#and partly because of her previous notion about him

[ae-nar]

thoughts on autistic rafael and/or autistic sonny? i generally headcanon both of them to be on the spectrum, but i would like to hear your opinion!

oh they both r neurodivergent at the least!

rafael does have the asd vibes (and i have a fic for autistic rafael different which is partly based on my personal experiences once again!). i think him being on the spectrum would include stuff like being very particular about his clothes -- the texture and fabrics r inherently important, also the color combos. this is one of the reasons rafael was apprehensive towards sonny in the beginning. all the clashing of colors and the awful cheap textures of illfitting suits? also that pornstache looked like a sensory nightmare. the fuck. next thing would be food. rafael would frequent only familiar establishments, which is why almost every other evening he could be seen in forlini's -- he knows their menu and they know him he has a need for order, but its not a perfect cleanliness of everything, no. all of the things have their place that rafael knows perfectly, even if it seems random and chaotic to everyone else. hes the kind of person to go "oh? u need a screwdriver? its on the shelf above the fridge. what do u mean its not there? push the books out of the way and turn the fake plant around, the screwdriver is inserted in the pot- what do u mean its strange?"

sonny, i feel like, would actually have adhd, not asd (im not sure why i didnt include that in my previous post). i know that i have a very good friend in that regard in @kenobifitz who has this beautiful fic of adhd!sub!sonny spinning plates). however i personally dont have adhd, only have an ex-classmate turned flatmate with adhd lmao. the amount of times she lost her phone by forgeting to take it with herself is uncanny.... now i have a vision of sonny wanting to show something on his phone to rafael only to realize he doesnt know where he left it. rafael sighs exhaustedly, watching sonny walk around the apartment lostly before naming all the usual suspects (suit/coat pocket, bedside table, kitchen counter, coffee table, bathroom). its always one of those, rafael doesnt even have to think about it. at some point he simply starts carrying sonnys phone with his own, not cause of some controlling notion but simply because sonny keeps leaving it everywhere and rafaels the only one who remembers it. even years into the relationship he cant understand how sonny keeps forgetting his phone, cause rafaels got a dependent relationship with his own and cant imagine it being any other way

[hana-no-seiiki]

CHAINSAW & HAPPINESS

PILL 3 - GREAT GENESIS / GENESIS DEI

YANDERE! CSM! VARIOUS x STOIC! READER

“Check it out. These are my kids.”

“Oh yeah? Check out my kids.”

“That’s just Denji and Power . . .”

“Exactly.”

CAUTIONS: Spoilers for the Manga. Yandere Themes. Chainsawman Themes. Religious Themes. God uses he/him pronouns.

INGREDIENTS: You reminisce about the past and think about what lies ahead in your future. Denji gets his ass almost eaten by Batman- I mean a Bat Devil. Power.

FORMULATION: horridly unedited

[previous dose] [pillbox] [next dose]

You’ve hated humanity since the moment of your conception.

One might argue it was baked into your existence as a devil, simply etched into your heart the moment you popped out of hell, but you couldn’t agree with that notion at all.

It was just how persistent they were with survival and self-preservation that whatever your peers do to oppress them, torture their very souls, devour their physical being, they still manage to cling unto hope.

They were like cockroaches, ones with wings and the unending urge to fly towards your face like if they ever stopped they’d die.

Humans don’t hate cockroaches when they’re born, just like how you don’t hate humans when you were created. You merely saw them as pests you’d rather have gone. At least, that’s what you thought.

It was when you met Makima that you realized it wasn’t hatred you were feeling. It was envy.

You were envious of how they managed to find the grit to move forward. Of how they’re able to shake off tragedies and get stronger.

Unlike you, who had stayed stagnant for as long as you’ve remembered. Too scared to ever go out of line and potentially lose everything you already had.

As the God Devil, you were both one of the strongest and the weakest devils there existed.

Many feared your name, sure. But people found God equally, if not moreso, a comfort through trying times. God was their salvation, no matter how invisible, or inactive he was in their battles. Humanity continued to pray in his name, your name.

But slowly, but surely, faith began to disappear. And your powers began to grow.

You never believed in Makima’s goals. Nor do you believed in her feelings towards you to be genuine. You fully know that she’s using you for her desire; a family and most importantly the eradication of everything bad in this world. Her jealousy was probably based on the fact that she saw you more as a possession, a precious tool than a real partner.

You see, much like the Chainsaw Devil’s ability to erase concepts from this world, you also had a few unique abilities of your own. The ability to remember everything in the course of humanity’s life on Earth. Even the parts the “Hero of Hell” removed and bring it back to existence. Your head was akin to an infinite book, you nicknamed ‘The Bible’.

Where the Chainsaw Devil was the definition of chaos and destruction, you represented peace and life.

And you loathed that. Despised how different you were from other devils. Detested the thought that you were anything but an avatar of fear.

In any case, amalgams were one of the examples of things you’ve partly brought back to the world. It’s original name seemingly inaccessible even to your hands. Though it was mostly done as an excuse for you to use your powers whenever, you had a feeling Makima thought of Denji and Pochita when asking you to revive those mongrels. Or may be not. Makima was confusing and mysterious that way.

You didn’t pry much into her plans. Only ever preparing yourself for the shitstorms her actions cause and brave through it.

But now curiosity ate at you like leech. Why was she allowing Denji so close to you like that? Was it truly because she wants to play him like a fiddle?

Why did the thought of her hurting him hurt you so badly?

“You’re going to break it.”

Angel poked your nose. His touch, with how rare he gave out, almost broke your seemingly invincible composure.

“The weapon. Don’t. It’s such a hassle to make one.”

“My apologies.” You said, as you crushed the sword Angel made within your hands. Expression devoid from your features.

The latter sighed, you were as insufferable as ever.

“Could you stop being so polite and rigid? It’s gross.”

“You know I can’t use casual language in front of them. To the committee, you’re a demon and I’m . . . ” You were about to say ‘one of them’ but you couldn’t shake the sense of otherness you’d feel whenever you were with your colleagues. It wasn’t as if they viewed you as an outcast per se, just that they seemed so nervous all the time. Which led to you avoiding contact especially during battle. You weren’t oblivious to how humans viewed and often worshipped you, you just didn’t know the extent your powers affected them. Especially those who have known you for quite a while.

And so Makima helped by pairing you with beings who are usually unaffected by your aura. At least, on the surface.

“Still. I’d prefer if you went back to how you were before.”

You knew Angel before you even met Makima, as what the two of you represented were both closely related. Despite that, your relationship remained symbiotic at most. Angel’s weapons worked best when wielded by you, and you were capable of taking away his memories and ‘sins’ thus making the number of voices in his head less burdensome. None of you made an effort to go beyond that.

Your Bible ability allowed you to remember everything even beyond your current incarnation.

But Angel knew that while you will remember him if you ever died, the emotions attached to said memories will surely disappear.

He’ll remain that, just a memory. He was content with that. In fact, that’s why Makima trusted him enough with you.

“Charismatic? Proud? A perfect example of what it is to be a devil?”

“An asshat.” Angel munched on the human blood sausage you prepared him. Well, the sausage Makima forced you to make as to fulfill your ‘wifely’ duties, that you gave to Angel since you disliked the taste of it. “But a predictable one.” His androgynous voice came out muffled as he basically scarfed down the piece of meat

“It’s fine to admit that you’re a masochist, Angel.”

“If I’m a masochist—“ He squeezed on the barbecue stick holding the sausage, about to give you the rebuttal of the century (or so he thinks) until your husband unfortunately arrived to the scene.

Oh right! Did I mention you and Angel were atop a massive pile of human and devil corpses? I didn’t? Huh, my bad. Kinda hard remembering to say that stuff when the stench is awfully, well, awful.

“I’m sorry to cut your reunion short, but your new team requires your supervision.” Makima’s signature calm and collected voice slices viciously between your conversation. You can sense the underlying malice from a mile away at this point.

“You want me to stalk your hero from the shadows again.”

Makima didn’t reply, but her usual eerie smile said a thousand words. She didn’t like you getting too close to humans. Sure, it was fine for them to cling unto hope that you’ll ever notice them, it was fun seeing the light disappearing from their eyes as they find out such a thing will never happen. But you indulging your supposed dogs with more than a glance killed her.

In other words, if she was like that with humans, she was the worst — absolutely abhorred — you making conversation with another one of your kind.

To her, humans will never be threats. Devils on the other hand . . .

Well, she supposes even they don’t stand a chance. But she preferred knowing that even without her powers, you were all hers.

She trusted Angel, sure, but she’ll never like seeing her wife with someone else.

“Well then, underling. I will see you soon.”

“I hope not.” Angel blew a strand of hair off his face. He’s had enough of your presence already. Too much and he’ll build up an appetite for it.

“So . . . Sea Cucumber Devil, huh?” You started. Your silent appearance startled Denji and caused him to almost fall off the rooftop, if it weren’t for you catching him by the wrist in time.

Yeah, you weren’t really good at starting conversations.

“[Y-[Y-[Y/N]—! I mean —“ Denji stared at the connected skin. It had only just been a day, and he was already back to acting like hormonal teen who’d never been touched around you.

“C’mere.” You pulled him towards your form. His face landed on your chest, turning awfully red. After making sure he wasn’t falling anymore, you propped his legs over your left arm and carried him bridal style.

You landed on the ground following a single jump. Your heels (courtesy of Makima’s thinly veiled threats) clicking loudly.

You looked at Denji and smiled.

Then dropped him on the massive purple disarray.

“G-god . . ?” The girl, with peach-blonde hair and horns known as ‘Power’ from the info debriefed to you, halted her maniacal laughter. Her mouth opened up in shock and a little bit of horror? Could she sense you were . . . no she couldn’t. Makima wouldn’t allow a newbie to know.

“Close enough.” You shrugged. You had to discuss this with your spouse later. Spotting a bench behind Power, you made your way past her. A cool chill crawled up her spine, who were you? You felt like that devil but at the same time you were nothing like them at all. Not to mention you weren’t as stuck up as she remembered. . .

Nah, they wouldn’t help humans. You were probably a phony of some sort.

“So, what happened?” You sat down, holding off the cringe on your face that threatened to show from unhygienic everything is. Maybe Aki’s ways were rubbing off on you.

They began blaming eachother, clearly not aware that you were there for the latter half of your journey and only gave them an opportunity to explain themselves rather than point fingers.

“You know I can’t stop Makima if she so chooses to punish you two, right?”

“Please don’t tell her!”

“Yeah, this won’t happen again. We promise!”

“I have a feeling it will.” You sighed.

“If I’m correct . . .” You stood up from the bench, and gave your behind a few pats to relieve it of dust and whatever filthy things people have put there. You looked to Power, narrowing your eyes at the way she flinched away, “Your reason for being cooperative with humans is because you want your cat back.”

“And you, aside from being paired with me, want a chance to touch someone’s breasts, am I wrong?” You turned to Denji.

“No, you aren—“

“You were not given permission to speak, dog.” You glared at him. Though your expressions softened the moment he almost whimpered at your harsh words.

Not knowing that was him preventing a moan of pleasure.

“Why don’t we make a contract per se, right now?Denji, you get to touch Power’s boobs as long as you’re able to procure her Meowy.” You grabbed his hands, hovered it over your chest for a couple of moments, and observed his face. He was absolutely drooling.

You retracted your hold and swiveled your head to Power’s direction, taking laid-back, slow steps.

“And, if you two come back in one piece and with no casualities. I’ll join your next mission and prevent this . . . “ You bent your torso to the side in order to look past the pair and unto the purple sludge and multitude of organs on the street. “Mishap from reaching Ms. Makima’s ears. Is it a deal?”

“Deal!” Power nodded repeatedly, fist clenched in excitement. A stark contrast to her almost aloof personality with Denji.

“Good.” You flicked your finger, and in just a moment, every part of the Sea Cucumber Devil’s corpse disappeared. “Try not to disappoint. Makima has big plans for the two of you.”

Denji and Power left, not before gawking at your unintentional show of prowess.

“They’re gone. You meeting with those prunes again?” Speak of the devil and she shall come. You rotated your body to see what’s behind you, unsurprisingly spotting Makima.

“You jealous?”

“I am. Very.”

“You were listening in on us?”

“I just want to know what my husband is up to. Can’t I miss you?”

“You can.” Makima stepped in front of you, leaning close to your face to take a kiss. However, you covered the lower half of her face before she could get too close.

The two of you hear a car arrive not long after, with an Aki Hayakawa inside of it, “Ms. Makima. Mx. [Y/N].”

He escorted you and Makima to her destination and then brought you to a cafe to order some drinks.

You looked around for any pests, and checked if background noise’s volume was loud enough to drown out your voices before you began, “You’re wondering why too, aren’t you?”

“You . . . are surprisingly sharp when it comes to some things [Y/N].”

“I’m not quite adept at recognizing sentiment or intention. That doesn’t mean I’m completely unaware.”

You ordered black coffee and a few desserts and continued, “Whatever she’s planning. I don’t know. But I do know it wouldn’t be great for anyone in the division.”

You stared at the sweet confectionery’s as the workers were stressing out beyond the display, “My powers only extend up to the past. The infinite future ahead is anyone’s guess.”

Aki sighed, even you weren’t aware of what Makima was thinking.

“How did you become. . . “

“Become an amalgam?”

“. . .I’m sorry for the disrespect.”

“I don’t remember.” You finally answered. Your words barely registered above a whisper. But Aki has and will always hear it better than any other sound.

He guessed your memory of your merging was probably given away in a contract and is a sensitive subject.

The two of you return to the car in silence, waiting for Makima’s return.

Once she was back in, and you’ve given her the coffee and food, Aki started up the vehicle and began heading back to HQ.

The silence between the three of you was killing him so he decided to take a shot in the dark and ask Makima of her intentions. Surprisingly, she took the bait, somewhat.

“All Devils were born with names. The scarier the name is, the more powerful it is.” She commenced her speech.

“Take coffee for example, it doesn’t really have a scary image. If there was a coffee devil out there it must be weak.” She drew her eyes to the shaky state of the beverage and made no effort to cover the cup. Then she looked outside the window, to the cars and city scenery, “A car on the other hand, it gives you the image of being run over. That might be a stronger one.”

“Denji can turn into the chainsaw devil. I just think it’s pretty interesting.” And he could potentially erase anything she deemed unnecessary, which was infinitely more than interesting.

“He’s interesting, but he’s of no use to us. Everyone in the division has a goal or faith. He has neither of those. He’s not cut out for this. Not to mention he thinks he can befriend devils.” Aki bit his lip. Denji was nothing in comparison to the rest of the Public Safety sector. He had no experience, no sense of duty, was a slob and pervert.

And yet the stars of the workplace put their trust on him on just a whim, a flight of fancy. “He’s just a kid.”

“We shouldn’t judge a caterpillar when it hasn’t finished chrysalis, or an egg that has yet to hatch.” Taking Aki’s focus on the road as an opportunity, Makima slid her hand atop yours,“The kid. One day he’ll be a man. And he’ll be your junior to use. Yours to throw at the devils that destroyed your life.”

“Give him enough time with devils.” Her visage faced yours, and she smiled.

It terrified you.

“He’ll learn to hate them. Like every human should.”

You looked away, choosing to fill your mind with something else by checking in on Denji. Your eyes widened at the state he found himself in with just a few hours outside your supervision, “Turn on the radio.”

Aki doesn’t even think before his hands reached out to follow your command.

“Bat Devil spotted fighting with a Chainsaw Devil down at . . . “

“Hayakawa. Prepare your team to dispatch the Bat Devil immediately.” Makima downed the coffee in her hand while you basically inhaled your food.

“Understood.”

A/N: First part of my surgery is finished! Might be a week or so for the next ;u; i am in pain

Chainsaw and Happiness Taglist: @saharei @kaedescrush @epsi9099 @aradia-melinoe @sleepwillow @rolo-at-midnight @acuriousmoon @moonnotsonaa @just-some-stars @justarandomweeblol @cyn9 @that-one-simp

(please make sure you’re taggable if you reply to be added)

I’m going home after my family celebrates Ramadan and Eid so slow updates until then I’m so sorry

CHAINSAW & HAPPINESS TAGLIST: @saharei @kaedescrush @epsi9099 @aradia-melinoe @sleepwillow @nordithus @rolo-at-midnight @acuriousmoon @moonnotsonaa @just-some-stars @cyn9 @justarandomweeblol @that-one-simp @somebodyrandom-613

CHAINSAW & HAPPINESS TAGLIST:

Extra Notes: I’ll delete this in case I find better moments to showcase it in the story but to explain [Y/N]’s Bible ability more in depth, you’re basically able to know everything if it has been explicitly stated (Denji’s boob touching desires) or if it can extracted from an event that happened in a being’s life(Power’s relationship with Meowy and subsequent loss of the feline). To counteract how OP this can be, you aren’t able to read minds and are pretty dense + can’t view the future + it has to be activated rather have it on as a passive. In short, you don’t know how obsessed the sector is of you since most of them know of this ability, are pretty careful about how they act in case you decide to probe their past, and you aren’t a creep (i hope). In other words, abilities’s extent is as far as a reader of history knows not the author.

(Also you just aren’t allowed to peer into Makima’s history. We don’t poke sleeping bears, especially if they have the power to control you.)

Chainsaw and Happiness Taglist: @saharei @kaedescrush @epsi9099 @aradia-melinoe @sleepwillow @nordithus @rolo-at-midnight @acuriousmoon @moonnotsonaa @just-some-stars @cyn9 @justarandomweeblol @that-one-simp @somebodyrandom-613 @cupidlot

White names couldn’t be tagged + added a few who just commented if that’s fine?

Thanks for reading!

[ronearoundblindly]

The Stark Legacy (14)

Rusted, part of Book Two: Mind (see previous or series)

Summary: Bruce tasks Bucky with taking extra baggage to Wakanda while Sam Wilson recovers.

Warnings for tough (but vague) talk about past accidents and physical trauma. Rated Teen/Mature so 15+ only, please.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN—August 2038

“I don’t think I should leave if something is wrong,” Bucky said, staring in at Sam Wilson reading a book while getting blood drawn in the lab.

“It’s not really…wrong. He just…” Bruce replied. He couldn’t explain it. Wilson adjusted holding his book with the hand not being stuck, showing the title Total Applications of Quantum Field Theory.

Bucky pressed a finger against the two-way glass. “You don’t see anything wrong with that?” He scoffed, partly concerned for his friend, partly annoyed to be the chauffeur to a teen on a trip across the world. “Seriously?”

“Am I supposed to be panicked he’s got different interests since waking up? That’s not uncommon with head injury—”

Bucky fumed. “Everything weird is common with head injuries, apparently, because you people don’t know anything about them. It’s 2038!”

“You people? I think…I should be offended.” Bruce may have been completely jaded to ‘smartist’ mockery, but he also loved the chance to study such an extensive turnaround of Sam Wilson’s recovery. The patient remained irritable, sarcastic, and alert with full motor-function. He had occasional headaches but, most bizarrely, had developed not only an interest in but the ability to understand all sorts of scientific studies quickly. “Look, Bucky, you won’t be able to do anything if it is wrong anyway. No offense. It’s not something you can just—” Bruce slowly swung his fist through the air, making a small ‘pow’ noise.

“Don’t do that,” Bucky said flatly.

Bruce pursed his mouth. He was definitely not the funniest Avenger, but he did try every so often, usually failing and immediately retreating to a cave of algorithms to plot his next joke. The team repeatedly called it ‘cute;’ Hulk didn’t like that distinction either. Hulk had toppled cities for less.

“I’ve got a couple data sets and stuff for Shuri, too. Let’s load up the quinjet and get you on the way. Looks like Little Sam is coming up the drive now,” Bruce continued, pointing out the far window.

Bucky groaned. The ball-capped girl trudged down the lane with two massive hard suitcases. She was barely big or strong enough to maneuver them, yet he watched as she waved off one of the security members who came over to help her. The guard pointed her in the direction of the landing pad. Stubborn, Bucky internally groaned, just like good ol’ Pa. Bruce returned to shove a box of odds and ends against Bucky’s chest. The doctor looked at him seriously for a moment.

“I’m glad it’s you taking her. Also, don’t mention the,” and he waved a hand over his head. “Fair warning.”

Even though it was not necessary, Bucky made Sam strap herself into the chair up front, damned if he would be responsible for any other injury on Stark’s daughter. The two were quiet for all of takeoff, and they’d flown over nothing but water for a while before Bucky glanced over.

Samantha sat tucked up like a rolly-polly, craning her neck to look out the window curiously.

“You look like you’ve never flown before. Natasha’s taken you in one of these, hasn’t she?”

“I’ve never crossed an ocean,” the girl replied in a voice so small he could hardly hear it.

That was a quaint notion. The Avengers bounced from continent to continent almost daily, occasionally planet to planet even, and Sam was afraid of a body of water. She rubbed her hands over her arms, stopping only to rub her legs. However, she still looked on, fascinated.

“Alright,” Bucky finally broke in after another half hour, “I’m gonna ask what I’m not supposed to.”

Samantha looked up at him, shocked but quiet. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Are you harming yourself?” He regretted asking the second the words came out, but then he felt the impulse to double down. “I’m asking because the hair, and the scars on your arm, and the limp.”

“Those weren’t from—” Sam cut herself off. “No, Captain Barnes, I do not harm myself on purpose,” she chimed systematically.

His eyes flickered back over to her at the distinctive choice of words.

Sam looked at her feet. “There was an accident. The Bartons like to bike, motorcycles and dirt bikes specifically. I am…terrible at it, so the last time we did, I was behind Nate on his Ducati, and we crashed.”

“Why does Tony not know about this?”

“I was 14, and that was the day Clint told me Tony was sending me to boarding school. I…said some—I screamed several choice things and ran off. Nate came to find me, even though he was a jerk about it, and I got on his bike to go home.”

She stretched out her legs into a seated position. “When we were close enough to see Clint waving us back over, Nate raised his hand to waive and hit a ditch, but see, we were right by a bit of a hill. I went flying when Nate skid trying to correct us. They said I smacked a tree—” Sam grabbed her left arm, “—and then my momentum and weight snapped my leg.”

Bucky tried to imagine the absolute horror for the Bartons. If Bucky was so worried about strapping her in for one flight, how anxious must Clint have been… He knew immediately why someone wouldn’t tell Tony, if it was at all possible to hide it.

“Compound fracture of the left humerus. Compound fracture of the left femur. Damage to the growth plate, so my left leg stopped growing at age 14, resulting in a now one inch difference in length. I tried not to listen when they said how many pins were in there. I stared at the ceiling. They made Nat,” Sam swallowed, “explain why we couldn’t tell him. So I didn’t go to boarding school, and after four months I went to Harvard with Cooper. Well, I lived there.”

Bucky knew that stare, the one where you know the past can’t change so you stopped reliving it, the one where you try over and over to accept the hand you’re dealt, the one where you remember everything and feel nothing. Steve used to pull him out by recalling baseball stats incorrectly. Bucky would always snap out to rub his knowledge in that punk’s face. He could try a version of that on Sam Stark, something else for them to talk about.

“What’s quantum field theory?”

She didn’t change her gaze but scrunched her nose in thought. “Um, like which area do you want? Electromagnetic? Chromodynamic?”

Well, that was nice while it lasted, Bucky thought, already lost. 

“Do you know what normalization is?” she continued.

So she couldn’t pick up on hints either… “How about like I’m from the 1940s,” Bucky requested.

“Well, they knew some bits in the 20s—” 

Bucky frowned on purpose, deeply, comically.

“Right. Basically,” Sam thought out loud, making a roundabout motion with her hands, “how… stuff interacts within a—where it is.”

“What stuff?”

“Subatomic particles.”

