« i’m gonna make you snap out of it, no matter what it takes. » ash to dean?
The intense confidence behind the promise Ash made would have been almost sweet and endearing if given to anyone else - deep down, if Dean dug deep enough, the old version of himself certainly felt strongly about it, and about Ash, but that could be addressed later.
"Oh, yeah?"
Dean took a few steps forward, not close enough to be within touching distance, but close enough that the devious smirk on his face was clearly visible. "What if I don't wanna snap out of it, huh, Ash?" He cocked his head to one side. "What if I like being this way more, huh?" The smirk shifted into a mocking pout. "You wouldn't wanna make me do something that'll make me sad, would you, Ashley, darling?"
He dropped the facade as quickly as he had put it on with a laugh. "Sorry, man, I'm never going back. I can't believe I resisted letting go this long - I'm so much more powerful, so much more alive." He spread his arms, motioning at himself. "All this? Is so much better without having to worry about bein' a goodie two shoes. You should give it a try."
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i should absolutely be going to sleep instead of making another post but i started thinking about the connections between evil dead and supernatural again.....how both dean winchester and ash williams put on these exaggerated performances of masculinity in order to perform the strength they needed to get through their trauma....how dean became his father on purpose bc he worshiped him, but ash become his father through cultural osmosis bc he didn’t have anyone else........thinking about cars as homes and cowboy fantasies and pasts full of ghosts.........
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REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY.
RULES. repost , don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck !
TAGGED. @judgmentcast
TAGGING. Guys, this one is HELLA LONG. Have fun if you want, but I don’t blame you if you don’t. It’s open to all.
BASICS.
FULL NAME : First Lieutenant Helga Katrina Sinclair
NICKNAME : Lieutenant, Sinclair, Blondie, H. K. Sinclair, H. K.
AGE : Twenty-nine
BIRTHDAY : October 24, 1884
ETHNIC GROUP : Caucasian.
NATIONALITY : American (Identifies as German-American)
LANGUAGE / S : German, English, Japanese, Korean, Italian, French
SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Closeted Bisexual
ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Closeted Biromantic
RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Widowed/Single (But technically verse dependent)
CLASS : Working class.
HOME TOWN / AREA : Stuttgart, Germany. Also will answer with Washington D.C., USA.
CURRENT HOME : Verse dependent, but mostly she just moves around and does not stay in one area.
PROFESSION : Verse dependent; Army lieutenant, spy, bounty hunter, assassin, mercenary
PHYSICAL.
HAIR : Blonde
EYES : Gunmetal blue
NOSE : slender, relatively small, upturned at the end.
FACE : High cheekbones, square jaw. There is a beauty mark beneath her left eye (her left, not yours). Moderate sized forehead.
LIPS : Full, well-proportioned to her face, often painted red with lipstick without care to the social meaning of it.
COMPLEXION : Fair with olive undertones. Not translucent thanks to plenty of healthy sun exposure. Clear and not splotchy.
BLEMISHES : The aforementioned beauty mark.
SCARS : Scarred knuckles from years of hand-to-hand combat training, a couple superficial ones to the rest of her body (Major scars were healed/rectified by her exposure to Atlantean magick)
TATTOOS : None.
HEIGHT : 5′7″
WEIGHT : 150 lbs.
BUILD : Curvy hourglass built and sculpted through exercise and activity. Tall for her sex (during her era). Otherwise, lean, muscular, slightly angular from aforementioned sculpting.
FEATURES : Almost perpetually narrowed eyes, boldly painted lips, the mark beneath her eye. Her constantly-worn gloves.
ALLERGIES : None
USUAL HAIR STYLE : Worn in a braided plait, the end often partially over her shoulder from it being absently played with.
USUAL FACE LOOK : Eyes are hooded, giving her a bored but watchful expression, The pout of her lips is subconscious, but often hidden by an authoritative scowl or scheming smirk.
