#I want to love so wholly that I cannot lose sight of myself

[neverendingford]

.

[annwrites]

⸻ the last unicorn ; part one ⸻

❝love is slowing you down, my lady. i will catch you at last, if you love much more.❞ — peter s. beagle

· pairing: aemond targaryen x unicorn!reader · type: mini-series · summary: aemond finds the most magnificent creature he's ever laid eyes upon in the kingswood. and when he returns in the evening to gaze upon you one last time, he finds himself further left for breath at the unexpected discovery before him. and rather than part with you, he contacts a witch to give him what he desires most...for forever. · tags: love at first sight, innocence, covetousness, angst · word count: 2,935

You are the loveliest mare he has ever set eyes upon.

Your coat is as white as the driven snow—untouched and gleaming. And your mane is long and smooth, and glimmers in the dappled sunlight that shines down upon you between swaying green leaves which comprise the canopy above.

You drink quietly from a babbling brook, wholly unaware of the gaze focused on you from a distance.

He takes a step forward—not measured enough, as he’s entirely enraptured by your beauty—and a twig snaps underfoot, causing your head to jerk up and in his direction.

He stills, as do you. But for him, it is not from wariness or fear, but wonder and disbelief.

“It can’t be,” he whispers. “For none now live.”

Your tail sways behind you and you crook your head.

He grins at the sight while taking another step forward, desperate to place even just one lone hand upon you. It is only through the act of doing so that he will believe that his remaining eye is indeed not deceiving him.

You take a step back and he shakes his head while extending a palm, shooshing you, hoping to calm you.

“It’s alright,” he states—gently. “I don’t want to harm you.”

You exhale and your ears twitch as you listen to words you do not understand.

“You’re quite lovely. Very much so. You are the last of your kind. Do you know that?”

His eyes travel along the polished opalescent horn that juts from the middle of your forehead before looking back into your own.

“It must be a terrible thing to be all alone in the world. I can only imagine such a fate.”

You step back again and he pauses—for he is nearly there, and to lose you when he has only just found you…he cannot bear it.

But to see you alone is a gift from the Seven.

“My name is Aemond,” he tells you with a kind smile. “Targaryen. You should know you are not the first mystical creature I have come across. I rode one once, you know. Not a unicorn, of course, but a dragon.”

He swallows thickly, ignoring the stinging of his eye. “She’s gone now. Lost during the war. To my uncle—my foe. But I repaid the favor by driving my sword through his heart.”

He’s standing before you now, and you have, most surprisingly, not fled.

Painstakingly slowly, he raises a hand and holds his breath as he settles it on your neck.

You blink lazily at him while swishing your tail curiously.

He smiles while shaking his head. “You’re far too trusting. No one has ever hunted you before, have they, sweetling?”

Your eyes move downward, toward his pack.

“You’re quite fortunate in that. Next time someone comes through these woods, you need to run. Hide. If you must, drive your horn through them. Show them no mercy, for the wrong sort of ilk will not show any to you.”

You nudge your nose against his chest and he chuckles while scratching behind your ears. “You’re too gentle for such an act, though, aren’t you?”

He slips his fingers into your mane. “I am not a gentle man myself by nature. Not usually. But for you, I think I can make an exception. I’ve a reputation to maintain, but unicorns sing no songs, so I believe it safe to assume that my secret will be kept.”

You move your snout lower and nuzzle against his bag, sniffing.

And then he snorts. “Ah, I see. It is not me you want, but instead the treats I have to offer.”

He reaches into his brown leather satchel and retrieves a shiny red apple, which he offers to you.

You eat directly from his palm and his lip twitches at the ticklish feel.

“Gods, you are truly a sight to behold. It has been believed for some time by scholars from the Citadel and otherwise that you had all gone extinct. Have you always been here, in the Kingswood? Where do you hide yourself away, I wonder?”

You nudge his pack, wanting for more.

He promptly obliges your request.

He continues to speak while you snack. “It is written that you all are immortal. Rather—you are. And the most innocent and pure of creatures. I would not doubt it now after our chance meeting. I’ve also read…you come only to virgins.”

He grins. “I am certainly not that. So, I suppose the old adage is indeed true: not to believe all you read, or hear.”

You raise your head and stare at him dumbly.

His words sound like no more than a garbled mess to you. Human voices are so unpleasant to the ears. What are they in comparison to the wind, the birds, the rustle of leaves, and the things nature has to tell, which is far more important?

You turn away from him then, suddenly disinterested.

He cocks a brow, following along beside you, so you shake out your mane and hold your head high, wanting for solitude amongst your forest friends.

Men merely think themselves welcome here due to their own hubris. They believe all the earth is theirs for the taking because they consider themselves more intelligent and higher beings.

They forget that other things existed long before they, and will continue to remain longer after their bones blow like dandelion seeds in the wind. They know only of survival. It is what they do to the land: survive off of it. Instead, you live with it as one.

He does gain your interest once more, however, by offering you another apple.

He slides his hand down your back, smoothing your fur. “What might the people think of me if I were to return to the Red Keep atop the back of a unicorn, I wonder? The last remaining one in all the world. Presumably, that is.”

He steps around to the front of you and scratches beneath your chin. “Brief it may’ve been, but the Conqueror’s crown indeed suited me far better than it ever did my fool brother. I was more suited to the role as a whole. Yet, here I am now. In the middle of the Kingswood, passing my afternoon speaking to a horse.”

He could swear that you snort quietly in response, but knows he merely imagined it.

He glances back to his own mount across the way and sighs. “It will be dark soon enough; another day gone. I suppose I should be getting back to the Keep.”

He offers you one final apple, which you relieve him of immediately, and he presses a soft kiss to your mane—a most unexpected gesture—before reluctantly bidding you goodbye.

You do not watch as he goes.

During the night, sleep eludes Aemond and finds him entirely restless. He tosses and turns upon a featherbed which provides little comfort from the incessant thoughts of you which gather like a tempest within his mind.

He is quite tired, yes, but he knows that unless he journeys once more into the Kingswood to chance at having one final look upon you, he will find no peace. So he rises.

He knew it would be a wasted journey. Especially at this hour.

You are nowhere to be seen. A fact which he’s both disappointed, and gladdened by. Gladdened that perhaps some small part of you understood the warnings he spoke to you that afternoon: to run and hide if a man came calling upon the woods you call home.

He shakes his head, deigning himself foolish for even thinking to return here during the hour of the wolf. Since when does Aemond Targaryen, previous Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm, find himself preoccupied by a thing of fairytales?

Ridiculous.

Aemond makes to turn, until he hears the quiet rustle of leaves and he catches a glimmer of light reflecting off a pond across the way. A glimmer of light which grows and grows in fervor—entirely encapsulating you.

It nearly blinds him, and forces him to cover his eyes with his forearm to shield his vision.

In a moment, the spectacle is over and the night returns to darkness. The only illumination provided now being that of the silvery-blue moon in the sky which twinkling stars surround as they wink and kiss the inky black vision above.

Slowly, he drags his gaze upwards once more, squinting to see.

And then his breath lodges in his throat, choking him.

“How in Seven Hells…” He whispers in disbelief, for he does not believe his eye.

Not this time.

For he is surely sleepwalking. Trapped within a dream.

But if such a fact is so, he will kill any man who attempts to wake him.

You rise slowly on trembling legs—only two—and long silvery waves curtain your slim, naked form. You grip the bark of a tree to steady yourself as your body shakes against the cool night air.

His eyes trail along your pale skin—so pale, in fact, that it practically glows. Or perhaps it is just the moon casting you in its light that offers such an illusion.

And soft silver waves slip over your shoulders and shimmer in the light.

Your breasts are small and soft—proportionate to your body—with delicate pink nipples. You’ve womanly curves; the planes of which blend perfectly from your stomach and into your thighs like you are the finest sculpture he has ever lain his eye upon. Crafted by the hands of the Gods themselves you are. Created by the Maiden, for you are indeed her image made flesh.

He steps forward—wanting for answers, for explanation, no matter how impossible it might be—then pauses when you jerk your head in his direction.

You stare at him with wide, lilac eyes, and he shakes his head, sure he is trapped within a delusion of his own making.

He must touch you once more to assure himself otherwise.

“This is madness,” he says quietly, taking another step forward.

You bristle, and he raises a hand slowly, shooshing you—repeating his actions from some hours ago, in hopes of comforting you to his presence. “It’s alright, sweetling. We’ve met. Just today. Don’t you remember me?”

You blink dumbly at him.

“I brought you apples. You liked them.”

Your eyes flit to the pack at his side and he fills with relief.

You recall him indeed.

“I’m not here to harm you. I merely came to see you one last time. But I had certainly not expected this.”

He has nearly made his way around the pond, and you, quite fortunately, have not fled from him in fear.

“Can you change at-will, then? Or is it only the night which brings about this other form?” He asks curiously.

You merely stare at him, remaining unresponsive.

“Can’t you speak?” He asks with a furrowed brow.

You softly cock your head to the side, and silver strands slip over your shoulders, exposing your pert breasts to him, and he takes note of your pebbled nipples.

You’re cold.

Cautiously, he removes the cloak he has wrapped round his own shoulders, then holds it out toward you.

You take a tiny step back, but he still steps forward, fans it out behind you, then clasps it just below your neck.

And then he cups your chilled cheek in his palm.

“I thought you a vision,” he mutters, brushing his thumb along the apple of your cheek. “A creature come straight to me from my most impossible dreams.”

Your eyes flit between his while your lips remain silent.

“You don’t understand a thing I’m saying, do you, sweetling?”

You stare at him in response.

His lip twitches.

How entirely innocent and ignorant you are.

Perfect to mold, he thinks.

Until sunrise, that is.

He assumes, that, come the morn, you most likely return to your equestrian form.

But why? Has it always been this way for you? Are you not immortal, then, like he previously believed? Is this some sort of wretched curse bestowed upon you by a sorceress, warlock, moonsinger, or otherwise? Why punish such a beautifully quiet thing such as yourself? What could you have possibly done to deserve this?

To always be walking between two worlds, but belonging in neither—forever alone… What a horrid thing to be forced upon something as sweet and docile as you.

Quite boldly of you, you reach toward his pack, but he shoves it away on instinct.

You frown slightly, and then he smiles. “Forgive me, my sweet.”

He retrieves for you another apple and settles it into your expectant palm.

You promptly take a bite out of the crisp piece of fruit and lick your lips where sweet juice quickly gathers.

He groans lowly in the back of his throat at the sight, and does his utmost to ignore the slight swelling of his cock beneath his trousers.

He cups your other cheek then, holding you still and close as you take bite after bite while staring up and into his eye as he studies you.

Your long, silver strands slip easily between his fingers as he cups the back of your head affectionately. “If I did not know any better, I would think you are one of us: a true Targaryen. Or a Valyrian, forged in the fires of the Freehold.”

You lean slightly into his touch, merely liking the warmth his body has to offer and provide against the chill of this late hour, but he translates the simple gesture to have a far different meaning: that already you can feel it as well—this invisible ribbon which binds the two of you into one. It wraps your destinies together into a singularly divine fate.

Once you’ve finished with your treat, you lower your arm to your side and drop it. It softly thuds against the forest floor, then rolls down the embankment and into the pond at your side.

You hear a quite splash, and you smile slightly, knowing its remaining core is now feeding one of your friends.

You look at the strange man with one eye again, and your brows furrow in confusion as he closes it and begins to lean forward while slipping an arm beneath the cloak he wrapped around you to combat the chill.

He slides his hand along your waist before settling his palm against the small of your back so you might remain close to him.

And then he presses his lips to yours.

Your body stiffens and your eyes grow wide.

What is he doing? Is this a sort of odd greeting humans give each other, then? A strange form of communication, perhaps?

You blink, then try to swallow, but it’s precisely when your lips part that he slips his tongue into your mouth.

That is when you jerk away.

Aemond chuckles from amusement, then presses a firm, tender kiss to your forehead before leaning forward and resting his own against it.

“My sweet girl,” he whispers. “The Gods blessed me by putting you in my path.”

He pulls back slightly while tucking silver locks behind your ear. “You must be terribly lonely here. Are you not?”

You glance toward the pond, then back to him, wishing he’d let you go so you might stretch your legs for awhile.

“I could change that,” he says—his voice a whisper upon the wind. “At the very least, I can bring someone here who could. Who could keep you in this preferable form…for forever.”

You glance behind him and watch as a doe trots along with her little fawn close to her side.

“I could make you a princess,” he states, earning your attentions once more. “A wife, a mother. You could have fine things and live in a grand castle. Resplendent gowns, jewels, and servants at your beck and call would be yours for the taking. If you wish it—whatever you do—I will make it so. My jester of a brother is not long for this world. And once the Gods have come to call him home, I will ascend his throne.”

His grows quite serious then. “And you might be my bride, if you so covet a crown for yourself as I do. It will be just as lovely as you, I swear it.”

He slides his hand along the soft curve of your waist, then settles it just above the swell of your rear.

“We could make perfect little heirs. Silver hair, violet eyes, and pale skin. The very image of descendants of Old Valyria. None would question their parentage for a moment as they did my dead half-sister’s. Not that I would ever indulge myself by bringing bastards into this world. I would sooner put such abominations to the sword.”

You try to take a step back, unsettled by the wild look in his eye…but he holds firm.

“I want you,” he states lowly. “And I will have it so.”

He smiles, then brushes a kiss along your cheek. “You’ll be pleased with what I next intend to do, sweetling. I swear it. And once you are mine, I will have the finest septas teach and tutor you in how to be a proper princess and wife. You will learn to speak as I do. And I will treasure the moment when you finally utter the words of your undying love, stemming from thankfulness toward me, from having given you the gift of our blessed union.”

He pulls you into his chest and holds you in his arms, knowing it is exactly where you belong. “You’ve no idea the life that awaits you at my side.”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (Part 6): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: the search for a new place to settle has begun, but you’re left searching for a reason for Geto to stay.  

wc: 1.9k

tw: none

a/n: shorter chapter, but I have something super-sweet in the works for the upcoming parts because *you know I love sweets and lemons*

masterlist

“I cannot have you like I want to.” 

The words the General spoke the night before ring fresh in your mind as Kaori goes about her task of washing and preparing you for the day. He had left before you awoke, but you know you’ll see him at some point during the day. It seems that his explanation will have to wait, then. 

“You’re very quiet today, Lady y/n,” Kaori whispers, pouring water down your back. “Did something happen?” 

Could you tell her the truth? Could you tell her what the General said and what you did in response? 

“Nothing’s wrong; I’m just tired today.” 

“I’m sure you can catch up on your rest after we see Haibara and Gojo off.” 

“They leave today?” you ask, turning around to face her.

“We have to move quickly these days.” Kaori states, her face grim. “We can’t waste a single day as we get closer to the Imperial Palace.” 

“What will happen when we get there?” You wonder aloud, and Kaori shakes her head. 

“No, you’re not thinking like a warrior, my Lady.” Kaori stands and you do the same, placing the towel around your frame. “The question is not what we’ll do when we get there. It’s what will happen before we get there.” Your frown smooths out into a look of understanding, and suddenly, a headache begins to set in. Any number of things could occur before you arrived at the Imperial Palace, and a great many of those things could be terrible for both you and Geto.

“You needn’t worry, my Lady. Master Geto has a plan for everything. We just need to follow his orders, and everything will work out fine.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

Your mouth is full of grilled fish when you feel the familiar chubby fingers of Yuji Itadori on your arm. You look down at the toddler with expectation of more food being pressed to your lips - despite it being lunchtime - but instead, he’s holding a dandelion. 

“Make a wish!” You laugh, then close your eyes, searching for something to wish for. When you find it, you send it up to whatever gods are listening, and then blow on the dandelion with all of the breath in your lungs. 

Yuji lets out an astonished whoa and then watches the little spores blow away in the light breeze. “Nobara!” he calls out, running away. “We need more dandy-lions!” The two children dash off into the field, and you wonder about the brain cell they share before Kaori and her other friend hiss your name. 

“Lady y/n, he’s coming,” Kaori points toward the three men striding toward your small group, and you perk up at the sight of Geto. His eyes are on you, and at the contact, he smiles widely. 

“Are you enjoying your meal, ladies?” Haibara asks, trailing behind Geto and Gojo. 

“Yes, the fish is heavenly,” Kaori replies eagerly. “Give the cook our best.” 

“Will do,” he answers, and Geto sits beside you on the blanket. 

“Might I try a piece?” he inquires, and you oblige, feeding him with your fingers just like he has done to you many times. When his mouth makes contact with your fingers, you feel his tongue slide against the tips of them and for a moment, you wish he wouldn’t let go. But he does, and hums as he eats the fish thoughtfully. You smile at him and he returns the expression, placing his hand on yours before turning back to the two men who are left standing. 

“I’ll see you two in a few hours.” Gojo and Haibara take off, followed by Kaori and her friend - who wags her eyebrows at you before leaving the two of you alone in the field. You want to run your hands through Geto’s hair and ask him about his day, ask him about his words the night before, but you keep yourself rooted to where you are. It’s only after a moment of hesitation that Geto closes the gap between you and pulls you into his chest, examining the horizon with wide eyes. 

“What is on your mind, great general?” you whisper, and he looks down at you, lips curled up in a half-smile. 

“Would you believe me if I said it’s you?” 

“I would,” you answer. He exhales slowly, the smile dropping from his face before he returns his gaze to the horizon. 

“I must confess that you have placed me in quite a predicament, little one,” he begins, placing a kiss at the top of your head and smoothing a hand down your spine.

“Oh?” 

“Don’t play coy.” Your laughter peals out across the field like bells in the wind, and Geto chuckles as well, his shoulders shaking as he bends over a little. 

“And this… predicament… Is this the one you spoke of last night?” You were pulling answers out of him, but it seems only right for you to have to search for the truth. Because, somewhere in that truth, you know you’ll find your own version of what you felt for him. 

“The very same one... I want to have you, y/n; I want to make you mine.” 

“And what’s stopping you?” Geto inhales deeply, all of the laughter from before vanishing from his face in an instant. 

“I made a promise to myself on your behalf. I swore I would not take you to bed and - instead - preserve your maidenhood for whomever you choose to be with. My plan has always been to release you to your freedom in the end.” Your shock is evident by the way you lean away from him, but Geto makes no move to pull you in again. He eyes you carefully as you process his words, unsure of how to react. 

“So, I am only a pawn to you.” Realization sweeps over Geto’s features, smoothing them out to a wide-eyed gaze as he shakes his head. 

“No, no, little one,” He reaches a hand out and grazes your cheek with the back of his knuckles, the gesture making you close your eyes and instinctively lean into his touch again. “I want you to be happy. If your happiness is not here with m-- with us, then I will not force you to stay when I become Emperor. You will be afforded all of the privileges of a free woman, as you were before.” 

“But…” You capture his hand on your cheek, pressing a kiss to his palm. “What if I have found some happiness here with you?” 

“I would be elated to have you accompany me, if that is the truth.” 

“Why would I lie to you?” The side-eye Geto gives you makes you chuckle, and you lean into his arm again, thinking about the warmth of his body and how he feels so familiar now. He always smells like fresh rain, and the way spoke to you never bordered on disrespectful or harsh. At least, not anymore. “Geto, I--” 

“I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupts, holding a finger up to your lips. “But I haven’t divulged everything yet.” You wait for his second round of speech, holding your breath. “Should I be overcome, and my father wins the war… I am also saving your maidenhood so you can be spared. If it comes out that you have lain with me, I know my family will not hesitate to have you murdered.”

“Your father wouldn’t do such a barbaric thi-” 

“You don't know my father. Nor do you know my half-brothers. They are ruthless, y/n. And if my father will not have you punished for being the mistress of a traitor, I know that my brothers will not hesitate.” The breath escapes your lungs slowly and Geto looks down at you again, fixing you with his onyx eyes. “And so I ask you this: would you be satisfied with possibly losing your life for being with a traitor to the crown? Or would you rather resist the temptation, and live a long life with few regrets?” Your hand flies to his chest, right above his heart, and you answer confidently: 

“Whichever way the wind blows, I will not regret taking this chance to be with you.” At this, Geto hastily pulls you in for a deep kiss, holding onto you as if the source of life itself is wrapped in the sinew of your bones. 

______

“Safe travels, brother.” You observe Geto and Gojo - equal in stature but differing in composure - clasp arms before Geto turns to Haibara and repeats the motion; pulling him in and whispering something in his ear. Haibara pulls away and laughs, smiling widely before they climb onto their white horses. A group of soldiers are waiting for them as they ride off into the horizon, leaving the entire camp behind as the hooves of the beasts kick up massive amounts of dust. 

You shield yourself behind Geto’s broad frame as they depart, and the other members of the gathered crowd disperse easily, leaving the two of you standing in the field with Nanami. “Master Geto,” Nanami begins, and Geto turns away from the disappearing figures to face the youth. 

“Yes, Nanami?” 