“Ok, and we’re done with that.” Bucky had zero intention of going back to the shrunken feeling of not following the teacher in school, but he could still gain some context for Falcon. “How smart do you need to be to understand that stuff?”

Sam sat, confused. “That’s not a quantifiable question. It’s not a specific neural requirement.”

“Nineteen-forties—”he reminded through gritting teeth.

“It’s my personal belief that you can learn anything if you have the right teacher. If you make the subject relatable and applicable to something in your life, you remember it. So instead of starting with quantum field theory, you could begin with the psychological field theory or how people interact with where they are.”

Although a perfectly reasonable association, Bucky snorted. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

“You know that I don’t. Why else would I be so excited to leave the country I’ve been in my whole life?”

“Is that why you’re so…fidgety?”

“No.” She continued to scratch and shift in her seat.

“Do you have a rash?”

“Why did you ask about field theory? Uncle Bruce need a book club buddy or something?”

“Sam, I mean, Big Sam was reading a book.” 

Samantha’s eyes grew wide, and her head snapped over to look at him. To his surprise, she seemed just as concerned as he was. 

“Thank you! That’s weird, right?”

“He…” She tried to get a spot behind her right shoulder blade. “You mean, he can follow—he is learning very quickly?”

“Essentially. It’s like he woke up and was smarter.”

“I feel like Big Sam would be a little offended—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Bucky sighed, but Sam had already quieted.

“So,” she began after a long pause, “how worried are you?”

“It’s not exactly a health risk, to be smarter, but I just—what else could change?”

Lil'Sam remained silent this time, holding one arm against her chest, seemingly lost in thought. When Bucky’s eyes flicked over to see if she was even still sitting there, he saw her staring at him. He looked again. She wasn’t staring at him per se, but her eyes were fixed on his metal arm. Loads of people still stared at the arm, so in public, he covered it with clothes and a glove. He thought back to the wedding. He’d been covered; she couldn’t have seen it then. Didn’t she already know about it? Suddenly, he wished he’d worn more cover than a tank top even if it was summer and they were flying to an African nation close to the equator. Why would Sam still be wearing sweats? He glanced again. She was still clutching her left arm against her.

“Are you in pain?” Bucky asked.

Sam snapped back to reality, suddenly guilty and ashamed of her rudeness. She didn’t convey the same in her response, abruptly announcing, “I’m tired. Can I go lie down?” She didn’t wait for a response, either, and unbuckled to rush back into the jet’s cargo area.

Teenagers, Bucky thought.

[Ch 15: Judgment]

[Main Masterlist]

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Everybody Hates Marcos

I recently noticed people liking some of my older posts on Moonshadow assassins (thanks guys, glad you enjoyed), and rereading a couple of them back to back in light of the little peek we've gotten at BH only seems to bolster the notion that Runaan does as much of the assassining as he can.

For the Moonshadow assassins' reputation according to Viren post, it would be ironically funny if Viren didn't know that all of the assassins he was describing to Harrow as an unstoppable threat were really the same prolifically stabby elf. Alternately, it would be very deeply interesting if Viren did know about Runaan and his endless stabbiness, and pretended he didn't.

Then there's Rayla getting fooled by Callum pretending to be Ezran. The implication is that Runaan never intended for Rayla to stab the young prince, so he never gave her any information that would allow her to track down Ezran without him. The idea that Runaan always intended to take Ezran himself so Rayla didn't have to isn't a new one to me, but the reinforcement from the other side of things is really helping it land: Runaan always intends to take everyone himself.

So I have two new thoughts, from these older thoughts:

1. Marcos and Viren just roll with there being multiple assassins after Harrow, as if more than one is normal.

First, we all thought Runaan always led a team of six assassins. Over time, headcanons formed for fewer than six, and also for solo missions. I've had a fresh one since I started writing this, so I'll add it: the elves seem to defend Xadia's border in pairs, so what if, when Runaan goes on missions to the human lands, he takes one other elf with him?

This might normally have been an assassin's SO, like Lain and Tiadrin going on missions together in the black ops version of the Sacred Band of Thebes (heyo it's my "assassins are all queer and their love must be partly tactical" love letter to the Sacred Band headcanon again). But Runaan went and fell for a soft elf who does not stab, and so he may need other partners to watch his back and make sure that they both get home to their family.

Maybe every elf that Runaan took on his mission to Katolis, except for Rayla, was someone he'd taken on previous missions. Maybe that's his standard training method: train them in the Silvergrove until they're ready for a proper mission, and then go with them and make sure they get it done right because their life back home hangs in the balance.

And then there's what Rayla said in "Ghost":

"When assassins are sent on a dangerous mission, Ethari enchants one of these flowers for each of them." "Mission" is singular, but "one... for each" indicates a plural. The grammar in this sentence tells me that a single mission with multiple elves is standard for Ethari's Dangerous Mission Enchantment Protocol. It doesn't say how many "each" is supposed to represent, so it could vary with circumstance. But in a culture so packed with angst, it's probably mostly a good thing that the Moonshadow assassins don't go taking dangerous missions alone.

And I kinda like the soft angst of Runaan shepherding younger assassins through their early missions and then trusting them to watch his back when things get really dangerous. But even then, he has a hard line where he won't let another risk themself for him when he'd rather go alone and pay the price himself. I wonder if, when he was younger, he tried to do everything himself and didn't help others train and learn as much as he does when he's older. If he's matured to some angsty "as good as it gets" mindset where he'd rather risk or ruin one or a handful of lives belonging to people he loves than risk utter failure on his own and all-out war and disaster. To slowly taint those you cherish in order to protect others you also cherish from an even worse fate... ahaha god, that's so angsty. Whose souls do you chose to darken? Only those with the brightest spark.

2. Runaan may not have intended for Rayla to take Ezran, but he sure sent her after Marcos quickly, to keep their mission on track. Runaan was basically ordering Rayla to kill someone to protect the team so the team could protect their loved ones and all of Xadia, and she couldn't do it.

What he was asking of her was a kind of halfway point between what Runaan's duty demands of him and what Rayla ended up choosing to do on top of the Storm Spire. Runaan's duty is focused way out at the tip of his sword, but his train of thinking ties that directly to the people he loves and protects with his stabbing.

Rayla's choice was her own, though, atop the Spire. Neither Runaan nor anyone else told her to do it. She chose for herself, because she knew in her heart what was right, in that moment, and she followed it.

Why didn't Runaan kill Marcos himself, then? As the only member of the squad who hadn't taken before, I think Rayla needed to come home blooded. It was her first mission, and maybe on your first mission you must take a life, whether you're solo coughEljaalcough or in a duo with the assassin leader as he helps you get your first kill or in a squad of six. Rite of passage kind of thing, in the way where failure might get you ghosted, or worse.

Maybe the way that Runaan pointed Rayla after her target is how he interacts with other young assassins when he's on their first missions with them. Silent, focused, but still guiding from the shadows. Halfway there, halfway not, an unobtrusive guide, a living reminder of all his own teachings, who stays out of your way except in the most dire of need.

So Runaan's combining Rayla's first training mission with possibly the most dangerous mission of his life. Neeeat. And once he got everyone into the castle, then things were going to get extremely dangerous, so he didn't want anyone on his team worrying about who/when/where/how Rayla was going to take a target after that point. Best to get it out of the way outside the castle, so everyone can relax and focus on their own thing.

So maybe Runaan did rustle that bush really loudly and alert Marcos to their presence, after all. And maybe it was on purpose. If he knew Rayla had to take a life on this mission - for honor or cultural or magical balance reasons - and if the rest of the team knew it too, then he could've been on the lookout for a way to force an early resolution to everyone's concerns about Rayla's capability: give her a convenient human target and get it over with.

Maybe he was so furious with Rayla when she let Marcos live because he'd deliberately selected Marcos to die.

Which is very ironic, because that's what I think Viren did, too, by sending him out into the forest with the full moon approaching. If any of the patrols just didn't report in the next morning, Viren would know Xadia had sent its regards, and they'd be arriving on the full moon. Viren knows what he did at the Storm Spire. If he's got any sense at all, he's been expecting reprisals. Marcos was Viren's canary in the coal mine, and he was also Runaan's injured mouse for his kitten to cut her teeth on.

Bahaha. Viren and Runaan literally can't stop paralleling each other, can they. But this makes Marcos's promotion to recurring character and one of the heroes of S3 all the more amazing! If two of the show's major early plot drivers wanted Marcos dead, and he survived them both thanks to Rayla, then everything he does is possible because of her choice, and that comes back around to save her and her allies at the end of S3, when Marcos rallies with Opeli, Barius, Corvus, and Queen Aanya and her army to defeat Viren's forces.

Rayla saved Runaan from doing exactly what Viren expected him to do, and ended up saving herself, along with Marcos and countless others, too.

[idiopath-fic-smile]

!!!!! Sorry to go for the obvious one but I would love commentary on End of an Era! (Or the Toad Looking Upward song if you feel like you've already talked about EoaE as much as you want in your life, I know you posted at least one other time about the lyrics change between recordings)

(for reference, End of an Era is here.)

no apology necessary! would love to talk about it.

so i was reading Lag Time, which for anyone who doesn't know, is a Les Mis folksingers AU, and i had just reached the chapter where (SPOILER) Grantaire temporarily fucks things up and it gave me a lot of feelings, i think maybe especially because that version of Grantaire especially resonated with me, speaking as a would-be singer-songwriter who has her own share of depression and anxiety and self-loathing and social woes.

my memory is that i wrote the whole thing in one sitting, which is not unusual for me—my process tends to involved getting fully obsessed with each song until it's done. the feeling of satisfaction when you get a song to work is like the feeling of satisfaction when you get a fic to work, except it's way faster. it's a powerful feeling. on the other hand, in my experience, when i'm stuck on a song i am really truly stuck. that's part of why it's such an amazing feeling to stumble onto something that inspires the songwriting muscles, and why once i have a topic, i tend to write multiple songs about it. End of an Era was my second or third Lag Time song.

it felt really natural that a folksinger Grantaire would begin a song in such a grandiose way, "There's more than one way to bring down an empire." (Honestly, I could see folksinger Enjolras starting a song that way too but it would be, like, an anti-imperialist anthem, almost a how-to. Thing is, unfortunately I don't know how to deliberately dismantle an empire. There's a reason I tend to write more Grantaire songs than Enjolras songs.) And then from there, the notion that something that had a lot of power in Grantaire's mind could collapse inward on itself, rather than from an outside force, that made sense to me. "No one sacks the cities, you just forget they were there." It's depression thinking.

I will always be a little proud of rhyming acolyte with satellite, especially in a Grantaire song, since I think both images would appeal to him.

Re: Grantaire describing himself as a Cassandra—having anxiety is like having a constant real-time Terminator readout in your brain but instead of fighting stats it just shows you the millions of ways something could potentially go wrong, and then when things occasionally do go wrong, you can feel almost a bitter glint of triumph among the bleakness, like, SEE I TOLD YOU. I KNEW IT WAS HOPELESS.

Grantaire does a lot of driving in Lag Time—I mean, he's a musician who hasn't hit it big and who tours, it's part of the lifestyle—and it made sense to me that he'd have a lot of imaginary conversations in his car. i liked the notion Grantaire conceptualizing driving towards the horizon as chasing an optical illusion. in his mind, pursuing a relationship with Enjolras (of any kind, really) was similarly pushing himself towards a point at which he could never arrive. (i just remembered that in the Brick, Enjolras is physically described in terms of a horizon, but if that was a factor, it was subliminal on my part.)

i ultimately changed "even my mind can get tired of lying" to "even a liar can get tired of lying" because in context, it accomplishes the same thing and i think scans slightly better.

(as a postscript: for anyone who doesn't know, Alex, the writer of Lag Time, went on to ask my permission to incorporate lyrics from this song into the fic, deciding that an incidental previous line in the fic about Grantaire having shelved an album at one point should be revisited and discussed in terms of Grantaire having written an album that was at least partly about his—in his mind—doomed feelings for Enjolras, including this song, which retroactively became at least somewhat canon. i was so honored Alex did this. it remains one of my favorite fandom interactions i've ever had with someone. the layers of meta, the way fandom can be a conversation made out of things you make out of love is very, very fun.)

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝓤𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓔𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂 (𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷)

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝑆𝑎𝑛 (𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧)× 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒)

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑆𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝐴𝑈, 𝑉𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛 𝐸𝑟𝑎 𝐴𝑈.

𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛: "𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑐𝑒. 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑒, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑: 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒."- 𝑈𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝐸𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦: 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑟

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4.4+𝐾

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑀𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡, 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑑𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑢𝑛𝑠, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡: @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers @multidreams-and-desires @brie02 @deja-vux @galaxteez @yunhoiseyecandy @rvse-miingi @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @a-soft-hornytiny

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

~May 17th, 1859~

When their eyes met it was as if time had effectively stopped moving. The sharply dressed male stood immobile by one of the pillars across the ballroom, feet glued to the floor and unable to pick themselves off it. Likewise, the elegant and ethereal lady sitting at one of the tables looked just as mesmerized by him as he was enchanted by her. For a while both of them just stood there, admiring one another as they tried to comprehend what was that tugging sensation they began to feel in the middle of their chests. The chatter and music in the background faded, their ears no longer registering any sound, scent, or object around them. Even their vision blurred everyone else, the only clear image they saw was the person they were currently fixated on.

As if he was in a trance, the male managed to regain his sense of control and began walking towards where she was. As their distance started to get smaller, the pounding in their hearts became more agitated and rapid, their lungs desperately trying to grasp air. When he stood right in front of her, a sense of calmness fell upon them that was even more strange to them given that they had never been acquainted with each other nor had any connections between them. Placing one arm behind him while the other came up just below his chest, he bowed to her, letting her glimpse and admire the top of his head, his hair as golden as the rays of the sun that would shine through her slightly parted curtains during the sunrises. Since she was sitting down, she acknowledged his greeting by lowering her head in a respectful manner. Coming back up, the hand that was placed behind him outstretched towards her.

"If my lady is not otherwise engaged, may I be so bold as to claim the next two dances?"

Unable to reject him, partly due to etiquette but mostly because something pushed her to accept, she smiled sweetly at him.

"You may kind Sir."

As soon as their hands connected, a rush of sparks flowed through their bodies, the feeling so electrifying and magnetic, it became more intense when he placed one arm around her waist while hers found a resting spot on his shoulder. Their other hands intertwined themselves together, their fingers perfectly molding against one another, a rather improper gesture to do at a ball especially between two individuals who had absolutely nothing to tie them together, but neither of them cared. It felt proper and necessary, even more so as their bodies glided across the floor, dancing in tune to the orchestra's music.

"I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of seeing you before my lady." He suddenly spoke up, voice slightly buffering with nervousness.

Luckily she either didn't notice or chose not to care about it.

"No I'm afraid not. Such a pity if you ask me, you seem like a lively and agreeable person to be around." Although she had always been encouraged not to judge by outward appearances, she could not fathom the gentleman right in front of her to have any sort of evil or fault in him. He was beautiful, his features so sharp and his eyes although looking so mysterious and deadly seemed to hold so much tenderness and frailty in them. Despite his strong and bold looking frame, she could tell he was a man of delicate emotions and gentle feelings. No alarms or voice in the back of her head were warning against him, instead they were silenced as her heart urged her to stay by him and with him.

"And you seem like a lady seeking adventure and freedom." He boldly stated.

She quirked an eyebrow up, puzzled at how he could possibly ascertain such a theory.

"And may I ask what makes you say that?"

Lips curling into a smile, she swore she could melt when tiny dimples appeared on each of his cheeks, a true rare beauty that one hardly saw in those times and were very much admired.

"I look into your eyes and I see yearning, longing for something. As if you are searching for a hidden gem. And there's a hint of gloominess in them as well."

His description shocked her to the core. How could this perfect stranger, whose name she still had not known, possibly see all of that from just a few minutes of interaction?

"Do I look that forlorn?" She began to worry about anyone else being able to see what he saw.

"No...... I guess you could say I just...felt it." His eyes held a lively sparkle in them that just seemed to captivate her even more.

He hesitated to speak out what was on his mind, but seeing as the music was about to come to an end, he knew he had to say it before it was too late.

"If it's all right with you, would you mind if I came to call at your house and be introduced to your parents?" A faint pink hue spread across his cheeks and even his straight nose had a rosey tint at the tip of it.

Although she was no stranger to having young men call for her in hopes of establishing a courtship, it was the first time she was actually excited and looking forward to any future meetings with the man in front of her.

"I'd be delighted if you wished to do so." Her smile was more dazzling than all the glimmering chandeliers that decorated the ceiling and it made her dance partner feel more at ease to know she was just as jolly about a possible acquaintance as much as he was.

As soon as the music ended, they properly bowed to each other but the male, even himself unsure of what came over him, took hold of her hand and held it up to his lips, placing a feather light kiss to the tips of her fingers which left quite a few shocked faces on those who were close enough to witness the act.

"Consider this as our formal meeting my lady."

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

August 23rd, 1859

The pair walked side by side across the pastured fields, bright and vivid dahlias acting as their chaperones, all arrayed in either red, yellow or purple coats that had already bud into full bloom. The river nearby had tiny ripples flowing through it due to the light breeze that was refreshing during a rather warm summer day. Behind them, her home was still bustling with excitement and anticipation of what was going to come, hence why they allowed the couple to wander outside by themselves, fully trusting them to maintain propriety. Ahead of them, a vast expanse of trees were to serve as witnesses for such a joyous occasion.

Gazing over at his loving companion whom he had learned to cherish and care about immensely in the short time they've spent together, he felt his hand shake as he touched the side of his pants, feeling the weight of the small black case he was hiding in his pocket.

"You are on edge." Her sudden statement startled him.

"Once more you hit the nail straight on the head." He chuckled, his hands going back to their previous position of staying behind him.

"Do you trust me enough to tell me about it or would you rather we pretend I didn't say anything?" She offered.

Hearing his footsteps suddenly halt, she too stopped walking. Facing over to him, she couldn't read his expression as he had lowered his face, no doubt thinking about how to proceed about with the conversation.

"May I ask......how do you feel about me?"

She was not prepared for that question and yet she had hoped to one day be asked just that. She didn't even need to think too hard, she knew the answer to that already.

"I believe you to be a very kindhearted, caring, and vibrant sort of fellow. And I am extremely grateful to be able to have you in my close circle of friends."

Although he was happy that she felt joy in his company, he felt a little saddened and worried about her use of the term 'friends'. But pushing past his fears, he gathered his courage to speak his next words.

"And have you ever wondered if there's a possibility of us becoming closer than just friends?" He looked at her with in a hopeful daze.

He could sense, feel her uneasiness. It seemed as if their emotions were so intertwined that whatever one was feeling, the other would soon get a notion of it. And right now, he could feel how she slightly panicked at his suggestion.

"If it displeases you, please just let me know right now and I swear I'll not make you uncomfortable with anymore talk of-"

"I would love for nothing more than to be more than friends with you." She didn't want to be rude and interrupt him like so, but she found she could not control herself. Her fingers fidgeted with the lace trimming of her dress, agitation clearly shown in her countenance.

"From the very first moment I saw you, I felt this strange and utterly overpowering attraction towards you, as ridiculous as it sounds. And having come to know you, I was ready to say yes the minute you asked for my hand if the moment ever came...."

She paused to collect her thoughts, taking in a deep breath.

"But at the same time I'm afraid. I know, because I was raised as such, that women are brought up to be good wives, be docile, pliant, obedient and stand behind their husbands and do what society expects of them. And I don't know if I can do that...no... I don't want that. To be locked up in some beautiful golden cage for the rest of my life, with no freedom and my liberty stripped away from me...... I'd go mad." She admitted, immediately turning away from him, not wanting to see his reaction to what some would consider her brazen speech.

"So if what you are seeking is a wife who will be content to sit at home and wait for your every command I suggest you go look somewhere else. I refuse to be that sort of woman, even if it means becoming a spinster for the rest of my life." Her last words got choked up due to tension rising in her voice as she fought back tears, not wanting to cry in front of him.

She felt him right behind her and did not flinch when one of his hands came forward to caress the smooth skin of her cheek.

"My pretty little dove....don't you know that's why I wanna marry you?"

She turned her head to look at him with incredulous eyes.

"Remember when we first met? When I talked about how you seemed to be searching for freedom? Adventure?"

She nodded, never able to forget how she felt the first time they glanced upon another nor the conversation they had. Taking a hold of her waist, he shifted her position so she could face him and see how in earnest he was.

"I'm willing to offer you all that and more. I don't want you walking behind me, I want you by my side as my equal. I won't ever lock you up in a cage. On the contrary, I want my little dove to spread her wings and soar up further than the heavens........ and I want to be by her side to see it."

Her hands came up to clasp around her mouth as she let out a sharp gasp when he suddenly dropped down on one knee. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a black velvet box that contained a stunning ring inside.

"I've already asked for your parent's permission, all I gotta ask now is if you'd make me the happiest man alive and accept to spend life by my side.... and love me?"

She allowed him to take her hand and slide the gem onto her ring finger, tears already pouring down her face. Sniffling softly, she took her hand off her mouth to reveal an emotional and awkward smile as a wave of emotions took over her.

"Yes!"

He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Sprinting back up, he picked her up and spun her around gleefully. Once he put her down, his hands cupped her face and he leaned in to give her a passionate kiss. Even after pulling away, he still kept her at a close distance.

"I love you.....from now until eternity."

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

October 9th, 1861

"You sure you're going to be ok?"

Pushing her hat out of the way so she could look down at her doting husband who was standing right next to the open carriage, she couldn't help but give him a mischievous smirk.

"I'll be fine. I should be the one asking you that."

He gave her a puzzled look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked.

"That I give you 10 minutes before you're moping by the fireplace, missing me to no end." She snorted softly at his pouty expression.

"You're actually wrong..."

Hopping on top of the step so it could be easier to reach her, he nuzzled his nose against hers.

"I'm already missing you and you haven't even left yet."

She giggled at his cheesiness, allowing him to press a tiny kiss on her lips, which was then followed by another one, then another, until she finally had to push him off before he delayed her trip any further by peppering more kisses across her face.

"All right all right, I get it. I'll be back before supper, it's not that long of a ride to my parents house. Think you can wait until then?"

He shook his head negatively, which made her roll her eyes.

"Well you're going to have to deal with it."

Bending down, she gently stroked some of the hairs that were tussled against his forehead.

"I love you." She smiled at him.

Taking her hand to place a kiss on top of it, her husband never took his eyes off her.

"I love you too. Please stay safe."

With longing eyes, he watched as the carriage was being hauled away in the direction of the woods that surrounded the estate. He didn't look away even minutes after the carriage was out of sight, watching as some of the white flowers fell from the immense trees, petals scattering across the pavement and on the freshly cut grass. Something about the way the flowers fell sent some sort of uneasy feeling in his stomach, but he chose to ignore it, thinking it was probably nothing.

Making his way back in the house, he suddenly stopped when the same feeling crept back up to him, this time more intense than the previous one. His palms which were tightly clenched behind him, were sweating profusely. His heartbeat making more agitated and there was an unusual pounding resonated in his head, that although didn't exactly hurt, it was sending off alarms. He could sense that something bad was going to happen, he could feel it.....

With a sharp intake of breath, he raced over towards the stables where all the horses were kept. Unlocking the door that held his personal horse, he didn't even bother to saddle up or even put a bridle on him. He simply jumped up and threw his leg over the horse, who stood in place to allow his trusted master to get properly seated.

"Go!" He exclaimed as he gently yet firmly kicked the horse on its side, the stallion immediately taking off in the direction that the carriage had gone, the rider hoping and praying that he was only being delusional about the strange sensation that was striking fear in him.

