact that it was hammered into Dean’s brain that they didn’t, and would not, have a home for the foreseeable future would have been a tremendous blow to a child’s psyche – particularly when it was just mentioned that he wasn’t speaking or leaving John or Sam’s side less than a month prior.
I’ll hunt, and the boys will hunt, and we will find whatever killed Mary and we will send it to Hell. And on the way, we will kill every monster and ghoul and ghost and demon and anything else. My boys will not grow up to experience what I have. They will not lose what I have lost.
As always, his intentions are clearly good here, but for some reference, this was 1983. The same year Mary died. Dean was four, Sam was an infant, and he’s already decided that they can and will hunt.
Took Dean shooting. If he’s big enough to try to comfort me, he’s big enough to start learning the tools of the trade. I only let him fire the .22, but he is a deadeye marksman. My drill sergeant would have taken him over me in a second. Times like this, I sure am proud of my boy. I have a feeling it’ll be different with Sammy. Maybe he’s just too young to show it, but I don’t think he’s got the same kind of killer instinct.
There are two disturbing things going on here: Dean is being taught to kill at age six, and John’s reasoning is the fact that because he’s old enough to serve as emotional provider for a fully grown man, he should be able to. And also, there’s something about a six-year-old having a “killer instinct” that just sounds incongruous to me.
This is also one of the few times he expresses genuine pride in Dean.
For his seventh birthday, I took Dean shooting again. He wanted to fire one of the big guns—that’s what he called them. I let him shoot the Browning, but I steadied his hands. Sammy wanted me to help him make Dean a card. It was like a normal day, like we were a normal family with a mom who was off shopping or at work or something. Instead of dead. That illusion never lasts. I can’t afford to let it.
Sammy is five today. Thank God. He almost didn’t make it. I could blame Dean, but it’s my fault. There’s enough blame to go around. I missed the kill, and I left Dean watching Sam, and he couldn’t pull the trigger when he needed to. I haven’t taught him well enough. If he is weak like that again, my boys will die.
The fact that he’s blaming his nine-year-old son for his inability to kill, subconsciously or otherwise, in addition to putting a nine-year-old in a situation where he’d need to kill, is disconcerting to say the least.
Last night, Sammy woke up in the middle of the night telling me he was afraid of the thing in the closet. I went and looked. There was nothing in the closet, but I’ve seen too much not to believe that there could be. So I handed Sammy the .45 and told him the next time he saw the thing in the closet, he knew what to do. I don’t think I’ll win any awards from parenting organizations, but five nights running now Sammy has slept without nightmares. Sometimes a .45 under your pillow is all you need.
Sammy is sixteen years old today. God knows he’s got plenty of torments. Now he’s got a driver’s license, too. Doesn’t make much difference. He’s known how to drive since he was nine.
Mary, you know I would never leave the boys with strangers I couldn’t trust. You know that, right? I never would.
The fact that he is apparently leaving them with strangers, regardless of whether or not they’re “trustworthy,” when at this point they are still toddlers, is by definition neglectful behavior.
4. Paranoia/controlling behavior:
Dean turns five today. I was thinking about where we’re going to be in the fall, because he should start school. Then I realized that I can’t leave him in a school. Anything could happen. Maybe a place that has half-day kindergarten. Maybe that I could do. I know I should. I know he should be able to run around with other kids, who don’t know how to fileld-strip the Browning. Well, Dean doesn’t either, yet. But he’s learning. He’s got a talent for guns. I can see it already. And he’ll need it.
I was a homeschooled kid myself, but the fact that John kept Dean isolated and out of academic environments in order to protect him strikes me as paranoid and controlling, as well as bad for Dean’s psyche.
He’s also been using guns at around five years old. I’m not even against guns, but that’s just messed up.
Dean turns twenty today. He’s in Ohio somewhere, hasn’t called in a couple of days. Tracking a possible poltergeist. He’s supposed to call in every night. Mission discipline is critical.
Sammy is eighteen years old today. Surprised he didn’t take off. We’re not getting along too well. He hunts when we need him to, but he’s never committed himself the way Dean did. Dean’s never known any other way to live, or if he has, he doesn’t act like it. He’s playing the role he was born to play. Sammy’s the younger brother. He doesn’t know what his role is, even though I can tell him until I’m blue in the face and we’re both ready to kill each other. He’s got one more year of school and then I’m drafting him full-time into the family business. I’ve given him more slack than I ever gave Dean, more than I would have ever gotten from my dad. He needed it. Now he’s a grown man, or almost. Time for him to step into what’s expected of him. Dean never even thought about college. We used to joke about it once in a while. But Sammy still believes he can have a normal life, but they’re both more useful to the world as hunters than … what, lawyers? Dentists? Sammy’s convinced himself that smart kids have to go to college. Part of my job is to convince him that college would be a waste of his smarts. And I gotta hand it to him on the brains front: there’s nothing he can’t find on the computer. I still dig around in actual books, libraries, newspapers. It’s all keystrokes and search words for Sammy. He’s done a good job hiding our trail on all the credit cards.