USUAL CLOTHING : (When not in the military uniform of whoever she is working for) black turtleneck/button-up men’s shirt/tank top, pants (Men’s and often tailored until women’s become available), boots. She has an old Army greatcoat that will be worn until it dies of sheer old age, and wears a utility belt and gun holster. (Exception is in Modern verses, where she will dress as per the common fashions to better blend in.)
PSYCHOLOGY.
FEAR / S : Failure, abandonment, being alone, being wrong.
ASPIRATION / S : To try and find meaning and purpose in independence, to rise from her ashes.
POSITIVE TRAITS : Ambitious, observant, proud, intuitive, intelligent, active, eager, clean
NEGATIVE TRAITS : Sarcastic, spiteful, manipulative, loner, bossy, follower, dependent, distrustful, cynical, paranoid, fearful, bitter, skeptical
MBTI : ESTJ; The Executive (Surprised because I always had her as INTJ...)
ZODIAC : Scorpio
TEMPERAMENT : Brash.
SOUL TYPE / S : Performer/Leader
ANIMALS : A cat - a white Persian in the lap of someone pulling strings she merely watches over the actions of. She can be complacent, but beware of her claws. A panther - deadly and sleek with little care as to who gets hurt to get to her end-goal. This is the transformation she has made.
VICE HABIT / S : Drinking, the occasional smoking, finding pleasure in the Flesh and material.
FAITH : Athiest.
GHOSTS ? : No
AFTERLIFE ? : None at all
REINCARNATION ? : Nope.
ALIENS ? : On the fence, purely because she saw some things in Atlantis that just cannot be explained.
POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Doesn’t care about politics or political workings so long as there are people against them willing to give her a job, or the people in power desire her services to take down the rebellious.
ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : Luxuriously wealthy
SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : Part of the working class, but financially sound.
EDUCATION LEVEL : Homeschooled as per the norms of a socialite’s daughter, but she benefits from extensive military training both from the American Army and Navy.
FAMILY.
FATHER : Major Alexander Sinclair (father)
MOTHER : Mrs. Marianne Sinclair (Formerly Stroh) (mother)
SIBLINGS : All younger: Johnathan Sinclair, James Sinclair, William Sinclair, Oliver Sinclair, Thomas Sinclair
EXTENDED FAMILY : Aunts and uncles from both parents
NAME MEANING / S : Helga: Holy or Blessed; Sinclair: Bright, Clear. (I appreciate this irony)
HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : One of the first famous connections is the Princess of Kiev, also known as Olga of Kiev of Saint Olga. Sinclair is of the Clan Sinclair, which helped in the Norman conquest of England and was given the land that is now Roslin, Midlothian in Scotland.
FAVOURITES.
BOOK : 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne. She loved it as a child.
MOVIE : Once films were made, Casablanca.
5 SONGS : Mein Sohn Nur Mut - Carl Maria von Weber; Night on Bald Mountain - Modest Mussorgsky; Por Una Cabeza - Gardel; Killer Queen - Queen; Bat Out Of Hell - Meat Loaf
DEITY : She always found Athena and Freya interesting to read on, but is not religious, so holds them in no regards.
HOLIDAY : New Years
MONTH : It used to be May (until someone had to die). Now it’s September
SEASON : Summer
PLACE : None
WEATHER : The middle of a raging thunderstorm
SOUND : Waves lapping against a stone breaker, the crackle of a fire in the hearth, the metallic click of bullets loading into their chambers and a pistol’s hammer being pulled back, heeled boots running on wet cobblestones, a bed-frame’s creaks of protest.
SCENT / S : Leather, steel, gunpowder, salt air, vanilla, musk, new rope, old books, whiskey, coffee, canvas.
TASTE / S : Rich dark chocolate, red wine, whiskey, umeboshi, black coffee.
FEEL / S : Silk against skin, rope against skin, quality leather, a firm grip.
ANIMAL / S : Big dogs
NUMBER : No preference.