Meanwhile, not far off in the distance, the young lady quietly sat in the carriage, listening to the conversation her two drivers were having amongst themselves, sometimes even laughing at any jokes they cracked along the way. She looked very peaceful, looking forward to paying her parents a small visit, the presents she had purchased for them rattled against her side, all neatly wrapped in white with light blue ribbons decorating them. Her eyes would often drift away whenever she heard the rustling sounds the tiny woodland creatures would make or when a bird would start chirping a little tune.

She was startled abruptly by the sound of gunshots and before she could even ask what was going on, she watched in horror as the two men in front of her fell to ground, blood pouring out from their heads as their soulless eyes stared back into her. The horses were going berserk, letting out loud neighs while fretting about uncontrollably. Standing up, she carefully maneuvered herself and got off the carriage hoping to hop on the driver's seat and regain control of the horses, but she was stopped when a strong hand gripped her wrist and harshly tugged her back.

"You're a really pretty thing." She stared up into the cold eyes of a marauder who scanned her face before looking at his partner.

"How much do you think they'll give us for selling her off to a whorehouse?"

His accomplice shrugged nonchalantly.

"Beats me, but I guess we're going to find out."

Not backing down without a fight, she kicked her arms and legs as much as she could, putting up an intense struggle against her kidnappers. She made sure to scream at the top of her lungs, hoping it would reach someone's ears and come aid her. She nearly freed herself when she hit one of them right in the jaw and bit harshly down on the other's arm which was draped across her neck. She could only take two steps before she was being manhandled once more. She elbowed and kneed at the man, trying to break free from his grasp. Getting frustrated and fed up by her struggle, he took out the pistol he kept by his belt.

"You fucking bitch!"

Pressing the barrel against her stomach, the bullet pierced straight through her, making her choke on the scream she was about to release. Her senses went numb, all she could feel was pain as she felt her life being stripped out of her body.

"No!"

Arriving just as the bullet was fired, her husband swiftly yanked out his own gun. First he made sure to aim at the one who had just shot his beloved wife, the bullet striking him right on his forehead, giving him an instant death. When his partner tried producing his own weapon, the rider was already two steps ahead as he shot him straight through his throat, this time the death was more painful and elongated, but eventually he too met the same fate as his dead companion. Quickly getting off the horse, he ran over to his wife, tears already brimming down his face. Taking a hold of her hand, he first made sure that she still had a pulse and was conscious.

"Love. Darling. It's ok, you'll be ok. All right? Just stay with me, keep your eyes open."

She could feel him rip off a part of her dress and use it as makeshift gauze to press against her wound in an effort to stop some of the bleeding. She could not bring herself to cry, she had no strength left in her to do that. Still she managed to bring one of her hands up to clasp one of her husband's hands.

"I love you.......I always will..." Her voice came out rather raspy and strangled.

Knowing what was happening, her husband began to cry even harder, his arms desperately clutching onto her.

"No! Don't say that my little dove! You're going to be fine! Trust me." He seemed to be saying that more to himself than her, trying to convince himself that this was not real, that it was only a nightmare that they'd get through with together.

But she had already resigned herself to her fate. Knowing she had no time left, she reached up to cup one of his cheeks, her thumb stroking his skin softly.

"Remember.....we'll meet again someday..... I loved you now....and I'll love you in another life."

With one last faint smile, she held her final breath before her head fell back, eyes closing as her spirit left her body. Her lover's body trembled erratically, eyes scrunching tightly, teeth clenched so fiercely they could nearly break apart by his sheer strength. He clung his soul mate's lifeless body against his own, sobbing violently against her neck. Looking up, he let out a heartwrenching and agonizing scream that echoed across the forest.

Part of him died that day just like the love of his life.

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

~April 15th, 2019: Present Day~

"Man...that is one sad, depressing story."

One of the members of the group sighed out as his other mate read out the history behind the beautiful and seemingly enchanting forest that they were currently touring across.

"I know right? To think that such a tragic love story occurred right here." One of the taller members said, stepping carefully around the branches that were scattered about the field.

"Enough of this romantic soulmate nonsense, how long is this trail anyways? I'm tired, I'm sweating, it's hot and I'm hungry. Which one of you guys decided it was a good idea to go into nature and explore it? Especially with all these bugs around." The nagging individual slapped his arm once more, killing off another mosquito that seemed to take a liking to his blood.

While all of them continued on ahead, forming pairs or simply admiring the view alone with their phones to capture memories, the lonely member all the way in the back kept his head down. His cat like eyes often looked around, taking in some small details that hardly anyone paid attention to. Brushing some of his black bangs away from his eyes, he felt some sort of nostalgic feeling as he walked along the semi even path laid out for tourists like them. He stopped in his tracks when he came to a particular spot. Looking to his right side, he saw a very narrow off trail that led into the more dense and deep part of the forest. Although his mind told him to stay on the trail so as to not get lost, he found some strange force pulling him in the opposite direction. Without even second guessing it, he wandered off, not caring about if his group mates saw him or not.

As he past all the trees, shrubs and even the tiny squirrels and butterflies that still inhabited those regions, he couldn't shake off the deja vu feeling that fell over him. He strangely felt familiar with his surroundings, even though he was kilometers away from his home country. As he made a sharp turn to avoid hitting against a wide tree, an image suddenly flashed in his head. A galloping horse, the rider, whose face he couldn't see, passing right by where he just past.

"Weird..." He brushed it off, thinking that perhaps the rays of the sun were starting to get to him.

As he came upon a more wider path, he stopped immediately at a certain spot. Another image seemed to pass through his mind, although more blurred, he could faintly make out a silhouette of a man holding onto the body of a woman. Just as soon as it came, it soon vanished. He didn't understand why, but standing right on that spot seemed to cause him pain. Indeed he could feel tears welling up in his eyes and he had absolutely no idea why.

"God what is wrong with me?" He thought as he wiped them away, perhaps he was being extra emotional or something, especially after hearing that story about the forest.

A snapping branch made him aware that someone else was approaching where he was. Looking up in the direction, he felt his breath being taken away as two [insert color] eyes were locked on him. He couldn't even blink, he just continued to stare at the figure standing mere feet away from him. The same energy that pulled him in that direction was suddenly making him pull his feet off the ground and make their way towards the person. He had never seen them before in his entire life and yet.....

He felt as if he knew them, his heart feeling some sort of longing and aching for them. And he could sense that the other person was feeling the exact way he was, for they too were taking careful steps toward him, keeping eye contact with him. Soon they both stood right in front of each other, both had mesmerized expressions as they studied the person in front of them. Without knowing what caused him to do that, the male reached a hand out towards his partner, which she did not hesitate to hold in her own. A wave of shock ran through both of their bodies when they touched, their emotions suddenly burning with passion and love that only grew stronger as their fingers clasped against each other. Swallowing hard, the male decided it was time to speak up.

"Hi..... my name is Choi San."

The woman smiled at hearing his voice. Even though it was the first time she heard it, she knew it, it was oddly familiar.

"I'm Y/N L/N." She responded.

Neither of them flinched away, they simply continued to stare at one another. Although strangers, they felt as if they knew each other for centuries. Unable to help himself, San lowered his face so he could press his forehead against hers.

"It sounds insane..... but I feel I love you." He confessed, his lips brushing against hers.

She let out a soft hum at his statement.

"Then I guess we're both insane, because I feel like I love you as well."

Closing the gap between them, San cupped one cheek with his hand, giving her the faintest whisper of a kiss. The feeling was so raw and so endearing that it sent a warm sensation to their hearts. When they pulled away, his arm snaked around to wrap around her waist.

"It's like we were destined to be."

She chuckled at his words before finishing his sentence.

"Yes....you and I.....

Until eternity."

━━━━━━━༺۵༻━━━━━━━

[shiroganeryo]

Komui's Discussion Room content (DGM 27)

Volume 27 has been released recently here in Brazil and I realized the remaining of Komui’s Discussion Room were nowhere to be found in English, but after reading all of it, I thought there are very interesting things hence why I wanted to share!

Please bear in mind this is not a direct translation, but a summary.

I have a lot of criticism when it comes to Viz Media’s release (official English), but I’m quite content with the work Panini, the distributor of D.Gray-Man in Brazil, has done so far with the official Portuguese release. If there are any mistakes, please bear in mind I translated the information directly from their version.

There are 11 questions covered in this summary. For the others, please check Jeidafei’s translations on them (totally recommend it!): Part 1 | Part 2 | Author's note & Thanks Corner | Extra

Without further ado, let’s get into it! This got very long.

≫ Kanda hasn’t reached the “critical point” in synchronization yet (+ why Allen isn’t a General)

In the question “How did Kanda hide having gone past the critical point”, Tiedoll answers that he actually has the potential it takes to do it but hasn’t done it yet. Still on the same question, they answer a related question about Allen’s critical point: “If Allen has reached the critical point, why wasn’t he appointed to become a general during the Order’s reconstruction?”

Allen replies that it was impossible at that time since Central was keeping watch over him. Tiedoll adds that he’s also too young and the only one able to operate the Ark, the latter making Central even more suspicious of him. General Cross’s reputation also seems to have played a part in this, having the higher-ups deem Allen as someone they couldn’t trust enough.

Ryo’s note: Allen thanks Tiedoll for putting his thoughts about Cross into words and Cross simply laughs it off. XD

≫ Sleeping positions

They get asked about their sleeping positions. Tiedoll describes how Kanda sleeps with detail (when younger, in fetal position; nowadays, he sleeps lying on his side, preferentially the right side).

Allen comments that Johnny sleeps sprawled on the floor or the desk and that everyone in the Science Division sleeps like this; when he first saw it, he got concerned thinking something tragic had happened. Johnny says it’s comfortable to sleep like this, but Allen isn’t so sure.

Cross comments on how Allen sleeps; he mentions he likes to sleep hugging something and when he can’t do it, he complains until falling asleep. Allen gets flustered and claims that he got used to sleeping with Tim because he used to be big, but is over it nowadays. Johnny remembers Link used to tell him not to sleep with the piggy-bank, to which Allen replies that it was “not a sleeping position, but survival instincts”.

Kanda comments on how he brought a ton of food to the infirmary one time and says it was annoying to listen to him eating nonstop. Allen replies with sarcasm (“sorry for needing to eat to recover my energies”).

Cross sleeps naked, with his arms open (according to Allen).

Tiedoll sleeps on his stomach, blanket over his face.

Ryo’s note: The time Kanda is referring to is in Chapter 135 (135th Night: Repose, Partly Cloudly).

≫ The symbol on the CROWs' foreheads

Cross replies that it’s probably the compulsory mark of the procedure that transforms regular people in CROWs. Tiedoll says that Cross knows a lot, as expected of someone who’s able to use magic –he shrugs off the compliment – and Kanda asks when and how exactly someone like him learned it. He angrily says he didn’t learn it anywhere and ends the question at Allen’s remark that he always gets angry when people ask.

Ryo’s note: This is interesting. Could imply he was the one to teach magic to Nea (and the Earl himself?), and not the other way around. But, it’s also possible he just didn’t want to answer.

≫ “What is something you find impressive on the other, but have never admitted?”

Johnny decides to start with Kanda and Allen, and the two exchange insults for several lines.

Johnny then passes the baton to the Generals, who do the exact same as their apprentices.

Johnny ends the question with a thank you and sweating nervously.

Ryo’s note: By “insults”, I mean things like Kanda calling Allen a crybaby, and Allen saying Kanda’s dumb. Tiedoll calls Cross a delinquent; Cross calls him “doting dad”. The list goes on…

≫ The time Kanda spent with General Tiedoll right after becoming his apprentice (+ Allen’s time with Cross)

They are asked what was the most outstanding episode from such a time, and Kanda absentmindedly says he forgot. Tiedoll seems disappointed, stating they had made so many marvelous memories together, to which Kanda replies “please stop talking in this weird way”.

Allen asks how the travels were, and Tiedoll says the most important at that time was to take care of mending Kanda’s heart. They spent much time talking about amenities, having contact with plants and animals and admiring beautiful landscapes. Tiedoll believes that getting in touch with beautiful things can help to connect with the world, despite carrying the burden of being a Second; he wanted Kanda to feel like regular people feel about the world.

Johnny and Allen are touched, and the latter comments how jealous he is. Cross then reminds Allen of how many bedsheets he had to wash because of him, making him flustered. He then goes on to remind how not only he did that but also had to feed him – Tiedoll comments on how it seems impossible to imagine Cross doing all that – and even help him change many times.

Allen’s embarrassment reaches the maximum and he threatens to beat Cross if he keeps talking about that.

≫ Stories of when Kanda and Lenalee were little

Kanda tries to shrug the question off, but Johnny insists they answer. Tiedoll says that the two of them were really cute, just like two lilies that bloomed inside the gray scenery of the Order; Kanda tells him to stop.

Allen is uninterested in Kanda, but wants to hear about Lenalee. Cross asks him if he likes her, and says he thought he had a girlfriend in the Asian Branch already. Allen denies it and says both LouFa and Lenalee are his friends; Cross laughs, saying he doesn’t judge, and Allen nearly snaps in irritation (again).

Johnny moves on to answer the question; Kanda is against it, but Tiedoll holds him in place. Johnny tells that Jiji told him that at first, Kanda would be asked if Lenalee could train with him, but he would shrug her off saying he didn’t want to train with a girl, which would make her cry.

Every time Kanda made Lenalee cry, she would run off to Reever. In reality, Johnny thinks she wanted to talk to Komui instead, but she thought he was busy and didn’t want to bother him, resulting in her crying at Reever’s desk. Tiedoll and Allen are weeping at it (they thought it’s cute).

While Reever comforted Lenalee, Marie would appear bringing Kanda along, who had no idea how to apologize, while Lenalee would bashfully hide inside Reever’s lab coat. This kept happening until he eventually accepted to train with her.

Johnny starts telling another story involving Kanda’s meditation and Lenalee coming back tired from a mission, but Kanda interrupts him. Allen says it’s being fun and tells him not to bother.

Kanda tells him to shut up, calling him a bedwetter. Allen snaps (again).

Ryo’s note: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

≫ “Who amongst the Noah would Allen best go along with? Hypothetically speaking.”

Allen and Kanda are worn out from fighting (see the previous question); Johnny is giving them calming tea. Tiedoll says that it seems Allen and Tyki Mikk looked friendly when talking to each other, and Allen interjects saying they’re not friends and that Tyki doesn’t respect the notion of personal space.

He then goes on to say he doesn’t imagine himself being friends with any Noah because they lack common sense. Cross mentions Road and how she’s always being flirty with him, which makes Allen tell him to stop implying things, while sounding unsure about being friends with her or not.

Johnny asks if Allen is embarrassed and reminds Road kissed him. He denies being embarrassed and says that kissing is just a form of greeting for her (he’s sweating nervously while saying so). He adds that, on top of that, he feels like Road sees someone else when she looks at him.

Cross seems amused.

Ryo’s note: This answer is very interesting. It seems to confirm the theory that Road had some kind of connection with past!Allen. We won’t know for sure until it’s revealed, but it does seem to imply such a thing.

≫ The taste of Innocence + the Crystal Type Innocence + Exorcist supplies + Cross suspiciously knowing about the Bookman clan

A reader asks how did Innocence taste like when liquefied; Kanda says it tastes like nothing, similar to water.

Johnny points out the wounds that formed after their Innocence became Crystal types and if they don’t hurt. Kanda says that at the time they don’t, but such wounds won’t heal even with his healing ability – which he concludes makes sense since it’s from where the blood comes out to form the weapons.

Johnny mentions that the Science Division (Komui, more specifically) made Lenalee pills that will prevent anemia. Still on that subject, Allen remembers people had asked what goes inside the bags the Exorcists carry on their uniforms. Johnny says they carry first-aid kits, disinfectants, anti-hemorrhagic meds, and things of the sort. Miranda and Timothy carry sweets with a high intake of calories, Krory carries Akuma blood sweets and Lavi and Bookman asked for migraine meds.

Tiedoll says they are nothing without the support of the Science Division and thanks them. Allen asks about Lavi and Bookman getting migraines. Cross mentions it’s probably from an occupational disease because storing that much information and memories can wreck your head over time.

Allen comments again that he seems to know a lot about the Bookman Clan, and that it’s very suspicious. Cross magnificently shrugs off the question.

≫ Allen’s cheating

Allen gets asked if he becomes bad at luck games (i.e gambling) in case he doesn’t cheat. He says that a bet on luck always rewards something even if gains are small, but Johnny says he’s really bad at things like rock-paper-scissors. Kanda thinks he was just in denial about admitting he’s unlucky.

When scolded by Kanda, Allen says it was a matter of survival and that he never cheated good people on; just bad people.

Johnny says living like this is dangerous and that he should stop; Allen apologizes and says he needs money, and if anything, he can use his Innocence.

Cross is amused and sounds proud. Tiedoll regrets Cross’s influence on Allen.

≫ About Link

Allen gets asked if he has ever seen Link smile, to which he responds he has tried making him laugh/smile, but never could do it. Johnny says that everyone from Central is very serious, especially Link. Tiedoll thinks that it might be forbidden to smile when their superior is Director Lvellie.

Allen goes on to ramble about how Link complained about everything: when he had food on his face after or during eating, asking him to redo reports because they were illegible despite Reever being able to read, scolding him for not drying his hair after going out of the bath because he could get a cold, and how he was a shame for not folding his uniform properly before putting it away.

Cross asks him, “what was he? Your mother?” and Allen says he didn’t get annoyed at him. He wonders if all moms are like this.

Johnny says people were worried when he was assigned to watch Allen, but in the end, Link went along well with everyone and confirms that Allen liked him as well. He also states that Allen’s reports became a lot easier to read thanks to him.

Ryo’s note: Ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary folks: it’s Link appreciation time! *tips hat* Also Allen wondering about how mothers treat their children was just precious, even if it’s a throwaway comment.

≫ The vibe at the Black Order

In the question “Who runs faster, Komui or Reever?”, Johnny says that he thinks Reever is faster; Allen adds that Komui cheats by using Komurin, though. Kanda gets annoyed and tells them they (at the Science Division) should make Komui behave accordingly to his role. Johnny sniffs and says that they try.

Tiedoll says that it’s actually good that Komui is cheerful because the Order used to be a very different place until he took over the post, and that he (Tiedoll) disliked the gloomy aura it used to have. Allen remembers Lenalee commented about it once and asks if the Order was really this different back then. Tiedoll says that even if it’s been built with a noble purpose, human beings aren’t perfect and a lot of things get distorted over a hundred years. He recommends Allen to ask For about it, as she has existed ever since the Order was founded and protects it to this day.

Allen is sad and comments he wants to visit the Asian Branch again someday. Johnny says he’ll go with Allen, but the latter says he would want to eat Jeryy’s food again before that. Cross sneers and wishes good luck.

They wrap it up at this, and both Kanda and Allen look very happy about being done with the Discussion Corner (as noted by Johnny). Tiedoll bids Cross adieu, and says “rest in peace, Marian” – to which he replies “don’t treat me like a ghost”.

Allen says he knows Cross is an illusion created by his weakness, but that he was happy to see him (in reference to the 222nd Night: Searching for A.W - Hypokrisis). Cross tells him not to exaggerate.

Johnny is content that they could finally keep it to the ideal number of pages – something the Discussion Corner is known to usually have trouble with. Tiedoll says that if they had gone overboard, the next issue’s Discussion Corner would be canceled, and wraps up thanking everyone who has cared about Yu so far and asks that people keep cheering for him.

Johnny thanks the readers for sending their questions. Allen and Kanda are relieved it’s over.

Ryo’s note: And that’s it! Man, this got LONG. Thank you very much for reading until the end. Can’t wait for the next Discussion Room, the way Tiedoll worded it makes it seem like it’ll be on the next volume, 28. I’m excited!

If you're interested in seeing more DGM content from me, feel free to check my masterlist here.

[timelordhugs]

Controversial Doctor Who opinion coming right up:

The conclusion to Last of the Time Lords is notoriously one of modern Who’s worst uses of Deus Ex Machina, partly due to the fact that it has two in quick succession and on the face of it they’re utterly ridiculous.

Except…

The thing is, I don’t think they’re really Deus Ex Machinas at all - they’re just really insufficiently explained. The resolution comes as a consequence of several important previously-established elements of the plot, it’s all fairly in keeping with previous Who lore and the story has consequences (at least for the characters on the Valiant, who are the people we are supposed to care about in the story). So, it’s essentially the opposite of a Deus Ex Machina? It’s just that none of this is made clear enough to the viewer.

Firstly, there’s the Doctor’s floaty restoration to youth. Yes, it looks stupid. But the reason everybody chanting at the same time has an effect isn’t just because of some hand-wavey notion of the “power of words” - it’s because the Master’s telepathic Archangel Network, which he used to make people vote for him and keep them submissive during his rule, has connected the minds of everyone on the planet, and the Doctor has spent the whole year telepathically linking himself to it, hence he can harness its power - using the thoughts of everyone in the world - to reverse the changes the master has made to him. Some extent of Time Lord telepathy is definitely an established thing in Doctor Who. The problem is that this is all explained in 1 vague line of dialogue, and that the viewer is only peripherally - if at all - aware of the archangel network, what it is and what it does.

Secondly, there’s the time reset. Which seems like someone just presses a button and everything reverses. But actually, it’s all to do with the paradox machine the Master has built in the TARDIS. See, the Toclafane are the human race’s descendants, so bringing them back to the present day to murder their ancestors en masse is a grandfather paradox on a massive scale, and the Master has to build a paradox machine out of the time travel tech in the TARDIS to sustain it (Doctor Who doesn’t normally do big species-wide grandfather paradoxes, hence we don’t otherwise see Paradox Machines). When the Doctor and co have the upper hand, they free Jack - who is immortal and can get past the Toclafane guarding the TARDIS. Jack shoots the paradox machine, it’s destroyed and so the paradox can’t sustain itself and the timeline collapses, resetting everything to before the Toclafane appeared en masse, the last paradox-free point in the timeline.

There are numerous problems with how this is portrayed. The viewer isn’t clear on what the paradox machine is and what it is supposed to do. The grandfather paradox ramifications aren’t made clear because the Toclafane slaughtering people is shown before it’s revealed that they’re our descendants. Jack being freed and destroying the machine isn’t given the prominence it needs. And once again everything is explained in very brief lines of dialogue that are easy to miss when there’s so much going on.

If these plot elements were better explained and portrayed, and if the seeds were sown more coherently throughout the story, I think it would alleviate a lot of the problems people have with that story.

Finally I think there should have been more scenes at the end to show how the Doctor, Jack, Martha, her family, and Lucy Saxon were affected by the events of the episodes, to show how despite the “reset button” ending there are still consequences.

Anyways that’s my take on the conclusion to Last of the Time Lords. This is just about criticisms of the resolution to the plot, of course you may have other issues with the story apart from this.

[blind-rats]

For the fans, it’s never about the “happy endings”. People misunderstood that it seems to get a good storyline, either it has to be happy or dark. It’s not that simple. It’s not Happy Ending vs Dark Ending. It’s about good storytelling and characterization.

For years, fans cared more about the characters. When a writer only focused on the plot, and not the character, then they would usually sacrifice the progression, the development, the investment, the connection, and the fans who actually watched the show FOR the characters since the beginning. Good storytelling is when it elevates the character (good or bad) into something layered.

Season 1: 

Aaron was arrested for Lilly’s murder was a good thing; something that should be done. The baddie finally was captured, even got hit by a truck. 

Logan wanted to jump off the bridge was a cliffhanger; something that would keep the fans tuned in for the next season. 

Lianne took the money was IN character; she wasn’t a good mother and Veronica finally admitted that. For a whole season, V thought that by solving Lilly’s murder, her mom would return, but in the end, it didn’t matter. V accepted that. It sucks, but it was progress for Veronica that she finally let her go, although she lost the money. There was balance for these plots and these characters, that is why season 1 was the best.