John never leaves an option for Sam or Dean to be anything other than “what’s expected of them.” He never asks them what they want to do with their life, or considers their opinions valid.
This is one of the later entries, so it’s clear John has had a long time to settle himself into his extremist way of thinking, but it’s still disturbing and sad.
Sam graduated. He didn’t go to the ceremony. I think he’s still carrying a grudge that it took him an extra year. What do you want me to do, Sammy? Should we have stayed in Lawrence while whatever killed your mother came back for you? Should we have sat around fat, dumb, and happy even though war had been declared? How long would we have lasted that way?
Sam left. I told him that if he was going, it was permanent. I meant it.
Dean turns twenty-four today. I was twenty-four when I married his mother. Sorry, kid. Every boy has to cut the apron strings sometime, and for you it’s not going to be until we kill off a supernatural entity that seriously needs killing. Then we’ll all be free of your mother’s ghost. We’ll be able to live normal lives. But maybe not. Maybe we’ve all been hunters too long now.
It’s clear that John didn’t consider his children autonomous adults, and expected them to blindly obey his authority. He also considers them complicit in his “war,” even though they were both very small children at the time.
In closing, it’s clear from the other entries that John loves his boys. But as I’ve pointed out before, you can love someone and still be thoroughly toxic, abusive, and bad for them. John’s parenting and projection onto Dean is probably the reason why he’s so uncomfortable with his own femininity (and ~possible~ bisexuality), and why he feels so continuously obligated to prove himself as a Scam Artist and Ladies’ Man™.
Even Sam, heartbreakingly, has finally internalized the message that he can never be anything other than a hunter, when he clearly at one point wanted to do otherwise.
So while John could, and did, have a lot of redeeming qualities, and wound up sacrificing himself for his son’s benefit, I hope this will lay to rest the debate about whether or not he was a good father.
A/N: I haven’t slept most of the night so this might be way worse than I think… and I already think it’s pretty bad. I swear I’ll stop writing about different ways to meet the same person after this.
Summary: After watching Teen Wolf, the reader becomes concerned that her soulmate might be a fictional character.
My soulmate tattoo didn’t show up until I was sixteen.
I hadn’t been too worried about it until then. My mother had been a late bloomer too, and my grandmother before her. My great grandmother apparently didn’t get her tattoo until she was twenty-four, when she’d already met my great grandfather.
The female part of our family seemed to have some kind of error in their DNA that meant we didn’t get our tattoos at the normal age, which was twelve. If anything, my tattoo showed up pretty early.
Sirius sits up from where he’s lying
on the picnic table to raise his eyebrows. “Now Moony, that’s no way to speak
to your prison master.”
“I am not your prison bitch. If
anything, you’re my prison bitch.”
Sirius looks scandalised, and thus
James, lying with his legs in the air against the wall bordering the grounds,
decides to cut in. “Neither of you are prison masters, I’m the prison master. You’re both my prison bitches.”
“You can’t have two prison bitches,
that’s monopolising the prison bitch market.” They all turn, Sirius on the
picnic table, James lying on the ground, Remus sitting beside him with splayed
legs, to the voice and there- in an orange jumpsuit with one of the zippers
broken off- is their ticket out.
Alternate ends to that sentence
The girl who broke the daisy chain.
The one least likely to be a prison bitch.
The rest of James’s life.
She sits with them at dinner.
“What’s your name again?”
“Black, stop trying to look cool. I
know you know what my name is.” Lily puts her tray next to Remus, who is
sniggering into his hand. There is sunburn across her face from standing in the
sun and talking to them nearly all yesterday, and as a result it is difficult
to tell where her hair begins and her face ends. James looks up and grins.
“I think he intended it to be more
of a power move actually.”
“He’d actually have to have power in
order for that to be accomplished.”
Sirius brandishes his fork at her so
forcefully that a piece of chicken flies off. “Listen here Evans, I don’t know
what kind of prison gangs you associated with back at Northcote but here,
things are different.”
“I would hardly call us a prison
gang.” Remus is in the process of reaching for his napkin, only to find that
James had stolen it pretty much the moment they sat down.
“Well Moony, we are in prison and we
are a group of people who hang out, hereby, a prison gang.”
Lily gives Remus her napkin. “A prison
gang implies you have sinister motives.”
“You have no idea what our motives
James rolls his eyes and flicks
Sirius on the ear. “Our motives are not sinister” he says to Lily, who smirks.