COLOUR : Olive green, black, gold, red, steely gray.
EXTRA.
TALENTS : Helga is a skilled commander and leader when given the chance to be such. She speaks many languages, and has years of opera training to her name as well.
BAD AT : Almost any artistic expression save singing, horseback riding, judging character, resisiting tempation
TURN ONS : Power, dominant personalities, charm, intelligence, danger
TURN OFFS : Bombast, sexism, weakness
HOBBIES : Singing, antique firearms collecting
TROPES : (ALL FROM THE TV TROPES SITE) Badass Longcoat, Contralto of Danger, Dark Action Girl, Deadpan Snarker, The Dog Bites Back, The Dragon, Femme Fatale, Flare Gun, Heel-Face Door-Slam (I like to contest this one), Kick Chick, Last Breath Bullet, Nothing Personal, Perpetual Frowner, Right-Hand Cat, Redemption Equals Death, Sexophone, TankTop Tomboy, Thrown From The Zeppelin, Wai-fu
AESTHETIC TAGS : Mausers, leather gloves, smoke, WWI, steampunk landscapes, red lipstick, femme fatale
GPOY QUOTES : I don’t know what this means...
FC INFO.
MAIN FC / S : Rachael Taylor
ALT FC / S : N/A.
OLDER FC / S : N/A.
YOUNGER FC / S : Maddie Hasson (specifically as Jo Masterson)
VOICE CLAIM / S : Claudia Christian, Karen Souza (for singing_
GENDERBENT FC / S : N/A.
MUN QUESTIONS.
Q1 : if you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ?
A1 : Well, technically, she has a film. Though to be fair, I would make the whole thing longer, less PG, way more of a war film with Lovecraftian/Steampunk overtones than what we got.
Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ?
A2 : German opera, steampunk instrumentals... Hans Zimmer. Maybe some prog-rock bits a la Savatage?
Q3 : why did you start writing this character ?
A3 : I loved Atlantis and Helga as a kid, so that has always been there. But while I was in the finals days of a fandom that didn’t care if I existed, I watched the film and we just... clicked.
Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ?
A4: She was unlike any film heroine that I had seen before then (I was 8). She was sarcastic and kick-ass and not genuinely good. She was active and suffered real consequences in her story. May or may not have also found her hot.
Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.
A5 : As someone who likes to think of themselves as morally upstanding, the fact she tends to give so few shits about others
Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ?
A6 : The snark. that is all.
Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ?
A7 : I’m one of those stupid artsy types.
Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?
A8 : Joseph Korso, Gerge Armstrong Custer, Prince Adam (The Beast), Jacob Frye, Haytham Kenway, Judge Claude Frollo, Kent Mansley, Dean McCoppin, Charles Emmerson Winchester III, Prince Hans Westergaard, and there are many more but those stick out the most to me for their dynamics.
Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ?
A9 : Honestly? Her compelling nature as a character. I don’t really have to look to an outside source to be inspired.
Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ?
A10 : HOURS
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@evildecd said, “Now, you’re going to do exactly as I say, aren’t you?”
The harder Dean attempted to cling to the memories from mere hours before, the more difficult it seemed to be to grasp them at all. Little things could be deduced from his surroundings; he knew he wasn’t in his hotel room anymore, he knew he wasn’t anywhere he recognised, he knew that Ash... Ash was here but it wasn’t Ash... but why wasn’t he Ash? How had he gotten here? Why did it feel like everything inside his head was fading and folding in on each other so that all he could focus on was here and now and Ash--
Dean’s muscles were tense, as though he was poised to strike... but why would he be? A frantic sort of buzz crackled down his spine, remnants of adrenaline that he didn’t understand. He lifted his gaze to see Ash. His heartbeat quickened, but his body relaxed. Ash. A familiar face. A face he was entirely devoted to and one that soothed the pesky sensations of dread and panic.
He didn’t know why he was here. He vaguely remembered snippets of things - Sam, the Impala, his job - it all seemed so insignificant and silly now. It was laughable that he had ever been so preoccupied with those things when Ash was right there.