Season 2: 

Keith missed the flight wasn’t about a happy ending -- it was a set up for the next season because he received a mysterious assignment from Kendall. Again, it kept the fans wanting more.

Season 3: 

Logan beat up Gory was a set up for the next season. Like I mentioned before, if the show wasn’t canceled, it would give Logan a darker path or a lighter path in his life. It was supposed to make the fans wanting more; what would happen to Logan? What would happen to him and Veronica? There was a lot of speculation at the time, but it wasn’t supposed to be the ending.

Keith lost the election, according to RT himself, because he helped Veronica. Which was IN character. He helped Veronica, and it ignited another rivalry between him and Jake Kane again. It was supposed to be another set up for the next season, and it wasn’t supposed to be the ending. 

The Movie:

There are so many retcons in this movie that fans noticed and many expressed their displeasure because the storytelling of the movie was a bit weak, BUT they are still IN characters. Yes, there are some changes, obviously you can’t have the same characters from a decade ago. Logan was matured, Wallace was matured, Mac was matured, Weevil was matured, even Piz was matured. 

Veronica was trying to find herself and decide what kind of person she wanted to be. At the end of the movie, she decided that she wanted to help people. And that is why many fans liked the movie because the character progressed into the next stage. The character didn’t stay stasis.

The movie had so many flaws, especially with cheesy dialogues, unimportant cameos, and frankly not so good plots. But when fans have waited for so long for the conclusion of the series, to have characters finally get their deserved/bittersweet endings, is a good thing.

The Books (The Thousand Dollar Tan Line and Mr. Kiss & Tell):

Maybe because the books were (co)written by Jennifer Graham, a woman, a fan, she knew about the characterization of the characters. Fans immediately noticed the differences between her writing and Rob’s writing; which parts were hers, which parts were RT’s. 

Nobody cared nor remember about the professor and the murderer/rapist, but everyone mostly remembered about Haley, Lianne, Aurora, Hunter, Petra, Jade, Norris, Grace, and even The Gutiérrez cousins.

Notice that all of the memorable characters in the books were absent from season 4 because RT didn’t write them in the books and he felt that he didn’t need to explain their absence.

Logan and Weevil had a good relationship, and they both were friendly with each other. That was progress and should be allowed to continue.

Logan and Veronica had stability and a good relationship even when there were some problems. Even when Leo (who was inserted by RT) was there. But it was pretty much good characterization for both of the characters. Something that was missing in season 4.

Season 4:

To those who said that the whole season was great except for the ending, didn’t pay any attention. From the very beginning, fans were being introduced to a lot of new characters that fans didn’t know nor care like it was some sort a new show. They have their own storylines, their own plots, even their own endings. It would be fine if this was a brand new show, but it wasn’t. It was a continuation of the previous installment. The new characters from the books were much more nuanced compare to the new characters in season 4.

The show focused more on the plots instead of the characterizations. They focused more on the special guest stars instead of the regular cast.

The characterization of Veronica was WAY OFF; so different and seems to be regressed to her former self when she was 17 years old. She was rude to everyone including Logan and Wallace. She didn’t know what was going on with Keith. She was nonchalant about filming others having sex. She was using drugs. She was drinking and shooting a gun. She was mocking Wallace and Logan for having stability. She was more interested in having a fling with Leo but she refused to break up with Logan.

Fans would accept Veronica’s regression if there was something happened to her. Why she behave like that? What was the reason? She was having a life she chosen from the movie and the books, and yet she wasn’t happy. Because of what? What kind of trauma that made her regressed? No reason at all? Because normal life is not something that a detective should have? And that’s when the characterization was down the drain. When a character doesn’t have a motivation to do what’s right or what’s wrong, their behavior is considered to be OOC. 

Matty, a new character, a white rich sociopath girl, wasn’t Veronica, and yet the fans were expected to treat and view her like she was Veronica. 

Marcia, the new chief of police was a wasted character. She wasn’t a foil for Veronica, wasn’t an enemy of anybody, and she spent her time in the precinct only.

The assassins from the Mexican cartel had too many plots and not enough characterization, and frankly, the fans didn’t care about them, especially when the writers sacrificed Wallace and Mac.

The death of Logan wasn’t just the only thing that was considered worse, but the fact that they immediately didn’t see the aftermath. They never showed the emotional impact and didn’t even give the characters and the fans to mourn the character. RT tends to leapfrog a plot, even in iZombie, and put exposition instead. 

The death of Logan was wasted, done by the most insignificant villain in the history of the show that didn’t even have a proper characterization and development. But the show promoted him like he was one of the best things ever happened.

Logan’s death wasn’t caused by a heroic moment or something dramatic. It was last minute and immediately swept under the carpet.

Veronica spent her last monologue talking about exposition. it was an ending. It wasn’t something that fans wanted to tune in, unlike the previous seasons, movie, and books.

So the whole notion that every season ended in a dark ending is partly untrue. Plot-wise, it should served their characters. It should elevated them into something better or something darker, but it was interesting nonetheless. Season 4 didn’t have that at all. All the characters were gone, finished. Veronica rode off to the sunset without any kind of satisfying ending, good or bad. Bad, mostly.

This is why Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul and Cobra Kai are praised because of the writings and characterization. We see the progression of the characters of Jimmy to Saul, who is not a good person, but still layered. We see the development of Johnny Lawrence; from a bully to an anti-hero. Or Hawk from a nerd into a bully himself. IT'S THE CHARACTERIZATION AND DEVELOPMENT accompanied by good storytelling. It’s not (just) about happy/sad ending.

It’s also not just about killing off the main character. There’s a reason why fans are still angry with the ending of How I Met Your Mother or LOST. So many people are pissed with the ending of Dexter and Game of Thrones. Don’t forget about The 100, Gilmore Girls, and Arrow. Not because of the dark endings of those shows, or the killing off the main characters. It was because they wasted so many years with the characterization and development just to get subverted endings that the writers seem to pat themselves on the back, ignoring any fans who had been there for the start.

And RT’s betrayal to the fans isn’t just about killing off the main character. It was the way he did it. He was using the fans to revive the show, using the fans’ money to revive it, knowing that he would kill off a popular character, knowing that he would piss loyal fans and the fandom, who had been very supportive with his works and projects, and yet still done it, just because he despised a character he created for so long. Even BBC News knew this trend and called him out. It was the way he exploited the fans that were considered to be a betrayal.

[hurricanery]

If the Sun Comes Up - pt. 2

A/N: Here’s part 2 of If the Sun Comes Up! (AU- interns fic). Thank u thank u thank u for the nice messages about the first chapter, your messages and replies seriously warm my lil heart. I’m still basically planting seeds for some future plot points here, but I hope you enjoy anyway <3

You can read part 1 here.

_______

And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up

And I still don't wanna stagger home

Then it's the memory of our betters

That are keeping us on our feet

_______

Everything’s different when the sun comes up. It all comes to light in a different way. The sun rises, and reality settles in. Like sleep is some magic reset button. And all of the thoughts and decisions, all of the fun, all of the mischief, it all seems worlds away. Like that was then, and this is now.

A funny thing happens though, when that reset button gets skipped. When there is no sleep, and no separation of night and day. When you stay awake for 24 hours straight and you watch the sun come up in real time; you watch the sun rise twice in fact, and there isn’t that detachment. It all flows together like a never-ending moment.

It’s strange, Amelia thinks, to have no reset button. To sacrifice the idea of choosing sleep. Because instead of calling it quits after two sunrises, she finds herself in a bar, of all places, sitting across from the people she’d met just 24 hours ago.

“I’m sooo happy you’re moving in with me,” Maggie yawns hugely next to her. And Amelia bites down on a smile at the confession; at what no sleep and a slim two beers has done to this previously panic-stricken intern. The intern that was currently dealing with the impact of being related to a Grey.

Except the panic isn’t worth it. Because there isn’t any fallout. Lexie practically laughs until she cries, when it all comes to light. When Maggie finally lets it slip about who her birth mother is. Between the delirious fits of laughter, all Lexie can manage is a “good luck telling Meredith that.”

And it only gets more chaotic.

There’s no reset for all of the sleep-deprived decisions. Lexie and Jo, in an impressive and almost falsely confident manner, venture off towards the bar, where a handful of residents and attendings claim territory. The rest of the newly formed crew stick together, in their quiet corner of the bar.

Amelia can feel Link’s eyes on her from across the booth as she brings a warm mug of tea to her lips. But her eyes remain glued down, staring down at the crumpled tea packet on the table. One of those cheap brands. Cheap because it’s a rare request in a place like this. The kind of drink that ends up taking longer for the bartender to make. More time-consuming to prepare than one of those fancy cocktails even, because it ends up that the bartender has to go search in the stock room for a tea bag in the first place.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a strong hand occupies her line of vision. It’s jolting, to say the least. For her focus to be intruded on like that. The tea packet she’d been so comfortably resting her eyes on, now suddenly consumed by Link’s grasp. He covers it completely, picking it up and further crumpling it in his fist before dropping it back down on the table.

The action forces Amelia to look at him. Which is probably his intention, anyway. So she does, and it’s equally as jolting. His expression. Because she’s half expecting it to mirror the harshness of a crumpled tea packet. But it doesn’t. It’s warm. And it’s soft. And it’s slightly curious.

“You should all move in with me.” Maggie’s voice chimes in.

And Amelia rips her gaze away from Link’s.

“Okay, slow down there,” she lets out an amused exhalation. “You were barely on board with the idea of me moving in.”

Winston playfully nudges Maggie’s side, from where he’s seated on the other side of her. And Amelia doesn’t miss the way his hand settles just above Maggie’s knee. The interaction stands out to her, and she decides she’s going to bookmark it for later. Revisit it perhaps when everyone’s feeling more awake and alert.

“Who should all move where?” Lexie slides into the booth next to Link, eyes wide with naivety as she sips a full drink.

“My apartment,” Maggie responds matter-of-factly. “I have one more room open.”

Amelia scrunches her nose at this, and she staggers through her confusion. “Wait. Just one more? What happened, I thought-”

“Well, I already promised a room to Link….” Maggie’s voice is laced with exhaustion and something else, as she turns to explain to Amelia. “When you were in the bathroom….I told him, I-” She hiccups slightly, abandoning her sentence. And Amelia tilts her head to the side quizzically. “Anyway,” Maggie gestures across the booth towards Link. “Meet your new roommate.”

Amelia’s gaze returns to Link, and he shrugs somewhat defensively, muttering under his breath, “Sorry.”

But Amelia doesn’t feel sorry. She feels something else. The notion rises in her chest, and she wants to label it as anticipation.

“Okay, but I have to get out of Meredith’s house!” Lexie slams her drink down on the table. “I’m living with a bunch of residents.”

There’s unanimous murmurs of condolence from the group.

“Oh! Speaking of….” She continues, picking her drink back up and nodding towards the bar. “The plastics attending….Mark Sloan? Just bought me this drink.”

“Ugh,” Amelia’s quick to counter. “Do not go there.”

All heads turn to her, and she feels heat rise in her face as she takes in the curious stares. When she doesn’t follow up on her previous precaution, Lexie speaks up again.

“....Have you?” Lexie swallows, a disconcerted expression on her face. “Gone there?”

Amelia doesn’t miss the way Link surveys her expression, following this particular question. She clears her throat, eyes shifting back to the crumpled tea packet.

“No, no. God no.” Her tone is low as she shakes her head dismissively. “I’ve just….known him my whole life.”

“Oh,” Lexie shrugs, taking another sip of her drink. And Amelia quickly surveys any other reactions to her response.

A general quietness falls across the table and Amelia’s eyes eventually settle back to the tea packet. She can’t quite determine why it seems to be the focal point of her evening. Or morning. Or whatever this was. She wants to claim it’s the vivid yellow packaging that keeps catching her eye.

But, her thoughts are intruded once again when Link suddenly stands up from the table. She peers up at him intently.

“Shepherd,” his tone is gentle as he starts moving away from the table. “I think I promised you a game of darts.”

Amelia blinks. Partly in confusion. But also mostly against her sudden bout of exhaustion.

“I, uh,” she mutters, turning around in her seat as she watches Link make his way around the booth.

“Come on.” He raises his eyebrows at her.

And she bites the inside of her cheek, turning around to set her mug down.

“Okay, okay,” she’s not yet facing him when she stands from the booth. “One game and then I’m out of here.” She looks pointedly at Maggie as she exits the booth. “And I can drive anyone home that needs a ride.”

Maggie offers her a toothy grin, and Winston nods in grateful agreement at the offer. Amelia steps away from the table, and tries not to mirror the smug look on Link’s face.

“One game,” she repeats.

And he chuckles a bit, proudly.

“I don’t know….” he lets her lead them across the bar, towards the wall that’s filled with dart boards and other bar games. “You’ll probably want a rematch….when I beat you the first time around.”

Amelia feigns shock at his words. But really, somewhere deep down, she’s suppressing her gratification. Because he’s feeding into her competitive side completely.

“We’ll see,” she says, as she collects the darts and starts separating them.

She hands Link his portion of the game’s pieces and he mimics her words back to her. “We’ll see.”

_______

It ends up that uninhibited decisions turn into concrete plans. Link and Lexie move into the apartment. And Amelia adheres to her pride that she was the first choice in the matter, and that everyone else just happened to follow suit.

She wakes up in the new apartment on this particular morning, and it takes her a moment to adjust to her surroundings. She groggily registers that the unfamiliar space around her is, indeed, her own bedroom.

Her alarm blares again loudly, after it’s been snoozed repeatedly for the last 15 minutes, and she aggressively shuts it off. Sitting up in bed, she throws on a cardigan before shuffling out of her room and down the hall, towards the shared space of the apartment.

“Gooood morning,” Maggie practically sings, her voice an irritating level of cheerful for the early hour.

As Amelia rounds the corner into the small kitchen area, her tired eyes settle on Maggie, where she occupies one of the stools at the counter. All she can manage to mutter is a slight “mhm,” in acknowledgement of the greeting.

She reaches into the cupboard for a mug, before filling it from the coffee pot that’s already been prepared. Once her mug is full of the steaming liquid, she turns back around to face Maggie. She leans against the counter as she brings the cup up to her nose, inhaling the scent and closing her eyes in gratitude.

The sound of Maggie’s bedroom door creaking open eventually shakes her from her blissful moment, and then her expression quickly turns to one of shocked amusement. Because her eyes settle on Winston, as he exits the bedroom and enters into the main room. He’s dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing the day before, and Amelia looks him up and down, biting her lip in excitement, like she’s just remembered where she’s hidden the last piece of a puzzle.

“Ha,” Amelia’s delighted revelation sounds gravelly, the sleep still evident in her voice. “You don’t live here.”

She shifts her gaze to Maggie, who offers a pleading look in return. And then she looks back to Winston, who has since halted in the doorway. She can’t hold back the raspy sounding chuckle that escapes her lips. “I get it. You guys are sex friends. It all makes sense now.”

Winston scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly. And Maggie blinks, dumfounded. She stands suddenly, stepping away from the kitchen counter, like she’s desperate to remove herself from this situation.

“I’m gonna go shower. Don’t want to be late,” Maggie mutters.

Amelia just smiles further, eyes shifting playfully between the two, before she turns to walk back to her room. She raises her coffee mug slightly above her as she walks away, like she’s motioning a ‘cheers’ to the air. She tilts her head back once more in their direction, before she disappears from the kitchen, and sarcastically repeats Maggie’s greeting from before. “It is a good morning.”

Maggie rolls her eyes, but follows after her through the hallway, turning into the bathroom.

“Let me know when you’re done!” Amelia announces when she reaches her room. “I want dibs on the shower next!”

_______

Amelia finishes her coffee, and as she sets her empty mug in the sink, her impatience steadily rises.

“Maggie!” She yells, as she returns to the hallway. “You’re gonna make us late!”

There’s no response, but she hears that the shower is still on, and she even hears music coming from the bathroom. She finds the music choice odd for Maggie, and also finds it odd that Maggie is even the type of person that listens to music while she showers.

“Maggie,” she tries one more time, knocking her fist against the door.

There’s no answer.

She sighs, glancing at her watch. And then she decides to push the door open slightly, stepping into the small bathroom. “Maggie are you almost done?! I’m just going to brush my teeth real quick while you’re in there,” she announces loudly, over the music, as she reaches for her toothbrush on the sink.

“Um, not Maggie.” A surprisingly deep voice sounds from the other side of the curtain as she starts brushing her teeth.

And oh, that’s Link. “Shit, sorry! I thought you were Maggie! Wow, I just barged right in-”

“It’s fine” he interrupts, and then Amelia hears the water get shut off. “Could you, uh, actually hand me a towel though?” A dripping wet hand shoots out from behind the shower curtain and Amelia just stares at it, her toothbrush falling slack between her lips.

“Hello….? Towel?”

“Uh, right. Here.” She mutters around her toothbrush.

Blinking from her daze, she slowly reaches for a towel and hands it to him. And then suddenly the curtain is sliding open and Link is climbing out of the shower, towel around his waist, in all of his soaking wet glory. And holy shit, Amelia thinks, as she not so subtly darts her eyes around the tight space. Attempting to look anywhere but at him. She settles on turning around, and facing herself in the mirror as she makes quick movements of brushing her teeth.

She doesn’t know where the sudden panic comes from. She’s a confident person. Never timid. And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she retaliates against the idea that she’s lost any of her game. Or that she’s the one creating any awkward tension.

Link enters her line of vision through the bathroom mirror, and she feels frozen where she stands. Because, for some reason, he starts inching even closer.

He clears his throat.

“Just need to, uh, grab something…”

She practically jumps out of the way as Link reaches around her for the medicine cabinet.

“Ah, sorry. I’ll get out of your way,” she exhales a sheepish laugh at her own reaction, and tries not to cringe at the way she sounds with her mouth still full of toothpaste.

Link finally moves to exit the bathroom, and Amelia wants to sigh in relief, as she resumes her position in front of the sink. But she doesn’t. She holds back. And from her peripheral, she can see him pause in the doorway.

She turns her head in his direction. And he smirks at her before he leaves.

“Shower is all yours.”

The bathroom door clicks shut and Amelia spits harshly into the sink.

_______

Carpooling is apparently a thing they do now. They arrive at the hospital, and everyone piles out of Maggie’s car, beginning to cross the parking lot.

“Hey!” Jo’s breathless voice sounds from somewhere behind them as she locks up her own car and jogs to catch up with the group. She steps into pace with them, walking next to Link. “Whose service are you guys on today?”

“Neuro. With Shepherd,” Winston responds.

“Same here!” Lexie actually sounds excited.

“Okay, but why are we all on Shepherd’s service?” Jo mutters.

Everyone turns towards Amelia, as if she knows the reasoning behind her brother’s request. She just shrugs nonchalantly.

“Someone a little let down that they aren’t with Karev today?” Link nudges Jo playfully, and Jo feigns shock at the accusation, swatting at his shoulder.

As they enter the hospital, Amelia slows a bit behind the group, letting everyone else venture off ahead of her.

“Not excited about neuro?” She hadn’t realized Link had slowed down with her. “Not exactly my first pick either, but-”

“No, no,” she cuts in. “That’s not it.”

Link just stares at her for a moment, and Amelia almost feels scrutinized by it.

“Oh,” he continues. “Not excited about your brother, then?”

Amelia sighs, questioning to herself when they started getting so personal with each other. And then she cringes at the direction of her thoughts. Because maybe the getting too personal thing had started this morning, following the shower incident.

“That’s not exactly it, either.”

“Not exactly?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Okay, what’s with-”

“Amy Shepherd?!”

Both Link and Amelia turn around, following the voice that’s interrupted their conversation.

Mark Sloan is walking towards them full force, a huge grin on his face.

“Mark?!”

“Amy?!”

“....Amy?” Link mutters under his breath, chuckling at the nickname. And Amelia glances sideways at him in warning.

“The only person that still calls me that is Derek,” she raises her eyebrows at Mark, matching his grin.

“Well, Derek didn’t mention you were in town,” He finally approaches, and Amelia pulls him into a tight hug. They pull apart and Mark looks her up and down. “You look….different than the last time I saw you.”

“You look different, too,” she smirks.

Link looks between the pair curiously.

“And I’m not just in town,” Amelia adds as she steps out his embrace. “I work here now.”

“You work here?! Why didn’t Derek say anything…” Mark gets momentarily distracted by something, or somebody behind them. “Derek!” he yells. “Why didn’t you tell me your sister works here now?!”

Derek approaches, his demeanor reflecting his overall impatience. He completely disregards Mark’s question.

“Why do you people not answer your pages?”

“....And this conversation’s no longer entertaining. Catch up later?” Mark glances at Amelia a final time before stepping away. Then Derek turns towards his sister expectantly.

“When I requested you all on my service today, I expected punctuality.” He raises his eyebrows, and when Amelia offers no response, he continues. “I have a patient being admitted today. She’s had a sudden onset of seizures. We don’t know the cause. But we need to figure out the cause.”

There’s slight hesitation at his instructions.

“Okay, you! Dr….” his eyes shift down to glance over Link’s ID badge. “Dr. Lincoln. I want you to grab the rest of the interns and head to the library. Starting now, you all are in charge of research. Anything, I mean anything, you can find on this. Case studies, research papers, all of it. Just….find something for me.”

Link nods respectively, and he begins to turn towards Amelia.

“And Amy,” Derek’s eyes settle on hers, in an almost disdainful way. “You’re with the patient.”

Amelia is stunned for a moment, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“You want me to do what, exactly?” She steps forward towards Derek, who mutters under his breath in frustration. “Babysit your aneurysm? Because my time is worth way more than-”

“An aneurysm, is the last thing this is-”

“And what makes you so sure of that?!” She looks between his eyes incredulously.

“You think this woman’s just been walking around with a ruptured aneurysm-”

“I didn’t say ruptured-”

“Well if it’s not ruptured, she’d likely not have any symptoms at all, so your logic makes absolutely no sense.” Derek raises his eyebrows, like he’s won the argument.

“I’m just saying! I did a research paper on this. Similar case. Sudden onset of seizures. No prior history. But, this woman fell and-”

“I never said my patient had a fall.”

“Well did you ask her that?”

“Amy,” Derek breathes, exasperated. He tries to move around her, completely done with the conversation.

But she blocks his movements. And he gives her a blank stare. While Link stands off to the side, looking between the two uncomfortably.

“Derek.” She retorts, the frustration in her tone highly evident.

“Take my patient to CT. And then stay with her, while she gets transported to a room. You can manage that, right?”

Amelia bites her tongue, nodding numbly. She refrains from voicing everything she wants to say, and she tries to fight off the emotions that arise as Derek steps around her. She feels defeated. And small. Which was typical lately, following any interaction with her older brother. She curses herself for thinking it would be any different, now that she was here under specific circumstances. Professional circumstances. Hand picked for this surgical internship out of a large pool of equally impressive applicants. But it’s not different. If anything, it’s even more demoralizing, to be met with this discouragement both personally, and now professionally.

Derek steps away and she’s left standing there with Link.

“Your brother is….kind of a jerk.”

Amelia rolls her eyes, pushing past Link.

“Shepherd, wait-”

She ignores the way he calls after her, and she keeps walking. Because she has a patient now. A patient who needs a head CT.

_______

Link finds her about a half hour later. She’s walking from CT with a stack of scans in her arms. She nods a greeting at Link as begins walking with her.

“Hey! So, we've all been in the research library, could probably use your help-”

“I was right,” she says simply, shaking her head. “It’s an aneurysm. It’s tiny, but it’s there.”

Link doesn’t hold back his surprise. “Wow, how’d you-”

He’s cut off again when Amelia turns to him, forcing the scans over into his hands.

“What are you-”

“Make sure Derek gets these.”

“....You don’t want to hand them over yourself?” Link objects, trying to give them back to her. “Tell him you were right?”