A rumour goes around that Lily got
transferred because she killed two prison guards and ripped out another
inmate’s teeth after they removed cornflakes from the cafeteria. Noah Brewer
goes around telling everyone that her hair is so red because its full of matted
blood. It’s all very dramatic and Elise Porter makes a big show of moving
stepping aside for her in the halls.
James finds the whole thing
hilarious, and often talks her up in the guy’s bathroom to the point where
everyone thinks she’s a mass murderer. Sirius joins in, and then they’re
reenacting the supposed ‘ruthless killing’ once a week just before movie night.
Someone suggests putting the idea forward for the annual play.
She tries to be bothered by it but,
honestly? Remus charges everyone one baked potato from their Sunday lunch to
watch and they’re making a killing.
“So why were you transferred,
really?” James asks as she takes a book from him and shelves it. He’s been
standing in the library and talking to her for the better part of an hour now,
trying to figure out how to ask.
“You really want to know?”
“Well generally that’s why people
She raises one eyebrow and reaches
around him, grabbing a book from behind him. “just for that I’m not going to
“What? Oh come on Evans, you can’t set me up like that and then get mad when
I capitalise on the opportunity you created!”
“Stop using the word ‘capitalise’ in
casual sentences, it’s embarrassing”
“Says the girl who used the word ‘monopolising’
the first time we met.”
“Oh James, are you reliving the
moment I came into your life? Do you think about it all the time? Does it haunt
your days and nights, making you sleepless-“
“-keeping you awake as you dream of
me, shaking up your world with the word ‘monopolising’ and then shaking you up as you can think of nothing but
me? oh James, I’m so flattered that you picture me always-“
“Please stop. God, Evans, I’ll leave
this library. I’ll leave this fucking library and you’ll have to stack this
bullshit all by yourself. Try me”
Sirius puts in a request for them
all to get t-shirts that say #1 PRISON GANG for ‘medical purposes’ and they all
get called in for counselling. After that they’re not allowed to have metal
utensils so they have to eat with plastics. James breaks three forks in two
days, Sirius ends up eating with his hands by day four, Remus tries to stab
himself with the plastic knife in the middle of lunch because ‘any alternative
would be better than this’ and Lily goes on a hunger strike by day seven.
They get their metal utensils back.
“Seriously? That’s it? You got 12 years for that?”
“We were pretty damn good.”
“You were stealing cars. I stole a
car once when I was sixteen and so drunk I tried to start it by putting the
keys in the glovebox.”
“We once cleared out an entire
dealership in a night.” Lily’s mouth drops open and Sirius’s best shit-eating
“Told you we were good, Evans.” Lily
shuts her mouth and pretends to not be impressed.
“Well alright” she leans forward,
elbows on her knees, “what if I told you that I ran a multi-million-dollar
underground meth ring out the back of an old lacrosse shed after I got back
from working shifts at the supermarket my mum owned.”
There is a silence so loud she
worries she might have actually scared them. Sirius is agog, eyes huge enough
to see from at least 18 miles away and Remus is giving her look like he’s
trying to figure her out in his head, a complicated math equation inside a
girl. James breaks first.
“Hold on, so you’re a drug dealer and your mum owns a supermarket?” he’s
starting to smile, struck by lightning through the skull, “Shit, Evans you’re fucking fantastic. You had access to
drugs and free fruit roll ups.I’m outraged I haven’t known you my
“One question.” Lily says and Remus
starts from where he’s cleaning the sink, “If you guys were so damn good then
why did you get caught?”
Remus doesn’t turn around, and after
a minute she realises she’s asked something that has struck a nerve. He doesn’t
look at her.
“There used to be four of us.” He
“Potter, I’ve just had your driver’s
licence photo described to me in intense detail by Black, along with an
accompanying drawing by Lupin. Please describe to me the exact thought process
that lead to the green hair”
“Will it do any use denying this?”
“Fine. Then let me set the scene:
it’s summer, I’m seventeen, and am on a lilo in a stranger’s pool at 3.a.m.…”
Lily gets some sort of severe
sunburn even looking at a window and won’t stop humming David Bowie even after
threats of bodily injury. Sirius is always diagnosing himself with dramatic,
deadly diseases and won’t stop drumming on the table with his fingers. Remus
once accidentally swallowed a fly in his orange juice and won’t stop rolling
his eyes every time Sirius diagnoses himself with a dramatic, deadly disease. James
asks every week on the phone for his mother to send him a dressing gown and
won’t stop looking at Lily.
Honestly, someone should have caught
on that this would happen. Clearly, they are the dream team.
“I’m fixing it!”
“Really, Black? because it looks
like you’re fucking it!”
“What are you two doing.” Lily and Sirius wheel around and
look so clearly guilty that James thinks it’s a wonder that they didn’t end up
in prison years before. Sirius holds up two halves of what was once a daisy
“Happy Birthday, Prongs. Evans broke
Lily hits him over the head.