“It has come to my attention that Emissary Noritoshi made it back to the Imperial Palace, and was immediately thrown out upon the Emperor’s realization that he had not secured a deal with you.” 

“Will they be sending another emissary, then?” 

“Within the week, sir.” You examine Geto’s face as he wraps an arm around your waist protectively, squinting his eyes. 

“Send for a scout tomorrow morning. I need to know if this emissary is any different from Noritoshi in his tactics.” 

“Shall I call upon Yuuta, sir?” 

“Yes; he would fare well. Thank you, Nanami.” Nanami bows slightly to Geto, and then to you, departing just as quietly as he had arrived. “And you…” Geto squeezes you closer to him. “You need to get some rest. We will recommence training tomorrow morning, after breakfast.” A groan escapes your lips at the thought of Geto making you fight with a rake again, but you follow him back to the tent anyways.

As you undress for the night, you wonder if Geto is really focusing on his plans or if he’s trying his best not to watch as you disrobe and expose yourself for his eyes again. But when you sneak a glance over your shoulder, he’s wholly focusing on his maps and diagrams, left hand propping his chin up as he faces away from you. Sighing, you dress in your night clothes and slide into bed, wishing that you could just feel his arms wrap around you before you drift off to sleep.

Some god heard you, you realize, as Geto pushes away from his desk and stands, wiping his face in exhaustion. Your body tingles with hyper awareness as Geto trims the wick of the lamps around the tent and shuffles over to the bed, yawning while tossing his haori and hakashita off. The moment he slides in next you and places his large arms around you, you jolt a little, and you feel his warm breath on your skin as he chuckles. 

“Easy there, y/n. I’m not going to hurt you.” You turn to face him in the semi-darkness and place both hands on his face. 

“I wasn’t worried about that,” you answer, and he hums, pulling you in for another kiss before tapping one to your nose. “Quite the opposite, actually.” Geto replies with a rumble in his chest, hands sliding further down to your ass. But the temptation is quickly overcome when he pulls his hands away, placing them behind his head as he lays on his back. 

“You cannot tempt me that easily, little one,” he breathes, exhaling through his nose. “Sleep well; goodnight.” You roll onto your side in defeat, but a small smile plays across both of your faces as you fall asleep, the wheels of imagination and desire turning around and around in your minds. 

_______________________________________________________________________

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[greylunar]

PLEASE do in depth analyses of all of the houses for your quiz I was enraptured reading the gryffindor one and I didn’t even get gryffindor

JUST FOR YOU ANON, I am going to compile the sort of Final Breakdown of every house, in my opinion, that you get at the end of the quiz now. Theres more in-depth analysis of specific questions under each house’s tag on my blog, and you can feel free to ask more specifics of course bUT here is the masterpost of that c:

A Hufflepuff is, unlike a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor, an internal house. I know what you must be thinking, “how can you be the house of loyalty if you’re an internal house?” Puffs have a small network, Their People, maybe friends, maybe family, maybe friends who are family, maybe an assortment of small pets or animated characters. While Slytherins also have Their People, they have resources and associates to draw from when their bored, whereas the term associates exhausts a Hufflepuff. Spending time with people they don’t love doesn’t ever sit quite right, although they will often do it in an attempt to make folks happy. Hufflepuffs yes, are a house of kindness and of love, but unlike Gryffindors when it comes down to it they don’t have to go out of their way for kindness and love. Gryffindors will seek out situations in which they can do good. Hufflepuffs good is smaller (not lesser) in which they will do as much good as they can for the people directly in their line of sight, but when granted with the great expanse of the world it is easy for them to shrink in on themselves and not be able to cope. That said, they have so much love to give out, and will often want all their love in one place, slightly selfish but mostly excited collectors of people. If your version of the ideal future is a vague image of all the people you love in your house for [insert holiday] that is a very Hufflepuff sentiment. Hufflepuffs, like Gryffindors, are inherent/intrinsic worth folks. Hufflepuffs know who they are, or at least how they define themselves. Their moral code may not be their local government’s law (and actually very often isn’t), but it does exist and is rigid, and puffs won’t go against it unless incredibly pressed. This is a point of contention with Slytherins and Ravenclaws, and even Gryffindors who feel like they have to perform/validate their identity and choices through others. Hufflepuffs are themselves, and no one else, completely and quietly. They love their People. They want to build a home for them. That isn’t to say that puffs are necessarily gentle pushovers. A huge component of Punk and Anti-fascists align themselves with Puffs because they are So themselves and So invested in the safety and well-being of their people and community. Like slytherins, hufflepuffs often know/feel they’re weird, and tend to relish in finding people as absurd and lovely as they are. They will forgive people, possibly too much. But quietly, they will shift the little orbit of the world around themselves to be a little kinder, a little gentler, for them and the people they love. Be kind to yourself. You do not have to be any bigger than you are.

Slytherins are linked to identity, changing themselves to meet their needs and the wants of the world around them. They have specific people that are Theirs, and their circle of Actual Trust may be rather small, even if their friend/associates/resources group is a wide network. Slytherins are tied to wanting, craving, and not necessarily in a bad way or in a way that’s “ambition”. Slytherins are a house made up of people who want something or someone or some goal desperately or are made up of a myriad of little wants, but also struggle with the idea of worth and whether or not they have done enough to deserve the things they want. Sometimes, these wants are secret. Slytherins are often caught up in this wanting and this worth, and cannot see that they are already loved, completely and wholly, for who they are. When you care for someone you care for them with all of you, you are inherently a protective house like hufflepuffs for those that you care about most, and for all your wanting so so so many of you are beautiful creators (the worlds and story ideas slytherins have just roaming around in their brains?? amazing!). My advice to slytherins, if I can give some without being asked hahaha oops, is to recognize that for all the shapeshifting of the self you do, you can be exactly who you want to be, if you just give yourself permission. Who would you be in a dark room without any mirrors? How would you dance? How would you dress, for just yourself? Of course, that doesn’t mean you have to change your life tomorrow. It just means, sometimes, starting in little ways, take back a little bit of ground from the world. “This part is me. This part is mine. You aren’t allowed to have it.” It can be quiet. But you are worth so much, and you are yours. You are just as much of a person as anyone else, and have already earned love, because you never had to earn it in the first place.

Gryffindors believe in innate worth, innate characteristics, sort of your personality is that way because That Is Who You Are. Similar to hufflepuffs in this way, anti-slytherin experience haha. Gryffindors, unlike Hufflepuffs, are an external versus internal change maker. Because of this, they are often more broadly idealistic than hufflepuffs (think range, although they both hold their core values very deeply, hufflepuffs are on a smaller more condensed scale whereas gryffs will spread themselves thinner. Puffs do not have to change the world, rather they create a Home in which to put their world into, whereas a lot of Gryffindors struggle with feeling that they aren’t doing Enough, not Enough good, not Enough love. That the failures of the world are in part because they haven’t done enough to help personally). Gryffindors are very solid with their identity. While slytherins/ravenclaws will see their body/their reflection in a mirror, a scientific fact of life or something they wish they could/can change and shape, Gryffindors (with some exceptions for gender, trauma, and mental illness) tend to be confused that there are answers other than “I see myself in the mirror.” However, Gryffs can be performative, because while they see themselves, they need to be told that they are going in the right direction, they need to be loved, they need to help. Gryffindors will lose themselves a bit in an empty room, in isolation, moreso than hufflepuffs or ravenclaws. They create and change the world around them FOR the world around them, and so the world can look at them and say “okay, you did it, its okay now.” In this way, they are closest to slytherins, seeking validation, seeking a legacy, even though they may not even do it/realize its for themselves. They do good, or they try to, based on how they have defined it for themselves. They will care for you with all of them, if you earn it. They will hold you. But the voice in their head says “am I sure that this is what good looks like. Am I sure that this is enough.” From your friendly neighborhood Hufflepuff, sometimes doing what you need to take care and save yourself is the best thing for the world. Maybe cook something, have a lil dance party. You are an important part of the world. Start small, and love that part the most. You can add on from there c:

Ravenclaws shape the world around them, and create, in order to create a world that better suits themselves and their goals, rather than Slytherins who shape and create/recreate themselves to suit the world, meaning they are an external house, creating and impacting in the world around them rather than in themselves. Unlike Gryffindors, the other external house, Ravenclaws do not feel as much pressure to be seen in a sort of grand legacy or entirely shape the world around them. They give and seek knowledge and creation because, in a very basic sense, they feel like they need to. In a way I’ve said it “I could not write poetry for 30 years and that wouldn’t mean I’m not a poet. I am a poet. That does not change.” But Ravenclaws will get restless if they don’t create if they don’t learn. Their legacy doesn’t mean that the whole world will remember them forever. Its that they will create/make/do something that will matter to even one person enough that they will be remembered. A lot of Ravenclaws feel tied to their Ravenclaw identity because they don’t quite know who they’d be if they weren’t the ‘intelligent one’ if you will. But Ravenclaws sometimes forget that they create beauty every day, learn things new and small every day, without even meaning to. Ravenclaws believe identity is created/forged/remade constantly as information is gathered, and often try to seem neutral, scared of sharing an opinion unless they’ve thought it through completely and are certain they should stand by it. Ravenclaws are often searching, looking for something bigger than them, as almost to prove they are small in comparison. Sometimes the best thing a Ravenclaw can do is realize that all those wonderful books and poems and pieces of art that make you dream of a fantasy world were made in this world. This place, so full of love, that gave them to you in order for you to love it back. A lot of ‘gifted kids’ put themselves in Ravenclaw, without realizing that it was the rest of the world that put them in Ravenclaw, and not something that they chose. If that’s the case, maybe now is the time to ask yourself who is it you want to be? The self is a construct loves, and a uquiz doesn’t define you. You define you. You’re so good at creating Ravenclaw friends. Create you. You’re already magnificent. You’re already worth it. Now its time to look at yourself and give some love to that self, to ask it what it wants to be. You are, more than anything else, your greatest masterpiece.

[apilgrimsjournal]

The Greatest Comfort

What is your greatest comfort? Your cozy house? Complete family? Or perhaps savings in a bank? Mine is that God assures me that I am not who I was before. He constantly reminds me that I am not who I used to be. Why does this comfort me? Because I am disgusted by the person I was before. From the unbelievably horrible decisions I made to my reckless way of living, I have been trying hard not to remember those frustrating memories. But I believe that God uses those memories to remind me not to go back to that empty life I used to live. On the other hand, Satan uses those memories to cripple me with fear of not progressing to love Christ and just regressing back to my old ways. I have been bombarded with useless and futile thoughts regarding my past and wishful and mindless dreaming in the future. I have to admit that this fight of faith is exhausting and draining because a lot of times I feel so defeated and that I forget that my living hope is the resurrection of my Lord Jesus and not on my own faint efforts to live for Him. I do believe and bank my life on the righteousness and sacrifice of Christ displayed on the Cross to save me and not my own obedience but I also know that my obedience is the evidence of that faith given to me by God Himself. So when I struggle in obeying Him, it feels like a losing battle. But feelings are deceitful and wholly unreliable so I am not backing down. Even if I fall, I will stand up for the victory is in Christ and He remains on the throne unshaken and unchallenged.

Oh LORD, you have called and chosen me to be one of your children. And as a result, there is a deep longing in me to always obey You, and listen to You, and live for You. But Lord, I fail so many times and every single day I still sin against you by not loving You with all of my heart, all of my mind, all of my soul, and all of my body. And also by not loving the people around me as much as I love myself. I want to honor and glorify You even at my workplace but I fall short, Lord. I confess and agree with You just how grievous and utterly unacceptable this is in your sight. Please help me, Heavenly Father. I cannot do this life and fight on my own. You are all my hope. I am beyond thankful for saving a wretched girl like me and it will always be my greatest comfort that You have made Yourself known to me.

[popcornbutterflymedia]

it’s a little before seven in the evening as i am attempting to begin writing this post on the day a former president has died. in other words, i am winging it and praying it comes out half decent. i have been winging all my the posts for this show, but writing this post about this particular episode at the tail end of the last week is interesting, to say the least.

upon first viewing on iwanttfc, i had already tweeted “consider this the soul of the show.” at this point we’re not even halfway to the entire series. that declaration carries such weight, but this episode did prove to be the soul of the series. this is also the first episode i’ve had a visceral reaction to, beyond the understandable kilig. i was lightheaded, stumped, and on the verge of tears after the first episode viewing, that’s probably why this is taking awhile to put out.

this also feels like an episodic answer to a lot of questions.

max has entered the lion’s den, lost, but with her defenses up. deib was less than prepared to fight back, considering the circumstances, but he was quick to gather his wits about him, pinning max where he is at an advantage. even now, as i am writing it, i feel it - it’s a notch above giddiness, it’s an awareness, it’s pushing the envelope in a way that’s right for their age, but still surprising, and refreshing. it’s the naughtiness of the sly smiles, the role reversal, and the trading of banter, all of them collectively are building blocks to max and deib’s dynamic.

the banter graduates to actual conversation, that, for people who are considered arch rivals, is surprisingly decent, and seemingly cordial. both max and deib give as good as they get, much like a tennis rally where either one refuses to be on the losing end. this amuses to no end, and ups the kilig factor in such an intelligent and substantial way. this is how you know, this part of the series is their story. more on this later.

outside of the boy’s room, the banter becomes a challenge, a daring as represented by a pool table, and the number of games that such table hosts. these pool games between benison’s star player and mindoro’s top billiard player, and pool center fixture, these games are metaphors, with the stakes higher each game, for their rivalry, and their curiosity about each other. more so his curiosity about this slip of a girl who he finds difficult to win against. i daresay, at some point he gave up trying to win, and just gave in seeing her in a different light. deib’s eyes give him away, and as for donny’s eyes, finally doing the work, this is it, and it’s a sight to see, a growth to enjoy.

it’s a given that belle makes donny’s job easier for him. four episodes in, and i am still in awe at belle’s ability to transform. it’s still surprising, how she willingly gets lost in character. i am watching max, but she doesn’t make me forget that i am watching belle. it’s a weird thing i have watching actors in character - i am aware i am watching both the character and the actor wholly and simultaneously, and belle is one of the few who makes me do that with ease.

deib’s mother announces her presence, interrupts the pool tournament shaping up between taguro and sensui.

in front of his mother, deib the star bear, the alpha disappears. he signals for max to leave, and just when she was about to, max is invited to join them for dinner. it is insisted that she join her for dinner. he warns his friend: 'don't say anything that will get us into trouble' prompting said friend, max to wonder, what could she ever say that will put them both in trouble?

at the dinner table, the silence weighs heavy between mother and son. a silence foreign to the lone guest, a silence she attempts to diffuse, by talking about anything other than subjects, as touchy as family, and the like. then again, between this mother and son, the line between touchy and permissible topics of conversation are blurred and fragile.

food! food is a free for all, food is a benign subject. the food's delicious, is it her own recipe? max is genuinely curious ma'am. the woman across the table laughs off such a formal honorific. call her auntie, she says. 'tita' is more like it. 'tita' it is, max decides. not stopping there, max asks if she'd gone to one of deib's games to see his lay ups and three pointers. she regaled him with embellished stories of his reputation, of being an all around star student and an instant friend. this, much to the mother's relief - her son is apparently surrounded by good people. max was able to do all this, when all deib asked of her was to not get both of them, into trouble. just like that, the girl single handedly broke the tension and dispelled the air of formality, in a way no one else has. if that isn't enough of a surprise for deib, max held the door open for him, and granteded him access to his own mother's heart, and let hope spring in his own.

after dinner, we find max and deib in his room, steeped in the assigned work. it's an easy silence between them, proof that from that dinner encounter, something new and beautiful and unnamed grew between them. he pays her his due, and thanks her for not damaging his reputation more in front of his own mother. so he knows how to say thank you, after all, she's surprised...in jest. he allows it. and so insues an exchange of histories, and fears and lessons. she reads him so perfectly, he's supposed to be scared, or condemn her, or banish her from this earth, or whatever it is the deib lhor enrile does to those who get a bit too close for comfort. he, instead allows it, giving her unprecedented access to his friends, his brother, his heart. and his heartbreaks. he dares to get closer himself, in the most physical sense so the curiosity planted at the pool table grew exponentially. that is until she breaks the spell. there is resistance in letting him in, which he knows to hold against her. he wins, and she relents. we learn of a ghost of a past love, a young love. a better player than deib is.

just a note though: for a past love who ghosted her, max boasts of rj being the better basketball player still. this could be true, based on who I am guessing rj is, but consider this: could she be clinging onto the untarnished memory she has of this first love, disregarding the pain she was caused, because straying away from that memory will allow her the space to fall, and that's what she promised herself she would never do? if that's the case, max is just as complex as deib is, maybe even more so.

after knowing her story, he did promise to go up against this ghost of a lover, in a one on one game of basketball and win it for her. someone is making her promises now. that's unsettling.

meanwhile, the barb is winding down as alpha two plus lorde strolls in. they keep it open for the boys who are in for a later night shot of caffeine, sweets, a shot at love perhaps?

art and sweets and flirtatious, funny quips are choice ammunition in this game of love, or something like it. naih's confidence is legendary. she gets away with her boldness because of criza's charm. joao, you know, that boy always makes it work.

tob and michiko are easy, because rhys and kaori make it easy. i understand the visual. I get the chemistry. I swear I get the hype. I have been waiting for this. you all know that. they've only cemented their place in the industry as new partnership, and there are hardly any words for it, a chemistry this strong. theirs is an unspoken connection and sincerity that cannot be taught. they are all that.

it is clear, though, that this is deib and max's story. see, I have been hyping myself up for thst tochiko moment, probably from the time when we still had very little news in the junket about donny and belle. and they did deliver, they did not disappoint. max and deib's chemistry surprisingly captured my heart from the get go, though, especially in this episode (as they should, this is, again, their story anyway). if I was a teenager, I would be fawning over tochiko's eye to eye silent conversation and up to now, I still do to some extent. I'm just older now. give me substantial kilig more than anything any day. give me kilig in context. kilig that opens up the heart. kilig with emotional intimacy.

max and deib in the fourth episode is kilig (just as tob and michiko are), but I can't stress enough, just how much and why. from the entire conversation from the banter to the interaction with the mom to the entire encounter in the room, they aren't trying to make us kilig. it isn't exactly sweet, but you'll reach a point where just the mere act of people wanting to have a conversation with you is life changing, when someone cares enough not to put you in more trouble than you expect, matters so much more. it shows you your worth. and that to me is the sweetest most loving thing ever. that is, even before both of them acknowledge that love between them.

a breakthrough has been reached. walls have been shattered.

the day of their school presentation, the event is met with an air of uncertainty, not for the two's lack of skill, but because two people from separate ends of the social spectrum are to work together, which up to that point is unprecedented.

the presentation started out shaky even for max and deib themselves, but once they got drafted, they had the audience, most of them, at least in the palm of their hands.

'we are all bullies, yet we are also victims. the cycle never ends...because we are all trying to survive this cruel world, trying to succeed, trying to grow. trying to discover who we really are. trying to accept who we really are. trying to be accepted for who we really are...'

this was followed by definitive apologies from both deib, for bullying, and max, for judging, and not necessarily helping to make things better. this prompted the entire community to mingle, and make their own apologies.

a few things about this whole moment:

there is such power in calling things as they are, calling things by their name. 'bully' and 'victim' are such weighted words and there is such a relief in taking responsibility for your disgressions and through that responsibility allowing your victim to embraced their pain guiltlessly.

there is also such power and humility, that while one did not do anything explicit, to stop the cycle, they did not do anything to make things better, easier. there is humility in realising that even as a victim your own pain, might have caused more pain to others.

apologies matter. the word 'sorry' matters. and it matters across the board. while metaphorical apologies are in some ways acceptable, and poetic, sometimes, the simpler, the better. a sincere 'sorry' should suffice. no one is ever too old to apologize.

now, even the sincerest words have parameters that are dictated by how many listen, and how many don't. and that's what we cannot control. there is power in recognizing who you are in the community, and that, especially when you are in a place of influence, you have the power to create change. the power to stop the cycle. there is peace in knowing we've done all that we could to make things better, just like deib had his own moment of reckoning.

as for max, the moment she stepped into that school, she was meant to be a trailblazer, and even at this point, she had been nothing but an agent of change.

I am curious now, how she is changed by the newness of her surroundings and the possibility of a budding love?

everything is well and dandy for everyone else, max and deib even had that little moment by the tables, again with the simple but powerful chemistry. everyone is changing (this is a shoutout to melizza again. every time the camera pans to her, especially when max was speaking at the auditorium, you could sense an internal transformation. she knows the assignment well, huh? )...everyone else, but aimee. I feel sorry for her. it makes me want to know more of her story. what makes her cling to being mean? why the volatility? more than anger, there's curiosity. I feel sorry for her. there's more to be told. breakthroughs open the narrative up for more, newer stories.

this was a fast one to write, but I held off until these last few moments, because it's incredibly triggering and just as healing. more than the kilig I understand and we all enjoy, the real message is the importance of communication, telling people how you really feel. don't let them assume and don't assume they know. it's also important to call things as they are, even if it's ugly, even as it hurts. some days, there is no replacement for a 'sorry,' a genuine apology.

be gentle. be kind. listen. everyone, after all, is a story.