“Nah,” she breathes, turning away from him. “I want off his service.”

Link comes to a halt in the middle of the hallway, watching her continue in the opposite direction. She turns around, facing him once more before she’s off again.

“Just please, hurry. He needs to see those now.”

_______

Several hours later, after her shift has ended, all Amelia wants is a peaceful evening. The first thing that comes to mind for her, when seeking this, is chamomile tea.

After changing into her sweats, which includes her favorite Harvard sweatshirt, she wanders down the hall to the kitchen to begin her evening routine.

The kitchen is dark, so she flips on one of the dim lights before she starts rummaging through the cupboards. To her left, from the balcony attached to the small kitchen, she can hear the sound of Jo’s exuberant laughter, mixed in with a couple of other voices.

A moment later, the sliding glass door is opening and Link is stepping inside. He slightly grimaces at the difference in volume to the quiet kitchen, as the voices outside get cut off with the door sliding shut again.

“Oh, hey,” he mutters, as he sets an empty beer bottle on the counter. “Didn’t know you were up. Are we being too loud?”

Amelia shakes her head, her focus still on her tea set-up.

She knows she’s being standoffish, and probably to Link’s notice, too.

“Weird day, huh?”

Amelia shrugs. And then realizes she has yet to say anything out loud here.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“You seem like someone….that would want to talk about it, no?”

Amelia smirks at this revelation.

“It’s a long story,” she murmurs, listening to the water in the electric kettle start to boil, and then the comforting sound gets interrupted by Jo’s laughter from outside. “Shouldn’t you get back out there, anyway?”

“Sounds like Lexie’s keeping her entertained.”

Amelia leans her back against the counter, peering across the kitchen at him.

“Derek….he’s not a jerk,” Amelia says simply. “I know it seemed that way earlier. But really, there’s more to it.”

Link shrugs, moving to lean against the opposite counter.

“It just seemed like he wasn’t taking you seriously. When you happened to be right, so. Maybe he should have.”

Amelia nods to herself.

“Do you have siblings?”

“No,” he chuckles. “Only child.”

Amelia grins. Something about this piece of information makes sense to her.

“I think sometimes it’s hard to....I don’t know,” she trails off momentarily. “Take the baby of the family seriously?”

It’s probably obvious to Link that there’s more to it. Reasonings that she’s conveniently leaving out. But he nods along with her explanation anyway.

“Anyway, I don’t want you to go on thinking my brother is some bad guy….” she mutters as she turns around to face the kettle again. “Because he’s not, he’s….one of my favorite people, actually, so.”

Link watches as Amelia starts drumming her fingers against the countertop, her eyes glued to the tea kettle.

He steps towards the fridge, because he’d originally come inside to grab another beer.

The kettle clicks off and Amelia’s fingers against the counter come to rest. She places a tea bag into her mug and pours some of the boiling water over it. She turns around just in time to see Link shut the fridge door, empty-handed.

“Aren’t you heading back out there?”

“Yeah, I just….” he gestures towards the kettle. “That looks pretty good, actually. Is there any left over?”

Amelia holds back her surprise, but quickly nods. She reaches over for another tea bag and hands it over to him.

“Knock yourself out.”

She watches Link hesitate, turning the packet over in his palms.

“It’s nothing fancy,” she grins. “Just use the water from the kettle.”

Link nods, reaching for a mug.

“I’m going to bed. Think you can handle it?” Amelia gestures towards the mug in his hands.

And Link rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’ve got it. Is it that obvious that I’m not really a tea guy?”

Amelia bites her lip, and shrugs, turning on her heels and back towards her bedroom.

“Goodnight, Amy.” She can hear Link snicker from the kitchen. And the use of the nickname causes Amelia to halt in her tracks. She slowly rounds the corner back into the kitchen.

“Don’t even.” Her voice is tight with astonishment. “Do you want me to start referring to you as Atticus? Because I will.”

The threat causes Link to falter only a little. And then he grins.

“Try again,” she mutters.

“Okay,” he’s laughing now. “Goodnight, Amelia.”

She thinks it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. Or called her by her first name at all. She’s been so used to hearing him refer to her as ‘Shepherd,’ that the sound of her first name falling from his lips actually stirs something inside her. She convinces herself that that’s it. That’s the reason it stuns her a little. It’s simply because she’s not used to it. Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that she enjoys the way it sounds.

She can’t help the smirk that crosses her face, as she repeats his sentiment. She turns back towards the hallway, an amused edge to her voice.

“Goodnight, Link.”

//

[wisteria-underground]

The Germa 66 storyline has been really hit or miss for me. When it’s good, it showcases the value of backstory arcs, which, for me, is to add depth and a greater understanding of a character. When the arc misses the mark, however, it is a disappointing reminder that backstories don’t always serve a purpose and instead becomes a sort of plot bloat. 

But let’s start with the good. I think I’m probably in the minority on this one - and, indeed, this runs counter to my own usual take - but one scene that I thought really worked well was the Cosette dinner scene. 

In this scene, the five Vinsmoke siblings are seated together around a table, eating a meal. Sanji tells Niji to finish the food leftover on his plate. When Niji refuses, citing the chocolate he ate before the meal and his disgust with the potato sauce, Sanji admonishes him further, calling him a spoiled prince. Niji then calls the head Chef, Cosette, over, and throws his plate of uneaten food at her head. Sanji catches the plate just before it hits Cosette’s face, and the food falls to the floor. He shouts, “Are you trying to leave a scar on this beautiful lady’s face?” He then calls the dish by its proper name, Aligot, describes its nutritional value and the labor that goes into its preparation, and concludes by eating a sample from the floor, telling Cosette, “The seasoning you chose for this...perfection.” 

Niji declares that Sanji, having gotten used to keeping company with plebians, brings shame to the Vinsmoke family. Sanji replies that the Vinsmokes are the ones that shame Sanji, and lists the qualities that the Vinsmokes exhibit that are antithetical to Sanji’s being: Being too spoiled to eat; harming women; and treating others as expendable “lessers” from a position of extreme privilege.

Later that evening, Sanji comes across Cosette’s body in the hallway. She is unconscious and has been severely beaten. Yonji, standing nearby, confirms that Niji beat up Cosette as a way of getting back at Sanji.

So. Lets. Talk. About. This. There. Is. So. Much. To. Unpack. 

Gender, Class, and Privilege

If we take Sanji’s words at face value, he blocks the plate that Niji throws at Cosette because it’s wrong to harm a woman (and, particularly, a beautiful woman.) However, Cosette is not just a woman: she is a servant, and she is helpless, by definition of her social station, to defend herself from the abusive whims of her master. Her gender and her class cannot be separated, and thus Sanji’s motion to protect a woman, in this instance, cannot be separated from his commitment - demonstrated numerous times already in the series - to protecting the weak from the strong, and his rejection of the notion of royalty as betters. When he speaks about the food Cosette has made, and when he addresses Cosette directly, he does so as one professional to another - in other words, as an equal. In a single frame, Sanji aligns himself with the common class, with the working class, and with the specific vulnerabilities of working women. This is made explicit when Sanji repudiates the Vinsmokes: for him, protecting women, practicing humbleness, and class equality are all interconnected values that make up his wider worldview and inform his identity. 

Revisiting Sanji’s Backstory

One the whole, Oda has done a great job of drawing parallels between Sanji’s current storyline and his previous character flashback in ways that strengthen and deepen both. Reading this scene, for instance, recalls the very first time we see young Sanji on board the cruise ship. Niji refuses to eat his (expertly prepared) meal now; Sanji refused to eat leftover scraps then. Sanji lectures Niji now; he himself was lectured by a fellow cook then. Sanji learned his lesson about wasting food; Niji does not. Niji is what Sanji was. 

Why is this important? Why make a link between Niji and Sanji? Because it confirms that Sanji was a Vinsmoke, and becoming a not-Vinsmoke was a process. Despite being different from his father and siblings in some fundamental ways, and despite being victimized by them, young Sanji still internalized and exhibited the values that, by his own words, define the Vinsmoke line, just by being raised in that environment. He has to unlearn being a Vinsmoke. As is revealed in later chapters, Sanji’s difference from his siblings is partly due to nature. But a lot of it is nurture as well. Under the Vinsmokes’ influence, he was one type of person. Under Zeff’s, he became another. And he holds values that are uniquely his own. Sanji is who he is in large part because he chooses to be. 

The Vinsmokes and Raising the Stakes

Love ‘em or hate ‘em, I think we can all agree that the Vinsmoke brothers are jerks. Jerks and bullies, with zero compunction over hurting Sanji in any way possible, either directly or indirectly. It is entirely in keeping with their characters, therefore, that Niji beats up Cosette and leaves her for Sanji to find. The action raises the ante. Not only is Sanji shackled; not only is his chosen father-figure in danger; but the Vinsmoke brothers make it clear that any resistance from Sanji will result in harm to those he aids. Sanji may not care about danger to himself, but we know he would not deliberately put those in danger who are helpless to defend themselves.

Is using the “beat-up female character” trope sexist? Yes. Do I wish, a little bit, that the Cosette character had been male? Yes. Does this specific set-up tell the story in the most effective way? I’d argue yes. Had Oda used a male head chef, he could have avoided depicting abuse to a minor female character. But only by using a female character could he have tied together the thematic triad of chivalry, class, and privilege that are central to Sanji’s Germa 66 story arc. 

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 20)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary:  This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: So, here’s hoping you guys don’t hate this lol. Really, thank you for reading, hope you like it, and I look forward to hearing from you guys!

Sorry for posting this kinda early (just as it becomes saturday lol) but I suck at scheduling on tumblr and I can’t upload it tomorrow today morning. Thank you for understanding!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr​ @samsationalwilson​

“I haven’t gotten a chance to congratulate you in person.” Freydis tells you as you approach a smiling Valdís and a few other women from the apothecary.

You offer a side smile, “You could have earlier,” You point out, meaning her previous approach to the throne. “But you were too busy reminding Ivar of what rewards pain brings, so I understand.

She stops on her tracks, and you turn around with a raised eyebrow. She doesn’t deny it, you will grant her that.

For once, being the one with the knowledge, being the one certain and with solid ground under their feet; it feels like a small victory, you won’t lie.

“Don’t keep secrets from me, Freydis.” You warn her.

“Witch!” Valdís calls you over the ruckus of the ongoing feast, before ducking out of the way of an elder woman’s hit. The shieldmaiden smirks, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I meant my Queen.”

You shake your head with a laugh, and when you approach the shieldmaiden stands. She embraces you before you can react, and how you almost don’t reach her chin makes you feel once again like you are in a land of giants.

“Congratulations, may the Gods bless you both,” She whispers, honest and caring and utterly motherly in that brash way of hers. “For the woman you are, witch, I don’t think there could be a better man. Nor a better woman for the man he is.”

“You seem sure.”

Valdís shrugs, as if the answer is simple, obvious to all.

“He’d step over a less prideful woman, but a dumber one would get killed before long,” She whispers, face close to yours and eyes knowing as she smirks, “You’d shake off the fool that tried silencing you, but would scorn the one that didn’t challenge you.”

You remember when Sieghild heard of your betrothal to Narses, how she told you to fight, to fight the men in Greece, to fight the notions they had of you, to fight Narses; and you how retorted he was a good man that loved you, and that you wouldn’t fight him. Your mother’s words from that day echo in your head, certain and prophetic, you wouldn’t give your love without a fight.

You only look at Valdís with a slowly growing smile on your face, before questioning, “You speak so surely, yet I’m the arrogant little witch?”

“Well, you are small.”

She laughs at your affronted expression, and with an arm over your shoulders guides you to the table where the other women you’ve come to know and care for sit, who congratulate you and bow their heads in greeting. Before long the conversation between the women continues on other topics, and you allow yourself to drink and laugh and forget you are supposed to feel chained.

When you return to Ivar’s side, you find his eyes trained somewhere behind you, and even a blind woman would know his gaze -and his thoughts- linger on the stranger that embraced you.

“Who was that?”

You sit at his side and thank a thrall that hands you a goblet of mead with a smile, before answering, “Valdís, a shieldmaiden. A…a friend.”

“I don’t recognize her.”

“But you do recognize Freydis.” You blurt out before you can trap the words behind your lips, and Ivar turns his eyes to you.

“The slave.” He states, but it is a question. You nod, and adjust in your seat, trying to rid yourself of the nervous energy.

“She’s beautiful, surely not easy to forget. You’ve seen her with me before, yet you never told me you knew her,” You insist, careful eyes watching over the ongoing feast. When Ivar stays silent, you turn your gaze to him and find him smiling at you, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

From his throne, Ivar leans towards you, his hand moving your hair out of the way and his mouth almost by your ear as he whispers,

“If I didn’t know better, wife, I’d think you are jealous.”

“But you do know better.” You bite out and Gods, even a deaf man would hear the truth behind your words.

____

You are escorted in a truly bizarre fashion to your now shared room with Ivar, but you write it off to being some Norse tradition you couldn’t for the life of you understand, and try only not to flinch when the door to the rooms closes behind the last of the warriors, leaving you alone with your husband.

For the first time since you arrived in this kingdom of cold and death, you allow yourself to look at the bed in the King’s rooms.

It looks warmer than yours, spacious and surrounded in dark wood posters, with a leather panel on top. Are those chains hanging over it?

“Wife.” Ivar calls, taking your eyes off the bed and stalling the panic that started to set in your heart. You are still wondering what the chains are for, though.

You turn to him, joining your hands in front of you so you can make them stop shaking. He only signals for you to approach him where he stands, and you hesitate for a moment before you do so, taking him in.

He is a handsome man, and ever since Aneridge, much to your chagrin, you have known you want him. Even after he has imprisoned you, it would be a lie if you said you didn’t wonder what it would take to have the Viking underneath you, or the different ways you could make his proud façade crumble. If only, at times, in fantasies when you can be the one in power, or in rarer ones when you imagined what he could do to try and make you surrender to him.

Gods, infuriating and terrifying a man as he proves to be, you want him, like you have wanted no other.

Still, your father taught you the first sign of a people enslaved and defeated is when they go willingly to their enemies’ temples, to their enemies’ beds. You refuse to admit that you willingly lay with the man that took you captive, that forced you to be his wife.

When you walk in shaky legs until you stand before him, he says nothing, but a hand on your shoulder makes you turn your back to him.

It is with awkward gentleness that he moves your hair to the side. Not the tenderness of a cruel man failing at pretending, no; but rather the uncertain one of a man that knows nothing but war.

His fingers start making quick work of the laces at the back of your dress, and hoping you can make him ignore the tremble of your breath at his touch, the goosebumps on your skin at the ghost of a caress that goes down your spine; you ask,

“W-What do you Vikings do?” He hums in question, and you explain yourself, “For…for a bedding ceremony, or whatever it is.”

“We just went through it.”

“Your people have a reputation. Forgive me for thinking the loosening of a dress seems…tame.”

Ivar chuckles at your words, lowering his head and closing his eyes for a moment. Few times you’ve been able to make him laugh, and you’ve counted and cherished each one, but you do realize there’s something different about this time.

He’s tense, uncomfortable. Uncertain.

“Will you make me lay with you?” You ask, startling yourself at the brashness. Ivar shakes his head, a guarded coldness taking over his expression as he steps away from you. Still, against your every instinct, you push on, “You surely don’t have any qualms about forcing yourself upon me.

The way he says your name, a warning and a threat all in one, it makes your breath falter. You’ve never heard your name on his lips like that, like the warning sound a cornered beast makes before striking.

But you will sooner die than let a man make you fear him. So, you press,

“You abducted me and forced me to become your wife, you’ve shown you care not for my freedom to make a choice. Your honor or your desire to have me want you to aren’t stopping you.

An honest and shame-filled part of you knows you are only being like this because you hate being reminded of how close to surrender you’ve allowed to come. Wanting the man that took you captive, softening your heart for the King that forced you to be his wife, letting yourself feel something for the monster that took you from your people and home...you have no choice left but to remind him -and yourself- that you are no willing wife, no enamoured maiden.

“I can’t.”

You lift your eyebrows, the simple words stealing all words from your head.

“What do y-…?”

“Useless legs and useless cock,” He interrupts, tone disdainful as he gestures to his own body, “Boneless. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the rumors.”

You shake your head mutely, for it is true no one has spoken of them to you.

He shrugs, the movement forced and unnatural.

“Well, it does not matter, now you know,” Oh, but it matters quite a lot, you gather. Still, you will say nothing of it, partly because you truly don’t know what you are supposed to say. Ivar doesn’t seem to want any words either, for he gestures towards you, “It is late and you are tired, go change.”

Who would have thought your wedding night would be the one night you actually obey him. You slip past him quietly until you are behind one of the partitions, and hear the telltale sounds of him settling in a seat by the hearth at the side of the bed as you start untangling your hair from the crown of flowers.

Shaking fingers trace over the dying and bloodied petals, and the reminder that, through a cruel twist of Fate, your Gods were here with you today; it calms you, it comforts you. It makes a small and easily quietened part of you regret the outburst.

You shrug off the red dress and leave it carefully folded for the thralls to pick up tomorrow, and put on the thin nightgown that will do nothing to protect you from Kattegat’s cold.

Your return to the King and find him sitting, with his hand by his mouth clearly thinking about something. When he sees you, he gestures with his hand to the bed.

“You can go ahead and sleep,” He instructs, and you nod your head and, with heavy limbs, move to the bed. But he stops you before you can move far with a call of your name, “If you dare try to divorce me on grounds of me not sleeping with you, I-…don’t.”

“Could I?”

“I’ll kill you if you ever try.” He promises, and it is a threat not for a second you believe to be a lie.

You accept his words with a curt nod, and realize you hadn’t actually thought of that. Being able to divorce him, not him killing you, of course.

That should have been your first thought, the rope thrown over the side of the boat that could help you climb to freedom. But you didn’t think of that, you didn’t think that at all, and it frightens you, the possibility of not seeing opportunities to escape for something as fickle as…

Never mind that. You close your eyes and, after considering your next words carefully, you insist,

“You know you don’t need a cock to sleep with a woman.”

“I will not lay with another woman that cannot stand to even touch me,” He states without hesitation, and though a part of you is dying to ask the story behind the words he speaks, you bite your tongue. “That is not what I want.”

“What is it you want, then?” You ask, turning around. And for the first time you do not demand to know the answer, you don’t intertwine accusations with the question. Your eyes search his and your voice hushes, “What did you marry me for? What do you want from me, Ivar?”

“I wanted to keep you at my side, make you my wife.”

But you shake your head stepping closer before you realize what you are doing. Your voice is quiet, soft, true, as you ask,

“Tell me, please. What do you want from me?”

His jaw clenches, and you notice his hands stay stiffly grasping at the armrest of his chair. His eyes search yours and the vulnerability in them shatters at something within you.

“Kiss me.” He whispers. A dare, a command, a plea.

It is not an answer to your question. And yet, Gods, is as honest an answer as you could ever get.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a shaky exhale, but you still step forward, closer, with certain steps.

Ivar stays still, as still as a marble statue and you reminisce of those first days in Aneridge, and how you thought you could shatter him with but a flick of your wrist.

But the realization that he could do the same to you settles within you like a rock on your stomach. No wrath, no fury, no cruelty, no King may have been able to make you cave, but…the vulnerability in his expression, the longing in his voice, the feeling of being lost written in his eyes, Ivar; makes your walls crumble and your heart stutter its beat.

You search his eyes and with one last shaky breath you lean down and press your lips to his.

He stiffens under your touch even if it wasn’t unexpected, he lets you lead his mouth moving against yours even if today he kissed you in front of a whole kingdom.

And you think of how many times you wanted to be the one to kiss him. There’s no use for lying, not anymore, not to yourself.

You think of Aneridge, and the foreign man you met when you lived in that fantasy where neither of you had names or lives outside of the two of you; and you know that if you had caved, if you had felt his kiss, you would have followed that man to the end of the world.

You think of those weeks of living in a limbo, where you could pretend there was no escape and yet lived without the invisible binds that today he set upon you; and you know it was only pride and shame what kept you from admitting you felt unburdened.

You think of the time since the certainty of this being Fate has set upon you, of what laid beyond the endless fight against the titles he wanted you to accept; and you know even if it lacerates at your heart and defies your very nature, you have felt safe, free.

Ivar chases after your lips when you pull away, tilting his head as if unwilling to part from your kiss. His eyes open and meet yours, and you lean closer once again, and kiss him again.

Not because he made you, not because anyone made you, because you choose to.

And with your choice comes a truth. What was it the witch said? It is easy to choose, it is not easy to live with what the choice we made says about us.

When you part a second time, your forehead rests against his and your breaths are one for a few moments.

And with your voice a hoarse whisper, you confess,

“If you had asked, I would have said yes.”

____

So...thoughts? Hope you liked this, really hope I don’t dissapoint with my writing that drags on and on.

Btw, ‘bedding’ traditions in Viking Age Scandinavia, as far as I could find, centered around the couple being escorted to their rooms/bed. Hence, the ‘we just went through it’ dialogue line. There’s so many Viking wedding things (and almost as many Ancient/Byzantine Greek wedding things) that I wish I could have included, but alas, I already ramble a lot with my writing, I don’t wanna bore you.

Thank you for reading, hope you have a nice day/night! Ik this chapter is kinda short and kinda open-ended, but this tuesday as scheduled chapter 21 us up :)

Love you all! <3

[dynamicships]

@sweetsurrcnder​​

Continued from here.

Nick made a mental list of a few colors and patterns for the pacifiers that he might look for whenever it was that he began his quest tomorrow. Breakfast and their conversation would be first. Or rather, coffee would be first before both of those things. He always started the coffee pot before he started making breakfast so it would be ready once he was done cooking. Perhaps before, if it had been a particularly short night of sleep. He watched her slip out of the bed to go use the bathroom before trying to fall asleep again. In his own estimation, she needn’t have worried about another accident even if she had decided to forgo the bathroom trip after her small glass of water. But her peace of mind was more important to him than the semantics of how bladders potentially should or should not work. He had already begun to settle into the bed, adjusting the slightly foreign pillow under his head as he did so, by the time Autumn returned to the room. He gladly welcomed her back into the bed, willing to snuggle as close as she wanted. “And you’re the sweetest baby girl and girlfriend in the whole world. You know,” he kissed her temple as he allowed his eyes to fall shut in search of more sleep, “in case anybody asks.”

The next morning, he blinked awake to faint beams of sunlight creeping into the room and striking his face. Autumn was still asleep beside him. He couldn’t tell for sure, considering she’d angled her lower half away from him in the bed as they had fallen asleep and that much hadn’t changed, but it seemed to him that the bed was still dry. The notion of sneaking quietly out to make breakfast in bed for her struck him, but on the extremely small off-chance that she’d had another accident, he didn’t want to leave her to wake up in the bed alone. So, he settled for pressing kisses to her cheeks, knowing the light, whiskery tickle of his beard was likely to wake her.

The previous night, it had taken Autumn a while to fall back asleep, partly because of the unfamiliar guest bed, and partly because she was nervous about having another accident. Eventually, once she focused on Nick's breathing evening out into a sleeping pattern, and trying to think relaxing thoughts, she managed to join him in dreamland. In the morning, half awake, her nose crinkled, letting out a sleepy laugh as she squirmed under his beardy kisses, not even opening her eyes yet. "Daddy, stop it, you know I only mostly like your beard tickling fun places." She moved a little, turning onto her side as she opened her eyes. "Good morning. Did you sleep okay, after I accidentally woke you up in the middle of the night?" She frowned a little, having purposely worded it that way, but then tried to focus on a positive question, "If we do the laundry today, we can go back to sleep in our own bed tonight, can't we?". She gazed at him uncertainly, as if he'd have changed his mind, in his sleep, somehow, over the last few hours. "Are we still having fancy breakfast? Who wants to do which part? Do you trust me to make coffee?" She added on another layer of questions, knowing he liked to decide things for her, feeling especially timid, giving the events of the night before, "Should I get dressed before or after breakfast? Am I asking too many questions?", she laughed awkwardly.