She has the idea in the middle of
the night and sits up in bed- an electric fence turned on in the dark.
she thinks. Oh, yes. That could work.
Lily corners him by the toast and
drags him by the collar out into the abandoned hall. James is about to object,
but he can feel her fingers against his skin through his shirt fabric and-
well- his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth. Lily looks up at him, eyes
full of what appears to be determination.
“I like you.” She states, a pure and
He’s floored. “Like in a prison way?”
he asks, and then wishes to be cremated immediately.
Pause. “How the hell do you like
someone in a ‘prison way?’”
“I don’t know you just- just like
them, when you’re- ah- when you’re in the prison- you like me?”
“Yeah.” her eyebrows are furrowed
together and she crosses her arms over her chest, “in the normal way, meaning:
I want to hang out with you and fuck when we get out here. Not in the ‘prison
way’ you fucking-“
He’s kissed her before she can
finish her sentence. Then-
He pulls back. “You said when.”
She opens her eyes, looking a little
like she’s just been hit over the head with a bat. “What?”
“You said ‘when we get out of here’.
And you said the ‘when’ like you thought ‘when’ would be happening soon.”
She grins at him.
“Are we really going to do this?”
Sirius blanches, “Of course we are,
this is brilliant.”
“Yeah but…” Remus trails off, but
the meaning is clear. If this goes wrong, it will mean more than having no
metal utensils. Lily looks at James.
“We’re doing it.” He says firmly,
“Lily knows what she’s doing.”
(She actually doesn’t, because
that’s the thing about breaking out of prison, you only really get to do it
It involves, in no particular order:
a fork, the cords from all the
phones, a piece of sink piping, three sheets, a shower curtain, four really good hair ties, the stuffing of
one mattress, four good pairs of shoes, and at least three excuses that could
explain away any part of the plan, lest they be caught. These could include “we
are barricading down this wall to get some exercise”, “I am purposefully
blocking this sink because I am staging a protest against the water quality’ or
“I’m stuffing all this mattress foam down my pants because I believe in comfort.”
“Moony, I’m willing to consider letting you
off the hook for being my prison bitch if you pull this off.”
“Sirius, I am going to hire someone
to murder you.”
“Hire someone?! We’ve been friends
since we were eleven! You can’t even kill me yourself? Unbelievable. Typical prison
They get out, the specifics are
boring and, to be perfectly honest, Sirius hardly listened to the plan anyway
and ended up winging his half, while Lily broke her wrist jumping over the wall
because it turns out that the hair ties weren’t that good. Remus did alright,
although he did get a cold from being in the water tank to long, and James,
Fingernails grow back.
They’re all over the news the next
day, pictures plastered everywhere and news anchors calling them a ‘notorious
prison gang’ that frequently performed plays detailing a gruesome murder and
made other inmates ‘pay to watch’. ‘They also requested t-shirts be made to
solidify their status’, many reporters claim.
Lily hums David Bowie until they
cross the border, and Remus hits James every time he tries to change the radio.
Sirius yells about how great they are for ten minutes and then falls asleep
with his head on Lily’s shoulder.
“Hey,” she sticks herself in between
the drivers and passenger seat, grinning, “So we’re out of prison and- against all
odds- I still like you, so it must not be in a ‘prison way’ as-“
“Shut up. Oh God, Evans, mention
that again and I’ll kill you and then happily go back to jail for your murder.
“Remus, do you know how you fancy
someone in a ‘prison way’? because I sure don’t, let’s ask James her what that means exactly-“
“Moony, roll down the window. I’m throwing
myself out of it.”
I don’t write love poems in the way that I once did, they don’t come easy like breathing, rather it feels like sleep apnea stuck in a dream and my body, my mind the typewriter of my heart keeps trying to stop, stall and something kicks it up again the sound jarring and I know, readers don’t know what to make of what I call a love poem anymore.
they lack a certain soft quality, something that I cannot name and do not remember having but have clearly lost, maybe I will never find it again- that is my biggest fear.
that every love poem will feel a little off a little less of love and a little more of a battle, or a haunt, or a dying garden maybe I will never again be in love enough to write the kind of love poem that makes people stop, reread and just know.
Imagine #4 Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier - Part 2 (Request)
Requested by @mutantsupremecy: I request a fic
where there’s a hit list going around the world for mutants, and the X-men
along with the reader are on it? The reader can manipulate energy and stuff,
and Erik wants to protect her but Charles becomes protective?? Please??