[theemightypen]

my dear @heckofabecca asked for 11) reunion kiss but tumblr ate the ask, so here you go, bb! hope you like it <3

(for anyone keeping track, this is in the same pre-war political marriage as this fill which you may want to read first!)

The air is thick with the smell of blood and fear. Lothiriel is so tired she can barely stand, but stand she must. They need all the hands they can spare to help tend to the wounded and to soothe the children. The noise from the battle is muted by the caves’ walls, but she is the daughter of a war-time Prince, sister and cousin to seasoned soldiers--she knows what the sounds mean, and it is not a good omen. 

The odds were impossible to begin with--an army of hundreds, a good portion of them withered old men and boys too young for beards, up against thousands of Orcs, if Lord Aragorn is to be believed. Hope has been dwindling for them all as the battle has raged on. Eowyn is brittle, defiant, in her anger at the situation they’ve been pinned into, but it is clear she has put her faith wholly in Lord Aragorn’s skill and luck.

It is clearer still that she thinks she loves the Ranger, but Lothiriel knows her sister-in-law well enough by now to know she will not appreciate her saying such a thing. 

As it is, it is hardly the time to think about such matters. She should be focused on keeping her wounded charges comfortable, with offering comfort to the mothers and wives who may be widows and childless even now. It is what her father would want her to do. It is what Eomer would want her to do. The thought of him, riding across the Plains, unaware of what his people are suffering is like a dagger at her breast. The thought of never seeing him again is even worse. 

At least he will not die here, she thinks, smoothing a whimpering boy’s hair as gently as she can, at least his fate will not be like so many others--

“Lady Eowyn! Lady Lothiriel!”

She blinks in surprise as Gamling--faithful, unwavering Gamling--limps towards them. He is covered in blood, likely his own and others’, and his face is grim. 

“Gamling, what news?” Asks Eowyn, efficient and forthright as ever. 

“The keep is near lost. Gather the supplies and people you can. You must take the people through the caves. I do not know how much time we can give you, but we will fight--to the last man--to keep you all from harm.”

Lothiriel swallows thickly. “But what of you? What of the King?”

“The King’s mission is to protect his people. Mine is to protect him. You must go, now, my ladies, and quickly.” 

“We can fight!” Eowyn argues. “We are just as able as our brethren--”

“Eowyn, these are your king’s orders. Obey him--for what may be the last time.” 

Eowyn’s jaw settles, mulishly, but Lothiriel suspects she is reacting this way to keep from crying. There is the very real possibility she will lose yet another member of her family in a matter of hours--if they are even alive at all to know it. Lothiriel is biting her own lip to maintain her composure, and her self control is nothing compared to Eowyn’s iron grip on her own. 

“We will do as Theoden King asks,” Lothiriel confirms, because what else can she say?

The relief on Gamling’s face is painful. “Good. Bema be with you--you both are the Riddermark’s hope, now.” 

That seems to snap Eowyn out of her pout and she turns, barking orders to any who are able to ready to move for fresh torches and all the water they can carry. Gamling vanishes back the way he came, leaving Eowyn and Lothiriel to manage the now frantic crowd. The sudden deep thrum of a horn makes her jump.

“What is that?” 

“The horn of Helm Hammerhand,” Eowyn says, sharp with nerves and impatience, “it is said that Helm would kill Dunlendings barehanded when it was blown. If only we had a warrior like that now, perhaps we would not be scurrying away like frightened rabbits.” 

“There is no shame in saving what life we can,” Lothiriel says, aghast at her sister-in-law’s position, “for the sake of those we lead and the sake of those who we have lost, Eowyn--”

“They are my people,” she snaps and ah, here it is again, this one jagged thing between them, “mine in a way that you cannot understand, Lothiriel, no matter how much you love my brother.” 

The mention of Eomer stings, deeply, and Elbereth help her, this is not the conversation she wants to have right now. Not when it could be one of the last things she ever does, not when she knows, in part, Eowyn is only saying this because of the visceral fear she too must be feeling. “Perhaps that is true. But I will help you save them, care for them, as if they were mine in that way. Not only for the love I bear Eomer, but the love I feel for you. And for them.” 

That softens her and she squeezes Lothiriel’s hand. The horn still echoes as they begin to herd the people towards the narrow passage. It would be slow going even with the fully healthy, but between the old and the wounded, it is nigh panic-inducing.

“Send the children first,” Lothiriel suggests. “The children and the most able-bodied young women--the rest of us can guard the back.”

Eowyn nods, reaching for her sword, but Lothiriel stops her. “Eowyn, you must go with them.”

“I am not afraid of a fight! I am a shieldmaiden--”

“And perhaps the last member of the House of Eorl. They will need you to lead them.”

Lothiriel is glad she has not had the time to mention her suspicion that has been growing in Eomer’s absence, for Eowyn would fight her if she knew--would likely fight any woman potentially carrying a child for not being among those going first through the passage. But Lothiriel has come to understand Rohan since her marriage. They will not follow her for the promise of a child, but Eowyn is as close to a princess as they have, at present. A daughter of kings. Their kings, unbroken for generations. They will follow her, as they followed her uncle, into battle and even death. 

Still, Eowyn hesitates. “Eomer will not forgive me if I leave you.”

If Lothiriel’s last words to him must be ‘I love you’, she is content. She cannot regret them, even if he does not feel the same. “I will not forgive myself if we do not do what’s right for your people.” 

Eowyn opens her mouth to say something, but she is drowned out by a sudden burst of cheering, intermingled with tears.

“My lady!” Someone shouts. “My lady, there is no need to take the passage!”

“What?” Asks Eowyn. “Explain yourself at once.”

“Gandalf has returned with a full eored! He and Lord Eomer--”

Lothiriel’s knees nearly give out and she slumps against the wall even as the women around her give cries of alarm. 

“--they have defeated the Uruk-hai! We are saved!” 

The tears begin in truth, now, and dimly she’s aware of Eowyn dragging her back towards the doors to the keep. There is a mad press all around them, of people crying and laughing and cheering, but Lothiriel can think of nothing else other than Eomer is here, Eomer is safe, we are all safe--

“Uncle!” Eowyn cries, and then she is gone, throwing herself at the weary yet triumphant form of Theoden King. A gentle hand on her arm has replaced Eowyn’s desperate grip and Lothiriel blinks a few times before recognizing that it is Gimli who is frowning up at her in concern.

“Lass, you’re white as a sheet. Come, come, let us find you somewhere to sit--”

“No,” she says, her mind foggy with relief and grief, all at once, “no, I must find--I must find my husband--”

“Your young horse master will find you soon enough, my lady,” he insists, gently shepherding her to a barrel and all but forcing her to sit upon it, “I do not think he would be overly pleased to find you in a faint when he does.”

That makes her laugh, a little. “I have never once fainted in my entire life, Master Dwarf.”

“No sense starting now, then,” he says. “Now, where is that confounded Elf? He had best not be trying to up his score…”

 Lord Legolas is, in fact, poking at a few corpses with an arrow, and Lothiriel laughs herself nearly sick when Gimli explains why. Then Lord Aragorn arrives and Eowyn is throwing herself at him, too relieved to guard her more tender emotions. Gandalf appears, miraculously untouched by the grime covering everyone else, grumbling about something as is his wont. Behind him is--

Behind him is Eomer, broad-shouldered and magnificent in his armor. A few other soldiers are with him, clearly asking for his input on one matter or another, and he looks near to losing his impressive temper.

“Deorwine, enough,” he finally barks, “I will answer these questions later--I want to find my wife!”

Valar, she is so happy to see him whole and hale that she cannot speak. Gimli seems to know this and winks at her before crying over the din, “Your wife is here, laddie.”

She’s vaguely aware of standing, of starting to walk towards him, but Eomer is there before she can so much as blink, crushing her against his chest so tightly she can scarcely breathe. She knows she’s crying, messily and without reserve, and she should be embarrassed to behave in such a way, in front of so many people, but she cannot bring herself to care. Not when Eomer’s arms are trembling around her, or she can feel the rasp of his beard against her temple, and the deep rumble of his voice as he says something in Rohirric to her is overwhelming her senses. 

“Hello,” she finally manages, leaning her head back just enough to meet his eyes, “oh, Eomer, hello.” 

“Lothiriel,” he says, and then he kisses her. Dimly, she’s aware of a small smattering of applause and a happy hoot that sounds suspiciously like Eothain, but that’s of little consequence when Eomer is kissing her like he’s been desperate for it. Like he’s missed her as much as she’s missed him.

He rests his forehead against hers when he finally lets her up for air, and Lothiriel has to reach up to take his dear, dear face between her hands. He is plainly bone weary and smells strongly of horse. There has never been a more welcome sight. 

“You came back to me,” she whispers.

“You asked me to. How could I do otherwise?” 

She huffs a laugh--of all of the times for him to tease! But then Eowyn is pushing herself into both of their embraces, and they are all crying, even Eomer. The rest of the day is such a blur that she cannot recall all of the dear faces she has seen, the words of relief and love and joy shared. She blinks in surprise to find herself all but pressed into bed, stripped of her filthy gown and left in only her somewhat less dirty shift.

“I should change,” she murmurs, flinging a leg over the side of the bed with the intention to stand.

“You will rest,” Eomer says, falling upon his side of the bed heavily and managing to drape an arm around her waist in the same instant. “You looked near enough to sleep this morning and an entire day has passed since then.”

“I smell.”

“So do I. I do not care if you do not.” 

She cares, but she cares more to have him close, stink or no. Sighing, she settles back onto the bed, pleasantly pinned under the weight of his arm for the first time in what feels like years. Rolling onto her side, she reaches for his face, cradling his still somewhat dirt-encrusted jaw in her hand. “I missed you. Oh, Valar, I have missed you so much.” 

Eomer swallows, drawing her closer until his nose is pressed against her temple and she is tucked too tightly against him to see his face. “I have missed you more than I thought possible. Lothiriel...Lothiriel you must know, I should have said it long before Wormtongue’s damned machinations separated us, but I love you.”

She cannot help it--she sobs, just a little, against the hollow of his collarbone. Eomer tightens his arm around her and she thinks, I am home, he is home, he IS home--

For now, anyways. And for now, that is enough.

[beanarie]

past & pending 3, chapter 2

Welcome to the McGraw-Hamilton Bed and Breakfast, where no one ever calls ahead for reservations. the rest of the series (post-finale, everyone’s in love) is here, the previous chapter, where--spoiler alert!--thomas and flint just learned that madi has a girlfriend, is here

~

“We thought her distress was over you,” Thomas confides.

Silver’s smile is bitter and, frankly, more than slightly annoying. “Oh, it’s never about me.”

Thomas frowns at the trees. He loses all patience in the face of self pity. Despite not being well acquainted with Madi, he knows James is of the belief that she loves Silver, or, rather, that she did at one time. The rest, as they have well established, was his own fault.

“Allow me an uncomfortable question?”

A heavy silence follows. “Go on,” Silver says.

“Is there anything tying you to her, save penance, and, of course, the dogged hope of eventual absolution and a return to how things were?” Silver’s wide eyes are a response. They are not, however, an answer. “I ask in all sincerity. Confirmation that you are not consumed with flagellating yourself every time you leave here would be appreciated, especially given the ready alternative.”

Someone should lance this boil, incontrovertibly disabuse Silver of the notion that existing as someone’s sun, moon, and stars is the only way to be happy. The awareness of his own position prevents Thomas from making the attempt. He would offer the corpses James created in his name if he could. Being an ignoble villain himself, Silver would appreciate them more.

The house now in sight, Seydou takes off at a run, little Felix at his heels. Thomas runs a thumb across  the patchy stubble on Silver’s jaw. “I miss the beard,” he says longingly, trying to impart the fondness that threatens to overtake him with tone and context rather than explicit words. “Refrain from shaving for the rest of your stay, hm? Consider it payment for the room and board.”

Thomas takes a step forward, but Silver’s fingers wrap around his upper arm, keeping him from taking another. He noses the back of Thomas’s neck and breathes in deeply. Well. Fuck subtle. Before Silver can disengage, Thomas spins on his heel. Silver’s mouth lets out a quiet huff of surprise before Thomas claims it for his own.

“The boys?” Thomas whispers urgently.

Silver’s wild eyes stray from his for mere seconds. “Inside.”

"Understand,” Thomas says, pressing a kiss to Silver’s throat. Yes, unsurprisingly, the man could do with a wash. That’s fine. “It is not that I lack the ability to control myself. I merely see no point in doing so."

The eyes he raises his head to see ask a very clear question. Why? “You know, I used to hear stories on the plantation. We weren’t permitted news of the outside world but I-“

“You had your ways”

“I did.” He tugs the hem of Silver’s shirt free of his trousers. Silver does the same to his. “I knew of Captain Flint, scourge of the new world, years before I knew it was my James they spoke of.”

“It wasn’t wholly outside the realm of plausibility. James, James can be terrifying. Did you know he took me to a hanging on our first outing together?”

“But what of Long John Silver, the only man he was said to fear?” “Many an hour I whiled away forming an image of you in my mind.”

Despite how far they’ve gone already, Silver’s expression is shuttered, like he doesn’t dare to accept what is on offer. “You talk too much.”

“And most days you spend too much time in the brambles of this mind to provide any semblance of worthwhile conversation. Will that be changing? We are all reasonably certain at this point James will not draw and quarter you for your transgressions.”

“That... was never a concern.”

He pulls a few of the hairs in the path from Silver’s stomach to his groin, causing a yelp Thomas will remember for quite a few nights to come. “Do not lie to me, John Silver. I’ve a keen mind and I have suffered. I could plot retribution the likes of which you could never conceive.”

He uses his thumb to breach the waistband of Silver’s trousers and press into the muscle underneath the sharp jut of hipbone. The body under his hands shivers. "Were it not for the myriad complications present at the moment, I would have you, right here, just like this. What say you to that?"

A slight laugh, a thin sliver of a cheeky grin.  "What complications?"

“Villain.” Thomas smiles against Silver’s lips and swallows whatever response he would have gotten. This, at least, they can do without consulting a committee.

~

The bedroom door swings open at the same time as Thomas pokes his head in to say, "Oh, excellent. You're here. Come, villain. We have our quorum. We'll get our resolution and everyone will be much happier for it."

James nearly drops the shirt he's holding at the sound of that word coming out of Thomas's mouth, but then Silver hobbles in close behind, grumbling good-naturedly. "Is that to be my name now?"

Unruffled, Thomas smiles like he owns a secret. "Tell me it bothers you and I'll stop forever."

A very pointed silence reigns for a long moment. James ignores them until the spare clothes to donate to their guests are in a neatly folded stack. "You had some sort of agenda," he prompts.

"Surely you can guess," Thomas says.

James turns to address them. "Of course I could. But Silver is changing color and I'd to see how much closer to red he can get."

Thomas laughs and sits on the bed, jostling the stack of clothing but not tipping it over. Silver screws up his face in a futile effort to change his current complexion. "Fuck you both."

"There it is." Thomas winds an arm around James's waist. "Would you prefer a statement with fewer words?"

Allowing Thomas to get closer does not mean James agrees. "You've both had too much time in the sun and not enough water. His wife is a guest in our home."

"Not my wife." Silver looks down at his foot. "That- that was only ever an idea. A hope. And now we are... friends. Maybe, if I'm being generous. Anyway, she gave me her explicit blessing."

James looks at Thomas, who looks back at him, equally silently.

Silver sighs, drumming his fingers on his crutch. "You may have noticed she has taken up with a woman."

"So taking this step." James gestures to take in the three of them. "Now, under these conditions, would be your retribution?"

"What? No. We spoke candidly on what occurred during my months-long absence from her."

"You confessed everything?" James asks. So far Thomas has kept his opinions to himself. It will be interesting to see how long he is content to observe before deciding James and Silver cannot work this out between the two of them.

"She wanted to know what purpose I served here for so long," Silver says, meaning no, he did not inform her about his illness. "How you were able to allow me to linger after all that I had done, to you both. And I..." He lifts his chin, resolute. "I told her I love you."

Abandoning Thomas and the stack of clothes on the bed, James approaches a noticeably unmoving Silver. He leans in, gaze fixed on Silver's mouth. "Is that what you told her?" he says. He lays a hand on Silver's neck, his thumb sweeping over the point of his pulse.

Silver hums, flush still high on his cheeks. "It's the truth." He slumps forward slightly into James's touch. This happens every time. Touch Silver with even a hint of affection and he goes pliant and greedy like one of his barn cats.

James grins as he traces the underside of Silver's bottom lip. "That explains why you wanted to stay, not why we let you."

"Feel free to elaborate," Silver says. "I've already gotten Thomas's side of things."

From the other side of the room, Thomas laughs in a way that people who aren't James don't get to hear.

Good thing the chores are done for the morning and no one inside this room is responsible for preparing the next meal. All they have to do for the next few hours is work up an appetite.

~

The entertainment at midday consists of the younger boys bragging about their contributions to the repast.

"I'm just proud you didn't push each other into the water," Obi says. "I fully expected at least one of you to return soaking wet."

Madi, seated as far from Esther as their circumstances allow, lets her gaze flick toward each of the white men in a knowing matter. Being who she is, she's quite subtle, but James sees. She says, however, nothing, apparently content to help Khanyi pick out the stray bones left in her fish.

Possibly he is being paranoid.

~ Old remembered terrors force Flint out of a sound sleep, heart hammering, thundering, and eyes completely incapable of recognizing his surroundings. It’s too dark, it’s too dark. There are enemies about and he can’t remember who was assigned lookout.

“James,” says a voice that doesn't belong.

“Love."

"It’s all right."

"You're home safe."

"Everything is fine.”

A melody sinks into the bits of silence. Humming. Flint latches on, his breath coming easier, and he lays his head back down.

His traitorous mind refuses to rest, linking the tune to something he used to hear on piano. He thinks of Miranda, walking off to leave him in bed struggling with his ghosts, until the strains of her playing from another room remind him where he is. He thinks of her dry fingertips against his cheek as he would finally drift off to proper sleep. That tiny pull of a smile on one side of her face that signaled the end of an argument. The quizzical rosebud of her mouth when she read something she found deeply fascinating.

No one is touching him, but James can feel body heat creeping in on all sides and he can’t handle it. Reality is both too much and not enough. “Shut up,” he says, rubbing at his eyes, willing his mind to stop reeling. “Both of you.”

Silver rolls onto his side as though he's been out this whole time. James runs a hand lightly down Silver's back, and rises from the bed.

So many people between these walls. She should be here, too. She deserves to be here.

He can feel at least one pair of eyes following his progress, so he says, "We need firewood. And well water."

"Let him go be productive," Thomas orders Silver, just loud enough for his voice to carry. "I fucking abhor chopping firewood."

[xmiryamx]

《I can't live without you》 doesn't mean I'll end up my life. It means everything will change. All will be lost.

A new beginning will become necessary. And I'm not willing to do it.

I'll be waking up without your arms around me. I'll be sleeping without you protecting me from 'them'. I will only be dreaming of you. Being awake shall now be my worst nightmare, when I see someone else in your embrace. The embrace that had become my home. My refuge.There, nothing and no one could harm me.

I'll be forcing myself to get up. Unconsciously. Like some soulless robot. I'll be fake-smiling. What's the difference from the present you may ask. Now, my love, I have you to smile to. With the whole of my soul. There I shall not have that. I'll have to keep from ripping everything apart. So as not to destroy them. Not to destroy everything I've seen that reminds me of you. Without you, I can't even listen to music. Because I remember. And when I do that, I'm in pain. And when I'm in pain, I bleed. But something keeps me from bleeding out.

You know what's missing?

People that tell the truth in a way that will move you. That do not tell you what you want to hear. They become bad for your own good. So as to broaden your mind. To start relying on yourself.

You're one of the few that will hold someone's hand and teach them to walk from the beginning. Ready to lift them up even if you cannot steady yourself. And even when he makes it, you'll be alert in case he trips. Save him before he does trip. Who does that? What kind of human are you? What kind of soul do you have?

I'll be missing you. Your laugh. Your smile. Your touch. Your certainty. Your words. Your expressions. How you become so passionate about something. God, you should see the love in my eyes during moments like that. I'll be missing your heart. Your safety. Your hug. The way you touched my soul. Your pull. Your soul. Your voice. Your aura. The electricity stunning me every time. The numbing on my fingers, my cells asking desperately for you.

Your words about me. Every single thing you said to calm me down, to show me what i have that can be loved. To make me love myself and no matter what i threw at you, you never backed down. The strength and the hope you were giving me. My sentimental gaps... That you filled them wholly. Don't you think I'll miss how you nursed my every insecurity? How you filled me with feelings that exploded whenever I felt empty? How you stopped my tears and my heart's constant ache? How you tightened your arms around me but still afraid I'll break in your grip?