Somewhere within Dean’s chest, some writhing creature made of alarm, of fear and a deep sense of wrong, the nagging little itch of something he had forgotten that teetered just on the edge of memory.
But Ash was talking and Dean didn’t want to focus on anything else. “Yes, I am.”
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@evildecd said, “And I have news for you: you must obey me.“
He had no idea it was coming, but then again, that of course was the entire point. For a few moments after every touch or trigger word, he would have a few moments of fleeting clarity - the sensation of some part of himself struggling to swim to the surface as a heavy blanket of... well, nothing was the best word to describe it, settled slowly over him, pushing him further and further back until very little remained.
And then he would have no shred of realisation that he had been placed under Ash’s spell; no memory of any of it happening either when he snapped out of it. Just a lingering feeling as though he had awakened from a dream, or broken free of an intense moment of deja vu.
Dean had a few seconds of those thoughts, just long enough to remember what was happening and to grasp the knowledge it had happened before, and then everything faded and his eyes focused, gaze fixed on Ash’s own eyes.
“... you must obey me.“
Warmth of a peaceful, proud sort - the feeling of knowing you had a purpose, and knowing you would do anything to achieve that purpose for the person before you - washed over him. “I will.”
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@evilsded said, “ don’t you understand? i love you. and nothing you’ve done, no matter how much of a monster you think you are, is gonna change that. ”
At first, Dean didn’t reply, instead absentmindedly reaching for the mark seared into his arm, pressing a finger against it and tracing the scar-like shape of it, unresponsive to the faint burning pain it caused to do so. Even now, he could feel the darkness deep inside of him, the urge to kill and maim or he would never be satisfied - even now, a voice somewhere within him whispered to him that he should slaughter Ash.
The thought made him sick, two separate parts of his mind and soul at war, and one was significantly stronger... that was why he needed to get far, far away from the people he loved. He didn’t want to kill innocents, but that would be far less guilt than cutting down those closest to him. It wouldn’t be safe to hunt for a cure or a solution while Sam, Ash, and Castiel were anywhere near him.
“No.” Dean took a step back, forcing himself to meet Ash’s eyes. “It has nothing to do with who I am right now, but who I’m gonna become.” He yanked his shirt sleeve up, showing the mark to Ash. “There’s no just ‘say no’ solution for this. It’s gonna get harder and harder to ignore the urge to kill, and I do not want you to fall victim to that. I may not be a monster now, but I sure as hell am gonna be. Maybe sooner than any of us think.”
He hated this. He wanted nothing more to wrap his arms around Ash, because fuck, he needed that grounding, soothing energy right now but the constant fear of hurting the other - growing stronger with every second - kept him from doing so. “Please. Ash. I can’t let you or Sam or even Cas come with me. Not if I want you to stay safe.”
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@grccvy said, ‘ it’s like someones opened up the photo album and taken all the pictures out, and now there’s only blank pages.’
Every day, Dean’s mind and heart tore him in two different directions, neither of which he would ever dare bring up to another person. Everything in him wanted to continue to visit Ash; to hope that maybe one of these days, a visit would unlock the memories that had been buried, even as the other side of him wanted to get far far away, because this amnesia had been his fault. It had to be.
So far, he kept visiting. It wasn’t as though guilt had kept him from doing things before. Would he regret it? Maybe. If the nights spent sitting in the Impala getting wasted on shit beer and shouting to that sorry excuse for a ‘god’ that allowed this shit to keep happening were anything to go on, maybe he already did.
That’s where he was today; once again visiting Ash. Even if his memories were gone, the other man still had an uncanny knack for reading the emotions in Dean’s eyes, no matter how hard he tried to hide them. An attempt to describe what it was like, an attempt to apologise for the lack of memories, maybe.