Requested by @lostamongstthecosmos (and kinda by @samariabarnes, like 20 years ago, who’s probably already forgotten about it): Would you consider continuing the Imagine 4th
story? I’d love to see more
Not my gif
Warnings: typos, fem!reader, also I kinda messed up the timeline, I hope you don’t mind
The moment you entered
Charles’ office, you knew that something was wrong. He usually didn’t call you
to his office. He rarely called students to his office, let alone teachers,
such as you. And as you stepped through the door, you realized that you weren’t
the only person, who had been called in.
“What’s going on?”,
you asked as you stopped in front of the professor’s desk and looked at Jean,
who seemed just as confused. “I don’t know. I had to dismiss my students early,
he usually waits till the end of the lesson, before he calls me in.”, she
replied and you couldn’t help but feel a little sting of jealousy. Jean had
been your best friend ever since you had arrived at Xavier’s a few months ago,
and you knew about the close connection she had with Charles, due to her
telepathic abilities and the fact that he had helped her through some rough
times, long before you even met him, but you still envied her for their
closeness. You were aware, that you weren’t the first person to have fallen for
the professor’s intelligent charm, and you never even tried to approach him in
that way. He clearly didn’t see you as anything else than a colleague and not
that close friend.
I’m seeing a lot of thoughtful and well written defenses of the new Outlander episode. I wish I could agree with them. I wish I could read them and go, “Yes, this production is intelligent enough to show that depth of confusion and despair and hurt and irrational anger.”
But they’re not.
What played on my screen last night was nothing short of a brutal character assassination. I’ve seen it before, I stopped watching a favorite show with a favorite actor because of it. It was the writers not being able to stay true to characters while also writing a convoluted, difficult, and emotional plot.
James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser is not a bitter man. It is one of of the things that I’ve always admired about him. He has cause to be bitter, his life has been extraordinarily hard. But he is not bitter and he is not a cruel man. The Jamie on last night’s episode was a bitter, unhappy, cruel man (who the FUCK compares their daughter to sex workers in a brothel, I ASK YOU). He was terse, angry, and completely unwavering in his beliefs. Jamie has always been flexible and forward thinking, and to see him so blatantly toss aside Claire’s wishes for building a life outside the brothel just made zero sense. That’s not the Jamie Fraser I love.
And Claire. Jesus fucking Christ, Claire. The biggest fault of Hollywood is writing “strong” women as bitchy, mean-spirited, and selfish. They do not understand that strong women are just…well…women. That loving and needing your spouse as well as your career isn’t weakness…it’s strength. Claire seems to waiver between being intensely romantic and down right mean. This snapping and cruel behavior from both of them was so unnecessary and so out of character.
It had been a few HOURS since Jamie had had his full English breakfast. Since he had kissed her goodbye and she had rolled over with a huge smile on her face. Hours. But none of that bled over? None of that desperation to have each other? The happiness that what they still have is still so clearly there?
I had lost a lot of faith in Outlander after season’s 2 shitty writing. I kept saying if they do printshop right, I’ll be back on board. Printshop was almost perfect. The episode after it was shoddy with plot added in to an already convoluted story and it showcased just how much these writers don’t understand what makes Jamie and Claire special.
No amount of fear, anger, or slight resentment makes Jamie talking about his daughter with such vitriol acceptable. None of it makes their snapping and lack of physical connection okay. It was just bad writing. And it lost me all lover again.
I am not mad. That is far too meager. I am seething. Seething with the devouring rage in its most pure form. I have been proven yet again – for anything I wish to be properly done, I need to do so myself. Come to think of it, was there really such a dark moment in my life when I considered leaving a screwball that is my mother with that damn demon-in-training who most likely fan-girls over Satan as a sensible idea?! Clearly, I must have lost my marbles. Only the prospect of my sister suffering for this atrocity is keeping my temper even if barely but in check. And I vow to bring all of my skills and creativity into play when determining the most suitable way of punishing that brat, least of which will be a shortcut to the afterlife.
I make a mental list of all the bureaucracy I will have to deal with before embarking on this wonderful journey convinced that my treacherous face is already betraying all the enthusiasm felt on my part. Yes, I am bursting with joy, except I am not. I absolutely loath two things in life: mixing family with business, and getting my plans ruined. Perhaps this list is a little bit underdeveloped but I withhold myself from drifting away from the problem at the hand.
Hey! First off, love your work! Good god it makes me so happy!! Second, could you do a little Merlin drabble with a mix of prompts 16 and 143? (Or you could just do one or do them separately. You do you fam) Have a great day!!!
Pairing: Reader x Merlin Warnings: None. Word Count: 493 Prompts: “I’m going to kiss you now.” / “You can sing?”