What life will this be? Am I going back to where I started? Introvert, badass and aggressive? So no one will ever see what you saw? Am I going back to that? To self-disaster? To the hard nights spent writing till the morning?

What does the Moon have to say about all these? The Sun? Will they understand? After all those centuries, have they forgotten what they've felt? But if they have...Why are they crying secretly and turn their heads so no one sees? So their pain is not seen? They have to look strong for everyone. Damn, you have to appear strong for everyone. I'll be walking alone, working alone, sleeping alone, waking up alone.

No one will be waiting for me back home. Perhaps some pet that will accompany me. But it will not be able to wipe my tears. Nor chase the pain out of my heart. No one will be able to. I'll be reading to distract myself but I'll definitely see you in a character.

I will not be bothering you. I don't dare to. I want you happy even if that's not with me. How can I stand in your way if it's my fault? I hope I don't have to prove myself. Perhaps I'll find myself with another guy but I'll be thinking of you. What you would do, what would you say. Some sarcastic comment or inappropriate joke. How you would do something. How would it look if you had done it.

And then I would wish the stranger in front of me was you. I don't think I'll appreciate him as much as you. Believe in him as much as I believe in you. Rely on him as I rely on you. Want to be with him all the time. Or miss him as I miss you. I don't believe I'll ever experience what I experienced with you.

For it to be my thousandth time but still feel like my first. My soul will not be in it. It belongs to you now. Whatever happens, it belongs to you.

Well, I'll be thinking of having you in front of me. And for us to be discussing our own stuff. Laugh with our inside jokes. Agree, disagree. We would sure be provoking one another. Our eyes would spark and, if you touched me, would fire up. Like I was burning in a sweet hell from which I will beg not to be freed. I'll be touching my lips and remember how yours made them numb. How my body reacted to your touch. The love we made. The words we exchanged during the process. The "I love you" you used to say while we became one. My Lord, what wouldn't I do for you? You are a God in my eyes. I look at you and I worship you. I kneel just for you. I hand my soul to you. Do with it whatever you wish. Just let me look at you. I swear I will never bore of such a sight.

I already miss you. Do you have any idea how I wlll be if you are away? In pain, in anguish. Trembling, gasping for air. Nothing will fill my day. I fear my pen's ink. The walls will crush me. The ceiling, once a friend, will now be a sworn enemy.

Not even the Moon will be able to save me from my mind. From myself. The days will drag by. Choking me. Torturing me. And I will be hugging my knees to my chest somewhere in my room. Waiting to wake up while I am already awake. Everything will lose its meaning. The Moon, its tongue. The life, its colours. My heart, its heartbeat. And you, somewhere with her, living out her dream. While I will be looking at whatever's left of mine. Holding my exhausted love in my hands, drowning in tears. That is why I dare call you my life. I've waited a long time before I did that. I was afraid to. But I don't regret it.

I'll be living normally. I will be between people, hurting silently. Screaming mutely. Smiling here and there just to fool them. Joking around a bit to forget my soul's endless pit.

As you see, I will be living, I will be breathing. But that is not life, my love. Nothing will be the same. You've marked my soul and I love it. No regrets. That's why I dare say I cannot live without you. I wasn't living before you either. I was just existing. Invisible in the crowd. Without purpose. A lot of dreams but no courage to chase after them. You gave me that. I was walking alone as if lost. Didn't know where I was going, what I was saying, what I was doing. I couldn't find a reason. Caught in my own world. I sought comfort there because I was too cowardly to face reality. And I was too late. Nothing made sense. That wasn't life. And I don't want to go back there. I do not accept to lose the gift granted to me.

[coreshorts]

Open

She was asleep, dreaming. She had to be, or at least hallucinating as she began to doze off. She felt the strange out-of-body sensation for that slow moment that passed like pushing through a barrier of some kind, and then the world asserted itself around her, bit by bit, as she noticed its various features.

It was a manor, strangely familiar, though the Raen, dressed in little more than the oversized shirt and underwear in which she fell asleep, exposing chubby thighs and scaled arms and legs, swore to herself she’d never seen it before.

Portraits lined the walls of the worn and broken-down manor, so distant as to be unreachable, but so massive that they were unmistakable, but they, each, were charred and blackened. A crimson carpet with gold trim spanned the length of the room, from the open double doors far, far behind her that led into naught but a yawning maw of nothingness to the next set of doors that seemed to change their shape every time she looked at them, though were always chained shut. The massive room had furniture, broken down and sometimes in pieces, strewn about haphazardly. Some intersected with the carpet behind her, and she realised her body bore bruises and wounds from when she’s tripped over what was in her path. In fact, a tear in the carpet lay just behind her, soaked in her own blood, she knew. The tear was familiar, too, but she, again, swore to herself, I’ve never been here, so… why?

“Have you? Or’re you simply not rememberin’?” came a familiar voice that caused her spin around.

Standing not ten fulms down the carpet toward the chained door was a knight, a lance strapped to their back. However, the armour was very much that of a dark knight she’d met: iconic blackened, spiked plate with a crimson shawl and wicked, horned helmet. Two purple ears sprouted from it, though, and, as the figure removed their helmet, the familiar voice was placed: Keerith.

“Think. Remember what we talked about, Hali,” the purple-haired Keeper told her with a stern, yet comforting look that soon melted into a smile as Hali felt herself remember facets of the conversation she’d had just the night prior. “Y’got a lot to think about. Got a lot to recall, too, huh?”

“Like… this place?” the Raen asked softly. She realised that, though she was wounded, she felt no pain, here, no fatigue. Keerith nodded.

“Look around a moment,” she said, casting an arm off to the side, “Tell me what y’see.”

As she turned to look around again, the portraits on the walls shed dust and char, as if they’d been burned, though the walls, despite showing wear from age, were not at all singed.

“Remember what those were?” the knight asked her patiently.

“I…” she started, but instead, the lance on Keerith’s back was unsheathed, and the Raen was blown back by a single, mighty swing. She found herself flying backward, away from her body, and landed on her backside on the other side of the tear in the narrow carpet where it’d been sewn back together atop her blood.

As she looked around again, the portraits’ char fell away, revealing face, people. Figures from her past: the Naras Matriarch, the Crawford Brothers, the Immortals, the Fustuarium, Dahlia as she was when possessed by Mirseleiris, and the Outriders. Behind Keerith was one more, though, that she hadn’t seen, even covered by soot: Dahlia and Vivian, their backs turned away. The portraits struck her with a wrenching pain as she saw various gestures or expressions or body language indicating hatred, frustration, and contempt.

“This… this… but it’s not what I deserve,” she protested, standing and walking forward toward her body, frozen as if in time. 

As she crossed the tear in the carpet, each of the portraits around the room on those much-too-distant walls burst into a familiar black-and-violet flame. It licked at them, charring them to nothing. Her heart shot into her throat, however, when she saw that all of the portraits had begun to burn, even that of Dahlia and Vivian.

“No, no!” she cried, and broke into a run, calling out, “I can’t- they don’t deserve that either! They didn’t! Stop!”

She collided headlong with the back of her own body and felt herself stumble, feeling and seeing her arm outstretched, wretched with that same dark flame as it threatened to char her beloved and her sister to nothing but black. The flames died, and the portrait was whole again as her arm dropped.

“Remember yet?” Keerith asked, “Y’know what you’re fighting, now, no less what you’re fightin’ for.” She gestured up, above and behind her to direct Hali’s attention back to the portrait.

The de Bellechier twins beamed down at her, their expressions full of love and affection for the poor Raen, they hands both extended as if to free them of the portrait and offer to bring her with them. Her eyes teared up and she sniffled, the warmth of the two she’d loved so wholly - Dahlia and her sister, Vivian, alike, her family - calling out to her and bidding her to right herself.

Unbidden, she felt and heard herself speak in tandem with Keerith, her own voice different: harsher, sharper, almost angry, “I need to remember. Every night spent feeling loss and guilt and self-loathing. Every morning waking in tears, forgetting, and denying. Every day stumbling and suffering. All of it. I need to remember… me.”

She winced. It wasn’t from pain, or against a light, but almost reflexively. When she looked back up again, a familiar figure took Keerith’s place: Hali, dressed in that black dress she’d come to love so. She wondered why she did, as it was so new, but it came to her as the other her twirled on the carpet, miraculously not ruffling the gold-trimmed crimson at all.

“Yes. That’s why I had this made,” she said to herself, prompting her conscious self to look down and see herself in the same outfit, “To remember. But it didn’t work well, did it?” She laughed a bit bitterly.

“Time after time after time. Every night for moons,” her other side said, frowning and taking slow steps to approach her, hands upturned in a prolonged shrug, “I danced this dance with myself, ignorant. Making my own pleas to my own deaf, deluded mind. Stuck in fear and denial. In confusion.”

“You’re… you’re one to talk,” she told the other Hali, “If you’re part of me.”

This got a look of utter glee from the one she recognised, at last, as her darkside, as crimson eyes and an aura of abyss flared up and she clapped her hands together.

“I remembered…! I remembered! Yes!” they both said at once, one in shock and the other in joy, “This is me! You are me and I am you! We are no different! And there is no shame… in being me. Is there?” Both shook their heads, one hesitantly, the other with a wolfish grin.

“I think… that I’m ready,” she told her darkside as it reached out to gently carress her cheek as one would a lover, “Once and for all. And…”

“No forgetting,” they both said at once. Both nodded.

The darkside raised her other hand, both resting on her shoulders, and she did the same, looking up, past her own face to see Dahlia and Vivian beaming down at her, beckoning. Even through the darkness threatening to take command of her very sight with such close proximity, those faces, one to protect with all her might and one whose memory deserved so, so much better, shone like burning beacons.

“Listen to our heartbeat,” her darkside said softly, closing her eyes, “Listen for my voice. Listen… L i s t e n . . .”

Darkness began to take her, rising up over her ankles, pouring from her chest, embracing her, choking her. She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to wake up. She wanted to run, to deny, to- to fight. 

I have to fight, she thought to herself in the midst, For them.

With the choking grasp of the abyss closing tight around her, those faces, that warmth, almost vanished entirely. She couldn’t see anymore. She couldn’t feel. It became like a cold, dark maw, comforting, yet obliterating.

“This is where I belong,” she heard from her own voice, neither from herself or her darkside, echoing around her, and then it repeated, “This is where I belong.” She sank. She felt oblivion. It was cold and inviting. It was alone.

“Non, mes étoiles,” came a voice, speaking in Ishgardian, its delicate, feminine tone and flowery accent unmistakable as that of her wife, “You do not belong there, but here. With me.”

“Hali, ma chérie,” chimed in another, sweeter voice that she immediately recognised as Vivian’s, “Don’t leave her just yet. She needs you. I am waiting… but the longer I wait, the happier I will be. Go to her, ma sœur bien-aimée.”

“Hali…?” called Dahlia’s voice. She sounded worried, distant. Not like before. She was falling away from her...

No, Hali thought, but the darkness pulled.

She growled, “No.” It pulled.

She roared it, “NO!” Everything stopped.

The hold the abyss has had on her stopped dragging her down and, instead, she felt it fall away. She, too, fell, and landed in a heap on the carpet once more, just in front of the chained door, the portrait of Dahlia and Vivian above her shining with a burning, violet light. It was unlike the darkness, but still cool and comforting. Her beacon, she realised, was here, pulling her back from the brink of oblivion.

“What... now?” she asked herself, reaching for the chains that barred the door before her. Her hand wreathed itself in dark flame and passed through one, then another, and they fell away with a heavy clatter, melted through. However, not all reacted so, and when she grabbed one that she could not melt, she heard a voice again.

“Child of darkness,” came a deep, cold voice from behind her, though when she turned, there was nothing, “You have your beacon, your guiding light in the dark. Do not lose yourself to evil or oblivion, for that is what it means to be a Dark Knight. If you cannot master yourself, the nightmares will never stop. You must prove yourself - master this power within you. You must become more. You. Must. Be. Free.”

She sighed, rubbing at her face beneath her glasses. Great. Now he’s a Mysterious Monologuing Disembodied Voice, she thought to herself, only to feel the tip of a blade press to her throat.

“Mind your goal. If you lose yourself to the darkness, I will destroy you. It is my duty. My charge.”

She had no snarky comeback about immortality for the man who called himself “The Unrelenting”: a tall, imposing figure wearing armour much like Keerith had before - his armour, she realised - and keeping a greatsword’s tip barely pressed to her throat as he warned her, “Master your power, ere it masters you. You will lose your wife, your soul, and all you cherish. You will fail, lest you heed that which keeps you tethered - your light, your love.”

She backed up, but impacted the chains. The Unrelenting lowered his sword and gazed up at the portrait.

“This door will not yet open. You are not ready. You will be,” he said, cryptic as she remembered him in the waking world, though his voice abruptly changed, sounding like her own as he continued, “I will be. Or I will be devoured. Where that leads… not even Vivian awaits.”

The figure turned, began to walk, and the armour crumpled, as though there was no one wearing it, the greatsword all that remained as the armour turned paper-thin, leaving Hali there to stare at that blade and contemplate. She didn’t have long; she was seized by a shoulder and jarred.

“Hali!” . . . . .

“Hali! Please!” begged Dahlia, shaking the Raen awake as she laid in their bed, cold sweats drenching her from horn to tail, her skin nearly a pale blue and her breathing shallow.

All at once, Hali took a deep, laboured gasp, and shot up. The world spun. She laid back down.

“N-no, no. Just… just lie down. Are- what happened? You- you-” Hali blearily allowed Dahlia’s face to come into focus. She was crying, this time, looking panicked.

“How,” Hali coughed as she croaked, “How long was I…?”

“It’s barely sunrise, ma chérie,” the Ishgardian said, worried, “What- what happened? You… y-you started tossing. You woke me up and… then stopped. You were… so cold. You’d stopped breathing for several seconds and I-” She was overcome by a heavy shudder and collapsed against the Raen, sobbing, “I thought you…!”

Hali chuckled tiredly, getting a look of disbelief from the younger girl, “I’m… I’m okay. I know… what happened. What’s been happening… this time. I’m sorry that I… mh… frightened you. Daijobu desu.”

She smiled, taking a long breath and sitting up, guiding Dahlia up with her.

“What… are you talking about?” she asked, only to be met by a smile.

“Do what you need to do with, ah… Aoife and Aedremor,” she said, reaching of to cup the witch’s cheek with a hand and leaning over to kiss her, “I trust you. I love you. And... ahah... I’ve… a bit of explaining to do… but I’m going away for a little bit. I won’t ever be far, and... I will always be there to protect you. I promise. But… I’ve, ah…”

She chuckles to herself at the ludicrous, dramatic thought.

I’ve got a door that I have to open.

[doubleheadedfish-blog]

Pale brown speck

Have you ever tried to explain to your child how very much you love them? This is my attempt. 

                                          pale brown speck

     Ovid writes- “We dwelled within our mother’s womb until…” and there he stayed for 9 months, longer than any other occupant, both recent and long past.

     Never have I felt so much at once- every emotion compiled one on top of the other. I am exhausted and I am exhilarated; I am terrified and I am happy in a way that that word means nothing. I am happy when there is no traffic; I am a mother now and there are no words adequate to describe this feeling. I am hungry, nauseous, curious and drained and I feel LOVE radiate through me and I am tired but I cannot take my eyes off of his face. It is my face, but not entirely. That little nose I had hoped he would get from his father is there. The blue eyes I was desperate to see myself reflected in shine bright with a small brown discoloration in his right iris.

     I have been told more than once that my son has wise eyes; that an old soul lives behind them. I am inclined to believe that more everyday. When he rests his hand on my cheek and tells me he forgives me for always being in a hurry I want so scoop him up and hold him until I can’t lift him anymore. A million kisses a day for the rest of my life would not be enough I tell him. I love you to Makemake and back again we say. Did I know Makemake has a moon? His name is MK2 and he is so funny. I did not know that, but yes My Love, I knew that Pluto has a moon named Charon and if you go all the way past it and across the universe forever, that is how much I love you.

     If on your way through the vastness of space,trying to realize the scope of my love; keep traveling past the Asteroid Belt, waving hello to Ahuna Mons as you go, but please, look out for the little ones who are lost. Out there in the dark, you may find a trio of souls that were too innocent for this Earth; too perfect for this corporeal existence. Please tell them that I love them too ok? That I am sorry. That I wish I could have done better by them. I hope they are together. I hope they know they were loved sight unseen; heartbeat unheard; toes uncounted; cheeks not kissed- loved nonetheless.

     For thirty-four and one half weeks, he was safe inside the walls of my womb. My body did what women’s bodies have done for millenia. I didn’t have to explain it, write it out step by step and tell my uterus what to do and how to prepare. The plan had been in place since I had resided inside of my mother. Everyday he developed and grew and my body made it happen. I grew a human being. I made a life; created a person who became the center of my universe for as long as I occupy any physical space inside of it.

     Bringing clarity to one’s life is not simple, it is not easy, it is not predetermined you will even ever find any; but there it was, in that pale brown speck in my baby boy’s right eye. He proved me wrong simply by being born. I could perform this task; create this life. I was not a failure. I am his mother.

     How do I protect him when he is not protected by my body anymore? How do I make sure he is safe, he is fed, he is clean, he knows he is loved? Do I build more walls around him or put him somewhere where no harm can come to him or do I teach him how to protect himself. Do I teach him that the only way to feel truly safe is to be able to trust yourself when you are outside of these walls to do the right thing. Have the capacity to know right from wrong, to be kind to others so kindness returns to you. Look people in the eye when you speak, speak clearly so you are understood and do your best to understand other people.

     You cannot hide behind walls, My Dear.

     Never forget that I am always here and I will always love you and there is nothing you can do that will change that fact. If we find there are other Wesleys in other universes with other Mamas know that I love them too because they are you and she is me and we are supposed to be together in all of the iterations because that is the only thing that makes sense. The twisty turny road I took to end up here reflecting in your eyes is the only road I was meant to walk. If I was given the opportunity to travel it again I would not take it. I fear any small decision I make could alter this path and separate us and then nothing would make sense and the universe would be thrown into chaos.

     I cannot put up walls to protect that which is most important to me in this life and all past and future lives. I can keep him dry under my roof, I can keep him safe in my arms and between the walls of this place we make a home. But these walls, no matter how strong, are permeable. Eyes can see over and around, voices carry through, thoughts and ideas know no boundaries. Behind the wall, if you have never seen or been on the other side or attempted to understand it, then the unseen remains scary.

     People cannot exist trapped in boxes and cages and try as we might we do not live in bubbles. We live in and breath the fresh air and without it we would die.

     It is my task to give him that air, that room to breath. He is mine in the sense I created him inside of me but inside he cannot remain. Outside in the air is where he has to exist. He must learn his own lessons, fight his own battles, fall in love, get his heart broken, make his own mistakes and draw his own conclusions. Those things are hard. I know, I have done them all myself. How do you learn the lessons contained in each of these experiences? Be open. Be open to love and loss and learning and sadness and anger and rage and own it all and know it does not define you wholly.

     My Love, please know that you are more than the sum of your parts. You are a part of me although you exist outside of me. My love is a part of you but I carry it with me so as not to burden your still small body. The weight of this love could crush you like Cassini hurtling towards the center of the Ringed Giant and My Love, you were not meant to be crushed by the weight of a planet. You were born to soar.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried

I've had my fill, my share of losing

And now, as tears subside

I find it all, all so amusing

-Sinatra

[the-invisible-self]

Sonia Ruiz

The Universes In This One

by Kit Lea Cheang

After three days of bathing in the Myrtle Beach sun, sipping on sangria from red cups and jumping waves, I fell sick. So I sat in my Chapel Street apartment for a day, on a diet of Tylenol and water, binge-watching the Netflix drama The OA. The OA is about many things — a blind girl who regains her sight, a telepathic octopus Old Knight, a video game that brings its players to a mysterious house — but at heart it is about the multiverse.

In the multiverse, parallel universes exist side-by-side. In one, Sonia and I were not in the same Froco group — we never met and never became best friends. Clinton was president, not Trump. I took Organic Chemistry instead of Directed Studies. I never fell in love with philosophy. In another, I never even came to Yale. In one, I was born a boy.

There is no way for me to access these universes, only imagine them. I gain comfort in the other me’s living other lives but ache for the universes I will never live.

But what if multiverse exists, in this universe?

Think of the universes we inhabited. That third floor lecture hall in LC where we learned about the growing block theory of time as snow pelted outside the window. The Hopper Cabaret, where we spent our nights rehearsing for our spoken word show, the world outside the theatre disappearing as we listened to each other. The attic of the Yale Daily News building, where we gave each other lap dances to Glen Campbell at 1am as we proofread the Friday morning spread. That house on Lynwood, where we played kiss marry kill and showed each other parts of ourselves that were difficult to share. Our favorite table in Hopper, where we had lunch together every other day before your astronomy lecture. The apartment where the three of us talked about empathy, lab rats, and our freshman year mistakes, as Rihanna belted from the speakers.

As I read books, wrote essays, heard from brilliant minds and met new people, I started to question the basic tenets of the universe I had always known. Taking a class on citizenship made me wonder what allowed me to belong to a country any more than someone without a passport who had fled here out of fear of persecution. Reading Althusser prompted me to consider how everything personal is political, from who I desire to what I value to how I like my coffee in the morning. Attending my first protest made me wonder how our emotions — anger, blame, contempt — could be channeled productively. Taking a class on human evolution led me to revel in how all that we take for granted — fire, tools, language — had to be discovered.

I came to realise that the people around me held a universe in them. I could gain access to these universes simply by listening. In my internship at the Public Defender’s Office, I heard stories from girls and boys my age about how they stole, snorted, punched and wondered what brought them to that side of the table and me to this. In listening to stories from peers from distant backgrounds, I marvelled at the ways they overcame challenges I had never even considered. Walking down the streets, I cringed at every catcall and turned away panhandlers, but thought about how situations produce people as much as people produce situations.

Yale is the most brilliant of universes, but ultimately, it is a closed one. It opened my mind to a multitude of universes beyond my own, but the work it can do for me and for us is limited. There are dimensions I cannot yet fathom beyond these gates, and the quest of learning about these universes continues as we step beyond Yale.

What I wish for myself and for my peers who will graduate with me is that we be comfortable with ambiguity, as we move into universes yet unknown to us. One of the most memorable lessons I learned at Yale, from my philosophy professor, was that an essay need not take one side unequivocally and denounce the other. Sometimes, it can sit in the space of ambiguity and hold two seemingly contradictory truths at once. I know you so well, but you are still unknown to me. I cannot wait to grow up but I want to be twenty-three forever. I earned my place here, but there were factors conspiring to help. We all deserve to be here, but none of us do.

The light on cross campus falls differently in the eyes of Sonia, Julie, Yixuan, Jacob, Marc, Josh, Rachel. Our bodies fold in different ways under the sun. The trick is to see all the universes in this one, including those that are very different from us. And to realise that as much as these universes are next to us, open to us, they remain wholly separate from us, impenetrable to us. We can behold them, come close to them, even enter them, yet never fully be inside of them. Yet I hope we never lose our ability to imagine these universes that are other to our own, to get lost in their unknowable mystery, to give into their gravitational pull and to find ourselves in their orbit.

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

Falling Snow RP

// another roleplay thread between @thedemongunman and @adelha-mathilde that was so much fun to do. Read below. //

It was another frigid day in the city. the snow coming early to cast a veil of white over every surface. And this one lady in particular was about to head into a bar for a good hot meal and a few drinks to chase it down with. Her silver white hair was done in a braid, eyes of arctic blue scanning the street. And those eyes caught sight of a handsome man in a fedora. Someone that was alone. And it peaked her interest to give a polite smile and wave. The snowflakes still falling to the earth. ***** He was sitting on a bench outside and he knew he should go in, it was starting to snow after all, but he simply sat there, looking up at what he could see of the stars. Thinking. He almost didn’t see the woman wave to him, but the movement of her hand caught his attention so he looked over. ***** The lady walks over to him while making sure she does not slip on a patch of unseen ice. Soon standing next to the man to speak with him. “You look very thoughtful for such a frosted setting. I’m surprised you aren’t doing so in comfort. Perhaps I might entice you to a good meal and a few good drinks? It’s never as much fun to dine alone. And it is even more enjoyable to visit with another.” She offers the man her gloved hand in invitation. Her smile stretching as she chuckles a bit. “But I forget my manners. My name is Adelha. It is good to meet you, sir.” ***** “Mm, just thinking about my family,” he said, “Won’t get to see them this year, and I’m fine, I’ve stood colder.” He gave a shrug and then looked at her hand. Food and drink sounded good and she didn’t look like a gold digger or a honey trap, wasn’t dressed skimpy enough. “Yeah, sure,” he said, taking her hand and getting up with a light grunt, his back a bit stiff from the cold, “Name’s Jigen.” ***** “A pleasure to meet you Jigen. Now, let us seek solace in a warm hearth if not warmer drink.” Adelha laces her grip into his with a smile. Leading the way into the bar which is actually an irish style pub. Complete with a fireplace as several men watch a soccer game on the big screen. The bartender giving the two new arrivals a wave to point to the far booth which is close to the fireplace. So Adelha gives a nod to smile at Jigen. Her arm slipping into his as they walk to the booth. Then she turns to the bartender to tell him, “I kindly ask for the best mead you have on hand, sir.” This gets the bartender to chuckle in good cheer before nodding and going to fetch the proper glass. Adelha turning back to Jigen with a smile. “Truth be told, I have yet to find any mead that doesn’t agree with me. But by all means Jigen, get whatever you like. I will gladly get the first round. And we can decide what to eat as we warm up.” ***** As she lead him inside, Jigen kept an eye out, just to make sure this wasn’t some type of trap. She didn’t look like a bad person but neither did the woman who he had fallen in love with before. Besides, it was easy to go into a crowded bar and get yourself killed. One random bar brawl was all it took. An “accident”. Her way of speaking was interesting though, very old medieval like, and he kind of wondered. He’d met quite a few people in his life that could have been considered out of the ordinary so if Adelha came from the past or was some sort of goddess, nymph or angel he wouldn’t have really been surprised. He sat down with her at the table, and the fire was warm and the people seemed friendly so he wouldn’t go for his gun unless things changed. He focused on what she was saying and nodded. “I like a good bourbon myself,” he said casually, “Although mead is nice. Maybe a hot soup would do us good.” ***** The bartender hears Jigen to also get out the requested bourbon. Adelha smiling to tilt her head to the side slightly. Her gaze taking in this dapper man sitting across from her with a warm expression. The firelight making her eyes more pronounced. The blue was captivating. A shade that was vibrant like sheets of ice along the arctic ocean in winter. But it was full of good cheer before those eyes close. Her words spoken with the barest hint of a lilted accent as she holds one hand out to the fireplace. “Bourbon is something I’ve never had the pleasure of trying. I have far too much of a sweet tooth to really deviate from my preferred poisons as one might say. But it suits a dapper man in my opinion. It’s thick and spiced colors hinting at potent eloquence. But about the soup. Most good irish pubs have an exceptional lamb stew to serve. The pub I used to visit in Boston even placed the potato into the stew bowl whole for you to eat around. It also has carrots and celery and good hearty chunks of lamb.” The bartender brings the drinks to the table to set them in front of his guests. His words affirming in a very heavy irish accent that they do indeed serve lamb stew. And that it was a crowd favorite around the winter season. Adelha gives a polite nod before sipping at the flagon of honeyed drink. Her cheeks going a little pink as she sighs in enjoyment. ***** She looked beautiful in the fire light, so warm with that light blush on her face and Jigen felt himself slipping a little. He shouldn’t fall in love. He did that to often and it always got him in trouble. It was why he was alone. He straightened and looked down at his drink, amber liquid with crystal ice, and he held it for a moment, thinking and trying to prevent the inevitable. “The soup sounds good,” he replied since it was clear she wanted his opinion. He cast his eyes up at her and the sight of her was like an arrow to his heart, so he looked down into his drink again, taking a moment to take a deep drink and squeeze his eyes shut. He shouldn’t do this. He had to think of her, of all the women who suffered one way or the other because of him. “I’m not… a dapper man,” he denied, “I’m not what you think, Miss Adelha.” ***** Her smile turns to more of a smirk as the bartender goes to the back kitchen to place their order. Her eyes now wholly focused on Jigen with a gaze that was of real thought. As if she is gauging him in more than just looks. It wasn’t meant to intimidate. But it was a more serious expression. Those eyes holding a kind of wisdom belying her young appearance. It made her look closer to her early thirties than the hinted at middle twenties she looked previously. And her words stay warm as she holds the flagon of mead in both her hands. Her back leaning into the chair to ease herself into this conversation. “A saying filters through my mind. ‘I am never what I seem and am not what I view in the mirror.’ From what I have come to believe, our view of ourselves is never what we really are at heart. We tend to be our own worst hypocrite. We cannot let go of what has gone before, and we dread what might come with the rising sun. We have to teach ourselves forgiveness. We have to let go of the ghosts that follow in our shadows, Jigen. This life is far too short, far to vibrant and wonderous, to hold onto yesterday or to tremble at the ideas of tomorrow. There is only the here and the now.” She then gives Jigen a warm smile that spreads over her whole body. Her chuckle soon to follow. “My favorite quote is this one. ‘I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.’ I want to face each moment with my head held high and licking my lips from drinking deeply of the cup of life. God be my witness. I will charge forwards with abandon. And be blessed in each moment. To face the Gates of Heaven and grin at Yeshuah to say, ‘It was grand indeed.’ So enjoy this moment, Jigen. I for one am glad to meet such a fine man like you this snow filled moment.” ***** “Some ghosts are to dangerous to let go, Adelha,” Jigen replied, avoiding her gaze. She was looking at him as if he was a pane of glass and it made him uncomfortable, that she’d know. An innocent like her shouldn’t be sullied by a man like him, mud upon the glistening snow. She was right about living life to the fullest. He did that every day and every day he almost died. Either from getting shot, stabbed, poisoned, blown up or from his drinking habits, the smoking, the fact that if he was ever caught and sent to jail he’d die in there. “There are no Heaven’s Gates for me,” he whispered, “Just the pits.” He took a swallow of his drink, feeling it burn all the way to his belly. Trying to forget, ignore. ***** His reaction was telling to say the least of it. That was more than clear as she watched him. Her eyes holding nothing but thoughtful warmth. Her sip of mead slow as she gazed at this dapper man. She’d bet he had stories to tell that would keep them here all night and well into the morning, if Jigen was so inclined. His guilt was almost tangible. It sat on his shoulders like his jacket. And oh how it made her remember. Something she tried so very hard not to do. Adelha found nothing was worse than recollection. And so she sets her flagon down to reach one hand out. Her fingers lacing into his free hand to hold firm. Not tight enough to hurt, but well enough to get her point across. And her words are low enough so no one else hears over the soccer game or the cheering of the men at the bar. “Perhaps you feel you owe those ghosts something still. But I see nothing to warrant you to be so fallen, Jigen. A person is only a person. They cannot move oceans, nor can they rebuild kingdoms. But I do know a bit about hardship. About grief and pain of loss. And I spent much time letting those sins shackle my tomorrow if not my present.” She rubs a thumb over his wrist before her smile returns. But this time it does not reach her blue eyes. A kind of sadness there in the iced depths. “We both know what it means to lose. So let the ghosts return to their shadows for now. We have a good moment here. So let us enjoy it. Tell me Jigen. What are your favorite past times?” ***** He held her hand when she reached for him, large palm warm with gentle fingers caressed with callouses from his gun. He knew she wouldn’t want to hold his hand after she knew who he was, what he had done, but he savored the touch of her hand in a sad, wistful way, just looking down at them together. “My life…would never be enough, to pay what I owe them,” he said softly, “It’s because of me that they’re dead. I go on, day after day, but sometimes I just…” He shook his head. He didn’t know why he was telling her this, why she would care. He squeezed her hand gently and pressed his fingers against the inner corners of his eyes, trying to push it all away. “I uh…,” he began, lowering his hand with a quiet sniff, “I like… cooking, and working with my hands. I take care of the car and my gun, the watch you gave me. I take naps. They’re relaxing.” ***** Her gaze is ever thoughtful. Her slightly cooled fingers drifting over those callouses upon his hand with a feathered touch. The passing thought that misery could become as a part of you as ones blood and bones. It could coat every breath, every thought, until it was all you knew in the moments of deafening silence. So she smiles as her iced blue eyes stay sad. A hinted at emotion there in the lilt of her voice. “I love to bake when I have the time. And I am also well versed in working with my hands. And I am glad you are taking such good care of the gift I gave you.” Her fingers continue their lazy pattern over his palm and fingers. All while she speaks with thoughtful notation. “I make my way in the world with the talents I know. Singing is one. I know a little of herbs and working as an apothecary. I know how to wield a bow oddly enough. A hobby I revel in whenever possible. As well as crossing swords. Though when I try to relax, I find that nap turns into a ten hour rest. Tell me Jigen. Are you from America or somewhere else?” ***** The pain could pull you down, cripple you if you let it. It had happened to him before, when he lost one, when she died in his arms and there was nothing he could do. Lupin called it “The Woman Funk” and depending on how bad it was, it could take weeks or months for Jigen to truly get back on his feet. Then he’d be quiet, swallow his silence and his feelings for a long, long time. Eventually he’d be okay. He always bounced back, because he was needed. Lupin and Goemon, Fujiko and Mizuki, they all needed and depended on him. He couldn’t let them down too, it would break his heart. He watch Adelha caress his hand, touch as if she wanted to remember, and he listen to her quietly, watching. “I was born in America, in the Bronx,” he said, rubbing his thumb tenderly against the side of her delicate wrist as they sat together. “Raised there until I was eighteen or so, got a job with the mafia. I’m Japanese by birth though… Mostly.” ***** The quirk of her lips hints at amusement as Jigen tickles her skin with his touch. A soft chuckle lacing from her lips as she enjoys the contact. And she’s glad she’s wearing boots so nobody can see her toes have curled. Her blue eyes holding so much warmth the icy hue might melt away completely. She takes another sip of mead before she speaks. And her words are soft. “I should have known. Men of good character tend to come from such tough yet bustling cities. And I expected for you to have made your way in the mafia. A dapper man like you doesn’t usually come from such a city without delving through the more shadowed corners. And from the feel of your hand in mine, you are an expert at the ways of guns. But I am mildly surprised you are Japanese. I did not expect that.” She takes another sip as her hand in his traces over his touch more. Almost without thought. “My mother hailed from Ireland, close to where Nessie dwells. From a wealthy family of good means and good cheer. She married my father who was of mostly German decent. He was good with working with metals and wood. Hence why he was so adept at making watches and clocks. But my own place of birth is America. Along the sandy shores of a place called Saugatuck, Michigan. Where the boats are abundant and the people are cheerful.” ***** Her touch is gentle, which he liked. Honey trap woman are to rough, cling to tightly, to desperately. You can tell who they are if you watch. “Mom was Japanese, came over to America before I was born,” he said, “Had to live on the bad side of town though. I picked up a gun to protect us and before I knew it I was too good. I was either in with the strongest mafia or an “accident”. Held them off for a little while but… It’s hard when there’s nothing but enemies and you’re a 16 year old brat. Your family sounds nice though, happy. They still around?” Because you never knew, who was living and who was dead, not when it came to the family of others and it was safe not to assume. ***** And there it was. The question she saw coming and yet it was the one she hated answering. It was why she never sought recollection. Such brought forth a flood gate. A maelstrom of pain and half recalled visions. Of fire. Of agony. Of ruin. And it showed in those frigid orbs that darkened. Casting a sadness into her posture. But her touch stayed in his. If anything it tightened just a little. This good man was like the fireplace. Warm and inviting even if such a flame might raze the whole landscape if left unchecked. And for once, she welcomed it’s effect over her. So she chose her words with thought and care. A long sigh being the first answer, the tears there to blur her vision. “Not for a long while, sadly… Just because they were good people does not mean death is merciful… It was not an easy thing to move past… Half of what happened is lost in the fog of memory… I was just hitting my teens when it happened… It left me with wounds and scars both visible and invisible… Just as it would for anyone… Yet it matters little… They gave me a good life… And that life ended… All there is are good memories and myself… And hopefully a good future with promise…” Adelha rubs at her eyes with one hand to then center herself. Her gaze looking to the bartender as he brings the stew to the table. She gives him a polite smile to then sip at her mead with one hand. The other never leaving Jigen’s grip. Her fingers laced into his own with a strong grip. As if that touch is a large rock amidst a storming sea to stand upon. Something she will never admit verbally that she needs, but it is telling in the gaze of her eyes. ***** He could tell as soon as he asked he shouldn’t have. Adelha’s face just sort of crumbled and he squeezed her hand, in comfort, in apology, wishing he could take his words back. But he couldn’t, they were out there, and he saw her tears, reached out his free hand without thinking and cupped her cheek, brush a tear away from her eye as he listened. A fire, she the only survivor. he had heard of that happening. Least the smoke probably got them before the fire. He let her twine her fingers with his, hold on. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then the barkeep appeared and Jigen let go of her face as if he was doing something bad and was almost caught by the other. He still held her hand though. No problem with that. ***** The sympathy he gave was expected from a good man. The touch of his hand upon her cheek was not. His thumb had rubbed to rid her face of the path of those piercing droplets of salt and misery. And though her face did not give anything away, her soul felt that touch to shudder. And it was good. Oh so good. But when the barkeep brought the stew, Jigen got that look that said he was trying to hide himself. It reminded her of young couples trying to not get caught kissing under the bleachers by adults. It made her laugh. A soft sound that she felt curl her toes further. Easing them out of the sad moment and back to a more enjoyable atmosphere. “Jigen. You make me want to tease you when you act so taken aback. If I’m not lightly doing so now. You did nothing wrong. So relax.” The barkeep gives a chortle as he walks away. His heavy accent lacing around words like good couples as he moves back behind the bar. Which makes Adelha smile more. Then she nudges Jigen’s stew a little towards him. Her smile still there. “I also hear our tummies growling like bears. So get to it.” ***** “… You wouldn’t be the first one to do so,” he mumbled gently, flushing just the tiniest bit as he looked down at his stew. He picked up a nearby spoon and began to eat, the broth and potatoes and lamb warming him up all the way down to his core. “Mmm, this is nice,” he said after swallowing, “Hits the spot. How’s yours?” Because he was thinking of her, couldn’t stop thinking about her. Of the way she smiled, the glow of the firelight against her hair and skin, the flash of her icy blue eyes, the kindness of her heart. He was in love and so he gently squeezed her hand. ***** The stew is good and hearty with slices of freshly baked bread on the side. Filled with good vegetables and lots of lamb. Adelha already enjoying the meal with a warm hum of pleasure. It was really clear she was having a wonderful time. Her whole body relaxed as she kept her one hand in Jigen’s. If she was going to ever want that hand back in the first place. Her words given on a happy sigh. “Heavenly. Nothing beats good food and good company. Add in the mead and the atmosphere and I am a very content soul.” The fact that the soccer game was getting very intense hadn’t escaped Adelha’s notice. The men at the bar shouting at the screen in earnest as the players of their favorites try to break the tied score. One man throwing a fist in the air to root for the goalie as he blocks another shot. The bartender highly amused as he gives the men refills. Adelha sounding amused as well when she chuckles. “Boisterous is a pub that serves good cheer as much as good spirits. Hence why I never drink at regular bars. They never have the atmosphere you can find in a place like this. To a traveler that only has hotel rooms to bunk in, this is home. The feel of warm welcome from the hearth and the singing of The Jug Of Punch from the band.” Adelha grins to have more of the stew. And she’s sure that by the end of this sporadic dinner date she’ll never want to say good bye to this good man or this good moment. ***** He had to agree with her, although the raucousness of the men by the TV made him tense ever so slightly. He was used to bar brawls, one shove or unfeeling word could cause the whole group to start punching and hitting. He wasn’t afraid though, more like prepared. He liked seeing how happy Adela was though. She practically glowed with it and it made him happy. One point of her words bothered him however, not sure if she was speaking figuratively or not. “Hotel rooms?” he asked, concerned, “Does that mean you have no place to stay?” Was she homeless? A loner? ***** She was a bit surprised he even asked. Her eyes of ice blue gazing at him to rub her fingers over his hand absently. The men at the bar cheering over a goal or grumbling in agitation. Her whole focus on him. And she chose her words carefully. “If you mean right this very second then yes. My hotel is two blocks down. If you mean do I have a place to stay that is permanent, then no. I travel. Constantly. To wherever my odd jobs take me or to wherever I decide to wander. Freedom is my shelter, Jigen. As long as I stay in America mind you.” She frowns at the last bit. A sad note to her voice. “One day I will fly freely to wherever I point on the globe. Hopefully, that day will be soon.” ***** He listened to her quietly and he could understand, the need to travel, to go. Although whether it was because you wanted to or because you were running from something, that was the difference between heaven and hell. “I do that to, with my partner Lupin,” he said, “We travel all over the world, setting down places where we can be safe until Lupin decides where we go next. If you want you could... Stay… With us. There’s an extra room and Lupin doesn’t have any… Work, set up for right know. It would be a safe and quiet place to rest and I could cook for you, to make up for the stew and everything.” He had started to ramble and he wasn’t sure if she’d go for that idea. I sounded fishy at best, even though he had the best intentions. he just wanted to... Protect her, see her smile, keep her close, spend time with her. That was all. ***** Adelha went very still after having finished her stew already. Her one hand freezing in his for her gaze to have gone wide. She is not the only one to do so. The bartender having stopped on his way to fetch clean glasses to look to one of the men as he asks about something in irish. But Adelha seems more rooted to the spot. Her eyes holding conflict as she really thinks this offer over. “…Why do I get the impression you aren’t asking me this question lightly or on a whim, Jigen? Can it really be you are so willing to whisk me away to a life of adventure so freely? Half of me wonders if I had too much to drink. And yet I know I didn’t. It takes at least four good glasses of mead to get me that drunk.” But the most telling thing Adelha does is what she does with that hand she has in Jigen’s. The tracing over his palm no longer random. Letters being written for him to hopefully glean intention without verbalism. “If you’re serious, get your gun. This bird has a cage. And the irish mob does not like fleeing songbirds.” And if this was a trap Adelha knew without question she had just walked right into it. But it was worth it. Jigen was worth it. So it was time to really lay the cards all on the table. ***** He noticed when they all went still and he knew something was up. There was always something up. He looked into her eyes though, focused, not letting anything give away that he knew. The second he twitched he knew they’d be on him. The fact that she was warning him as enough to still trust her. He felt her message and gently squeezed her hand. “Maybe you’re right,” he lied, “It was rather sudden. Just forget it, I’m sorry.” He finished his stew and bourbon and then stood to leave, still holding her hand. “Will you at least be a good hostess and see me to the door?” he asked. ***** Adelha swept her hair in a careless gesture with her free hand. All of it to the one side so as to hide her face from the bartender and the men who are seemingly placing bets with each other as to the final score of the soccer game. Her other hand in Jigen’s tight as she steels herself to put on the best act she can manage. “But of course, Jigen. I am the one that invited you off the street. If anything, I may have tickets to another event that is in town. One that a few of the directors asked for me to lend my voice to the music.” The bartender blinks as Adelha gets up with Jigen. His inquiry about that specific event and if she is with the band that will be doing traditional irish songs during the event. Her answer that of a nod and a smile. “Indeed. They needed another voice to add to the sopranos. Granted I am just a fall back in case the other two girls cannot attend. But there was talk of me doing a solo.” The other men give nods to comment that it will be a big deal and that they might actually go if she will be there. The bartender looking thoughtful as Adelha walks with Jigen out the door. Her grip in his like steel even as she puts on an air of casual merriment. ***** He held her hand, soothingly rubbing his thumb in gentle patterns against her skin. He wouldn’t let her get hurt and they wouldn’t be caught. He was a thief after all, and a fairly good one at that. “That sounds nice,” he agreed as they headed to the door. His car with parked just outside. If they could get to it they’d make their get a way, “I bet you are a wonderful singer, Adelha. You already look like an angel.” He gave her a smile, pulling over the man who was so in love he didn’t see anything, was no threat, really. “When is the event?” he asked. ***** She thinks openly as one of the men at the bar decides to go outside for a smoke on the corner. Apparently he doesn’t want to stay and watch his team get their asses handed to them while the other men cheer or groan at the score. While the bartender has reached for the phone when it starts to ring. Her hand in his gripped firmly as she chuckles at him. ”It was supposed to be on Christmas Eve. Since we Irish and Scottish folks do so enjoy making merry until we must drag our half awake souls to Sunday morning mass.” When they do finally get to the car, Adelha smiles a bit to add idly, “I thank you for the compliment. I’m not pitch perfect though. Hence why they asked for me to be a back up. I’d be stuck doing stage set up otherwise. Or possibly helping serve the drinks to the crowd.” By now Adelha is scanning the surroundings with a bit more haste than she should. Her eyes showing her unease as she reaches into the inside of her coat. And there Jigen can see she has an old looking Colt Revolver tucked into the pocket. Her fingers brushing over the handle as she looks to him to hurry with the door to the car. ***** “Well if there’s any time to drink and celebrate it would be then,” he chuckled, pulling her just a bit closer. He was focused on the man who had followed them outside. He might need to take care of him but he was hoping they could get away without any shots fired. A smooth get away was better then when you were chased and shot at. “Why don’t you show me where the place is so I won’t get lost?” he suggested, loud enough that the man on the corner might here. “I haven’t been in town long and I wouldn’t want to be late.” He squeezed her hand, shaking his head so slightly, and opened the car door so she could climb in. ***** Adelha gives a nod to smile at Jigen. Her voice still smooth as silken ribbons even if her eyes say otherwise. “Sure. I actually can do that easily. It’s a bit out of the way though.” She then gets into the car to buckle in the moment her feet touch down in the car. Her hands pulling back her hair to tuck it into her coat. A casual gesture to calm her nerves if anything. Her eyes still on the guy at the corner with the cigarette as she does her very best to act casual. Meanwhile the guy on the corner is smoking that cigarette to stare at the two at the car. His eyes on the vehicle to murmur a little in irish. Then he grumbles a bit in actual english. “Some Yanks get all the damn luck. Pretty philly. Damn fine ride. Makes a guy sick it right does.” It is then another man from the bar opens the door to call out to the guy on the corner in heavy irish. And the smoker replies, “Yeah and she can wait for me to get the groceries! She’s my niece, not me mum!” The other man laughs along with the others in the bar to close the door. The guy smoking giving more irish words that sound a lot like cursing. Adelha then points Jigen to the left once he gets in the car. And she looks about ready to have an anxiety attack as she speaks. “That way three blocks. Then do the whole back alley route for five blocks. Once you hit the street with the big park and fountain, we can say we’re not being followed.” ***** With a glance from the corner of his eye to make sure the guy on the corner heard them, Jigen nodded and started the car, pulling out in the direction they would take if they were going to the theater. He took it easy, just a simple drive over to eye the place but of course they weren’t going to the theater. As soon as it was clear they weren’t being followed Jigen would go, take Adelha far from here, tuck her safe and sound at their hideout where he’d stay with her until this all blowed over and they’d stop looking for her. It would take some time, he knew, but considering Lupin could do the running for groceries and the hideout was out of the way, they could bed down there for quite a while, if they didn’t just skip town. ***** The only sign of anyone noticing the two in the car is a couple old folks that are walking hand and hand. Waving at the young couple for Adelha to wave back. But she looks very far from jovial. Her entire frame tensed like a spring about to snap. And she’s panting for air. A gaze of apprehension plain to see once they get to the park she mentioned. Her hands in her hair as she mumbles a few directions. “Take the street that says Linden Road and head for the waterfront. I stashed my two bags at the run down college theater. Not the same theater I mentioned, the one I’m actually camping out in. God I cannot believe I’m doing this!” Adelha looks to the window as she absentmindedly puts her hair into a rushed braid. Nervous habit if anything to keep it out of the way of her face. Then she places one hand to her head to shiver all over. “This is reckless and suicidal and I am so past the point of no return.” ***** He listened to her but he knew how these things worked. He’d get to the theater, she’d hop out to get her stuff and they’d grab her. It was always like that. So he went straight instead of turning. “Sorry,” he said, “I can get someone they don’t know to get your stuff later. I won’t risk you.” So he drove, past the river and out of the city, getting her away. Besides, stuff was stuff and it wasn’t like they were ditching it forever. Her safety was more important. ***** She gave a nod to signify she agreed. But she didn’t look very pleased at the idea. Yet Jigen had a point. They would look for her there the moment they realized. And she didn’t want them to find her with what they would do. So she settles into the seat better to shiver. Her hands over her head as she focuses on breathing. A few huffs of air to then be followed with words that sounded anxious. “I can’t argue the sense in that. Just make sure whoever does get them knows where I hid them. The locker in the theater’s dressing room. The padlock numbers are 30 then 20 then 10. It’s two big duffel bags and a backpack along with a bow and case full of arrows.” There was only one item she wasn’t willing to part with that was in that stash. The rest was easily replaceable. But she refused to let go of that one thing she had left. So she was more than upset over not having kept that item on her today of all days. It frustrated her that she had. But soon she just focused on keeping an eye out for anyone tailing them. Her eyes still holding a flinted edge. ***** “I know. I’m sorry,” he replies gently, reaching over with his free hand to hold hers, giving her support. “I’ll tell Lupin. They don’t know him and he’ll have no trouble getting the items. I just… I’ve been in these situations before and… The mafia will use whatever advantage they can get to win. Even hurt someone they find valuable.” He squeezes her hand tenderly, remembering pass mishaps, mistakes, horrible moments that he’ll never get out of his brain. He just wanted to get them away, that was all. ***** Adelha gave a nod to look out the window. Her voice more faded as she starts to recollect. Her hand lacing her fingers into his as she sighs. “I was fine with the arrangement when it all started. Working as a bar maid and singing for social events at the local pub. The pay was good and I was content. Then the owner of the bar racked up too much in gambling debts. And it just so happened to be with the head of the mafia’s nephew. The fight lasted a good fifteen minutes. And by that time it was over four men were dead. Two on each side and the nephew with a broken foot. And since I’d killed one of them to keep them from hurting the old codger, I ended up owing them.” Adelha closes her eyes to give a long sigh. Her words haunted as she continues. “The nephew, Liam, was impressed with how I’d handled myself during the chaos. So he put a good word with his uncle. As a result, they gave me a choice. Work as a messenger and do occasional underground fights, or work in a line of business I was never going to accept. That was eight years ago. And since then they’ve actually bumped me up on the totem pole respect wise. I can choose where I go to fight and they let me alone for a few weeks at a time. Plus any bar that is under their employ let me in with a free tab. But I cannot leave America. The one time I tried, they were waiting at the gate. So even though my cage is large… It’s still a cage…”

[novaursa]

imagine being Knight of Ren, possessing the Battle Meditation and being so powerful that when someone looks at you they can see the heart of the Force. during one of the missions, you get injured; Kylo panics and kills everyone in his sight. after that, he takes care of you, but after his hand touches yours a Force Bond is created between two of you.

Battle meditation was the ability to use the Force to coordinate allies and even entire fleets of ships, allowing them to perform at maximum efficiency, acting as a single entity with the ability to counter every enemy move quickly and effectively. Though ideal for meditating large-scale conflicts, battle meditation was also effective when employed for the benefit of one's comrades in small skirmishes, attacks, and duels. It could also be used to simultaneously demoralize the opponents, reducing their combat effectiveness. Battle meditation was used to influence armies and fleets to win battles and even wars.

Battle meditation was not merely a province of the light side; powerful dark side users could twist the wills of their commanded armies not through subtle influence, but with total domination. This perversion of battle meditation was called Sith Battle Coordination.

Y/N: "Honor is a fool's prize. Glory is of no use to the dead."

Kylo: "I am simply trying to help you and complete this mission, and yet you battle me at every turn!"

Y/N: "What can I say? It's fun."

Kylo: "Fun?! Fun?! Driving me insane is your idea of a good time?"

Y/N: "Careful. Remember your self-control."

Kylo: "You…You are a very odd woman, do you know that? I simply don't know how to deal with you. All I want to do is help you, but you seem determined to drive me mad."

Y/N: "Complain all you want, but I know you love it." 

Y/N: "My lightsaber was… misplaced. I couldn't find it after the crash. I looked everywhere in that pod. The Rebels came and overwhelmed me even as I was searching for my weapon."

Hux: "Wait a minute, let me get this straight. You lost your lightsaber? Ha-ha! I mean, isn't that a violation of some kind of Sith code or something?"

Mitaka: "Maybe losing lightsabers is a side-effect of her Battle Meditation."

Kylo: (has been beaten for the third consecutive time by his bonded partner after Rey tried to pull him to the Light Side with the false Bond they shared) "No, this is not possible! You are weak! How can you still stand against me? Why can't I defeat you?"

Y/N: "Because the darkness is stronger than the light."   

Kylo: "Yes, I see you speak the truth. I am no match for you... Please, for the sake of what we once shared, do not make me suffer. End my life quickly, there is no other way."

Y/N: "I could never kill you, Kylo."

Kylo: "What other choice do you have? You cannot let me live after what scavenger girl told me what to do." Y/N: "You can overcome the pull, Kylo. Return to me."

Kylo: "No... I am not strong enough. There is too much anger inside me now. Too much hatred and fear. I can no longer find peace in the Force."

Y/N: "Use our bond then. Take your strength from me."

Kylo: "You always had more strength than I did... I told you that. I felt so... helpless before your destiny. You are a daughter of Obi-Wan and I couldn't tell you... It was agonizing! Even worse when I began to... feel closer to you. I despised myself for it. And even now... I feel your strength. It does help me. Thank you. I think I can face the end now. If you are the one to end it for me."

Y/N: "...I love you, Kylo. I will never abandon you; ever."

Kylo: (plaintive) "You love me? Heh... There was a time I yearned for and yet dreaded to hear those words. I loved you too, but I could never face who you were. Snoke knows how I feel. Any part of the light that was within me would be extinguished when I killed you. But what good is love? It cannot save me from the sea of blackness I am drowning in. I have betrayed everything I ever believed in! How can I atone for that?!"

Y/N: "Help me finish what I started. Come up out of that pit Snoke has cast you in. End the Rebels at my side."

Kylo: "...Yes, I could join you in your battle against the Rebels. That alone would not make up for all I have done... Yet it would be a step in the right direction. But how would you be able to trust me? How do you know I wouldn't turn on you when you face the scavenger girl? How do you know the light wouldn't make me betray you again?"

Y/N: "You saved me from death once before. I would leave myself open to any attack from you, and trust you with my life; as you trust me with yours."

Kylo: "You play a dangerous game. Are you certain you wish to take the risk? I could end your life and gain Snoke's favor with a single stroke of my lightsaber."

Y/N: "Of course I would, Kylo. Always and forever. And as for how I know you will not strike me down. Why, it is because I love you and because I believe in you."

Kylo: "You are brave... and some would say foolish. But you are also right. The light has not wholly consumed me. I cannot raise my blade against you. You will go on to defeat Rebels, of this I have little doubt. And you said you loved me... This may not be the best time to say it but... I love you too. With all my heart."

Y/N: "You are not afraid to love anymore?"

Kylo: "After this? No, nothing could make me feel safer than to be loved by you."

Y/N: "You still holding a grudge?"

Hux: "You still breathing?"

Rey: "I am Rey, … the last of the Jedi."

Y/N: "Those are titles, words you cling to as the darkness falls around you."

Rey: "You are that which has attacked the Jedi… you are Sith."

Y/N: "'Sith' is a title, yes, but like you, the title is not who I am. It is not what I believe. For you… it is different."

Luke: (talking about Y/N and her past with Rey, when she was his student) "Y/N is power. Staring into her eyes was like staring into the heart of the Force. Even then, you could see the Jedi she would slay etched on her soul."

[violetsystems]

#personal

Everything seemed to revolve around the mail yesterday.  Technically it shouldn’t have been delivered at all.  That’s what I expect when it comes to recognizing federal holidays.  I think it’s a great step forward to acknowledge Juneteenth but there leaves a lot to be desired.  With America there seems to always be a caveat or an asterisk.  A pronounced, meaningful but wholly lackluster execution.  Inside the mailbox was my coffee and a letter confirming the continuation of my health insurance with a footnote.  That the plan has been subsidized for a number of months free of charge due to some legislation.  A year later regardless I’m still somewhat in the same position.  Or people act like I’ve emerged from some hyper sleep pod unscathed.  I do get a lot of good rest here at home.  It’s a small city and a small world so sometimes I end up running into people on my doorstep unannounced.  I had a chance yesterday to vocalize that in public on my property without having to seek out a social tribunal in town.  A friend I haven’t seen in awhile was fixing my neighbor’s bike in front of our other neighbor’s building.  We talked about the job search.  A friend of his works at one of the companies I applied for in town last October.  A video game company.  He wanted to know if he could put in the good word and have me try again.  I told him the moment had passed but thanked him anyway.  A lot for me has changed since last October and in some ways is still the same.  I can’t not look back and see who was there and who wasn’t.  So I stopped reading into it.  Stopped judging my progress against other people.  I had been paying near the sum of my rent per month for health insurance.  So it was nice to get the letter giving me a break for a few months.  If you really asked me right now, money is not the problem.  I’m not supposed to really have a problem.  This is something I’ve grown to learn in a very particular way.  That somewhere in there is my true skill.  Dealing with crisis on the fly with no warning.  Always knowing the right and safe thing to say.  I wouldn’t say I’ve been exactly forward on this hell site in regards to the specifics.  I’ve gotten more political than has been worth my time.  I realize that private blogging is a ‘vibe.’  I like the idea of Word press incorporating cryptography but I still think the best secrets are kept by a strong heart and quick tongue.  I enjoy communicating and have always loved to write.  Journaling is a very specific activity for me.  It allows me to keep control of a narrative that often gets thrown around like a cow in a tornado.  It’s like the cliff notes of my life.  The director’s commentary of someone who has the opposite of main character syndrome.  But these details are never specific enough to be incriminating I guess.  Who wants to sift through three paragraphs of mine for the juicy details?  What would you learn?  That I’m as loyal as a beaten down dog.  If I’ve learned one thing about being open and communicative, it’s that some people are only half there.  Like you are talking to a brick wall with a smile spray painted across it.  The message and intention doesn’t change.  I never get that feeling when I write to myself and my friends here.  Part of being consistent give or take a week or so with these kind of thing has rewarded me as being marked as present.   People ingest what you have to say for the permanent record when they feel like it.  Sometimes not at all.  But they always find a way to let you know.  Maybe in the smallest way to you.  Things are always bigger than what you make them out to be.  But to expect too much or react passionately towards things can cloud you in seeing the bigger picture.  And yet I spend most of my waking days lately focusing on trying to figure it out.

If there’s one thing I can admit close to a year later it’s that it wasn’t the end of the world.  I’ve been projecting to people through conversation in real life the context much like I write here.  Probably more vague.  People like to take words in conversations out of context.  It becomes a game of he said, she said, they said.  Having a space to vent or at least think has helped me understand I’m doing something to figure it all out in my own way.  I feel often like I’m in an impossible situation.  Lately I’m realizing I was just overloaded with change.  I grew a lot in the last year.  Mostly through a crisis where I felt completely invisible.  I got through it and am probably better off.  Financially it’s almost in my best interest to wait for the right position.  If I took a job too early I’d lose my subsidy.  To be honest I wish I had that subsidy last year when I really needed it.  I updated my resume with my current working experience.  I’ve spent the last year created a professional facing identity while still being myself under the hood and microscope.  The results probably look shitty to most people.  And that’s where I stop comparing my situation with other people.  How I see my life unfolding might seem or sound crazy to other people.  Which is why I’ve stopped writing so specifically about how I see or interpret things.  I realize my life isn’t exactly normal at this point.  But I’ve stayed alive and out of debt through this.  I look like a very different person on paper than I did a year ago.  And yet it’s still the same old me.  I can feel the pain and isolation just the same.  Imagine being a very cerebral person who cannot let go of anything.  I’ve had to learn to.  This is really the biggest growth for me.  Being angry at a situation even if it’s wholly unfair doesn’t change things.  The dirty tricks in this city never falter.  I just have to learn how to have better tricks up my sleeve.  And really if anything is to be said, my cold reaction to things gets better.  Instead of feeling wronged or scared, I feel in control.  I know better.  I know when to shut my mouth about things.  I know when to dangle the carrot out in the street.  I know my situation is not ideal and yet I know what I want isn’t out of sight.  So really how you survive makes you something desirable.  A survivor.  A person who continues.  Resists.  Maintains a semblance of freedom that people judge their own against.  How is this guy able to be himself without me having a say?  How dare you spend a whole year being ignored and not respond like a beaten dog when I shout out some invisible command to obey?  My answer would be that I am me.  And if you were me and could step in these shoes you’d figure it out.  If you had the patience to read what I was trying to say you’d probably already know by now.  And yet we still respond to these half assed attempts to engage and manipulate people’s true intentions.  That’s life.  Those confrontations don’t go away.  Sometimes they’re right at your doorstep.  What happens when they’re right in your face.  Grilling you.  Making you prove yourself and your narrative in broad daylight every step.  You learn how to answer the questions.  Sometimes by saying nothing at all.  Sometimes by saying just enough.  But you get nowhere trying to change the inevitable.  That people only listen to what they want to.  And social engineering is a minefield of good intentions.  If you have to cross the minefield to get to safety by all means.  If you are on the other side, maybe it’s best to sit and wait.  Which is what I have done primarily alone.  Wait for some sort of clarity.  And for the most part when it comes to the people that really matter to me, everything is crystal.

It’s not like I don’t enjoy catching up with people.  I enjoy being able to relate my side of story that feels buried and insignificant.  But there’s so much more to it that doesn’t need to fall upon the wrong ears.  People out there listen to what they want to listen to.  They rehash things that sound plausible because they’re bored.  They gossip.  They’re looking for something else to focus on as they return to a desired normal.  For me nothing will ever be normal again here.  It’s normal enough when I shut the door and focus on my own mental health.  I spend hours listening to music.  I redecorate the space that I have.  I spend time with my cats.  I think about being in love.  I learn to love myself.  Of all the work I’ve done on myself I have things to show for it.  And it seems the work is never done.  Even if I can’t seem to find a good fit for where to go with my life.  I know I can just stay here until I figure it out.  There isn’t really any pressure for me here specifically.  It’s a safe space to stay out of harm’s way.  And admittedly, this city can be pushy and unrealistic to a point where it’s a hazard to your personal goals.  Everybody has to know everything about everyone else.  They think they can shoehorn themselves into your life after years of tricks and pranks.  And ultimately yes it’s a free country.  And there’s no shortage of people trying to get up in your business.  But these people haven’t really been there the last year enough to know what really matters to me.  I use these chances in public.  Command performances to clarify my stance on things without saying much at all.  If you really wanted the specifics you’d know where the narrative is.  You’d know where I set the record straight.  You’d know how I really feel.  And generally a small percentage of people I write for do.  The rest of this city.  It’s not hard to see.  There are always agendas that have their say in our lives.  Some of them we tolerate.  Some of them we avoid.  Some of them we loathe.  For me the more things change, the more they stay the same.  And if you look at my life through the lens of people who only have access to the past, you’re missing all my potential for a different future.  A lot of people were there.  And then they weren’t.  When they’re there to reconnect it’s always some elaborate yet serendipitous meeting.  A magical sort of chance.  I don’t believe in synchronicity.  I don’t have the luxury to blindly trust the universe has some plan for me.  We live in an ever pervasive data driven society.  I know where I would like to be.  I know what works and what doesn’t.  I know being vague about this on the internet from week to week must annoy people all the same.  I know I have not been happy for a long time but I make due.  And I know the results if I go back out there and give the past a chance when it left me for dead is a losing proposition.  So I don’t really stress much about it.  I keep writing.  I keep sharing.  I keep taking control over my own life so when someone special walks into it, the baggage is clear.  Maybe we can put some other baggage in there at some point.  I have a whole back room that can be cleared for all the baggage you want to stow for the duration of my unconditional love for you.  There’s a standing mirror and a garment rack in there too.  I can’t say there won’t be more furniture in the coming months.  I also can’t say I’m really in the mood to work until the Fall.  But I can say I’ll still be here.  And I love you just the same. <3 Tim

[amwritingmeta]

13x01: Full Episode Deconstruction

What am I supposed to say here? Sincerely, what? How can I even begin to create a coherent commentary on this episode when the imagery in my head is the entire crew with their balls out? *prostrates myself on the floor again* *fighting back tears of ever more resilient hope* *because them balls are so beautiful, babes*

I mean, if this isn’t balls out then I don’t know what is. And what the fuck does balls out even mean in the first place? 

It means the narrative tying back to the first act, which is S1-3. But they’re bound to - and have so done - do callbacks to the start of the second act as well, which is S4-5. 

I believe they’ll be picking and choosing to do callbacks to all the most memorable moments because this final stretch of the road is all about pulling the curtain back and revealing what the show really is all about, what the narrative has really been trying to tell us all along, moving us into an ending that feels surprising and yet wholly inevitable. 

Meaning the narrative is wrapping up and is singing its last note as it hurtles down the highway towards positive endgame. So far the sound of that note is a thing of epic proportion and we only have the first episode.

*light sheen of sweat on my brow*

So, here we go, upwards and onwards with this review. 

Let me tell you, firmly, that we screamed, we ( @margarittet @bluestar86 @tinkdw ) all screamed out loud as soon as the first notes of Nothing Else Matters started playing. 

Anyone who has seen the S12 recap reel that they released during SDCC this summer will have been screaming their heads off as well, because that reel was all about family and love and it was so CasDean/DeanCas/Destiel heavy that one cannot even begin to fathom the joy it’s brought all summer long. 

And here they go and use the song again (well, as Saz pointed out, now that they’ve got the rights why wouldn’t they?) but also we were just amazeballed in our eye sockets at the reveal that it was the chosen opening song and omfg we were four seconds in and already we could just tell that this. Was going. To be. Epic.

And fuck me I barely even know where to begin. So I’ll follow the above comment on the opening  music mind-melt with… the first scene, I guess. Feels a bit boring and standard since so much meta has already been published but, oh well, can’t be galloping on the back of a unicorn over the rainbow in every post.

…….. Can you?

No. Okay, no. Keeping it neat and tidy. Scene by scene, blow by blow —> off we go.

1. “Father?”

I have a feeling this season is going to be about fatherhood.

That’s totally sarcasm, because we all knew this season was going to be about fatherhood. Dabb has stated it on more than one occasion. Here’s our first introduction to Jack and glowy daddy devil eyes fade and give way for confusion almost immediately, which made me do a little dance and almost make a little love to poor Tink sat beside me on the sofa.

Yes, we knew he was going to be a blank slate but actually seeing it, seeing ALL of this episode play itself out, still gave shockwaves of pure awe. There he is. It’s Jack! Pleasure to meet you, finally.

2. Ummmmmmmmmmm no

I mean YES. Because oh my God, look at his wings on the ground. They’re too magnificent for words. (yes @magnificent-winged-beast that’s a nod to you) (a sad one) And Dean’s face. Look at Dean’s faaaaaaaace. And how it shifts from utter disbelief, like he can’t even compute, like, no, this isn’t supposed to happen, this isn’t right, and into focus at the reason for it and what can be done about it. It’s like he’s looking at Cas thinking How…? Why…? And then his brain clicks and all he can think is Nephilim.

(what is sort of horrifying to think about is that, to Dean, Jack is a baby - Dean doesn’t know that Jack’s all growed up...)

Tink has been banging her drum for this moment of Dean pulling his gun and running up to scare the bejesus out of Jack since May. I think I might’ve given her a bruise from screaming YES and shaking her by the arm. :P

3. Visual Manifestation of Power

Sam is Sam is SAM. God, I love Sam so much throughout this entire episode. He’s so Sam. That’s a shitty comment, but seriously, he IS SO SAM. Compassionate and logical. I believe this season is going to be so good to Sam and he’s already stepping into those Leader Sam boots.

As ever, Dabb uses a scene with efficiency and establishes a lot of things for us here.

Jack has a mission - he wants his father and needs to find him. Jack’s eyes glowing throughout the scene tells us that, no matter how calming Sam is trying to be, Jack hasn’t begun to trust him yet, and then Dean barges in, gun drawn, spots those glowing eyes, takes aim and fires off a shot. So the instinct of self-preservation takes over and Jack’s powers manifest.

The visual of Jack’s power is so goddamn brilliantly effective, because I think we know he’s bound go dark side, and he is fucking scary here. (I hope we’re right) (we have to be right in that he’ll go dark and I can’t wait!) (I can’t wait for Dark Jack!!) He knocks the brothers out cold.

TITLE CARD: it’s so fucking beautiful, what else is there to say?

My first reaction - as I’m certain most of ours was to it - was literally holy fuck, it looks like the sun!!

The up-side-down cross with an I inside it makes me think of how I believe this season will focus on the question of identity more than ever before, based in Dean finally beginning to trust, to have faith in people outside of himself, easing up on his need for control, all of this immediate and necessary stepping stones toward him finding self-worth in realising all of his self-worth is not in being the hammer, it is just as much in being the shield. 

He can take the backseat and still be useful, appreciated and loved. 

4. Burning on the Ceiling

Dean dreams of Mary stepping between the brothers and Lucifer. 

So, this dream sequence tells me that Mary going through the rift is - to Dean - the same as her dying, killed in hellfire once again, and him unable to stop it. 

But what else does this image from the Pilot hit home? This nightmare image of Mary burning on the ceiling? What does that image represent to Dean Winchester? 

Well, it set the course for his entire life, didn’t it? Losing her again is like a sudden reset, as though perhaps that change that had begun to take hold now after 12x22 was nothing but smoke and mirrors after all and this proves it. Whatever hope Dean had begun to feel for the future was taken from him with Cas’ death, and this flashback to his helplessness as a child when watching his mother burn only underlines how all the change he’s been going through is for nothing: he’s back right where he began. There is no happy ending in the cards for him. Ever.

Mary also bookends the episode, so Dean having a nightmare about her death leads into the reveal that no, Lucifer did not kill her the moment the rift closed: she’s still alive and, moreover, Lucifer is hellbent on her staying that way.

What else will you be proven wrong about, Dean Winchester? <3

5. Does He Have Wings?

The brothers wake up and we get a closeup of Dean picking up his gun. Yeah, he won’t be deterred by some freak power show, they’ve dealt with those before, and he is clearly hellbent on finding Jack. There will be no asking first-shooting later - that kind of power isn’t messed with, it’s put down before it can kill anyone. 

The cut on Dean’s lip intrigues me. He keeps touching it, it gets worse, then heals up, and at the end of the episode Mary has a cut in the exact same place after Lucifer hits her. There’s a visually established link between Dean and Mary in this episode. She was always an incredibly strong mirror for him, so this is bound to be meaningful later on. What’s lovely is that she remains a Cas mirror as well, stuck in her own Purgatory.

6. Nature Child

I love this shot of Jack’s feet walking in earth and dried pine needles, Jack surrounded by the forest. It feels organic and non-threatening, Jack sussing out this planet of ours with every new step he takes, and it’s even a subtle link to Cas and how he loves nature.

7. Pirate Pete’s Jolly Treats

Seriously, though. Seriously. We have a fast food joint with its menu changed by a blue-eyed and dark-haired Cas-on-the-outside/Dean-on-the-inside mashup of mischievousness. There is a joyful wink here that is not even subtle anymore and there are no fucks given and I love it. Please let it continue. (I have zero doubt that it will but, as ever, I could be wronggg)

High Seas Butt Combo is probably my favourite, but the buttshake has such a nice ring to it, too.

Now, Clark is a delight whatever view you take on him. Either he’s a guy with a wicked sense of humour and buckets of self-assurance who goes wide-eyed and looks rather delighted at the sight of a naked dude - or he’s all those things and just rather amazed at a dude without a stitch of clothing repeating the word “father” into his intercom. Whatever else there is, at the very foremost, there will most likely be friendship here as it seems Clark reappears in 13x03. 

Clark calls his mom -->

8. Sheriff Barker

*insert other people’s brilliant meta on the FUCKING MUG*

The FUCKING MUG could be a plant of the place itself, that something big will happen later on in the season in the spot where the rift occurred, where Jack was born and where Cas died. Kind of a significant place to remember the name of… Then again, they could easily plant it in dialogue or just bring up “the place where Cas died” so… Very very very visual plant of that mug. Or perhaps Phil Sgriccia is selling these mugs on eBay and is making a not so subtle product placement… (goes to check eBay to immediately endorse) (I’m a sucker for a good mug)

9. “Cas is…”

Look at that big beautiful body of water (rebirth) and the mountains (knowledge) and that lone white sailboat in the middle of it. Just so pretty, if you ask me.

Dean: We still have holy oil, right? Sam: For what? Dean: ‘Cause we’re gonna have to hit him with everything we’ve got. Sam: Hold on a second. Can we just talk about what happened back there? Dean: Sure, which part? Let’s see - Crowley’s dead, Kelly’s dead, Cas is… mom’s gone, and apparently the Devil’s kid hit puberty in thirty seconds flat. Oh, and he tried to kill us. Sam: Yeah, because you shot at him. Dean: I tried to kill the monster, Sam, it’s kinda what we do. Sam: We don’t know what he is yet, Dean, and I had it under control. Dean: I’m sorry, are you defending the son of Satan? Sam: I’m not defending anything. I’m just saying, look, with everything that’s happened I’m obviously spun out also, but we need a plan. Dean: Yeah - kill him. That’s the plan. Look, right now all that matters is finding him and ending him before he hurts anybody else. Now, once we do that we’ll figure everything else out. Sam: What about Cas? Is he really dead? Dean: You know he is.

Ohhhh Dabb, the evil man. I’m sure there’s a ton of coda after the weekend (I’ve glimpsed one or two!), but wow, Dabb left out the scene of the brothers going back outside before going after Jack, both of them standing on that sand, by Cas’ body, taking in those wings in daylight, Sam maybe just double checking for a pulse or any sign of life, Dean… well, I think he’d still be just blankly staring because it’s starting to sink in. 

Then Dean lifting Cas in his arms and bringing him inside while Sam goes and gets that sheet to cover him with. Oh, my heart. This is where that “You know he is” from Dean stems from, right? Yeah. They moved him inside and they know that there’s nothing they can do. Sam still holding out the smallest hope and Dean feeling it deep inside, that this is it. He’s lost Cas. And nothing else matters, as this entire episode demonstrates to us.

*mind* *so* *fucking* *blown*

Here’s the thing. In this my most recent long ass episode deconstruction I talk about how Castiel entering Dean’s life sets about a change, sets about a sudden need for self-examination, because Dean’s attraction to Cas is undeniable even to him and, to be honest, looking at that small smile in 4x05, he looks like he just might be in the first stages of falling in love. And the point of the love story (of any love story) is to push character progression. To make Dean need something more out of life, which will lead to him slowly daring to hope for more, because the need inside is taking over and is overriding any fear of the possible fallout.

Shooting that grenade launcher and tearing down that wall at the beginning of 12x22, which lead directly into him letting Sam go off and lead a mission before turning around and confronting/forgiving his mother, was a leap and a bound for Dean’s individual arc. What I’m getting at is that the above dialogue ties back into the image of Mary burning on the ceiling and Dean’s loss of hope. He is so fucking bitter, right? “I tried to kill the monster, Sam, it’s kinda what we do.” 

It’s like - okay, so this is my only function on this Earth: to kill. Well, then, let me kill. I’ll kill anything and right now what needs killing is this thing related to the fucking Devil. This is all I am, right? This is all I’m meant to be or meant to have.

What is so remarkable about this dialogue is that Sam is subtly, but firmly, standing his ground, just as he did in 12x20 when they had the whole Cas-isn’t-himself exchange, where Dean was spun out of his head with fear, and Sam just did not see the situation in the same light at all. Sam gets to even make the awesome statement “and I had it under control.” Fuck yes, you did, Sam - you’re in control of this situation and Dean is spiralling through his anger-fuelled denial of his grief, wanting a target to blame and having it.

I love you, Sam Winchester.

Dean’s face after he says “finding him and ending him before he hurts anybody else” is also telling of where his head is at and who that anybody else is in relation to. (yes it’s Cas who got hurt)

And then they’ll figure “everything else” out - as in what to do about Cas’ body that they left behind in that house. 

And then, of course, we get the lens flare to end all lens flares.

I mean, when the fuck has this colour not been used in a situation related to Cas and now they are fucking undeniably tying it to Cas by having it flare TO CAS’ FUCKING NAME. *they will murder us all* *balls so fucking out and dangling in all their glory*

The rest is under the cut. It got long. *smiles in friendliest manner*

10. North Cove

Take note. I have a feeling the name of this place will be on the final exams. ;)

11. Heaven Divided

Cas lying dead on a table will haunt me forever.

So they establish that there is a side of Heaven still on Cas’ side, and one side that is decidedly not.

*hands clapping ecstatically*

The Decidedly Not side calls Kelly “the brood mare”, the more Empathic Angel clearly aggravated by it. It’s established they want Jack and when the Decidedly Not angel mutters that of course Jack’s gone, looking down with something like disgusted disappointment at Cas before covering him up again, we get this expression from the Empathic Angel as Decidedly Not moves off:

Now, she actually looks smugly pleased here, right? Like she’s happy her companion doesn’t suspect what she’s really up to. I’ve no spec to add because I’ve no fucking clue what this means, but Heaven being up to old tricks doesn’t feel too far-fetched. Wether it’s tricks for the good or tricks for the worse remains to be seen. It is doubly-intriguing that the angel looking like she’s up to misbehaving is the angel empathic to Cas, thinking he “deserved better”. This expression is also linked to Jack, though, and the fact that he’s gone: is she looking pleased because Jack slipped through their fingers? Or are there bigger things afoot here… We shall just have to wait and see!

12. There Is No Such Thing as Weird

I mean, this just made my fucking day for the rest of the fucking year. My brain, my head, my soul and my heart - forever singing praises, because yes. If nothing else had given me the balls out feels, this would be the moment that I just went holy fuck they are making a fucking statement right here and right now because THIS IS WHAT THE SHOW HAS ALWAYS BEEN ABOUT. And this made me feel they are bringing it to the forefront now. This is what this season will be dealing with: no more black and white, all of it glorious shades of grey all over. 

Honesty.

Ie. BOOM SHAKALAKA: curtain drawn back and look at the truth of us.

Sheriff Barker: There is no such thing as weird. Everyone’s normal in their own way.

I do so adore you, Andrew Dabb.

I was so happy when Jack said that Kelly is in Heaven. She sacrificed herself out of love because she had such faith in him, she felt his goodness surge through her when he saved her life, and I will continue to believe he saved her life out of the love she’d already taught him, rather than blind self-preservation - and the same when he killed Dagon. That’s why the flash he gave Kelly of Cas stepping in front of her contained the dialogue “You get away from her” rather than “You get away from them.” But I shan’t digress. I’m just happy she’s in Heaven.

And “the bad woman burned”. Dagon as representative of evil in 12x19 is no surprise, but oh my God how nice to hear Jack label her as such. He remembers the universe screamed, which is amazing exposition for his powers. 

I kind of love how there’s such an air of Jody around Sheriff Barker, and definitively a mothering energy as well. I wonder if both mother and son will be a possible addition to Wayward. It’d be such cool beans.

Clark asks Jack what he’s on and we just get Jack being Cas, wearing a tan jacket and just feeling like Cas and it’s amazing. Yeah, it is fucking amazing. And Jack’s hungry —> so fucking human. As in showing his humanity, not foreshadowing anything human for Cas!! (just to be clear)

13. Baby Is So Dirty!!

So the brothers arrive to Jolly Pete’s and it’s Sam’s idea to go check it out, while Dean is being overtly aggravated with the mere idea, right? He sends Sam in alone so that he can call Jody, which I personally think is a pretty amazing sign that the codependency is continuing on its track of crumbling into dust. After the call, Dean sits for a second, reflecting, and since he’s alone he takes the opportunity. (we know what he does - he goes around the corner and prays)

14. Sam and the Butt Combo

This is a well-written, tight piece of exposition right here, but nope, I’m leaving it for now and might come back to it another day because I love Miriam. 

On Friday we were all loving the fact that Sam spots that menu and does his Reaction Face to it - his oh, ok, so that happened face. It feels significant for this season. Especially since that menu was created by our walking, talking Cas/Dean in-on-body embodiment. 

Also, Jack has the coolest fingerprints in the history of fingerprints.

15. Elsa

Okay, so I sincerely just love this shit. Any Disney reference breathes air into my lungs and mentioning Elsa is… well, it’s fucking significant because shedding your tightly held facade to be free of the idea of what you should be, and be happy with who you’ve been all along, is kinda the point of Dean’s arc.

Now.

Miriam: I punched a wall once. Well, a poster on a wall, but same diff, right? Freshman year I had this roommate - Becky - she had this giant poster of Elsa - you know, from Frozen? And I mean, first: who brings something like that to college? A cartoon, really? Like, hello home school, right? Anyway, Becky was - and I say this in the most feminist, screw the patriarchy way - a giant super-bitch. She’d take things and break things and piss people off and just do whatever she wanted, no matter who it hurt. It’s like the whole world was just Becky to her, you know? Dean: So you punched her poster. Miriam: And lit most of her stuff on fire. I’ve got issues. Sam: Dude, what’d you do to your hand? Miriam: Don’t ask. He’s super-sensitive.

Watch this scene again and watch how Dean reacts to her dissing Elsa, dissing liking cartoons at college age, dissing home schooling, look at how he just relates to fucking ALL of it and how he’s so done with her. He then brings out a bottle of alcohol, takes one swig of it (after fucking praying and getting nothing for it and brutally attacking a sign as a violent outlet for... despair, pent up grief, fury - take your pick), pours the rest on his wound and doesn’t drink a drop more of it, all the while being mostly aggravated with the scantily clad, attractive girl on the opposite side of Baby’s roof. 

I mean, I’m just saying that he didn’t ask Sam to get him a burger and he didn’t focus on the fast food right in front of his nose, he barely touched that drink and he’s not for one second seeing this girl as any kind of means of distraction. Idk if we will get coping mechanisms galore in the coming episodes, but personally I would rather he shut himself away in a darkened room and didn’t want to engage with the world at all because what the fuck is even the point? He’ll do the job, but other than that? Meh. (but we’ll see) (and if we do get coping mechanisms HEY that is so all good!)

Baby is like a lie detector. Shit usually gets real around Baby, so no wonder Miriam’s calling out of Dean’s deeper personality traits come out here, as well as the call-out to how he’s super-sensitive. Like whaaaaaat? YES. 

Miriam has come to act as exposition for how Dean really feels, rather than how he’s acting. She can see right through him, thanks to being an angel and all, and it’s interesting which buttons she immediately chooses to push. 

So I read this dialogue as being a deconstruction of Dean himself: 

his non-performing side is tied to the Elsa poster

his toxic masculinity is tied to the super-bitch

the poster got punched

most of super-bitch’s things got lit on fire

And “It’s like the whole world was just Becky to her, you know?” to me is such a resounding uppercut right into the jaw of control freak Dean that I can’t even. 

And then Miriam ends her statement with a “you know?” which is so telling, because Dean does know. He hasn’t related to the world in the selfish way Miriam paints it out as, but THAT IS HOW HE IS FEELING RIGHT NOW. 

So fucking guilt-ridden and full of self-blame that he can barely even stand it, as always - thinking that if he’d just related to Cas as CAS, rather than him seeing everything through his need to be in control of everything all the time, then perhaps Cas would be alive right now.

But there’s something else there, too - a budding hopelessness, a growing not-giving-a-fuck attitude, and it will be challenged and underlined later by Miriam calling our attention to it with one of the most epic lines of this entire fucking series. 

16. Flickering Lights

I had my comrades of the evening giggling like mad because, well, fan fiction territory galore. Flickering lights as Cas and Dean get it on. (I’ve read too little fan fiction to have been clued in on the joke without being enlightened but omfg just hilarious)

Then we get Jack as a fucking Cas-mirror again with “I like it. I like nougat.” (“I like emojis” and his literal way of communication just… omfg yes, because this Castiel is not the one coming back from the Empty. I believe we will get a more focused, BAMF Cas back who will have a mission and who will be completely dedicated to it, but he’ll still be Cas, with all the lessons he’s learned thus far.)

And we get Dean-mirror Clark (I’m sorry but his last name is Barker and… I mean, dogs bark and… there’s a whole lot of inference that can be made here but… okay just so amazing), who began the sequence at the police station with soft judgement of Jack’s sanity, to moving into assuming he’s high - and connecting with that behaviour - to now calling Jack “magic”. Such a Dean trajectory of rejection->acceptance. I raise my hands and applaud.

Jack is adorable. ^^^^

And here comes the angel radio and yes, absolutely, such a Dean and Cas first meeting callback that I almost want to lie down and cry and cry because just yessss please. All of the S4/S5 callbacks!! (all the callbacks) (from all over!!) (please)

And Sam tasers Jack in the back, which tells us electricity actually knocks this powerful being out cold and it must be linked to his humanity, right? (we’ll see if this is used by Dean)

17. Honesty

This is one of the most amazing scenes they could’ve given us this early on. This entire episode is telling us that this show is taking a turn for something wholly fresh, right? I mean, this is also Dean being so fucking done with putting on a performance - he does not CARE anymore - but it still sets the precedent for this season dealing with honesty and truthfulness and open fucking communication in completely new ways. *crossing fingers that it is so*

Sheriff: So what’re you, some kind of superhero? Dean: I’m just a guy doing a job.

Holy fucking hell does he not think of himself as a hero right now. He is so broken. Any semblance of a performance has left him. More than that, he is giving “the talk” in a completely straightforward way, and though it’s because every ounce of hope has left him, this is still an adult sat opposite that sheriff. Dean is all grown up.

Dean: So, Jack is a nephilim. He’s half-human, and half-angel. Angels are real, too.

HIS FAAAAAACE.

Crack goes my aching heart. Jensen Ackles breaks us every time!!

18. That’s Not His Name

This scene between Sam and Jack is golden in so many ways. Both Jared Padalecki and Alexander Calvert bring such heart to it. Dabb has written it with tension and moments of respite that create a fucking amazing flow and the exposition is just beautifully handled.

Also - Jack is one BAMF.

And Sam, though of course having a slightly ulterior motive for wanting to keep Jack on his side, is still able to relate to Jack on an emotional and intelligent level. (I’m not calling Dean stupid) (he’s spun out and just completely compromised by it at the moment is all)

Jack: I was scared, and when I get scared, things happen. I can’t stop them. Sam: Why were you scared? Jack: Because of the voices. They were so loud, so angry.

So, not a great first impression of Heaven, then. (yay!) Also, Jack’s fear informs the manifestation of his powers. But, there’s more. Jack switches mode from being on alert to sitting cross-legged and relaxing, surprising Sam by asking if he’ll tell “them I’m sorry.” Meaning the sheriff and Clark, of course.

Sam: Jack, how are you-…? How are we talking right now? I mean, you’re not even a day old, how do you speak English? Jack: My mother taught me. Sam: So you talked to her? Jack: I was her. Sam: Okay, and your… powers. Did she teach you those too or…? Jack: No, I… I don’t know why these things happen. It’s like I’m me, but not me. Sam: Jack. Look, before you were born you opened up a door to another world. Do you remember that? Jack: Yes. Sam: Okay, um, could you do that again? Jack: I don’t, I… I have to find my father. He’ll protect me. Sam: Jack, you gotta listen to me. That’s not really what Lucifer does. Jack: Lucifer? No, that’s not his name. My father is Castiel. Sam: What? Jack: My mother, she said Castiel, he would keep me safe. She said the world was a dangerous place. That’s why I couldn’t be a baby, or a child. That’s why I had to grow up fast. That’s why I chose him to be my father. Where is he? Sam: He’s dead.

Okay --> Holy Graal of Exposition.

So I read this as Jack not “talking” to Kelly meaning that he felt what she felt, he heard her thoughts - he was her, and she was him. 

How I interpret this scene is then that there’s a clear difference between:

Jack talking about his powers and appearing unsure

Jack talking about opening up that door, remembering it, and looking somewhere between disliking the memory and threatening pain if Sam pushes him further

Jack talking with ease and softness about Kelly 

This differences underline for me how much Jack loved his mother, his love informed by how much she loved him because he was her, he was kept safe in that love.

“It’s like I’m me, but not me” is extremely intriguing, however. This meta writer - and most meta writers I know - well, we’re pretty much assuming Jack will go bad at some point and this might be key to that switch. 

Perhaps Jack is the one under threat of control. I always figured he’d be manipulated (like Christ was tempted by Satan before being put on the cross) but what if this is why he needs protecting? He can’t control his powers and, if someone finds the key, his powers might end up controlling him, especially since he’s connected to everything (he heard the fucking universe scream) (I’m crossing fingers it’s Michael who gets his greasy paws on him) (it.would.be.so.amazing!!)

Jack remembers opening up the rift, but I maintain that if he’s not in control of his powers now, then he did not open up that rift intentionally.

However, he knows it was a bad thing to happen and whatever sensation is linked to it reminds him of his need for protection, reminds him of his mission to find his father. So the thought of the rift makes Jack immediately feel exposed, in need of protection and, most probably, guidance by his father.

Yeah, we screamed the bloody house down, you’d better believe it, at Jack actually fucking stating in dialogue that his father is Castiel, not Lucifer. 

I mean, Dabb is not pulling any punches here, naming Lucifer and having Jack reject him as his father figure - he flat out in episode one rejects his birth father - and stating that he has chosen his father, and his father is Castiel.

(there are candles burning right now) (candles of fragrance and love on my altar of worship)

My longer 12x19 meta is grounded in Kelly as the Good Mother and Cas as the Good Father Figure and as concepts they sound almost ridiculously archaic, but my point was that the narrative of 12x19 circles the theme of Good vs Evil through Cas/Dagon-Luci and Kelly/Dagon-Luci, as well as the theme of parenthood so prevalent throughout the entirety of S12. So to all of Jack’s declarations - hell yes and please and thank you!

And now his father figure and protector is dead. Jack isn’t too happy about that. He looks downright vengeful. (common ground with Dean…) (*crossing fingers*)

19. Frigging Angels

So, honesty saves the day and the sheriff is about to let them go without a fuss - to Sam’s astonishment. Yup, a whole new world, Sam.

Dean: So, let’s grab Damien here and find someplace quiet.

Dean is just going to literally kill this newborn being without any hesitation and without asking any questions based solely on the principle that anything non-human falls in the category of monster  and has to die. Okay, fine, Jack is the son of Lucifer but HELLO DEAN HELLO! WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ALL YOUR LESSONS!!??

Oh, right, this is a callback to the beginning so we’ll realise how far you’ve come. Okay, alright. What was it that began blurring those black and white lines between the good and the monstrous of the world again? 

…. Hmmmm, let me think. 

Oh, right, it was Castiel coming into his life. 

There is so much in season four, but the most prominent thing is this movement into focusing the question that has always been a part of the show: 

What makes a monster and what makes a man? (yes I’m quoting The Hunchback of Notre Dame) (shut up) 

And now we get to glimpse Dean as he was, so that when Cas comes back the contrast will be un-fucking-mistakable. (I’ve no doubt) (but disclaimer I could be wrong because that ^^^ is spec)

And Miriam makes her reappearance in this sequence! Restating:

Miriam: I don’t know what he’s told you. I mean, I can guess. Some line about how he and his brother “save the world”? Grr. So macho. But really, he’s not a hero. He’s Becky. You take things and break things and piss people off and just do whatever you want no matter who it hurts. Also, you’re a giant super-bitch. So yeah, you’re Becky. And Becky needs to die.

So, here - instead of the Elsa reference and a super-sensitive comment, Miriam calls out performing!Dean with her “Grr. So macho” line. And it ties in with how little macho manly man performance is left in Dean, because of what comes next: “You take things and break things and piss people off and do whatever you want no matter who it hurts.”

And his face tells us what?

He looks like he agrees with her. And he doesn’t even offer up the smallest protest. Because he knows she’s right, and that’s why he didn’t tell the sheriff that he and Sam save the world - he told her the exact opposite, downplaying their importance and making what they do sound like they’re part-time plumbers. He does not think of himself as a hero. Not at all.

The macho bravado of his toxic masculinity has slipped off him with all this loss. He’s thought of himself as Grr-so-Macho because it’s him as the hammer, it’s him on a mission, it’s him with a purpose, and he’s always put himself last, everyone else first, never thinking about himself - even saving Sam has usually meant putting his own life on the line, because Dean has never known who to be without his brother to protect - never expecting to have a future, and now, with the loss of Cas, he understands exactly how big a lie all of that has always been, because he’d started wanting more, had started hoping for more, and now that hope is gone.

There is no normal after watching the man you love die.

And what Miriam is still pushing on here, but even harder than across the roof of Baby, is the guilt of it all, as well as the forever burning thought in his head that he doesn’t deserve better, doesn’t deserve more, that this is what always happens because it’s what needs to happen - he’s one of the Becky’s of the world, selfish and reckless and this is what happens when you can’t work with others, when you can’t open up, when you can’t trust. And love is pain and has always been nothing but pain. There is no happy for Dean Winchester, not ever and good things just don’t happen to him. Or, at least, they don’t last.

But here’s the most epic fucking line ever spoken on this show: 

Becky needs to die.

The version of Dean with a poster on the wall and a bitchy attitude needs to go the fucking way of bye-bye. No more dual identity. No more Batman-superhero moments. 

It’s time to embrace change, Dean Winchester, and stop with the blame game and the guilt trip and allow this grief to take hold and allow it to evolve you into the type of man who, when the love of his life returns to him, will not hesitate to show him how much he means to him. *crossing fingerssss*

(Okay, there might be tentativeness and Thelma and Louise moments of awkwardly trying to suss out where he stands, but this time I hope that Dean will not be deterred by Cas’ deep frowns and questioning expressions, but rather Dean will step in there and dare to be himself and show Cas who he really is and that he wants to spend time with him. It’ll lay the foundation for Cas’ real transformation... But I’ll write another post about that.)

Also, Becky needs to die to make way, make way, for Team Free Will!

:P

So, now in this sequence of scenes we learn that Jack can’t be blasted away.

And Dean learns that Jack can’t bring Cas back. After Dean’s already prayed to Chuck for help and gotten no answer. So yeah. Ow.

Miriam: …Because Beiber in there, he can do almost anything. Dean: Anything? Miriam: Oh, sweet. Almost anything. Castiel - he’s dead. All the way dead. Because of you.

And she gets free by pressing her finger hard on that guilt button. 

Miriam stabs Jack with an angel blade - doesn’t kill him or even hurt him.

(Dean is mentally taking notes)

Speculation: I mean, it seems pretty probable that Dean is going to try and extract Jack’s grace, right? Somehow use that spell? For Dean it’d be a win-win if he gets to know and like Jack, because extracting the grace means no more nephilim power fucking up the world, but Jack gets to live. I just wonder if Dean will still be suspicious by the time Cas comes back and if this will be a source of external conflict between them. I think that could be fantastic, especially since Cas so expressly will come back on a mission to protect Jack.

20. The Bench

I mean COME ON DABB!! The callback to end all fucking callbacks when Cas, sat on a bench, professes he has questions and doubts and states that he’s not a hammer (he doesn’t WANT to be a weapon and omfg Cas I love you) and we get our first smile from him. Jesus Christ on a tortilla, that first glimmer of humanity. So delicious.

Sam wants to take Jack back to the bunker and Dean agrees. Sam is surprised.

Sam: So you… changed your mind? Dean: No. No, nothing’s changed. He’s still the Devil’s kid, he’s still evil, he still brainwashed Kelly and Cas, and even if he hasn��t gone Big Bad yet, he will. Sam: You don’t know that. Dean: Yeah, I do. Since when have things ever gone right for us? So until I figure out a way to end him, we bring him home. At least there the only people he can hurt are you and me.

So while Jack is sitting, pensive and Cas-like giving us a visual link to our first human moment with him, Dean is going on and on about his mistrust of Jack. Two conflicting messages and I Wendy I Wanda which one we’re meant to take to heart.

Thing is, we know more about Jack than Dean does at this point, and so does Sam. Sam doesn’t know one hundred percent how to handle Jack or how much of an allegiance they’ll have with him, but his compassion is real, and he’s seen Jack the way we’ve seen him.

Dean is wrong when he mistrusts Jack based solely on him being the son of the Devil - it’s narrow-minded and complete bullshit and not what this show is about. It’s a mindset the brothers have moved out of, which got them in trouble with the BMoL to begin with.

But Dean is right when he assumes Jack will go dark side. He will go Big Bad because it’s in the cards for him and for TFW. 

What gives me such a thrill of hope for the future is that Dean, in the first episode of the season, calls out his own lack of trust in anything ever going right for them. I hope the narrative is about to give us a slow series of events to prove him completely wrong. (but I could be wrong about that reading) (I would just love it and it falls in line with everything else they’re giving us) (oh believe me things will get dark and fucked up before they go right) (but I have faith that they will go right in the end)

What’s both horrible and good about him saying “At least there the only people he can hurt is you and me” is that, yes, it shows he really doesn’t give one fuck anymore about anything, even keeping Sam safe, but it also shows he doesn’t care about keeping Sam safe.

Sam just suggested that they bring Jack to the bunker and Dean is acknowledging Sam’s choice and allowing Sam to take his own responsibility for the consequences.

Smack down brodependency. Brodependency SMACK DOWN.

Die Becky die die die!! ;)

(I know there was a character on this show named Becky but I’m sure there are miles of thoughts on her and how Dabb choosing that name so very specifically might just be a not so subtle pointer to stuff so I’ll do a reblog of that topic instead)

Sam also clearly realises how low Dean actually is. He wants to say something, but Dean gets up and it’s time to go.

21. Lake House

Back at the lake house (can’t get over how Baby is so incredibly dirty and so miserable) (aw Dean) Sam tries to coax Dean into waiting to burn Cas, instil some tiny sliver of hope in him, suggesting they pray to Chuck, and Dean bites off “Don’t you think I’ve tried that” and I think we collectively fell into a heap of feels. Seriously, this was a clutch each other and hold on for dear life moment.

Dean fucking praying to God. Which we’d already heard him doing in the teaser they released, but still! Here it is!!

I can’t attack this scene in less than half a page. There is so much here. There is so much pain and need and anger and he even begs him. Twice. Dean begins with saying “I need your help” and moves into “us” when he accuses God for up and leaving them. But it’s ok - the bunching himself together with Sam - because it’s needed here. Dean’s praying for the both of them, for everything they’ve lost.

And oh did I mention earlier a lens flare to end all lens flares? Well, what do you know? They give us ANOTHER ONE! A fucking rainbow. And rainbows in this narrative - as far as I know and as far as this visual underlines - are completely linked to God. 

The fact that the scene is entirely framed by how it’s time to burn Cas’ body makes the prayer - for Dean - take on a whole new meaning, no matter that he’s praying for both himself and Sam.

“We’ve lost everything. And now you’re gonna bring him back.”

Are you... serious, Dabb?? (he is) (he so clearly is)

The flashback ends and Dean tells Sam “God’s not listening. He doesn’t give a damn.”

But he clearly does give a damn. His sign is right there in a visual plant!

And we all went, ohhhh. Will Chuck make an appearance in the Empty? It does make the most sense, tbh. Cas is in the fucking Empty, for crying out loud, from whence there is absolutely no return. So God appearing because his grandson needs a Guardian, a guardian said grandson himself has chosen, kinda makes sense, because who else can restore Cas’ burned out grace and send him back? But we’ll see! Cas might still meet himself in the Empty, tbh, with Chuck there. Either way, it seems the most logical that Cas will get to make a choice. Or will he? .... We’ll know in a few weeks!! :P

22. Kelly

Jack says goodbye to his mother, placing a hand delicately on her feet and it’s such a beautiful sign of respect and I’d look up the deeper meaning if I wasn’t already twelve pages into this meta. I’ll reblog and reblog gifs with reams of intriguing tidbits, I’ve no doubt! Such a gorgeous visual and, to me, underlining of how Jack truly loved his mother. (as ever, the artwork on the wall as Jack enters the room is eye-catching and those stormy seas with the sunlight breaking through dark clouds give me good feels, must say)

23. Cas

Yes. I cry. And I cry. And we all cry at this scene. I didn’t cry the first time around, I was way too overwhelmed by amazement that we even got this incredible visual and Jensen giving us one of those subtle, heart wrenching moment-upon-moments that is just… There are no words. What can I say about this scene that hasn’t already been said?

Dean steps in through that door almost as though he’s questioning if Cas will be there, leading with his head, not wanting to hope, but hoping all the same because every other time… But there’s the sheet, and there’s Cas underneath it. And the wide angle shot is so beautiful. Dean sighs. Like he’s been holding his breath with the hope and now… gone. No more. And he looks away, because it’s just too much. And then he looks, and it’s real and all of it is just so damn visceral. FUCK. And when Dean almost breaks down. When he has to stop, like he has that pain in his chest that makes you feel like your ribs are caving in… and he closes his eyes and he bends his head before he looks up at Cas again… And he knows he will be the one to wrap Cas’ body, there are no two ways around it, and he does it and it’s just... FUCK!

24. Pyre

They burn Cas and Kelly at sundown. Yes, so fitting. And Sam teaches Jack about how humans say goodbye. Also so fitting. And Dean says goodbye and we all just want to lie on a pyre as well. Sam says that they don’t know if Mary’s dead, and Dean says that yes they do, linking back to his nightmare at the beginning of the episode.

To him, Mary is gone, and he doesn’t even feel the urge to try to fight to bring her home, to find a way. I’ve mentioned it before, but his line “No matter how much it hurts, no matter how hard it gets - you gotta keep grinding” when he and Sam were hunting for Cas lends this such weight. 

Dean has never been here before. 

He’s a fighter, but now the fight has gone out of him, and he may keep grinding for the sake of it, but hoping that the grinding will lead somewhere good is done and dusted. At least according to Singer, who said Dean will carry on doing the job but will suffer bouts of “inertia” - which is another word for apathy, which is wholly connected to depression. I am just so fucking HAPPY!! *sadism*

The way the pyre is reflected in Dean’s pupils. Yeah. Fuck you, Phil Sgriccia!! <3

25. The Devil You Know

Mary and Lucifer in the AU will be interesting. I love that they might have to try and survive together and that Lucifer sees the potential in keeping her alive. Again, there’s that visual link between Dean and Mary with the cut on their bottom lip and I’m really looking forward to seeing how they’ll use it and if they use it and when and why and how! Oh, but wait - Lucifer has a cut in the exact same spot as well. Curiouser and curiouser. 

Final comments: I mean, what more could we want from this episode? I don’t think we could want anything more from this episode. Balls out with the love story because Dean’s entire appearance in this episode have to do with Cas, brodependency barely existent anymore, Jack is fucking perfection, all out orgasmic setup for what’s to come this season and the intimate moments that give us so much character are, as ever, to simply die for. I can’t wait for this week’s episode. OMFG WE HAVE A NEW EPISODE IN LESS THAN A WEEK! THIS IS WHAT LIFE IS LIKE NOW! CONGRATULATIONS - WE SURVIVED HELLATUS!! Now we just have to keep from biting our nails down between each new instalment. :P

Next time I’ll do a pure gif-post. Thanks for sticking with me throughout another long ass meta! ;D