#madsway

@madsway.

he assesses the battlefield before her question bears weight, a marksman's eye scouring the bodies for any phantom movement or telltale twitch. it was bad enough back in afghanistan, where men played dead to get the advantage, the upper hand. he has seen worse things than apocalypses. but here, where their enemies are the literal undead, who's to stay they'll ever really stay down ? once satisfied with the quiet that succeeds the victory of murder, his eyes lift in almost apologetic acquiescence to the woman. she's right, really. it was hardly a whole horde of the fuckers and she seemed more than capable of taking them on. another trick of the trade, for you learn pretty quickly in situations of crisis who's got the stones to actually live with themselves. to do what must be done to survive. deacon st. john is certainly not short of moments like those up his sleeve, bearing the burden of lives lost like a cross.

❛ yeah, see, i kinda did . . . ❜ it's moreso mumbled to himself, not really fancying explaining the whole fucked up moral code he's got going on for himself to a complete stranger. don't hurt unarmed women, protect them at all costs. he's still unpacking the sideways misogyny of his own mind, knows he needs to back off and rid this stupid biker testament he's following like a creed. but sarah's loss skews him, makes him view the world as through a kaleidoscope. he is no sane man, but reassures himself that things could have turned out worse. he's certainly not gone down the cannibalism route, so there's something.

the silence throbs between them like an infected wound, thick with a sizeable, unblinking dread, as though time itself had ground to a halt. only the crackle of a makeshift campfire disrupts the stillness of their settling, casting restless shadows that flicker and dance across his resolute face. the warmth is lost on them both; his silence is colder than the night air, ashen irises fixed to the centre of her face and unmoving, a wordless indictment. he doesn't know what she expects to find within him. forgiveness, he supposed; except this here was no vigil and jake was no god to grant her the absolution she craved [if she craved it at all]. her sorries feel worn, threadbare with overuse jake was sure he had heard a thousand apologies spoken in a thousand different ways by now, echoing some former sincerity but hollowed out, drained of all meaning the longer it replays. neither have to look to feel the loss, the severance of all they had come to know to pave the way for a new mode of being. jake still feels the teeth of a stranger plunging into his right arm, the sacrifice for sin. MARK 9:43 IF YOUR HAND CAUSES YOU TO STUMBLE, CUT IT OFF. IT IS BETTER TO ENTER LIFE MAIMED THAN WITH TWO HANDS TO GO INTO HELL, WHERE THE FIRE NEVER GOES OUT. the barrel had kissed his brother's temple. troy had greeted his unforgiving end at the hand of a brother and then black. his irises plunge back into the heat of the night. molten embers spit into the open air; mere morsels of hellfire, the scorching depths that would no doubt await them in heed of what they had done to live up top. [but jake knew the forsaken were really here, spotted them in the faces of the living and the dead, feasting on one another until all that remained were the trees.] it is the cross they each bear, living when those they had loved die in their place; a penance to which jake could see no end, what remained of his limbs rain whipped and sore-stung, dragging himself towards a grave that had not yet been dug. evermore.

BOTANICAL HEADCANONS. ACCEPTING.

bay tree : does your muse seek glory & accolades, or do they favour a simpler, more personal life ?

dean has a deeply rooted need for these things, birthed from a young age in the infamous upbringing that john winchester had in store for him. being led to believe that nothing is ever good enough, he craved those tiny pellets of praise when they were occasionally delivered, thirsting for them like a hamster at the water feeder. equally though, it has meant that no crowning achievement will be deemed worthy enough so he is trapped in a limbo ( or purgatory if you will ) of his father's own making. saving the world is arguably one of the grandest deeds you can accomplish and he essentially brushes it off like it's nothing, finding it easier to brag and gloat about hustling pool or breaking and entering. these are likely the things john found easier to joke about and commend, so he follows suit.

don't get me wrong, dean has been shown to desire a simple white - picket fence life but that is still a manifestation really of the american dream, of being successful and well - regarded. hunting is what he's good at and therefore sticks to but if things could have been reversed, his utmost fantasy still holds glory in a more humble form in its wake.

i ought to say on a more n.sfw note that this has also manifested into a massive praise kink, actively leading him to seek out feedback — maybe in cringe ways, this is dean winchester we're talking about, but if he comes out with a corny ' you like that ? ' or similar, there's likely a somewhat sadder context behind it.

snapdragon : is your muse merciful ? why or why not ?

100% the softer hearted ( in an ironic turn of events ) of the two winchesters. where sam is more cerebral and intellectual, dean is all heart and is often shown to lead with it. children are a huge soft spot and of course women ( part misogyny maybe part being reminded of his mother ) but it took him a long while to get to grips with some monsters wearing guises of beauty or innocence. the woman in white from the first episode may well have caught a younger dean off guard but by then he was thoroughly taught ( read : trained ) the ways of these creatures. deceptions aside he will still often be the first to try and consider an alternative way out of a situation that holds mercy for all parties.

it's not 100% certain where this came from, certainly not anything john instilled in him but perhaps an unexpected side effect of having been born and raised a victim of several abuses himself. perhaps all it takes is to recall his own experiences of being in that deep and dark place to permit some empathy for those so unfortunate. perhaps it is time spent with sammy who begins so softened to the world of hunters that has mellowed his brother's own attitudes out with it. buffed them down with a nail file, made them smooth and gentle.

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐙𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃. anna makes a point of taking assignments outside the walls, in the world, among the infected. no one should ever get comfortable, complacient, in their world ... getting comfortable, not being exposed to danger, could lead to death. death of yourself, of others, except this time it isn't an assignment. it's her child--an argument gone wrong, ellie thinking she could handle herself outside of the zone. away from the guards when she wasn't anywhere close to being so. with her gun raised, finger kept off of the trigger, anna eases open the door of an overgrown house, being as quiet as she can. booted foot steps inside, eyes & the end of her gun sweeping over a seemingly empty living room. in measured steps, she takes steps forward toward the kitchen only to be taken aback, startled, by a person standing in it. anna gasps, going stiff, ❛ you scared me, ❜ she nearly laughs, lowering the gun half way. ❛ i'm- ... i didn't expect anyone to be in this area. are you .. are you okay ? ❜