Solas could feel his pulse quickening, though he attempted to maintain his calm exterior. It was silent, save for the reverberation of his footsteps alongside Ellana’s as they walked through a long, winding cave in the Crestwood area together. He’d found this location when they came before and he’d helped a group separate from Ellana take down a wyvern. Though at the time, it had been chaotic and covered with the blood of the beast, when the dust settled, he had seen the potential beauty in the location and felt the presence of the Fade much stronger than most other places in Thedas. The Veil, for whatever reason, was thinner here. Something about it just felt…right to him. He could do it here.
He had brought Ellana out to tell her the truth.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He had stayed up late for more nights than he could count, trying to piece together how his original plan had gotten so offtrack. It all related back to her.
When he first saw her, stumbling into the battle near the rift past Haven, gritting her teeth from the flaring pain caused by the Anchor, he felt nothing short of enraged. He was disgusted at seeing how just by someone, somehow, being at the wrong place at the right time had caused everything to fall into chaos. When he had snatched her wrist none too gently, thrusting it up to close the tear in the Veil, he took a split second to send her a withering glare out of the corner of his eye. Who was this Dalish woman who somehow got his own magic wrapped into her hand?
He tried to act civil with her, despite his fury and irritation lying just beneath the surface. It caught him off guard when she stood to listen to him talk about the Fade, spirits versus demons, the ancient ruins and battles… Though she was strong in her Dalish belief, she swallowed her pride and offered an apology on behalf of her people for being so cold and threatening towards him. To try and show she meant it, she heard him out. Though she denied some things, like the Evanuris only being powerful people and not gods, she absorbed other things and even began asking him questions with curious eyes. She admitted she didn’t want to remain ignorant. Maybe that was when Solas first noticed the pleasing sparkle in her eyes and the boiling fury simmered down. At the time, he merely shrugged it off, telling himself he was only interested in her because he needed to retrieve the Anchor from her, but he needed to bide his time since he wasn’t strong enough yet.
When he watched her be buried under the avalanche at Haven, he found himself panicking. His eyes scanned the landscape as fast as they would move, desperately searching for any sign of life, any flickering green light from the magic in her hand. Once the snow settled, an eerie silence filled the valley, the entire landscape fell still, as though it were a portrait and not reality before his eyes. The moment they caught up with the rest of the group a couple valleys away, he vanished into a small tent on the edge of camp, telling the others he would wake soon to help out with the injured. Once he was certain he wasn’t going to be disturbed, he slipped out and called on a power he hadn’t used in some time: He shapeshifted into a wolf and ran from the camp, heading back towards the ruined village. When he saw Ellana stumbling blindly in the blizzard that had blown up, his heart leapt with hope and he felt the physical relief wash over his body. However, he knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet. He let loose a howl, trusting the wind to carry the sound down to her. Her weary eyes looked in his general direction, though she didn’t see him, but she began to make slow progress towards him, lifting her legs high to plow through the deep snow. He could tell she was injured, but she needed to make it to camp if she was going to have a chance.
She had pulled through. Against all odds, she had survived a run-in with a potential arch demon, an ancient Tevinter magister that learned effective immortality, and the nasty weather nature threw upon her and came out the other side, all the stronger from it. He believed it was then that he realized he had come to care for her. The gentle, tired smile that formed on her lips when she regained consciousness and saw that it was him standing over her, tending to her. He had felt the small kindling flame inside him grow into more of a raging fire. When he took her into the Fade and she surprised him once more by kissing him, he had caved into a moment of weakness, a moment of desire. He’d seen the panic in her eyes as she quickly took into account what she had done and when he hadn’t kissed her back - because he’d been so shocked - she tried to slip away from him. He shook his head and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him.
He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t fight those feelings any longer. He wanted her, needed her. He drank in her scent and captured her lips and knew in that moment that he shouldn’t be doing it. He knew he would only end up causing her pain in the end.
But he couldn’t help it.
Her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at him, her expression when she concentrated, the way she twisted and turned when she fought, her stern voice when she was leading, her gentle voice when she spoke to him, the way her nose scrunched up when she didn’t care for something, the way she fiddled with her fingers when she was thinking, her confidence, her indomitable spirit… All of it made him feel like she was a witch who had cast a spell on him. She could ask him to bow before her and worship her…and he would do it. The thought of losing her was so painful, he didn’t even want to entertain it.
Why had he allowed himself to hope? He knew in the back of his mind with alarms going off that this couldn’t go on. Yet he allowed it. He didn’t have the strength to fight against it. What if?
What if she was able to change his mind? What if he was able to make this work? What if he ignored his obligation to the elvhen people and just lived his life out happily with the one woman he loved? What if-?
What if he told her the truth? What if she were able to accept it? What if he could do both things? What if he could protect her and bring back the immortality for the elves?
He’d spent so long trying to talk himself out of it - one or the other. There was no way that he, a man who was cursed for things to go wrong, could possibly obtain ultimate happiness. He needed to make his decision. Either his people or his heart.