Dean stared blankly for a moment, pain twisting inside of his chest as he watched Ash, and then he shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah... yeah, uh, Sam--my brother--was telling me ‘bout how that’s what it’s like. The... the looking at a space where you know something should be but you can’t figure out what it is or where it is, kind of thing.”
He cleared his throat, feeling it begin to tighten. “Hey, man, sorry for taking up so much of your time. I’ll--I’ll let you go.”
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@grccvy said, ‘ stay down, or i’ll make you drown in your own blood. ’
Dean coughed, crimson spattering the ground in front of him as he struggled onto his hands and knees. All he could taste was copper, and he could barely see the man standing over him - vision blurred with blood and a pounding pain thrumming inside his head. He didn’t need to see to know who it was though.
If only losing his vision made it easier to intuit just why Ash was acting the way that he was.
Barging into the safe house ranting about how sick he was of Dean and Sam, even the threats, could have been explained away by perhaps a high amount of stress or blackmail. But this? How brutal he was being?
It had to be possession of some calibre. It just had to be.
Now wasn’t the time to consider it though. Right now, Dean had been knocked onto the ground for what felt like the hundredth time, bruises already blooming against his skin and blood both his and Ash’s covering his clothes and hands. He halted where he was, on his hands and knees, when Ash gave the order.
After a few moments of hesitation, Dean continued rising until he was settled on his knees, hands hanging loosely at his sides as he fixed his gaze on Ash, a tangle of anger and pain fighting for dominance in his chest. “Oh yeah? Then what, Ashley? What’re you gonna do after that? Go back to whoever’s got you wrapped ‘round their little finger like a good little puppy? C’mon, man, you used to be stronger than this.”
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‘ i wanted to tell you in person. ’
Dean looked away from the hotel television, a beer midway to his lips. He hesitated, then lifted the bottle and finished it off before answering the other. “Tell me what, Ash?” He couldn’t help the easygoing curiosity colouring his voice. Clearly whatever it was had to be important; otherwise Ash would have just told him over the phone and not waited until he returned to the bunker. “Everything okay?”
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@grccvy said, “ I will make you King of everything you see. ”
Such a statement coming from Ash brought a smile that could be likened to the Cheshire Cat’s to Dean’s face. Having only been the powerful creature that he was for a short time, he had not had much time to think about what he would do now that he had been elevated - surely take care of Sam, make sure that he wouldn’t be a thorn in his side... but other than that, he had Hell and he had Ash.
But to be King... that appealed to him, it appealed to him intensely, and his grin sharpened, eyes glowing yellow as he moved in closer, invading Ash’s personal space without care, pressing his face against the other’s neck and leaving a trail of burning kisses up to his ear. “I would be honoured.” The words came out barely louder than a whisper, one hand idly finding its way to grasp Ash’s hip. “We can rule together, mm?”
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dean winchester continued from this post with @evildecd
Christ, Dean hated this. He hated it. Despite all of the shit he had been through, nothing compared to the pain he had been in since Ash had lost all of his memories. Losing somebody was one thing. Losing them because they suddenly had no memories of ever loving you? That just... felt different.
Sam hadn’t said anything, because of course he hadn’t. Because he knew that this was something Dean needed to do. He could feel his eyes stinging, and hoped that tears weren’t visible. Imagine how confusing that would be to poor Ash, trying to figure out why this stranger was crying like a baby.
The question hit him like a train, and Dean cleared his throat, finally lifting his gaze to meet the other’s eyes, brow furrowing slightly in faint confusion. “Uh... well, I mean... I figured you’d want to leave, you know? Rather than just... you know, live with a couple total strangers.” He hesitated, glancing at Sam, communicating silently with expressions and receiving an encouraging nod in return. He looked back at Ash. “If you want to stay though, we’re not chasing you off. We’d, uh... I’d love it if you stuck around honestly, but I figured you were already planning to leave. Which, is, uh... why I said that. If you don’t want to though, or even just wanna visit or whatever, you’re always welcome here.”
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