[arts-dance]

Édouard Manet French: 23 January 1832 – 30 April 1883) was a French modernist painter. He was one of the first 19th-century artists to paint modern life, and a pivotal figure in the transition from Realism to Impressionism.

Born into an upper-class household with strong political connections, Manet rejected the future originally envisioned for him, and became engrossed in the world of painting. His early masterworks, The Luncheon on the Grass (Le déjeuner sur l'herbe) and Olympia, both 1863, caused great controversy and served as rallying points for the young painters who would create Impressionism. Today, these are considered watershed paintings that mark the start of modern art. The last 20 years of Manet's life saw him form bonds with other great artists of the time, and develop his own style that would be heralded as innovative and serve as a major influence for future painters.

Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe  ( Luncheon on the Grass )

A major early work is The Luncheon on the Grass (Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe), originally Le Bain. The Paris Salon rejected it for exhibition in 1863, but Manet agreed to exhibit it at the Salon des Refusés (Salon of the Rejected) which was a parallel exhibition to the official Salon, as an alternative exhibition in the Palais des Champs-Elysée. The Salon des Refusés was initiated by Emperor Napoleon III as a solution to a problematic situation which came about as the Selection Committee of the Salon that year rejected 2,783 paintings of the ca. 5000. Each painter could decide whether to take the opportunity to exhibit at the Salon des Refusés, less than 500 of the rejected painters chose to do so.

Manet employed model Victorine Meurent, his wife Suzanne, future brother-in-law Ferdinand Leenhoff, and one of his brothers to pose. Meurent also posed for several more of Manet's important paintings including Olympia; and by the mid-1870s she became an accomplished painter in her own right.

The painting's juxtaposition of fully dressed men and a nude woman was controversial, as was its abbreviated, sketch-like handling, an innovation that distinguished Manet from Courbet. At the same time, Manet's composition reveals his study of the old masters, as the disposition of the main figures is derived from Marcantonio Raimondi's engraving of the Judgement of Paris (c. 1515) based on a drawing by Raphael.

Two additional works cited by scholars as important precedents for Le déjeuner sur l'herbe are Pastoral Concert (c. 1510, The Louvre) and The Tempest (Gallerie dell'Accademia, Venice), both of which are attributed variously to Italian Renaissance masters Giorgione or Titian. The Tempest is an enigmatic painting featuring a fully dressed man and a nude woman in a rural setting. The man is standing to the left and gazing to the side, apparently at the woman, who is seated and breastfeeding a baby; the relationship between the two figures is unclear. In Pastoral Concert, two clothed men and a nude woman are seated on the grass, engaged in music making, while a second nude woman stands beside them.

Olympia

As he had in Luncheon on the Grass, Manet again paraphrased a respected work by a Renaissance artist in the painting Olympia (1863), a nude portrayed in a style reminiscent of early studio photographs, but whose pose was based on Titian's Venus of Urbino (1538). The painting is also reminiscent of Francisco Goya's painting The Nude Maja (1800).

Manet embarked on the canvas after being challenged to give the Salon a nude painting to display. His uniquely frank depiction of a self-assured prostitute was accepted by the Paris Salon in 1865, where it created a scandal. According to Antonin Proust, "only the precautions taken by the administration prevented the painting being punctured and torn" by offended viewers.[9] The painting was controversial partly because the nude is wearing some small items of clothing such as an orchid in her hair, a bracelet, a ribbon around her neck, and mule slippers, all of which accentuated her nakedness, sexuality, and comfortable courtesan lifestyle. The orchid, upswept hair, black cat, and bouquet of flowers were all recognized symbols of sexuality at the time. This modern Venus' body is thin, counter to prevailing standards; the painting's lack of idealism rankled viewers. The painting's flatness, inspired by Japanese wood block art, serves to make the nude more human and less voluptuous. A fully dressed black servant is featured, exploiting the then-current theory that black people were hyper-sexed.[4] That she is wearing the clothing of a servant to a courtesan here furthers the sexual tension of the piece.

Olympia's body as well as her gaze is unabashedly confrontational. She defiantly looks out as her servant offers flowers from one of her male suitors. Although her hand rests on her leg, hiding her pubic area, the reference to traditional female virtue is ironic; a notion of modesty is notoriously absent in this work. A contemporary critic denounced Olympia's "shamelessly flexed" left hand, which seemed to him a mockery of the relaxed, shielding hand of Titian's Venus.[10] Likewise, the alert black cat at the foot of the bed strikes a sexually rebellious note in contrast to that of the sleeping dog in Titian's portrayal of the goddess in his Venus of Urbino.

Olympia was the subject of caricatures in the popular press, but was championed by the French avant-garde community, and the painting's significance was appreciated by artists such as Gustave Courbet, Paul Cézanne, Claude Monet, and later Paul Gauguin.

As with Luncheon on the Grass, the painting raised the issue of prostitution within contemporary France and the roles of women within society.

A Bar at the Folies-Bergère (Un Bar aux Folies-Bergère), 1882, Courtauld Gallery, London

In his last years Manet painted many small-scale still lifes of fruits and vegetables, such as Bunch of Asparagus and The Lemon (both 1880). He completed his last major work, A Bar at the Folies-Bergère (Un Bar aux Folies-Bergère), in 1882, and it hung in the Salon that year. Afterwards, he limited himself to small formats. His last paintings were of flowers in glass vases.

Manet's public career lasted from 1861, the year of his first participation in the Salon, until his death in 1883. His known extant works, as catalogued in 1975 by Denis Rouart and Daniel Wildenstein, comprise 430 oil paintings, 89 pastels, and more than 400 works on paper.

 The grave of Manet at Passy

Although harshly condemned by critics who decried its lack of conventional finish, Manet's work had admirers from the beginning. One was Émile Zola, who wrote in 1867: "We are not accustomed to seeing such simple and direct translations of reality. Then, as I said, there is such a surprisingly elegant awkwardness ... it is a truly charming experience to contemplate this luminous and serious painting which interprets nature with a gentle brutality."

The roughly painted style and photographic lighting in Manet's paintings was seen as specifically modern, and as a challenge to the Renaissance works he copied or used as source material. He rejected the technique he had learned in the studio of Thomas Couture – in which a painting was constructed using successive layers of paint on a dark-toned ground – in favor of a direct, alla prima method using opaque paint on a light ground. Novel at the time, this method made possible the completion of a painting in a single sitting. It was adopted by the Impressionists, and became the prevalent method of painting in oils for generations that followed. Manet's work is considered "early modern", partially because of the opaque flatness of his surfaces, the frequent sketchlike passages, and the black outlining of figures, all of which draw attention to the surface of the picture plane and the material quality of paint.

The art historian Beatrice Farwell says Manet "has been universally regarded as the Father of Modernism. With Courbet he was among the first to take serious risks with the public whose favour he sought, the first to make alla prima painting the standard technique for oil painting and one of the first to take liberties with Renaissance perspective and to offer "pure painting" as a source of aesthetic pleasure. He was a pioneer, again with Courbet, in the rejection of humanistic and historical subject-matter, and shared with Degas the establishment of modern urban life as acceptable material for high art."

Art market

The late Manet painting, Le Printemps (1881), sold to the J. Paul Getty Museum for $65.1 million, setting a new auction record for Manet, exceeding its pre-sale estimate of $25–35 million at Christie's on 5 November 2014. The previous auction record was held by Self-Portrait With Palette which sold for $33.2 million at Sotheby's on 22 June 2010.[38]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89douard_Manet

[chipper9906]

Bound To You - Chapter 14: One Last Chapter - Part One

< - - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15

NOTE: Pairings and Ratings Will Change As Story Is Updated

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 11,195

Overall Word Count: 116,704

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (14/15)

Chapter Preview:

Castiel knew there was nothing he could say to help alleviate Dean’s guilt. This was just something he was going to have to feel. So, instead, he reached out across the table, pulling out one of Dean’s crossed arms from under him and intertwining his fingers with Deans. “We can’t change the past, Dean.”

Dean just barely managed to pull the side of his mouth into a smile, reaching out with his other hand and placing it over their combined ones. “Would probably fix a lot of our problems if we could, huh?”

“I don’t know about that…” Castiel uttered softly, finding himself falling into the endless shades of forests in Dean’s eyes. “I quite like where we’ve ended up.”

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Authors Note: "One last chapter!" I said... Yeah...

Basically I, uh, I may have been a bit too confident in my writing abilities? And severely undercalculated how long it would take to write out all that I had planned... 

So... it's gonna be the last chapter: part one and part two. Y'know, like all good books into movies do. (Seriously though, if I tried stuffing it all into one chapter it wouldn't be out till next Thursday at the earliest and would be around 20,000+ words long, so... two parts!)

* * *

They didn’t get married in three months. So, Sam lost his bet, much to a smug Eileen’s delight.

But then they didn’t get married in six months, either.  So Eileen basically handed back the twenty dollars Sam had given her three months prior.

But there was a reason they didn’t get married in that time.

It was because Dean had a plan.

It was a four-step plan, and Dean had a particular date in mind for one of the steps.

Step one he achieved only after a few weeks.

Cas was sat at the kitchen table that Saturday morning, munching blearily on a bowl of ‘Krunch Cookie Krunch’ and glaring out at the world like it personally offended him – Cas was not a morning person, as they quickly found out – when Dean walked into the kitchen and slapped the paper contract in his hand down on the table in front of Cas. Poor Cas startled so hard that he nearly flung a spoonful of milk and soggy cereal across the room, eyes wide awake now that Dean had gifted him a near heart attack at eight in the morning.

“Dean, what on Earth-,”

“Step One,” Dean said with a shit-eating grin, gesturing at the paper he had just put down.

“Step one of… what?” Castiel asked, pushing his half-eaten bowl of cereal away and picking up the piece of paper.

“That’s not for you to know yet,” Dean replied. “Or Sam and Eileen, for that matter. They’ll get to know what step two and step three is before you, though.”

Castiel’s eyes scanned across the paper in his hands, realizing what is it that had Dean looking quite so excited – and also jittery with nerves – as he waited for Cas’s reaction.

“I, uh… I actually went job searching shortly after we took down Chuck,” Dean tells him. “This was the first thing I found that seemed… possible. It’s construction work, here in Kansas. The guy said they rarely ever work out of state, in which cases it’s usually neighboring states anyway. Thought it’d be good to do some physical work, y’know? Not just sitting around at a desk all day; something where I can use my hands and feel like I’m actually doing something. I had the contract ready to sign and everything then, uh… y’know, everything happened.”

Castiel looked up from the contract in disbelief, only able to blink at Dean for a few seconds before his brain caught up to reality. “You… you got a job?”

“Somehow,” Dean said with a sheepish chuckle. “Guy called up to ask if I was still interested in the job offer, as they hadn’t heard from me in a while. Told ‘em I was in an accident and was bed-ridden for a while – which is partly true – but that I was given a bill of clean health and the all-clear to return to work, so… he asked if I still wanted it, and I took it.”

“You got a job,” Castiel repeated once more, staring blankly up at Dean in a way that made Dean wonder if he had misjudged how Castiel would react to the news.

“Um… yes?” Dean offered his answer hesitantly, unsure as to whether he was about to celebrate alongside Cas or suffer through one of their first real arguments as a couple.

It was a relief when Castiel’s face broke out into a huge happy smile – crow’s feet and all – nearly tripping over his chair as he engulfs Dean in a hug that squeezes all the air out of Dean’s lungs.

“I start on Monday, so maybe let’s not suffocate me before then?” Dean wheezes through the hug, returning Cas’s beaming smile as he released Dean from his death grip.

“I can’t believe it…” Castiel mumbled, partly to himself and to Dean. “You got a job.”

Dean snorted. “I’m not that useless, y’know.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s more… what made you go searching for a job?”

“Gotta do something, right?” Dean answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “I mean, if I’m not hunting anymore then I’d just be sitting around all day going crazy.”

Dean could feel Cas go tense under him, the easy-going smile on his face slipping away as Dean’s words replayed in his head. “You… you’re not hunting anymore?”

“No, I’m not. And that’s not something I ever thought I’d say, but… I had been trying to get out before, y’know? Thought I’d ease myself out of hunting, maybe picking up the occasional hunting job every now and then – just had to work up the courage to tell Sammy my plans and get on with it. Then we caught wind of a Vamp nest and… well, you know the rest. I’d like to consider it a ‘wake-up call’. Somehow, I’ve been given a second chance, and I got you as part of it, too? Ain’t no way in Hell I’m risking fucking it all up again to hunt, Cas. This is it. This is our chance - and I’m taking it.”

For a moment, Castiel could only stand there in Dean’s arms, looking up to him in complete and utter shock. Dean Winchester not hunting was more of a pipe dream than anything for him – even just saying it didn’t seem right. Dean Winchester not hunting? It was almost like a paradoxical notion, too unnatural to consider being a part of reality.

And now… Dean had a job. And that in itself felt more like an assurance that Dean was telling the truth than anything else. He was trying, really trying to turn a new leaf, to live a life that he deserves to live – one that involves him.

“You’re giving up hunting… and you got a job…”

“Did I break you, Cas?” Dean asks, waving a hand in front of Castiel’s blank face. “Man, I thought when I told you you’d just say congrats and that’d be that, I wasn’t expecting for you to shut down completely-,”

Castiel cut Dean off by grabbing the sides of his face and pulling forward, leaning up to plant a kiss on Dean’s lips, whose muffled squeak of surprise had Castiel smiling into the kiss. Dean couldn’t help but smile back at the feeling of Castiel’s smile on his lips – which kinda ruined the whole aspect of the kiss – sending the two into hushed giggles of laughter shared between the small space between them.

“Damn, that’s all I gotta do to get a kiss out of you? Get a job? Wait till the paychecks start coming in and you see me filling out my tax forms – won’t be able to get you off of me.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at him, but the smile on his face remained - they often came around Dean, and usually stuck around for quite some time. “What about Sam and Eileen?”

“What about them?”

“Have you told them?” Castiel asked, glancing towards the kitchen entrance and into the hallway that leads to their room.

“Nah, not yet. Wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Do, um… do you think Sam will keep hunting without you?”

That gave Dean pause. Would Sam keep hunting without him? Before, he assumed Sam would just kinda stop since he could no longer physically hunt. Now he can hunt again, but is choosing not to… would Sam still hunt?

The only time Sam had ever really gone on hunts without him by his side was during that shole ‘soulless Sammy�� fiasco, and that version of Sam isn’t one he considers to be his real brother. Would it make him unbelievably, nail-bitingly nervous to know his brother was out on a hunt without him, out of view and out of reach, unable to sense whether his little brother is in danger? Abso-fucking-lutely. But, then again… Sam has Eileen. Eileen is just as gifted as a hunter as they are – raised into the life, just as they were.

“I… I honestly don’t know,” Dean answered. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Cas nodded slowly at his answer, glancing back over to Dean’s job contract on the table. “I’m human now…”

“Uh… yeah…?” Dean said, wondering if Cas was trying to word that as a statement or question.

Castiel sank back into his chair, keeping his eyes fixated on the piece of paper in front of him, drumming his fingers against the table. “I should probably get a job, too,” Cas continued, bringing his gaze back up to Dean.

“You don’t have to-,”

“Maybe not, but I want to,” Castiel argued. “It’s a part of being human. Work to earn your keep. I can’t just… sit around. I’ve always had something to do, Dean. I suppose I could apply for a position at the Gas N’ Sip just outside of town?”

“The Gas N’ Sip?” Dean asked, unable to hide the judgment in his voice at Cas’s career choice.

“This may come as a surprise to you, but I enjoyed my work, Dean. I was given a list of tasks to do. A routine that was easy to follow. Comfortable, and… predictable.”

“You didn’t seem to predict that I was gonna show up one day,” Dean said with the same satisfied grin he wore on said day, dropping down into the chair opposite Cas.

“That… was a surprise,” Castiel agreed. “After you kicked me out of the bunker without giving me a reason, I assumed my role in Metatron’s plan and causing the angels to fall had irreparably ruined our friendship and would be unlikely to see you again.”

That wiped the smile off of Dean’s face. “Cas…”

“There’s no need to apologize, Dean,” Cas stopped Dean’s apology before it could even begin. “I know better now, of course. You did what you had to do for Sam. I understand.”

“Doesn’t make me feel any less shitty for doing that to you,” Dean mumbled down at the table, leaning forward and crossing his arms atop its surface. “I can still remember your face so damn vividly… You were all excited about being in the bunker, gushing about the water pressure and shoving burritos in your face… Seeing you in that damn hoodie and with your beard growing out, and… you just looked so human. So… vulnerable. And I kicked you out…"

Castiel knew there was nothing he could say to help alleviate Dean’s guilt. This was just something he was going to have to feel. So, instead, he reached out across the table, pulling out one of Dean’s crossed arms from under him and intertwining his fingers with Deans. “We can’t change the past, Dean.”

Dean just barely managed to pull the side of his mouth into a smile, reaching out with his other hand and placing it over their combined ones. “Would probably fix a lot of our problems if we could, huh?”

“I don’t know about that…” Castiel uttered softly, finding himself falling into the endless shades of forests in Dean’s eyes. “I quite like where we’ve ended up.”

Dean huffed gently at that, looking down to their joined hands, feeling his fingers run absentmindedly over Castiel’s knuckles. It’s then, his fingers brushing over the soft skin of Cas’s, that the plan for Step Two all seems to fall into place in his mind.

“Yeah…” Dean says out loud, looking back up to meet Castiel’s inquisitive gaze. “Can’t change the past, right? But I got a whole lot of future with you to make up for it.”

* * *

 Step two begins on September fifteenth – as part of Dean’s plan.

He had already booked the week off work for it – and how weird is that? Taking vacation – and then the plan officially began that Wednesday evening, when Castiel returned to the bunker at seven, looking about ready to drop dead after a grueling shift at the Gas N’ Sip.

His plans to drag Dean from whatever he was doing and pull him into bed for a well-deserved nap was ruined when he was met with an anxious-looking Dean sat at the library table, laptop open and spilling out its harsh light into the darkness of the bunker, phone in one hand whilst he chewed incessantly at his nails on the other hand.

“Dean?” Castiel asked as he stepped further into the bunker, pocketing the keys to the old second-hand pick-up truck he had purchased with his own money a month prior into his trench-coat pocket (he and Dean had argued back and forth over the purchase, with Dean insisting he just takes one of the old classic cars from the Men of Letters collection. The argument was dropped when Cas bought up how odd it would be for someone working at a Gas N’ Sip to pull up into work with an expensive classic car from the thirties.)

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked upon reaching the library table.

“Nothing,” Dean answered immediately, which of course meant that it wasn’t ‘nothing’. After a few seconds of disbelieving stares from Cas, he sighed and placed his phone down on the table, rubbing a hand across his face. “Sam and Eileen went out on a hunt.”

“…Okay?” Castiel said, unsure what the significance of that was supposed to be.

Sam and Eileen had decided to stop hunting. Eventually. In no way were they picking up hunts as frequently as they used to, with the idea being that they’d slowly ease out of hunting, leave it to the younger ones, the next generation of hunters, to take on the task they had devoted most of their life to.

“Jody called about a suspected Vamp nest up in Illinois,” Dean explained. “She was too wrapped up with actual police work, and there weren’t any hunters available locally to do it, so… Sam offered to go.”

Castiel pulled out a chair opposite Dean, taking a seat as Dean once again picks up his phone, checking through the messages again like he had the past few hours. “I… I don’t understand. Why are you worried? You’ve been okay the past few hunts?”

“I don’t know, Cas. Something about this one feels… weird. Can’t explain it, just got some gut feeling that something ain't right. Already had it pretty bad, then…”

“Then what?”

Dean answered by flipping his phone around in his hands, offering it out for Cas to take. Castiel takes it, glancing down at the screen to see that the messenger app was open, displaying a text chain between Dean and Sam.

‘Message Received – 4:30 PM’

Sam: ‘Three more bodies now, Dean. THREE.

‘Message Sent – 4:31 PM’

Dean: ‘How is that even possible? You’ve been there, what, two hours?’

‘Message Received – 4:33 PM’

Sam: ‘Yeah, which probably means there are more bodies that just haven’t been found yet.’

‘Message Sent – 4:33 PM’

Dean: ‘So what you thinking?’

‘Message Received – 4:35 PM’

Sam: ‘I’m thinking that Jody’s estimate of a small nest might be a little off the mark. Eileen’s still down at the police station, trying to get some more info on the victims and where they were found. Once we track down the nest we can do some recon, try and get a better estimate of their numbers.’

‘Message Sent – 4:36 PM’

Dean: ‘Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? If it seems big, you call Jody. Don’t try and be the hero and take it on just you two – rope in some more hunters, guilt trip Jody into coming down if you have to.’

‘Message Received – 4:39 PM’

Sam: ‘Say’s the guy who would have charged in guns blazing already at this point.’

‘Message Sent – 4:40 PM’

Dean: ‘Good thing I’m not on the hunt then, bitch.’

‘Message Received – 4:40 PM’

Sam: ‘Yeah, otherwise I might have to drag your ass off a pole again, jerk.’

“And you haven’t heard anything since?” Castiel asked, even though the evidence of that being the case was in his hands.

“Yeah. No calls or anything. I know it’s only been a few hours, but… I can’t help but worry.”

“That’s understandable,” Castiel says, reaching across to hand the phone back over. “But I don’t think there’s any reason to be alarmed just yet. They’re probably just going to get dinner. Sam wouldn’t text you unless there was something new with the case, right? So his lack of communication doesn’t necessarily mean something is wrong.”

“Yeah… yeah. That’s true,” Dean mumbles. “You’re right… I know you’re right.”

“But you’ll still worry.”

“Yep…”

On September seventeenth, the Friday evening of that same week, Castiel returns home to almost the same scene as that Wednesday. Except, this time, Dean is frantically pacing about the library, looking about ready to start tearing out chunks of his hair.

Castiel can’t even get a word out before Dean’s head snaps up at the sight of him, rushing over to grab Castiel’s arm and lead him towards the hallway. “We gotta go, Cas.”

“Wha-,” Castiel tries to slow Dean down, which he does – only barely. “Dean, what’s going on?”

“It’s Sammy,” Dean answers, frantic eyes flickering between Cas and the hallway. “I think he’s in trouble.”

Dean is hurrying off down the hallway before Cas can even respond, huffing out a frustrated sigh at the former hunter before chasing after him. Dean is already tearing through his drawers for clothes when Cas makes it to their bedroom, watching as Dean hurriedly shoves some of their spare clothes into a duffel bag.

“Why do you think he’s in trouble?” Castiel asked calmly, hoping that keeping his voice steady and calm would help relax Dean a little.

It did not.

“This morning, he texted me saying that they tracked down the nest,” Dean answers, not even looking at Cas as he speaks, focused on grabbing his pistol from under his pillow and checking it over before sliding it in amongst the clothes in the duffel. “That was the last text I got. Said he and Eileen were heading in to see what was up and… nothing but radio silence since.”

“That doesn’t mean-,”

“But it could, Cas,” Dean stressed, whipping around to face him, pleading eyes digging into Castiel’s. “Look, I know you don’t want me going out there, okay? I know I promised not to do hunts anymore, but this isn’t a hunt. I have to see if he’s okay, Cas.”

Castiel exhaled sharply, stepping further into the room and letting the heavy door swing shut behind him. “It feels a little bit too much like déjà vu for me; one last hunt… another vampire nest…”

“I know,” Dean said, feeling himself deflate at the way Cas seemed to shrink in on himself. “But I have to do it, Cas. It’s my brother.”

Castiel held Dean’s begging gaze for a few moments more before closing his eyes with a heavy sigh, nodding his head in resignation. “I wouldn’t expect you not to. Not for Sam,” Then, he turns to the wardrobe he and Dean shared, pulling out a few pairs of shirts and slacks for himself, daring Dean to challenge him as he stuffed them into the duffel. “But you can’t expect me not to go, too.”

The knowing grin Dean gives him in return is somewhat surprising, pausing in his packing as Dean leans across the bed to place a chaste kiss on Castiel’s lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it, angel.”

* * *

 Castiel knew Dean was especially worried when he threw him the keys to the Impala with a grunt of, “Here, you drive,” and slinking into the passenger seat before Cas could even look up from the keys in his hands.

Castiel couldn’t say he was too thrilled about the prospect of a ten-hour drive after working a nine-hour shift at the Gas N’ Sip, but… this was for Sam, after all. They were on the road by nine the same evening, headed down the US-36 East for what Cas knew was going to be a grueling and monotonous drive. Dean was all jitters next to him, his leg constantly shaking on the spot as he stares out of the Impala’s windows, the amber streetlights whizzing past only serving to intensify his anxiety.

“Knew I shouldn’t have let them go…” Dean mumbled out loud around three hours into their trip, phone still held tightly in his hands. “I ignored my damn gut, and look where that got me…”

“We still don’t know if anything’s wrong yet,” Castiel tries to assure him, briefly turning his gaze away from the stretch of road ahead to glance over at Dean. “There’s no use torturing yourself over the ‘what if's.’ All we can do is try and track and them down, and then go from there.”

Dean only grunted in response – whether in agreement, Cas had no clue – swiping up and down the brief chain of messages he got from Sam this morning like a new message was magically appear, assuring Dean that Sam and Eileen were okay.

Around the six-hour mark, Dean chucked his phone into the backseat with a frustrated grunt. A sign advertising a nearby rest stop approached overhead, and Dean quickly tapped at Castiel’s arm with the back of his hand, gesturing to the sight before it disappeared out of sight. “Pull over, Cas. I’ll take over.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks, flicking on the indicator and switching to the right-hand lane. “I can keep driving-,”

“Nah, you deserve a break,” Dean cut him off. “Besides, I think I need the distraction right now. Can’t stop thinking.”

Whilst Dean found the constant passing of the lights ahead anxiety-inducing, Castiel found them almost soothing, feeling his eyelids begin to droop as he got comfortable in the passenger seat, the lights of the passing cars beginning to blur together until there was nothing but darkness.

Around the nine-hour mark, just as the horizon was shifting from that dark purplish to the soft orange glow of the approaching sunrise, Dean let his eyes drift away from the road to his angel sleeping peacefully next to him. Castiel has curled into himself on the seat, facing towards Dean with an arm outstretched, his hand having come to a rest atop Dean’s thigh at some point in his slumber. Dean felt his mouth pull into an affectionate smile at the sight of him, finding it much more difficult than usual to return his gaze back to the road.

Somehow, now he was a human with his messy bed hair, tired bags and dark circles under his eyes, and the slightly darker, patchier five o’clock shadow from missing a few days of shaving… Cas never looked more like an angel in his eyes.

“If only you knew, Cas,” Dean spoke softly to the slumbering man next to him, letting out a small chuckle as the exit sign for ‘Pontiac, Illinois’ passed overhead. “If only you knew…”

* * *

Dean gently shook Castiel awake as they pulled into ‘The Delight Motel’ (Dean could already tell from its crumbling exterior that this would not be a delight), waiting for Castiel to come to his senses a little before making an attempt to speak to him. No one can understand the English language five seconds after waking up…

“Here,” Dean said as Castiel wiped the sleep from his eyes, handing him a Styrofoam cup of fresh, hot coffee. “Stopped at a drive-through while you were out; thought you’d appreciate some caffeine.”

Castiel took the hot beverage eagerly, not even bothering to check its temperature before taking a hearty swig of the dark, rich drink.

“I asked them to put some honey in it too, before you ask,” Dean told him before taking a swig of his own black coffee. “You freakin’ weirdo…”

Castiel pulled the coffee away from his lips with a pleased hum, licking the few dregs that had clung to his upper lip. “Did I mention I love you?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice, yeah,” Dean intended for his reply to sound as sarcastic as possible, but the smile that crept onto his face transferred over to his tone. He took another swig of his coffee, gesturing with cup in hand to the worn-down sign of the Motel. “This is the place Sam and Eileen set up camp: room number seventeen.”

“We’re not going straight to the nest?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head. “I’m gonna book another room for the night. Thought it’d be best we go have a look around their room, see if there’s any clues to where they went. Besides, there’s always the chance that they’re just chilling in there and Sam just broke his charger or something right?”

Judging by the fact that Dean gets no answer upon knocking on the door – even going so far as to use their super special secret knock – even Castiel has to admit that maybe everything isn’t alright. After a few tense minutes of Dean attempting to pick the lock to the room, with Castiel standing watch and praying that no nosy motel attendants peer out the flimsy plastic vertical blinds, they finally break through into the room only to find…

Nothing.

Well, not nothing. The room was empty of occupants, but evidently lived in. The ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign still hung from the outside of the door, and so there had been no housekeeping staff to clean out the boxes of Chinese take-out cartons from the night before that had been hastily shoved into the trash, or the few bottles of beer still sat atop the mini-kitchen counter in the corner of the room. The double bed sat in the middle of the room was made, but clearly in a rush and clearly by Sam – Dean recognized that scruffy bed making style anywhere. For a moment, Castiel almost entertained the idea that they had already left, but then the sight of Sam and Eileen’s shared duffle stuffed underneath the motel’s rickety table, that of which still contained their spare clothes, Sam’s laptop, and a few research books, quickly disproved that theory.

“Nearly twenty-four hours,” Dean says, picking out a flannel shirt from the duffel and staring down at it with his jaw clenched so hard he could feel a headache coming on. “It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since they left for the nest, Cas. And they haven’t texted us to let us know they’re alright. It’s time to panic, right?”

“Maybe a little.”

* * *

 Castiel would be lying if he said arming up for this hunt didn’t make him a little nervous. Sure, he had years of battles under his belt, but… hunting without being able to rely on his powers was always a nerve-wracking thought. Being mortal never felt more… inconvenient. Once upon a time, he would have simply tracked down Sam’s location, flown to him and Eileen, and smited every Vampire in eyesight, then heal any potential wound either of the two may have been inflicted.

Now… now he can only sit in the passenger seat of the Impala, leg bouncing in uncontrollable nerves as the dark of night begins to descend on them (because of course this would go down when it was dark, why wouldn’t it?) as they approach Sam’s last guess of where the Nest could be from the extensive list they had checked all day.

This was the last possible location on the list. If there was no sign of a Vamp nest, no sign of Sam and Eileen here… Well, truth be told, he didn’t know what they would do.

Castiel found himself so caught up not only in his nerves, but at the overwhelming desire to get Sam and Eileen back to safety, that he didn’t even notice the familiar barn that the Impala rumbled up to in the middle of nowhere. Desolate in location, its aged wooden exterior looking about ready to fall apart at even the gentlest blow of the wind. This was a barn that Castiel absolutely should have recognized, but… he was too preoccupied in his thought to.

Not even as he clambered out of the Impala, pulling out a machete from her trunk as Dean did the same, did Castiel notice the unusual golden light spilling from inside the barn. His heart pounded relentlessly in his chest, an annoyingly loud noise in his ears that made it harder to pick up any potential sounds from within the barn. Dean had only just begun to close the trunk to the Impala before Castiel was already storming towards the barn, eyes darting around its exterior with his hand’s gripped snugly around his machete’s leather handle, ready to swing at even the smallest of movements.

Castiel paused at the old wooden doors, taking a deep breath to ready himself before pushing on the doors as hard as he can, raising the machete in preparation as the doors creak and groan at him. He takes a few steps into the barn, barely registering the glass crunching under his feet, ready to face an onslaught of prepared Vampire’s that were most likely waiting for the other Winchester brother to show up when…

When that’s not what happens. His eyes are immediately drawn to the faded, black sigils that were painted around the interior walls of the barn, sigils that would keep out nearly every supernatural creature known to humanity, all apart from….

From angels…

This was… this was the barn. Their barn. The one where… where had had first shown himself to Dean, all those years ago. He can still remember it so vividly: the glass bulbs shattering over his head, blown out by what was once his immense holy power; the fear on Dean and Bobby’s face as he approached, not even caring about the shotgun slugs that filled his chest; the genuine amusement he felt as this man, the man that was labeled ‘righteous’, the one that would help lead Earth into paradise under God’s command… had just stabbed an angel of the Lord in the chest with a demon knife.

The very second Dean had done such a fearless but utterly foolish move… Castiel knew he would like the stubborn human stood before him.

The entire barn was covered in candles. They were placed on the ground, bathing what should have been a cold, dark barn in a warm, golden light that flickered across the sigils, almost making them appear as if they were shifting on the wooden panels.

The candles formed a walkway, leading to an old table that had been left untouched inside the barn for thirteen years. There, sat upon the table, having what looked like a pleasant conversation with their legs swinging underneath the table was…

“Sam?” Castiel asked in disbelief, feeling his grip on the machete relax somewhat. “Eileen? What…?”

“Hey, Cas,” Eileen greeted him with a gleaming smile, waving joyfully at the former angel.

“I… I don’t understand,” Castiel mumbles, dropping the machete down to his side when he’s unable to see any potential danger – apart from all these candles setting the old wood alight, of course. “You… you had gone silent. We thought you were hurt, or dead.”

“Yeah… not so much,” Sam answers, a little to Castiel’s frustration. “We were just here as the distraction.”

“The… what?”

Sam smiles at him, gesturing with his finger in a circular motion for Castiel to turn around. Castiel takes in their barely contained grins of pure glee before following Sam’s commands, spinning around on the spot to the entrance of the barn where-

Castiel’s brain comes to a sudden halt. Somehow, he’s able to register Sam’s encouraging pat on his shoulder after he had jumped off the table, him and Eileen passing by and exiting the barn, leaving Castiel to absorb the situation in front of him.

There, in the entrance of the barn, was Dean; knelt down on one knee with a lop-sided smile that put his nerves on full display. And there, sat within his hands held towards Castiel, was a deep blue colored velvet box, containing a single gleaming silver ring that almost appeared gold as the light from the candles were reflected in its polished metal.

“Step Two?” Dean say’s like it’s a question - an offering. “Told you Sam and Eileen were going to have to be involved for Step Two – and that they’d know before you.”

Castiel still hadn’t said anything. In fact, he hadn’t done much in terms of a reaction whatsoever – unless you count blinking rapidly down at Dean as he knelt down on the cold hard dirt. “Uh, Cas? You, uh… you gonna say something, or should I keep going with the speech I had planned? Coz I think I might have knelt in some glass here and it’s kinda painful…”

At Castiel’s continued silence, Dean took the opportunity to carry on with the speech he spent longer working on than he’d like to admit. “Thirteen years, Cas. Thirteen years ago to this date, you walked into my life. Back then, you were another monster to add to the list. Another seemingly overpowered being to throw a wrench into the plans. If someone told me those thirteen years ago that I’d become best friends with that being? I’d assume they were drunk off their ass. If they then told me that thirteen years later, I’d be proposing to him? I would have personally dropped them off at the psychiatric ward myself.

“Now? Now, I’d check them out of that hospital, buy them a cold beer and thank them for planting the idea in my head. Coz all them years ago… it seemed crazy even then to know an angel, let alone realize I was starting to care for him. Then, eventually… I would fall in love with him.”

Dean cleared his throat as Castiel shuffled closer to him, eyes fixated on the ring sat snugly within its velvet pillow. “You know, back when we met it’s – heh – I guess it would almost be cheesy to say that sparks flew, huh? And while I know cupids technically exist… I don’t believe there was a cupid there that day. I don’t think that we were destined to be, that there was some plan in place that required our courtship. I think… I know, that what we have is real because we chose it for ourselves. It may have been God that forced us together, but it was us that helped our friendship bloom into something more.

“And while Cupid might not have been there that day to shoot an arrow through your chest… I sort of did it for him my own way,” Dean swallowed nervously. “I thought it was only right that the blade I once used to pierce your heart should be used to represent my love for you; how me, of all people, managed to capture your heart, Castiel.”

“This…” Castiel croaks out, eyes darting between the ring in Dean’s hand and his expectant face. “This is the demon blade?”

“Was the demon blade. Had it melted down,” Dean answered. “Look, Cas - you know I’m not the greatest at words and ‘speaking my feelings.’ Honestly, I’m surprised I managed to get through all of that without forgetting anything, but… I don’t think I even needed any of that speech. All that matters is that I love you, Castiel. Castiel, Cas, Buddy, Sunshine… lots of names I’ve called you over the years,” Dean plucked the silver ring out of its box, holding it out to Cas. “How does ‘husband’ sound?”

“You’re not joking, are you?” Castiel whispers. “You’re… you’re proposing… to me?”

“Had been planning to the second we got you back, Cas,” Dean said. “There were so many times where I’d wake up with you next to me, and you’d smile just from the sight at me, that I nearly asked you right then and there. Sam was so excited to be a part of this though, couldn’t do that to h- - oof-,”

Dean got the wind knocked out of him as he suddenly found himself with an armful of (still to him) angel, landing on his back with a mixture of a pained grunt at the near six-foot man landing on his ribs and a surprised bark of laughter at said man launching himself at Dean. Whatever noise he made was quickly silenced by Castiel’s lips claiming his own, keeping a firm grip on the ring in his hand (didn’t want to lose that) whilst his other hand came to rest on the side of Cas’s face. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable position; with shards of glass poking at him underneath his shirt and one of Cas’s knees dug painfully in his thigh and a sharp elbow resting on his ribs – but the firm weight of Castiel atop him, pushing into the kiss like he couldn’t get enough of him, more than made up for all that other stuff.

“You’re an ass for tricking me into thinking Sam and Eileen were in trouble,” Castiel gets out in a rush once he pulls away from Dean. “And if I was a pettier man, I would reject your proposal for putting me through that terror.”

“Is that your way of saying yes?” Dean asks through the blissful smile already breaking out onto his face. He already knew the answer before he had even asked, of course (maybe there was a little part of him worried about Cas saying no, but to be fair, he’ll probably be double checking with Cas that he ‘loves’ loves him when they’re in their nineties chilling out together in rocking chairs.)

Castiel pushed himself off of Dean, holding out a hand to pull Dean up. Dean took his hand, letting Cas pull him up until they were both sat on the glass-covered floor of the barn, smiling at each other in the candlelight like the two idiots in love they were. “You’re a fool if you think I would have any other answer than ‘yes,’ Dean Winchester.”

Dean flipped around Cas’s hand that was still wrapped around his, silently muttering a prayer in his mind that the ring would fit as he slid it onto Castiel’s ring finger (he didn’t think there would ever be a more nerve-wracking time in his life than when he was wrapping that damn measuring tape around Castiel’s finger as he slept; just waiting for him to startle awake and either punch the strange dark figure messing with his hand at two o’clock in the morning, or have the proposal spoiled months earlier).

“Guess that makes it official,” Dean said. “Guess I can’t call you ‘husband’ just yet, but… ‘fiancée’ sounds good for the time being, right?”

* * *

Planning the wedding was surprisingly easy.

It wasn’t all ‘panic over what flowers to use, what food to serve, where guests will sit’ and all that other crap you saw in tv shows and movies. Mostly because… there wasn’t really much to plan. It wasn’t going to be a traditional wedding – and really, it would be weird if it was. Traditional just… wasn’t their style.

Funnily enough, the ceremony itself was going to be small - just as Dean had pictured all those months ago. The few decisions they had to make took barely more than a few minutes of discussion at the map table over the course of one night. Although, that’s not to say that his little brother didn’t put in a downright flattering amount of effort; going so far as to sketch up some ideas and lists on one of those whiteboards on wheels, talking enthusiastically about where exactly the ceremony could be and whatnot.

“It does sound nice to do it early February,” Castiel mused at Sam’s suggestion.

“Oh yeah, all that snow?” Eileen said. “You can almost picture it, right? Blanketed on the ground, all on the trees, a perfect winter backdrop.”

“Yeah, but… I’d rather not have to freeze my balls off,” Dean said. “How about sometime in the spring? You know, new beginnings and all that. Me and Cas, starting a new chapter of our lives. And, y’know, it’d be nice to say my vows without my teeth chattering.”

 “Okay, so… we got the guest list mostly completed…” Sam said, tapping at the hastily written out list in front of him. “You still want Claire to be at the ceremony, Cas?”

Castiel nodded in answer.

“Alright… So, at the ceremony itself it’s just us and Claire… and uh…”

“And…?” Dean said.

“Well, it’s just… Rowena did technically ask you to invite her to the wedding,” Sam brought up. “And, you know, I was thinking… we’re gonna need someone to officiate the wedding, right? So…”

“Isn’t that like… against the law and nature?” Dean asked incredulously. “A witch? Who’s died and come back multiple times, now the Queen of Hell… being the one to marry two dudes in the Midwest, one of which was a former angel and the other a dude who was once a demon?” Dean just barely caught Castiel’s eye before all four at the table burst out into fits of laughter at the notion of what Dean had just described.

“You know what? Why not!” Dean said, throwing up his arms with a smile still plastered on his face. “Better than a stranger. And she did technically ask… I mean, screw tradition, right? We’re already breaking tradition having Claire walk Cas down the aisle – the daughter giving the father away.”

“How are we even going to ask Rowena?” Castiel asked. “Does she… have a phone?”

“Don’t think so,” Sam said. Then, another small smile crept onto his lips, huffing out a laugh as the realization struck him.

“What?” Dean asked at Sam’s laughter.

“Nothing, just…” Sam cleared his throat. “We’re… probably going to have to hand the invitation over to a cross-road demon or something… Already picturing the look on its face as it hands over a fancy piece of card with ‘You are cordially invited to the wedding of Castiel and Dean Winchester’ printed on it.”

As it turns out… that’s exactly what happened. Dean had put on his most charming smile as he stood sweating and dirty at the cross-roads, shovel in one hand and invitation in the other as the crossroad demon stood in front of him looked like he wanted nothing more than to rip out all of his internal organs and let the Hellhounds use them as a chew toy. It was a downright miracle the demon didn’t decide to break allegiances with Rowena right there and then…

One week before the wedding, things were… calm. Like there wasn’t even going to be a wedding in one week. It felt… normal, Dean supposed. They were just sat around the kitchen table that night, chowing down on burgers made by yours truly, talking about a potential shape-shifter case up in Wyoming when Sam said, “Hey… you know what I just realized? You guys are gonna be married. By law.”

“Yeah, hopefully, so long as the registry accepts our completely fake documents,” Dean says around a mouthful of meat and cheese.

“It's just… it's crazy, right? I mean, Cas, I’m gonna be your ‘brother-in-law.”

Castiel sucked off some grease that has dripped down his finger, leveling Sam with a bemused stare. “I already considered you a brother to me, Sam.”

“Wow, you guys are very… nonchalant about getting married,” Eileen said.

“I wouldn’t say ‘nonchalant’,” Castiel said, looking forlornly down to the empty space on his ring finger where Dean’s ring once was; having decided to remove the ring a month before the wedding, to use at the ceremony itself. He was looking forward to getting it back.

“Yeah, I think we just… don’t really consider the importance of the ‘law' parts of it,” Dean said.

“Winchesters? Not caring about the law? I’m shocked.” Eileen said with a grin, hand to her chest in fake shock.

Dean rolled up his napkin and chucked it at her for that comment, getting his plans thwarted by a protective swipe from Sam along with a less than pleased glare. “I'm just focusing on the important stuff, like pledging to spend the rest of my life with this dumbass next to me,” Dean said, jabbing a thumb as Cas. “Then having a nice little celebration with the people in our lives that may very well die at any given moment. We're not focusing on ‘related by law’ stuff and crap like that, right Cas?”

But when Dean looked over, he saw that Cas was sitting oddly still on his chair, staring wide-eyed into nothingness as a thought washed over him. “I… I punched my future father-in-law…”

“You… you what?” Dean spluttered, exchanging bewildered stares with Sam. “You never met our Dad – when the hell did you manage to punch him?”

“We, uh… we became acquainted in Heaven,” Castiel tells them, nervous eyes darting between the two brothers.

“And you punched him?” Dean asked. “What did he do that made you punch him?”

“I saw him,” Castiel answered simply. Dean and Sam’s heads whipped around to face each other, keeping up the astonished appearance for only a few more seconds before bursting out into laugher. Castiel visibly relaxed at the two’s apparent amusement at his act of violence against their father, even going so far as to crack a smile at the (admittedly) humorous memory.

“Wait, wait – let me get this straight,” Dean leaned up from his laughing fit, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder as he asks, “So you walked into heaven… saw my Dad… and before he could even say anything to him, you walked right up and punched him?”

“He got a few words out,” Castiel defended himself. “Not the whole sentence and, quite frankly, I wasn’t listening to what he was saying at the time anyway.”

“So, your first act in Heaven was… to commit an act of violence?” Eileen asked.

“It was deserved,” Castiel mumbled darkly.

“Man… first family dinner up in Heaven is gonna be awkward, huh?” Dean said, picking up his glass of coke from the table (Cas had kept up his insistences that Dean stays sober as long as he could) and leaning back against his chair. “Does, uh… Does mom and dad know? About us?”

Castiel could pick up the shift in Dean’s tone immediately; gone was the light-hearted tone, left now with fear of judgment disguised under indifference that Dean had much practice with. “They do,”

“And, uh…” Dean paused to take a sip of his coke, taking advantage of the opportunity to get his thoughts under control. “What do they think?”

Castiel stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over his words carefully. “Your father is… a product of his time, Dean. I think it’s fair to say that I wasn’t the person he was thinking of when he pictured your partner.”

“Right…” Dean mumbled, casting his eyes down to his plate. The few remaining fries on his plate didn’t seem quite as appetizing anymore. Sam looked uncomfortable to be part of this conversation, mostly because Castiel’s answer was one he was expecting.

“But-,” Castiel said, the continuation catching Dean’s attention. “Both him and your mother recognized that you are happy, Dean. And that’s all they want for you.”

Dean glanced up at Cas at that. “Dad really said that?”

“Your mother was rather unimpressed with your father’s attempts at ‘playing nice’ with me,” Castiel tells him, getting a huff of laugher from Dean. “To be fair, I did punch him immediately upon meeting him, so it’s not too surprising he wasn’t too pleased with me. I… I hope you two aren’t too upset that I punched your father…”

“Someone had to do it…” Eileen mumbled around the glass she had raised to her mouth.

“Do I mind?” Dean asked. “By the sounds of it, Cas, you were defending my honor. I should be flattered. And, you know… technically I’ve punched your dad before – not that it did anything to the bastard, but it felt damn good to do it.”

“Huh,” Sam said then, pointing between Dean and Cas. “I know you said you don’t care about the whole ‘law’ thing, but… once you’re married, God himself will be your father-in-law, Dean.”

“If he was still alive, Lucifer would have been your brother-in-law,” Eileen brought up with a teasing grin.

“And Gabriel. And Michael. And Raphael. And every other angel,” Castiel added.

“Dude – you wanted to bang your aunt-in-law!” Sam exclaimed, breaking out into peals of laughter at the horrified look Dean gave him.

“That wasn’t my choice! It was the damn left-overs from the Mark…” Dean grumbled in defense, only feeling marginally better at the teasing when Cas wraps a leg around his under the table. “Whoa, wait… won’t Jack become related to me by law, too?”

“Thought you didn’t care about the ‘law’ thing?” Sam said.

“Shut up, it’s interesting. He’ll be like… my officially adopted son or something.”

“Nephew, technically,” Castiel corrected him. “On a biological level, I am Jack’s uncle. You will become his uncle-in-law.”

“This is just plain weird…” Eileen said. “You guys have one messed up family.”

“Yep. And now you’re part of, too,” Dean said, throwing a wink Sam’s and Eileen’s direction before taking another sip of his teeth-rottingly sweet drink. “Welcome to the world’s most dependent and messed up family, you two. You’re gonna love it.”

* * *

On the morning of May 14th, Dean wakes up to an empty bed. Not all too surprising, considering he had fallen asleep to an empty bed, too. It was one of the few traditions they decided to keep – not seeing your significant other the night before, then seeing them again for the first time at your wedding. Dean stretched out his arm to the empty side of the bed, almost able to imagine the warmth of Castiel’s skin under his hand instead of the coolness of the bedsheets.

They decided not to go with some stuffy church that would probably have people looking down on them and cursing the government for forcing them to let two men be happy, God forbid. Instead, they decided there was no better place to get married than in the little found home of theirs.

The clearing Sam had found on one of his jogs was just a ten-minute walk into the woods surrounding the bunker. It was a beautiful spot, hidden away from prying eyes and filled with the green of freshly sprouting vegetation and leaves blossoming to life on the trees that hung overhead. The best part however was that, right at the end of the clearing, was a single beautiful weeping willow tree.

The second Sam showed him the clearing, Dean knew it just had to be where they got married.

They didn’t have to make too many changes to the clearing itself. What few logs and twigs littered about the forest floor were moved out of the way. Then, looking at the pile of wood they had made, Sam had the brilliant idea to lay out the smaller, thinner logs into a makeshift aisle leading up to the willow tree.

A quick visit later to Target, Sam came running back into the bunker with a bunch of small lanterns, mini candles, and some wire. Sam made quick work of setting up the lanterns, looping the wire around the low hanging branches of the surrounding trees and creating a trail of what would become twinkling lights above their heads during the ceremony once the candles were lit.

But now, here in the bunker, pulling himself out of bed, Dean felt… nervous. Yes, that’s what it was. He was nervous. Problem was… he didn’t know what he was nervous about. Obvious answer would be about getting married, but… that wasn’t it. The thought of marrying Castiel, of spending the rest of his life with Castiel, wasn’t making him nervous. Was it the thought of all those people at the reception after? Was he worrying that there wasn’t enough space for everyone, not enough food? Would they even all show up?

Such thoughts plagued Dean as he trudged over to his ol’ reliable FBI suit he had hung up the night before, ironed and ready to go for the big day (and not ironed with beer, this time). Usually, putting on the suit was a pain in the ass; always so stuffy feeling, not offering the same level of freedom as his usual attire of jeans and a flannel shirt did. Today… it never felt so good to slip into the suit, looking at himself up and down in the little sink mirror in the corner of his room as he shrugs on his suit jacket, brushing over the little creases that were missed in last night’s ironing session.

One thing was missing. His eyes were drawn over to the comfortingly familiar blue tie left neatly hung up on the hanger, soft under his hands as he carefully unwrapped it. He doesn’t usually wear a blue tie when he wears suits for interviews, typically opting for a traditional black tie to go with the suit jacket. Then again… this wasn’t his tie.

It was Cas’s.

It was his last parting gift before Sam and Eileen had to physically separate them, not to see each other again until later this evening, where he gets to watch his husband-to-be walk down the aisle to him. Castiel had untied the tie, sliding it out from around his neck and pressing it into Dean’s hands the same time he pressed one last kiss onto Dean’s lips with a whisper of, “Something blue, and something borrowed.”

Dean’s fingers trembled as he finished the knot to the tie, adjusting it around his throat until it was neatly tied, but still comfortable. He swallowed nervously, watching his Adam’s apple bob in the reflection of the mirror, before leaning forward and gripping the sink tightly, staring into his own wide, blown-out eyes.

“My name is Dean Winchester,” Dean spoke to the mirror. “Mary and John Winchester are my parents. Sam is my little brother. Jack is my surrogate son, soon to be nephew. And Castiel… Castiel is my best friend. My fiancé. The love of love my life. And I’m about to get married. Holy hell, I’m about to get married.”

“Not for a good few hours, but sure,” Sam’s voice to his left makes Dean startle, nearly punching the sink under his hands in his flailing. Sam was leaning against the doorway, already dressed up in his own formal suit and tie, watching Dean’s mini-breakdown with a raised brow. “You losing your memory again or something?”

“Nope, just…” Dean straightens himself from the sink, giving himself another look over in the mirror before turning to Sam. “Just trying to shake my nerves.”

Sam pushed away from the doorway, stepping further into his room. Dean gave his brother an appreciative nod, gesturing to his suit. “You don’t think it’s weird we’re using our FBI suits for this?”

“Not really,” Sam answers, taking a seat on the end of Dean’s bed. “Suits a suit, right?”

“I guess…” Dean mumbles, looking down at his own suit. “At least we didn’t have to shell out hundreds of dollars for a damn wedding dress you only wear once, huh?”

“You know… I could almost envision it; Cas wearing a pearly white dress as he walks down the aisle,” Sam said with a grin, waving out a hand in front of him as if he was actually picturing it. “Who’d you reckon would catch the flower bouquet toss?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t throw it,” Dean fires back. “Cas would walk straight over to Eileen and hand her the flowers – give you a clue to get a damn move on.”

Sam only rolls his eyes at him in response, crossing his arms across his chest as he does so. “Says the guy who knew Cas for eleven years before making a move. And it was Cas who took the first step!”

“Technically, I initiated our first kiss.”

“Cas confessed his love to you first,” Sam points out. “Which is… super weird. You got a love confession before a first kiss.”

“Yeah, well… me and Cas are pretty far from normal, Sammy. Only right our relationship is equally as backwards,” Dean said.

Sam frowned up at him as Dean played around with his tie again, standing up and smacking his brother’s hands away before attempting to fix the tie for him. “You gonna tell me what’s got you so worked up?”

“Nothing,” Dean answered and, judging by the look Sam briefly shot up at him, he didn’t believe Dean one bit.

“You know, getting cold feet is fairly common-,”

“It’s not cold feet,” Dean refuted with a shake of his head. “God, Sam, I… I’m so ready for this. Which is weird, because… I’d always imagined you’d be standing at my funeral, not my wedding.” Sam’s fingers stilled in their work at that, and Dean quickly continued before Sam could say anything. “It’s not like that now.”

“Good,” Sam replied, finishing up his work on the tie and brushing a hand down it. “So… why are you nervous?”

“I don’t really know, I guess I’m…” Dean paused, finding himself unable to meet his little brother’s concerned gaze. “What if… What if Cas changes his mind? What if he… he doesn’t show up? Or, what if he goes through with it, then regrets it? I wouldn’t exactly blame him; he finally has a shot at living a life, being human, and… what if he feels like he owes it to me or something to stick around?”

“Dean,” Sam says as gently as he can in preparation for the incoming blow. “You might just be one of the biggest dumbasses I’ve ever known.”

Dean doesn’t even blink at the insult. “Your point being?”

“You wanna know why I came in here?” Sam asked. “Because when I checked on Eileen and Cas, Cas was freaking out just like you are. He was worrying over whether you had changed your mind.”

“He was?”

“For some damn reason, yeah,” Sam huffs. “Seems you’re both dumbasses. Perfect fit for each other…”

Sam sighed at the apprehensive look that remained glued on his brother’s face, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Listen… Cas loves you, okay? You know he does. He’s told you – many times before. Hell, he doesn’t even have to say it; everyone knows it just by looking at him. Cas loves you, and isn’t that all that matters? He’s going to be there, he wants to marry you and will always want to be married to you, because he loves you.”

Dean finds himself nodding along with his brother’s speech, exhaling heavily and brushing a hand down his suit for invisible dust. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.”

“Course I am,” Sam says, taking his arm off Dean’s shoulder to slap him on the back. “Already had to give the same damn speech to Cas…”

“I thought it was a nice speech.”

Both Sam and Dean jumped in their skin at the voice that had appeared in the room. Sam found his hands searching for a knife in his jacket that wouldn’t be there, whilst Dean was planning the best route to his pistol under his pillow that involved skirting past the stranger that had teleported into the middle of his damn room.

Except, it was no stranger.

Dean saw Sam’s reaction before he caught sight of whoever it was that was now standing behind him - his narrowed, fight-ready eyes widening at the sight of the person, hand frozen in the pocket of his suit jacket. Dean didn’t even have to turn around to see who it was; because there, in the mirror, was where Dean caught the sight of an already smiling Jack; clad in the old suit that they had bought him for the brief time he had come along on hunts with them.

“Hello,” Jack greeted them cheerfully with a wave of his hand. “I wasn’t sure what time the actual wedding was, so I thought it’d be better If I arrived first thing in the morning in case-,”

Jack didn’t even get to finish his sentence before his still waving hand was grabbed by Dean, tugging him forward into a hug that enveloped the young boy until he almost disappeared under the layers of Dean’s jacket and dress shirt. He then barely had a moment to breathe before Sam jumped in on the hug, to which Jack actually did disappear between the two giant men that engulfed him in their arms.

“Seriously? Hello?” Sam asks in pure disbelief once Jack pries himself away from the two. “You’re more like Cas than I thought… years of nothing and then just… hello.”

“It’s… a greeting?” Jack stated the obvious.

“I can’t believe you’re here…” Dean told him, gesturing towards Jack and his attire. “You even got suited up.”

Jack looked down to himself at Dean’s gesture, glancing back up from his suit with a pleased smile. “I did; Mom told me it was expected of guests to wear formal clothes at weddings.”

“Well, yeah, but-,” Dean let out a laugh of disbelief. “You’re God; I imagine you can wear whatever you want.”

“I’m also still just… Jack,” Jack answered, a small frown creasing his forehead. “Being God doesn’t make me better than you.”

“I… I kinda think it does,” Dean said.

“You know what, we can get into the semantics of who’s better than who later,” Sam cut in before Dean and Jack could continue going back and forth with each other. “Jack… what are you doing here?”

The face Jack pulled at that could only be described as a ‘kicked puppy’ look. “Do you not want me here?”

“Of course I want you at my damn wedding, kid,” Dean quickly answered, sending a quick dark glare Sam’s way for his poor choice of words. “Don’t think for a second that’s not the case. We didn’t get to send you a physical invitation since, y’know… you don’t exactly have a deliverable address, but… we did pray to you. When we got nothing back, we assumed you were busy. Which, as God, I imagine you are.”

“I am,” Jack agreed.

“So… what, you took a break from your busy schedule to attend a wedding?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Jack’s answer was straight-forward, leaving no room for argument. “I didn’t become God on my own. I never would have survived as long as I had without you, Sam, Cas… Before I was God, I was your family first. I think the world can wait a day for me to be here with you.”

“Kinda sounds like you’re desperate for a break yourself, huh?” Sam asked.

“A little,” Jack admitted somewhat sheepishly. “Being God is hard…”

“Hey, so long as you don’t write all of us into a life of pain for your entertainment? You’ll be doing better than the previous God,” Dean said, clapping the side of Jack's arm with a grin. “And… y'know, try not to destroy the world?”

“I'll try,” Jack promised, straightening his back and putting on his most serious face, clearly not picking up that Dean was joking.

Dean huffed fondly at the kid… God…. “Listen, Jack. I know I’ve said it a million times in prayer before, but… I also need to say it in person: Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For… bringing Cas back?” Dean said, like the answer should have been obvious. “Without you, I… well, I don’t really wanna think about what would have happened. From what Cas told us, you were there helping along the way; guiding us towards the spell, bringing back Cas's trenchcoat…”

“Bringing back Eileen,” Sam added, finding himself reaching out once more and giving Jack's arm a grateful squeeze. “You, uh… you saved us from a lot of pain, Jack.”

“It's the least I could do,” Jack said. “I… I wanted to do so much more than what I had. I wanted to step in during that hunt, but… then Cas got there before I could, and then I realized… this way, I could finally get the both of you to see what you refused to see.”

“See…what?” Dean asked.

“I'm sure Cas will tell you about what we discussed in Heaven when he wants to. As for you Dean, well… I needed you to see the real you.”

Dean shared a confused glance with Sam, turning back to Jack with his face scrunched in thought. “The real me was… being in a wheelchair?”

“Not quite…” Jack replied. “The real you -the qualities that make you, ‘you’ -  aren’t tied to your abilities as a hunter. You were still here, doing all you could to protect your family, to keep Cas safe, and you didn’t need to be the soldier you were raised to be to do it. You leaned on your family instead, let them help you instead.

“When I was born… you saw me as a monster. I knew back then you hated me, were scared of me, but… I still wanted to be like you. Not because you’re a hunter that kills all the bad monsters, but because... I knew that the hate, the fear you had for me… it was because you wanted to protect your family. Protect the world, and… that’s who I wanted to be. Someone who cared about others. And you didn’t show me that through the gun training, or taking me out on hunts; I learned that through the times you shared your beers with me; snuck me extra fries when Sam wasn’t looking, took me out fishing with you, taught me how to drive. You and Sam… you taught me what it's like to be human. And knowing that, in having that experience… I think it'll make me a better God.”

Dean cleared his throat, trying to push away the lump that had suddenly appeared there at Jack's words. “That’s, uh….”

“Wow,” Sam said.

“Yeah… that,” Dean agreed with his brother’s assessment. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jack said. “You heard it, and that’s all that matters.”

“Cas is gonna be worried that I’m crying before he even shows up…” Dean mumbles, hastily wiping at his misty eyes. “Wait… Cas! Does Cas know you’re here?”

“Not yet, no,” Jack answered. “I was going to visit him next-,”

“Whoa whoa wait, hang on a sec,” Dean put a hand on him as if it would stop him flying away. “Maybe it'd be better to keep it a surprise, huh? Let him see you for the first time standing to us as he walks down the aisle.”

“Dude, you’ve really gotta stop springing these surprises on people,” Sam admonished him.

“Who doesn’t love a good surprise,” Dean shot back with a grin, throwing an arm around Jack's shoulder and directing the young God towards the door. “C'mon, take a look at the spot we picked out. We'll find the perfect spot for you to stand for Cas to get a clear view of you. Can't wait to see the look on his face…”

Next Chapter - - - >

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

I don't know if I'm the only one, but I love she li character. I'm totally against what he's done to mo and he should be held accountable, but I still love his character and want to know more about him. His first fight with he tian, I was so curious to know why he seemed to enjoy it and even licking the blood from his lip, from then on I wanted to know his story. And I dont think he should be paired up with someone in the story it would ruin his whole esthetic. what are your thoughts about him?

Hello, dear anon!

This answer could weird out some people, so...Uh. Consider yourselves warned, I guess? It’s pretty much downhill from here on.

I’m sorry it took me so long to get to your ask. Thank you for your patience!

Do I have thoughts about SL? ...Let’s just say “a lot” is the answer:

My favorite 19 Days character(s)

My favorite 19 Days chapter(s)

SL’s bracelet

SL’s lip piercing

SL and ships:

My 19 Days NOTP (why I don’t ship MGS and SL)

My thoughts on SL and JY

My thoughts on SL and JY (vol. 2)

My thoughts on SL and HC

My thoughts on SL and Cuntou (Buzzcut)

My thoughts on SL’s sexuality

SL and MGS’s story:

Backstory revelation

SL and MGS’s development (the beginning vs. the train station scene)

That’s quite a reading list, but if you’re interested in my SL-related thoughts and mullings, I recommend checking out those previous posts. It’s possible I will repeat some things I’ve already talked about but this time I’m not going to give an overall brief summary. It would probably end up being anything but brief.

“I'm totally against what he's done to mo and he should be held accountable, but I still love his character and want to know more about him.”

This is partly why I’m hesitant to say I love SL’s character because I feel like I have to follow that with a small disclaimer that no, I don’t condone his behavior. I find him endlessly intriguing, complex, and layered. Every time he appears I never know what will happen and he always instantly steals the scene for me. I’m drawn to his darkness and disturbed, impossible-to-predict ruthlessness.

In addition to that, my “love” for him also goes deeper. I always feel like a weirdo talking about this but I see some of myself and my own shortcomings in SL’s character. Jealousy and envy. The misery loves company mentality. I don’t go around manipulating and threatening people but on some morbid level, his character allows me to go to that dark place and almost relish in all the disturbing thoughts I can muster. To me, some of the rawest and primitive parts of human nature are embodied and amplified in his character.

“His first fight with he tian, I was so curious to know why he seemed to enjoy it and even licking the blood from his lip, from then on I wanted to know his story.”

SL almost enjoying the fight and licking the blood are interesting notions that I haven’t really thought of before (ch. 184):

I’m glad you brought this up because I’ve been wanting to talk about SL and fighting ever since MGS mentioned how SL had a reputation of being “very vicious in fights” (ch. 319). I saw people thinking that was because of his Guillain–Barré syndrome. And sure, I’m not saying that couldn’t be the reason or a part of it. After all, we don’t know how far along his treatment was by that time. If you don’t feel pain as well as others, I can imagine you’re more fearless in fights.

However, I think his “viciousness” was more about SL’s overall nature. I mean, he picked up a heavy whiskey bottle and smashed someone in the head with it and didn’t seem to even blink. He was unpredictable and didn’t shy away from taking things further than probably most kids his age. Nothing was really off-limits for SL and whoever opposed him could never know what his next move would be. If you’re fighting someone and they lick their own blood - looking like they’re almost savoring the taste - I think you might want to start coming up with an exit plan. SL has a disturbing, cold-blooded aura as a fighter, and cruel, dirty violence is his style.

I’m also interested in MGS mentioning SL had transferred schools. We don’t know if he already had group-affiliations in his new school but imagine if he didn’t. Did he take over a group as an outsider by vicious violence? Did he make his own group from scratch?

“I dont think he should be paired up with someone in the story it would ruin his whole esthetic”

I don’t personally ship SL with anyone “in canon” as in I don’t think he has canonical romantic/sexual feelings for anyone in the comic. I don’t interpret his possessive behavior with MGS as romantic jealousy. Nor do I think he’s interested in JY in a romantic way. That being said, I do believe anyone is free to ship whatever they and however they want, so I don’t know about “shouldn’t be paired up with someone”.

But I think I get what you mean. I think if he had romantic feelings for someone we’re familiar with in the comic it would skew his character. “Interrupt” him, in a way. I’m not saying SL couldn’t be in a romantic relationship or even love someone but I’m not sure if that kind of “side-track” would quite fit how his role in the story has been built up so far. I would love to see more sides to him, but romantic love would feel too forced. It would kind of make me tilt my head and go “huh?”.

I feel the same way about his redemption. Again, I would love to know more about him and what’s going on in his head and heart and life general. What made him like this and what makes him tick. But I don’t know if I want him to be redeemed that way in the boys’ eyes. I kind of want him to stay as the villain to them. If they somehow started to see SL from a different light, it would kind of make his character “hollow” and crumble in on itself.

As far as my ships for SL go, I ship him with Cuntou (MGS’s Buzzcut friend) and HC. However, those ships are purely “AUs” in my head in a sense that I know they have no base in canon. I basically run with the characters and the scenarios build for them are for my own self-indulgence.

Because I couldn’t really give you any new “thoughts” but a reading list instead, let me try to make it up by raving about some of my favorite SL panels:

“We are here” (ch. 178):

I’ve always wondered what kind of an underling SL is. He might be the leader of his own group at school, but even SL must have a boss. Especially given that organized groups are heavily based on hierarchy and seniority.

But I can’t help but wonder how that kind of power dynamic works with SL. What do his superiors think about him? Do they know about his disturbing, unpredictable side? Do they feel like they have control over him? Have they ever taken advantage of his vicious side and kind of “let him loose”? Does his boss know how to handle him? And what about SL’s POV: Does he respect his superiors or just does what he’s told? What could make his obedience stop? What he would do if his superiors insulted him or somehow screwed him over?

Either way, I’m fascinated by seeing SL in a submissive position, taking orders from someone else.

“Jian Yi? Is it...” (ch. 179):

The thing I love about this panel is the tempo/rhythm/whatever-you-call-it of SL’s words. I can hear how he said them in my head. Where he paused and let there be a moment of silence that kind of rearranged the dynamic of the situation. JY had barged in and momentarily stolen the flow and control. He went all out talking back to SL and pointing him and being all JY-y. That little tilt of SL’s head, that short pause he had kind of flipped it back SL being in control. When he says “Jian Yi? Is it...” it has a dangerous vibe. As in, “Are you really sure you want me to notice you?”. That is a question asked by someone who’s mentally in control of the situation.

I can hear those speech bubbles in my head.

“Lick it clean for me” (ch. 203):

Do I even need to justify why I love this panel?

Aside from the obvious, I love this panel because it gives me strong “zero fucks given” vibes. I doubt SL was expecting JY to obey him but saying that kind of stuff fits his character perfectly. Unpredictable and difficult to tell if he’s being serious or not.

Thrown out (ch. 249):

This panel will never not amuse me. Every time I see them being thrown out like that, especially SL, I hear a “Pew!” bing in my head. Like the nurse had flicked them with her middle finger and thumb and shot them out of the room.

Pouring Coke (ch. 267):

Another panel that makes me think about SL being in a submissive position, overpowered. The idea of overpowering and submitting his kind of crazy fascinates me. A part of me wants to see him dominated, sullied, and made to take it. (Just to make sure I’m not misunderstood, I don’t mean “it” in a sexual way.) Like, I imagine the carbonated Coke stinging in his eyes. It’s more foam and fizz than actual liquid as it pours down his face. It makes him uncomfortable and wanting to try to wipe it off with his shoulder when the trickles slide down the side of his neck but he can’t. When Coke is spilled like that it goes from a nice, enjoyable beverage to a sickly sweet, sticky substance that kind of grosses you out.

This is a panel that always makes me think of shipping SL with HC.

[...I warned you it would get weird.]

Wandering in the hospital (ch. 294):

If you weren’t weirded out enough yet...

Every time I see these panels I’m reminded of being like that as a child. I remember my grandparents sometimes had to stay at the hospital when they got sick. When I went to visit them with my mom I had this habit of wandering off by myself. I could walk the ward through multiple times and just...kind of...be morbidly interested in watching the sick people in their beds. And of course, as a kid, I had no problem with openly staring at them, too. The sicker, the better. I wanted to see tubes going in and out of body orifices, wounds and stitches, bandages that have that faint shine of blood seeping through on the back when they’re due to a change. If you gave me an old person just laying in bed with their mouth open and not even being in this world anymore because they’re so old and ill, you could just sit me down and go take care of whatever parents need to take care of.

I’m not saying SL was like that but him silently wandering off always reminds me of how I was a kid.

Encounter (ch. 294):

I’ve talked about this panel quite a lot already, so I won’t go into it more in this answer. But I will say it’s probably my most favorite panel of the whole comic.

“I almost forgot” (ch. 317):

As weird as it sounds to point this out when talking about SL’s character, but I think SL was lying in this panel. Although, I guess a better way to put it would be to say it wasn’t his “usual” lying. I think he was lying about forgetting he had given MGS the piercings to make it look like he didn’t care about such trivial matters. That violating MGS like that and basically marking him as his property hadn’t meant anything to him. Seeing MGS wear HT’s earrings irked him but he’s lying about it. MGS inching further and further away from SL’s grasp is getting to him but I think this was the first time he’s trying to hide it.

Because I believe he remembers piercing MGS. I bet he remembers it vividly.

I think this panel and the way he lashed out at HT with the knife without having any regard for the consequences are interesting details that maybe SL’s mask is slipping. He’s getting more out of control. Almost desperate, I would say.

So yeah, I would say I have a few thoughts about SL.

Thank you for your question, dear anon! And for your patience as well.