He wasn’t one to give up ambitions. He was going to try for both. However, now that he was here, glancing at how the moonlight emitted a soft glow on Ellana as they exited the cave, his nerves were beginning to wear on him. All the “what ifs” returned to his mind. What if she rejected him, screamed at him, unleashed all her fury on him? He wasn’t sure if he could take it. What if he did have to settle for one or the other? What would he do then?
He felt a jolt rush up his arm as Ellana laced her fingers around his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. She tilted her head to look at him, a happy, yet concerned expression on her face. “Are you okay, Solas? You’ve been quiet since we arrived.”
“Ir abelas.” He forced a small smile to his face. “I have just been lost in thought.”
Though Ellana clearly wanted to ask him what was on his mind, she shifted her gaze to look at the hidden clearing and she gaped slightly, her eyes drinking in the sight before her. The small waterfalls cascaded down on the rocks and into the small pond below, the statues of the dignified harts looming like watchful guardians, the lush greenery seemed ethereal thanks to the mist rising up from the bottom of the waterfalls. Immediately, Solas could feel the thin presence of the Veil, the Fade so close, just past his reach. He’d told her once that things came easier to him in the Fade. Perhaps that was why he chose here to tell her the truth. Being here gave him a surge of confidence.
He could do this.
When they came to the edge of the pond, they stopped, their hands still holding fast. Solas shifted to look at her, his beautiful Ellana, and he could see the pondering look on her face, silently questioning why they were there, but she was waiting for Solas to say it himself. He reached over and took her other hand, squeezing both of them gently. “Ellana, I…” He took a deep breath, trying to force the small tremble to go away. “I brought you out here because there is something I would like to tell you.”
She nodded in encouragement. “What is it?”
“It is…something rather difficult to explain.” He averted his gaze, unable to match her eyes at the moment. He may back out if he were to look at her and watch her expressions. “I have…kept part of myself hidden from you. Ever since we met. I do regret having to keep it from you, but it was necessary for my survival.”
She hummed softly. “I’ve always felt like there was some things about you that I didn’t know. I figure you have your reasons. Everyone has their secrets.” She inched closer towards him. “I’m glad you’re deciding to tell me now.”
He fought the urge to take a step back, to keep the small distance between them. Feeling the warmth emanating from her body made him more nervous than before. His courage began to falter slightly, but he told himself he had committed now. There was no going back. She deserved to know the truth. “I suppose I have also been a coward. I have been worried about how you will react to this.”
“It’s okay, Solas. You can trust me. Ar lath ma.”
She loved him. She loved him. She would accept him, then, wouldn’t she? All of him? Not just the Solas that she knew?
Just tell her.
“Ellana, the truth is… It’s hard to explain, there is no easy way to go about this.”
“Take your time,” she assured him.
“I am…not truly who you think I am. I am Solas, but I have another name I’m known by.” His breath hitched in his heart and his gut twisted uncomfortably. “…Fen’harel. The Dread Wolf.”
He looked to her at last and saw her eyes widen slowly, uncomprehending. Her lips parted, but made no sound. Her grip on his hands loosened and her entire body tensed so much that she looked like she could be snapped right in half. As if flipping a switch, she forced a small laugh and shook her head. “Solas, that’s a terrible joke.”
“It is no joke, Vhenan. I am Fen’harel.” He remained still, neither moving closer nor farther away from her. He would let her do as she pleased and he would not push her one way or another. “I am the one who banished the Evanuris and created the Veil…”
His words spilled over then. Gaining his momentum, he was afraid to lose it, afraid that he would clam up and not tell her absolutely everything. So he kept going. He explained how Arlathan truly fell, how elves lost their immortality, how the world came to be the way it was: It was all his fault. The explosion at the Conclave? His fault. The Anchor in Ellana’s hand? His fault.
It looked as though Ellana hadn’t taken a single breath the entire time he spoke. She froze, her brows occasionally furrowing and numerous emotions flashing through her confused eyes, but she didn’t move. Not willingly, at least. At some point, when, he wasn’t sure, but she began to shake. Whether out of fear or anger had yet to be seen.
“Despite all of that,” he proceeded softly, “I have fallen in love with you, Ellana. I did not mean for it to happen, especially since I, of all people, have no right to fall in love, but… I fought against it. I didn’t want to cause you pain. However, you are such a rare and marvelous spirit, your brightness has all but consumed me. I cannot fight against this any longer. I truly love you, but I wanted you to know everything about who I am. And now…I have nothing more to hide from you.”
The silence was deafening and painful. His chest constricted and his palms began to sweat. Ellana finally shifted. She pulled out of his grasp, shaking her head slightly. Tears sprung to her eyes and she took a shaky breath. “Fen’harel? This entire time…” She barked a humorless laugh. “Papae always told me to be wary… He always said he felt as though the Dread Wolf was catching my scent… I never knew how right he’d be.”
When her tone began to turn venomous, Solas lost whatever confidence he had left. His heart began to sting, but he had no more words to say. Now it was Ellana’s turn.
“Everything… All of my suffering, all my pain caused by this thing in my hand… It was all your doing?!” Her eyes flashed with rage. “You destroyed the ancient way of life for our people, now you want to fix things by destroying this world?! What kind of reasoning is that?!” She took a heavy step towards him, forcing him to back up. “You claim to love me, but is that all a lie?! Just another trick thought up by the slippery Dread Wolf? The Dalish were right to be cautious around you.” She took another step closer and began shoving him, her tears spilling over and running down her cheeks, down her vallaslin, down her slave markings. “You’re nothing but a liar! You’ve caused the entire world to shift from its intended course! Who the hell do you think you are?!”
He raised his hands, hurt crossing his face. He did not make a move against her, but wanted to show her he meant her no harm. “Vhenan, if you will just-”
“Don’t call me that!” she screamed with one more harsh push. She then backed away from him, wiping her arm across her face, her entire body shaking from her sobs. Her rage faded, dissolving into sadness. “What… Has anything you told me been the truth?”
She wouldn’t want to hear it. But she had asked…and she deserved the truth.
“Ar lath ma. You are my vhenan. I have never loved anyone like I love you,” he whispered, pleading for her to believe him.
Her eyes, now red and puffy, locked onto him. “But you’re the Dread Wolf,” she croaked. “How can I love you? How?”
Every word was a stabbing pain in his heart. He felt his own eyes begin burning behind his lids as he closed them, taking a step back, feeling as though he’d been physically struck. His hands fell slowly until they hung limply at his side. She was right. How could she love this beast of a man who destroyed everything he touched? He’d just annihilated any happiness they had between them and shattered any trust she had in him. Still, in the darkness behind his closed eyes, he saw her encouraging, smiling face, assuring him, “You can trust me.”
He opened them and waved his hand before her face, whispering, “Forget.”
With a blink of her eyes and a puzzled furrowing of her brows, Ellana jerked slightly. All signs of anger and sorrow had vanished from her face. She reached up and touched her cheeks, staring at the dampness on her hand as she brought it away. “…Solas? What’s going on? What… What happened?”
He took a deep breath.
He tried again.
And he tried again.
Each time, he was met with a similar, yet slightly different, reaction. She screamed. She cried. She shoved him. She cowered away. He tried wording himself differently, trying to ease her into it, make her understanding his reasoning, but after he said the words, “I am Fen’harel,” nothing else would reach her ears. Even if he said it last, everything she’d heard up until that point fled from her head. She was Dalish. She’d been raised to believe that the Dread Wolf was a harbinger of death, bad luck, and was the embodiment of everything evil in the world. To fall in love with the man named Solas, then to learn that he was actually what she believed to be the most awful being in existence… There was no easy way for her to accept that.
Each reaction cut him deeper than the one before it. Each time he tried, he had less and less courage. He lost his resolve. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t have what he wanted. He couldn’t have both the woman he loved and help his people. There was no way to achieve it. Every time he said those words, he could see the hurt and betrayal cross her face. This wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want his love to suffer.
The final time, he both made her forget their conversation and also forced her to sleep. He caught her as she slunk to the ground. He eased her down, but allowed himself one more selfish moment. He wrapped his arms around her and held her with all the force he could, taking a deep inhale of her scent. Once they left here today, she would no longer be his. He couldn’t keep trying this. He couldn’t do this to her. A few tears trickled from his eyes. He breathed into her hair, “Ir abelas, ma Ellana. Ma Vhenan. I never…ever…meant to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt you. I won’t do this to you any longer. I won’t let you be at my side, living a lie…”
He composed himself and woke her. He nearly caved when she flashed that smile and trusting gaze. Instead, he found himself veering off the subject. Her vallaslin. It was a small truth that he could offer her that perhaps she may accept. A small truth was better than an entire lie, after all.
With his shattered heart, he cupped her cheek and prepared himself for whatever would come next.
My dudes. It is now 3.45 AM where I am. My heart is warm and fluffy and aching red. My eyes are clear, my stomach is burning of butterflies. My head is mushy and my knees are weak. I wanna thank not only RAS but casting director David Rapaport for bringing these 2 sunflowers together, leading them to their true soulmates.
As I have now clearly lost my mind I must try to get some sleep. I THANK YOU ALL FOR THIS SPECTACULAR SPROUSEHART FAMILY GATHERING as I am sending my love to you from my very own grave. LiliCole did it, they officially killed me tonight.
Exclusive footage of the Sprousehart family during the past 24hours: