#but cass!!! cass could do it and simultaneously fully live

[theladyofdeath]

The Yellow Brick Road {Nessian}

an extension of Shelby and I’s, The Ranch. 

31 Days of Halloween: Day 6.

All installments co-written with @snelbz​

Based on a prompt sent in by anon: “ for halloween: the ranch au, sloan's first Halloween! 🤩 she and beau are dorothy and toto”

Autumn/Halloween 2020 {Collection}

Cassian sat with Beau on the couch as Nesta got Sloan ready upstairs. He was exhausted. It had been a long day, for both him and Beau, but he wasn’t about to miss Sloan’s first Halloween.

And, of course, neither would Beau. 

The big, sparkly, red ribbon around his neck confirmed that.

It wasn’t like Nesta Archeron to wave off one of her daughter’s firsts, but when he’d asked about it the week before, he was surprised how quickly her response was. “She’s being Dorothy and Beau is being Toto.”

He tried to explain to her that Beau was a ranch dog and you couldn’t throw a costume on a dog with a job. Sighing and looking down at him now, he patted the pup’s back. “I’m sorry, bud, I feel your pain.”

Because, of course, they were dressing up, too. Nesta had just told him she was going to be the Wicked Witch and he was heading back out to the pasture when she said, “Oh and you’ll be the Scarecrow!”

Cassian had paused at the door and turned back around, back to where his girls had been having tummy time in the living room.

“Why can’t I be the Tin Man?” He asked, leaning against the door frame.

She smiled. “Because you’ve already got the biggest heart I know.”

With a warm smile, he pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads and was back out to work. It was nearly thirty minutes later, when Cassian was getting ready to give one of the horses a brush down that he realized that the Scarecrow was missing a brain.

He had told Nesta as much later that night, where she distracted him from the fact every way she knew how, with kisses and wandering hands and loud, sensuous moans. 

Now, he shoved the hay back into his sleeves before sighing. “They’re taking forever.” 

Beau whined as he laid his chin on Cassian’s knee. 

“Nesta!” he called. “We’re going to be late!” 

“We’re coming! Getting Dorothy’s ruby red slippers on!” she called back, and was followed by a quiet, high-pitched, “Yes I am. Yes I am.” 

Sloan’s giggles filled the silence, and Beau was instantly on his feet, wagging his tail. 

“At least one of us is excited to walk around town like this,” Cassian muttered. 

He checked his phone, yet again. We’re all ready to head out. Where’s Dorothy?

Cassian huffed as he replied to Azriel. Taking twenty minutes to get on the ruby slippers, apparently.

His phone vibrated in his hand and he saw the response. Sounds about right. Let me know when you’re leaving.

He was just getting up off the couch, groaning and stretching when he heard steps coming from upstairs.

Nesta came around the corner, dressed as the wicked witch of the west. She was painted green, although her nose was still cute as a button and not long and pointed. She wore a long, black dress with a high skit, and laced long sleeves, as well as a tall, pointed witch hat.

And in her arms was the cutest little Dorothy that Cassian had ever seen.

In that moment, he didn’t even care that he was about to walk out into the world, dressed like a giant scarecrow.

“What do you think?” Nesta asked, turning in a slow circle.

“I think that I’ve never been so turned on by the wicked witch,” Cassian muttered, giving his wife a quick kiss. He was quickly turning to Sloan, who was smiling up at him. Cassian chuckled and kissed her forehead. “You’re so cute. Yes you are.”

She giggled, as she always did when her father gave her any attention.

“Alright, what’s left to do before we need to leave?” Nesta asked, looking around the room.

“Nothing,” Cassian said, grabbing Beau’s leash from where it hung by the door and Sloan’s diaper bag from its place on the floor. “Candy is already in the truck, as is the duffle bag with a change of clothes.” The hay in his sleeves and pants legs were already starting to itch and he told Nesta he’d be changing at some point throughout the evening. “So all you have to do is get that sexy, green butt in the truck and we’re ready to go.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I didn’t paint my butt green, Cass.”

Cassian snorted. “It was just an expression, sweetheart… although, I am a little disappointed.”

She narrowed her eyes and jabbed him in the chest with her finger before bringing Sloan outside into the warm, late-afternoon sun. 

She was strapped into her car seat and they were all loaded up in a matter of minutes. 

As soon Cassian began driving out of the driveway, he caught Beau licking Sloan’s cheek in the rearview mirror.

Softest ranch dog in history.

At least, he was for Sloan.

But then again, they all were soft for that baby.

As soon as they pulled into the Square, they spotted the rest of their family. Granted, it was hard to miss Azriel painted silver and Elain’s massive, pink dress. It had all been Elain’s idea to begin with, and Nesta secretly thought that she wanted to be Glinda more than she wanted to see Sloan as Dorothy.

Azriel and Rhys made very convincing renditions of the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion, and Nesta couldn’t wait to get pictures of her baby girl with her daddy and uncles. It was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. Feyre seemed to be enjoying her role as the Wizard, as well, if the long dramatic cape she kept sweeping around was any indication.

“Holy cuteness,” Elain beamed, as Nesta and Sloan came nearer to her. She reached for Sloan, and the baby was instantly reaching toward her aunt. “Az was worried she’d be scared of him.” 

Nesta looked over her shoulder where the silver-clad Azriel was robotically drinking a beer, thanks to the cardboard boxes that had been used to make his costume.

Elain had made all the costumes. 

And they were all done to perfection, Nesta’s slim-fitting dress included. It was the first “form-fitting” thing she had worn since Sloan was born, after months of insecurity, but for the first time, she was feeling pretty damn sexy.

Cassian thought so, too. She was completely aware of the way his eyes lingered on her assets. 

“Jury’s still out on that, he’s pretty terrifying on a normal day,” Cassian said as he walked by, carrying a folding table, two lawn chairs, the bag of candy, Sloan’s diaper bag, and her pack-n-play. In one trip. “Now instead of just ugly, he’s ugly and creepy.”

Sloan was batting at Elain’s poofy sleeve as the two women rolled their eyes, and Nesta was about to remind him that he was allowed to make two trips, but then Elain said, “Come look at how cute the truck bed is all set up,” taking Nesta’s hand.

Nesta had to admit, the back of Azriel’s truck, which had never been described as anything remotely close to cute, was. There was an adorable “yellow brick road” drawn in chalk, courtesy of Feyre, leading to and from the bed, which led to a tiny cardboard archway that read “Welcome to Oz!” The kids could walk under it and follow the yellow brick road to the bed of Azriel’s truck, where they’d be waiting to hand the kids candy. 

More and more people were beginning to show up, and the sun was slowly sinking, which meant that it was about to be showtime. Sloan was happily blowing raspberries and playing with Elain’s plastic wand when Beau hopped up on the bed of Azriel’s truck and laid down on the yellow brick road with a huff. 

“Aw, you look distressed, Beau,” Elain said, patting his head.

Azriel came up behind them. “Rhysand keeps terrorizing him in his lion costume.” 

Sloan took one look at Azriel and was reaching for Cassian.

Azriel sighed, exasperated. “She’s scared of the tinman but not of the scarecrow? I knew it.”

“I’m her dad, she expects me to be dressed as weird things,” Cassian assured him, taking his daughter into his arms. 

“She expects you to do a lot of weird things at this point,” Nesta said, giving a ruby red binky to Sloan and clipping it to her little plaid dress. “Dressing as a scarecrow ranks fairly low on the list, actually.”

“So you weren’t going to tell them about how Sloan started crying when she saw your after her nap?”

Nesta glared at her husband. “I was going to keep that fact to myself, yes.”

It was simultaneously the funniest and saddest thing Cassian had ever seen. He’d just gotten out of the shower and volunteered to wake Sloan up since Nesta was running late and wanted to make it there on time. So much for that. After the struggle of waking her up - the girl loved her sleep - and changing her diaper, he carried a sleepy Sloan back into their bedroom. As soon as Nesta came out of the bathroom, hair piled on top of her head, green makeup covering her entire face, Sloan had burst into tears. It took nearly twenty minutes to calm her down, and Nesta felt horrible about it. Cassian knew he should have felt bad about laughing as hard as he did, but he didn’t.

“One day, she’s going to watch this movie,” Feyre laughed, looking around at the somewhat ridiculous costumes, “and she’s going to be terrified and have no idea why. You’re causing internal trauma that she’s going to repress.”

“Everyone stop ruining my child’s first Halloween, damn it,” Nesta mumbled. “She looks precious, I look precious-.”

“I know I look precious,” Cassian cut in. 

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Can I have her basket?”

Cassian pursed his lips. “Uh, what basket?”

“Her...candy basket?” Nesta went on, exasperated. “The one that says Sloan in bright, sparkly, ruby letters?” 

Cassian cleared his throat. “Let me go check in the truck.” He left, hurrying away, fully-aware that her basket was not in there.

It was sitting on the kitchen table.

Where he’d set it about an hour before.

Time to play damage control.

Nearly five minutes had passed by the time he jogged back over to his family, something held behind his hands.

“There’s a reason he ended up as the Scarecrow,” Rhys muttered as Nesta crossed her arms across her chest.

“That doesn’t look like her basket,” Az crooned.

But Nesta was staring at the little “basket” he’d made out of a few clean shop towels and multicolored zip ties he’d braided together. It wasn’t near as cute as the basket she’d made for Sloan.

But it was sweet, nonetheless.

With a sigh, Nesta took the basket, pressed a kiss to Cassian’s cheek, and walked away with Sloan, without a word.

Cassian cleared his throat. “I honestly can’t tell if she’s mad or not.”

“She will be if you don’t hurry after her and take pictures,” Feyre muttered.

Cassian hauled ass, Beau chasing after him on his leash. 

They made their rounds, going to each trunk around the square and getting Sloan candy, which Cassian knew he’d be indulging in. She was the perfect trick-or-treater, giggling as those who were passing out candy said hello to her. She only cried once, at a man dressed up as Frankenstein’s monster. 

Cassian didn’t blame her, but after they got her quieted and happy, yet again, she was back to having the time of her little life. Especially once they got back to their little family and she got to see her Aunt Elain again. Those big, puffy sleeves were what kept her entertained until she finally fell asleep, just as the sun went down.

In the middle of the square, a giant bonfire was starting.

Cassian sighed as he placed Sloan comfortably in her car seat in the bed of Azriel’s truck. “Can I change now?”

Nesta eyed him, from his straw hat down to his boots. “I don’t know. I kind of like the look.” 

He rolled his eyes and started unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m changing.”

“Here?” Azriel asked, his eyelids heavy. “I know the point of Halloween is to scare people, but you’ll scar the children for life-.”

“No, asshole, I‘m going to the restrooms,” Cassian scowled, walking away as heaps of hay began to fall off his body, the more he unbuttoned his shirt. 

The three Archeron sisters had crawled up in the bed of the truck and were hovering over Sloan, who was snoring soundly with her lips hanging open. 

She looked just like Cassian when she slept.

Nesta fought off a yawn and Elain said, “Like mother, like daughter, yeah?”

She chuckled. “Haven't been sleeping well. It’s okay though.”

“Is it the nightmares again?”

Nesta blinked and looked up at her sister. The nightmares had plagued her for months. The scars that Tomas had left weren’t only the physical ones. But things had been better recently, she was waking up in a cold sweat less and less frequently, didn’t jump whenever a board creaked in the old house.

Shaking her head, Nesta smiled. “No, it’s not that. I’m pretty sure it’s that lumpy old mattress in the master bedroom.” She rubbed at her back. “Feels like I slept on rocks.”

“Maybe you should get a new mattress,” Elain said. “Stop spoiling your child for once and treat yourself.”

Nesta snorted. “Cassian and I can’t seem to agree on one. I miss being pregnant. He let me have whatever I wanted when I was pregnant. Now he only lets me have what I want...most of the time.”

“Poor Nesta,” Feyre teased.

She stuck her tongue out at her sister, who laughed quietly as sweet Sloan slept on, snuggled tightly in her blankets.

As Cassian made his way back from the truck, dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and, as always, his boots, Nesta caught his eye. He smiled and winked at her as he joined his brothers, ruffling Rhysand’s “mane”. 

She couldn’t stop watching him, still unable to believe that such an incredible man was her husband, the father of her child. 

“You look happy, Nes,” Feyre whispered, and when Nesta came back to reality, both of her sisters were looking at her, their eyes soft. 

“I am,” Nesta said, smiling as she looked back to Sloan and pushed her little hair off her tanned forehead. “I really, really am.” 

[foxgloveinspace]

Andrew Minyard is ADHD:

I said I would only really write this if people were interested, but I lied, lol. WAIT One person liked the og post while I was typing this, so there's interest and it’s justified! Lol.

Ok, I’ve seen other posts talking about this, but some of them used some things that I didn’t agree with, so I’m gonna do my own.

I wanna set the preface of, if you see Andrew as ADHD, awesome! If you don’t, that's great too! In reality, this is all speculation, and self projecting, and my desire for actually good representation of ADHD characters that are not stereotypical, so if you see Andrew as something different, that is completely and totally a-okay.

-ADHD has three types, inattentive (formally known as ADD), hyperactive (previously just ADHD) and combined type. Some people prefer calling it Executive Function Disorder (EFD), because Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder describes how it affects people around ADHDers, more than it affects ADHDers. For the sake of this, I’m going to refer to it as ADHD, because it’s more commonly known, and it’s what I call it for myself. I also acknowledge that according to the timeline, Andrew would probably be diagnosed with ADD (if he ever got diagnosed, that is, which I don’t know if he would or not). Please keep all this information in mind.

Things that would be explained if Andrew was ADHD:

Instead of reason’s I think Andrew is adhd in canon, I mostly have thing’s I think could be explained if he was:

-Why he ‘hates’ exy:

This is a big reason in my mind, he is very insistent he doesn’t like exy and I can explain why he actually doesn’t with him being ADHD.

He started playing in juvie, as something to do, it’s a good way to completely clear his mind and concentrate on something that he is actually good at, which is instant gratification, it's something ADHDer’s experience a lot. It’s one of the main reasons ADHDer’s love video games (if your curious there are videos on youtube explaining this. I am ADHD and this is already overwhelming enough for me than trying to explain this as well).

Andrew only tries at exy when he is in the goal, otherwise he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it. He doesn’t care about stats of other teams, or watching other peoples games, it’s only interesting to him when he’s in the goal or when other people make bets/dares with him; “can you shut down the goal?” “pick a number” playing while coming down from his meds for a long period of time, things like that. Making it interesting, keeping himself engaged with it, is a big thing for him. Again, instant gratification. And also an explanation for why outside of the court, when people try to talk to him about the sport, he doesn’t care, he ‘hates’ it. Cause he does. He hates talking about, that doesn’t interest him. It’s boring and not what gives his brain satisfaction within the sport itself.

-Spending habits (TW: Not sure how to tag this tbh, but Andrew being prepared to die? I’ll put it in double parentheses, just incase):

((While I am of the firm belief that the number one reason that Andrew bought the first car is cause he completely wasn't expecting to live through the crash and then had no idea what to do with that amount of money when he wasn't expecting to live)), ADHD would also explain why he buys such expensive stuff. Again, it's instant gratification. It's like trying to tell yourself to wait for something you really want as an award. What's the point when you can have it now? He goes out and buys the most expensive cars he can cause it scratches that itch in his brain.

- Subcategory to spending, Daredevil:

It could also have to do with going fast. Most 'daredevils' are actually ADHDers. Going fast and doing daring things triggers chemicals in our brains, same as hyperfixations and instant gratification. In fact, that could also be a reason for sparing with Renee as well.

-Zoning out:

Ask any ADHDer about maladaptive daydreaming, and dissociating. Andrew has been known in canon to lose himself in thought a lot, and stare out in space for extended periods of time. This is very common with ADHD, and while it’s a small thing, it’s something I think about quite a bit, and so I included it.

-Loud Music:

Another way to drown out your own thoughts is to listen to music, and a lot of ADHDers like loud music. Andrew likes loud music while driving fast. This is very ADHD to me.

-His major:

I think this is something else that can be explained with ADHD, as a hyperfixation. Its not something he wants to do with his life, but it's something his brain lets him concentrate on, and therefore, something to do with his time in college, something he doesn't necessarily want to do, and is doing it out of necessity.

-His memory:

Something about adhd is that it is almost always paired with a different thing. Autism and dyslexia are the two most common. So his perfect memory would be something else neurodivergent that could be paired with his ADHD.

-Attachment issues/RSD:

Andrew keeps everyone at arm's length, and while this can be a part of his past, it can also be combined with RSD, or Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Which can mean any sort of negative attitude towards you can send you into a spiral. So Aaron not being understanding of their deal/promise and pushing him away would be devastating to him on a whole other level, one that feels right for how he acts in canon. But on the other hand he can't let go of Aaron because he is already attached to him. 

Again with Nickey, he's someone that's been in his life for so long it would be devastating for him to just up and leave, especially to an eighteen year old. He would never tell him this, because of RSD, and if Nickey decided to leave despite that, it would have been very devastating to him and Nickey would have never been allowed back into his life, so that would be the number one reason for Andrew to get Nickey into college with him.

ADHDers are also very quick to get attached to people, something we see with Andrew is that once he has decided someone is 'his' he is unshakable in his loyalty.

I hate going into it, but that would be another reason for how he is with Cass, why he is so desperate to stay, despite what is happening in the back ground.

-Emotions:

I know Andrew has reasons for being emotionally distant, but when he feels emotions in canon, anger, he is quick to it, and feels it fully to the point he can't control it. It's very common in ADHD to have no control over how you react to your emotions unless you spend a lot of time doing it, like Andrew has.

-Long Weird Conversations:

The way he talks to Renee, and then Neil, where they jump around from subject to subject, with no discernable connection to the subjects. Like, that's stereotypical ADHD, but one that actually ADHDers relate to. 

-Sensory things:

Things in canon that Andrew does/likes that scream sensory issues or stimming:

-Stimming:

Likes extreme foods (sweet and spicy things).

Has comfort objects (arm bands, while I know they were to hide his scars, I feel like the fact that they don't bug him even in extreme weather is a major factor in them being a weighted stim for him).

Smoking (I don't know how to describe how this is a stim for Andrew, but it is?).

-Sensory Issues (I know most of these have canon reasons, but I wanna say they could be heightened by ADHD, so keep that in mind):

Not eating around other people/eating in small bites. (Hating food textures is a common thing for ADHDer’s).

Being a light sleeper/taking forever to fall asleep. (Brain won't shut off/be quiet).

Wanting a routine but simultaneously hating it. (His love/hate relationship with exy. He never complains about getting up for practice, that Neil mentions, but is constantly hating how repetitive it is. Going to Eden's almost every Friday, where it's the same place but different every time without being too different.)

That's all that I can think of right now. I tried to not mention anything that happened while Andrew was on medication, so the whole 'keep my attention' doesn't really count in my opinion.

Thank you for reading, and maybe I might come back to this and add more someday, but for now it's finished.

In conclusion: Andrew being ADHD makes a lot of sense within canon.

[hi-im-dazey]

My first thoughts on 15x17

Behind the cut for head-canon and spoiler avoidance for them that wants ‘em

Chuck was writing versions. Each version had a different twist to set them on the path to Chuck's ending.

So what was the twist for this Sam-n-Dean that made them able to defy the narrative? Where was the moment that Chuck "screwed" his story and made actual free will?

I'll tell you what I think.

I think Chuck accidentally made one human with free will.

Only one.

Sam Fucking Winchester.

Sam can see and understand exactly what's going on. AND he is coming to realize that he is outside of Chuck’s control.

He knows Dean is being manipulated. Dean is clearly aware of it too, but he doesn't seem able to stop it. So what's the difference?

Sam told us, he told Dean, he told everyone, throughout the show, for 15 years,

‘It’s not who you are; it’s what you do.’

And because of this understanding, he relies on one particular trait of Dean's.

Dean will do literally anything to protect Sam. It's not always the right thing (he doesn't “always like it”) but in the end Sam knows and has always known the magic spell to trigger this trait in Dean. (call it “puppy dog eyes” if you want, but someone having blind trust in you, no matter what, is a helluva drug. Dean is addicted to it.)

But how come? Where did Chuck make his fatal error? What was the twist this time? The one that broke, not only the plot line Chuck wanted, but the character of Sam, as well. Making Sam incapable of following the narrative laid out before him.

I think the moment where Chuck made his mistake was the moment he had John hand the baby to the four-year-old. There’s a reason that’s the scene that kicks this all off.

A moment of extreme trauma and dire importance, literally burnt into Dean's brain.

Setting up this trait in Dean enabled Sam to truly push through any obstacle Chuck's story presented, because he knew Dean had his back when push came to shove.

Nothing bad was ever going to happen to him as long as Dean was around.

It's the song he grew up listening to.

"But," you say, "Everything that ever happened to Sam was quantifiable as ‘bad’!" (the joke of the only stroke of luck Sam Winchester ever had was that coffee cup landing on its ass is sad, but true)

Yes, and don't you think he has noticed that?

He’s given considerable thought to the fact he has survived this long with that much crap, against all odds, largely because of Dean. Anyone else would have been dead the first time and it would have stuck. Yet here he is. This has only reinforced the fact that Dean will try to do anything to save him. Not only will he try to do, he will succeed.

Without Dean he may have died at six months, or any time between then and now. It’s an important revelation when Dean tells Sam about carrying him out of the fire in season 1, Sam did not know that before then, but it makes Dean’s entire character snap into focus for him.

Sam has seen the pattern, he sees the hand of Chuck in their lives. He tries to break them out of the pattern over and over again.

Even before he fully understood what was happening and that it could be broken out of. Or that this was what he was doing. Before he was consciously breaking free, he still broke out of the plot.

Dean sees it too, he's not dumb.

But Dean's life did not belong to anyone, not the way Sam's has always been his responsibility. He only has Sam to help him break out of the hamster wheel, and I think they are just now seeing that.

I think Sam understands now, that for some reason, he is free and can refuse to do what is laid out before him. And, indeed, that he has been refusing his entire life.

He also understands that Dean can break out of the pattern too, but he needs Sam to help him.

Sam is the snapped fingers in the corner of Dean’s eye.

Sam is the trance breaker for Dean.

Sam is that moment of real panic that flooded his system when the house was burning and Sam’s life was in his hands.

That moment, that plot twist, is what broke Chuck’s story.

I’ve said before that the reason Chuck is afraid of Jack is that Jack was not written by Chuck, Jack is what the characters in the story wrote when Chuck left them alone (to go off and play with Amara), and in Unity Chuck admits there were things he “didn’t write”

So someone else must be writing things. When did that start, though? At what point did Chuck lose control of the authorship and accidentally allow another author into his sandbox?

Maybe when John Winchester handed a baby to a four-year-old. Maybe the reason Sam has free will is because he is also capable of writing in Chuck’s world. Or maybe he is capable of writing in Chuck’s world because he has free will.

What we saw in Unity  was Chuck forcing his will on Dean to get to his poetic, tragic ending. He squeezed all of Dean’s rage up to the surface, and added more, he gave him an order direct to his nerve ending, squeezing his ink through Dean’s veins... “This time, fire that gun, boy!” Daddy’s blunt little instrument fed on rage and frustration and anger at being thwarted and impotence at being led on a string...

And Sam, again, snapped his fingers in the corner of Dean’s rage and broke him out. I think we saw Sam beginning to realize that he has the upper hand here.

And I don’t think Chuck has realized that Sam himself is, in fact, the issue.. yet.

Not the bullet hole, or Sam’s hope, or the demon blood, or the latent powers or missed destiny.

Sam’s existence and being are the issue. What Sam DOES, not who he is or was meant to be. Sam’s actual free will is the problem for Chuck. (and take a moment here to remember that almost every crisis Chuck wrote for Sam involved removing Sam’s agency and autonomy.)

He thinks they are all refusing to toe the line, I don’t think he understands that Sam is the one editing his book yet.

And what about Castiel? Well, the moment he shook hands with Sam, he was broken. His chassis may have come off the assembly line cracked, and Naomi may have patched him up time and again, but the second he shook hands with Sam, he was irredeemable for Chuck’s narrative.

Chuck inserts himself in to the story as the prophet, maybe to check in and see what’s going wrong? Figures out that Cass is broken (again?) and takes steps to make an opportunity to “remake” Cass. Then again, once back in Sam’s orbit, Cass is again, broken... there is something that cracks apart for Cass when he interacts with Sam.

This is not a shippy thing, btw. It’s being confronted with a creature that has actual free will... Cass is not equipped to handle that. He left the angel factory without that blind faith setting. He can ‘see’; and he ‘sees’ Sam. Every interaction with Sam shows him what is wrong with the rest of the story.

And again, Chuck rebuilds Cass, and this time traps him in a story where Cass himself is the villain. And Cass was a great villain, that was a good story, no matter how you feel about Cass or Misha, season 6 was a good story.

When Cass returns again, in season 7, hyperbole is gone now, he literally BREAKS himself upon touching Sam. There is no metaphor here, he takes on Sam’s brokenness, with a touch.

(”you’re broken [...]broken toys? You throw them away...”)

The only way Chuck could possibly hope to keep Castiel from being broken is if he can keep him away from Sam.

But Chuck hasn’t realized this yet. He tries to write a narrative that Naomi is “tuning him up as he transgresses” as she has in the past? or as she has in other worlds?

Is Dean what really breaks him free of Naomi?

No, touching the Angel Tablet does it... and again, this is just Chuck, writing his way to his preferred ending. The Narrative Cycle begins again because the Angel Tablet ‘resets’ Cass. This plot point starts us on yet another iteration of the “remove Sam’s agency so one of the brothers sacrifices either himself or the other” cycle.

~~~

Looping back again to the fifth season...

When Chuck says “endings are hard” in Swan Song he’s not talking about writing that ending. That ending was good, it was solid, it closed out the story on a note of melancholy hopefulness, Sam was gone, and the apocalypse averted. It wasn’t happy but it was complete.

That ending wasn’t hard to write.

It was hard for Chuck to read.

Because that wasn’t what he was trying to write, Sam took over his narrative. Sam refused to kill Dean, Sam refused to kill Adam, Sam refused to kill Michael or allow Michael to kill Lucifer, or allow Lucifer to kill either of Sam’s brothers or his own brother.

Sam effectively cock blocked Chuck’s little ‘fratricide 21-ways served in a light creamed-angel sauce with a side order of fried surrogate dad’ all you can eat and there’s dancing after banquet finale.

Cass comes back, almost immediately, because Chuck needs to re-boot the cycle. Because Sam screwed it up for him, again. (Maybe if Chuck takes Sam’s soul out of the equation... he can get some traction on his plan, this time.)

Sam Fucking Winchester is simultaneously Chuck Shurley’s hero, voice, protagonist, and muse.

He’s also Chuck’s biggest problem.

Sam Fucking Winchester is the corner Chuck has written himself into.

~~~

Now this is all just spit balling head-canon, and probably nowhere near where the writers are actually going, but it woke me up early and took over my brain and prevented me from doing my homework (which is also writing, to be honest) until I got it all out of my system.

~~~

Inserting standard disclaimer: (C-A-S-S is how they spell it on the show, and more importantly, it makes screen-reading software for the visually impaired pronounce it correctly; as opposed to C-A-S which makes screen-readers say “Kah.”)

[veridium]

stolen

Well, friends, what kicks off a weekend better than a College AU update? Titled after one of my favorite songs of all time, and definitely one of the best kinds of love songs to describe Cass and Liv, the dashboard confessional classic. :)

Fall Carnival fun pt. 2 commences now!

last chapter // fic masterpost

--

There’s walking on glass and eggshells, and then there’s the week Olivia has leading up to the fall carnival. Ellinor deserves a medal of service for dealing with her each and every day, hour by hour, every time something unsettles her anxiety. She had told her everything was fine when they were shoving sushi into their mouths and laughing about fish puns. If only she could hold onto the same kind of half-optimistic, half-resigned sensation she felt then. 

It’s not that Cassandra is mean, or even insensitive. Despite Olivia’s incessant ranting and brooding, she can’t really say it’s because of cruelty. 

The day after her and Ellinor’s sushi date, she texts to check in. Cassandra replies, answering her questions, and nothing more. Olivia once again restricts herself from prodding, and comes back to her dorm to complain to Ellinor. That night she receives texts from friends insisting that they meet up at the Carnival at some point to take a fall aesthetic selfie. The dread grows. 

Then it’s Thursday. To her surprise, Cassandra texts her first.

Cassandra: Hey, will you be around at 12? I have office hours, I thought we could have lunch. 

The cup runneth over -- too bad her request collides with a final project meeting, and by God, Liv  will not give her team more of an opportunity to disappoint. She was the one who scheduled it, set up the shared Google Doc, and delegated responsibilities. If she ducked out, the whole thing would come apart. So, as much as it makes her want to cut four of her fingers off, she tells Cassandra no. Of course, Cassandra isn’t one to give grief. 

Cassandra: No problem, just thought I would offer. Have a good meeting!

Later that night, Olivia takes some initiative. The Carnival is the next day and if Cassandra isn’t feeling it, she would rather go alone or not go at all than try to force it. Cute pictures would never be worth it, and Olivia has grown up experiencing enough cringey, orchestrated “outings” to last a lifetime. She paces the floor of her dorm after sending the text, expecting one of dozens of possible reasons. After all, who wants to endure a Carnival with an ankle boot on?

Apparently, Cassandra does. 

Cassandra: Yeah! Cullen and the team have been looking forward to it for weeks. I don’t see why not. 

Olivia stares perplexed at her screen. Okay. Okay? Okay. That’s it, then. They’ll go, and it’ll be great. Except it won’t be, because in that split second, she’s already charted in her head all of the awkward and potentially conflictive situations that could happen. What if Cassandra gets there and her mood changes? What if she wants to get on a ride, but can’t because of her injury? What if she loses at a Carnival game and it sets her off? What if someone makes fun of her? What if she trips and falls?

As if by divine providence, she gets a phone call during her spiral. And it’s none other than Theia, finally getting back to her after over a week of radio silence. Olivia doesn’t waste time asking what happened between her and Josie, but Theia doesn’t have much to offer:

“It’s a break. That’s all I can really say,” she says, voice going low while she’s on speaker phone. “It’s a long story. I’d rather not get into it tonight.” There’s a loopy sound, like the swig of a bottle.

Olivia, scrunching her face while she sits on her bed, figures she should change the subject. She tells Theia she needs to vent to someone else besides Ellinor about what is going on with her, and Theia is the only other person who’d understand. The only other person who would be able to provide any insight as to what is upsetting her so viscerally. 

When she gets to the bottom of it, Theia doesn’t speak immediately. The quiet pondering scares her, like the ominous stillwater before a gator attack on those Discovery channel shows. 

“Liv,” Theia finally says, reluctant like she’s a Doctor about to break some terminal news, “you’re gonna hate me for saying this.”

“What? No!” she disagrees. “Not at all, please, help me out here. I’ve been stewing all week.”

“Well…” she chuckles nervously, “you sound just like you did when I first met you.”

Theia doesn’t have to elaborate. The phrase is code for  “a couple years ago,” which comes with its own subtext, one everyone who’s gone through what she has can understand. The phrase has grown from “a few months,” to “last summer,” to “last year,” and now she’s here. Time sucks ass. At least in Theia’s use of it, it doesn’t come with the same feigned accepting grief that Olivia’s Mom has when they’re at “gatherings” with “loved ones” who Olivia hasn’t ever seen before. 

Her cheeks go hot and she tosses the phone onto the comforter and looks away, as if she’s eluding the discerning gaze of a close friend. Theia knows better.

“I know you hate me,” she says, vindicated. “But, you know. The fretting, and the worrying about things that haven’t even happened to her. You’re trying to figure out her needs before she even says them. That’s how you sounded every time I’d be on the phone with you during break. You’d just...completely turn everything on for him, then your Mom.”

Olivia criss-crosses her legs, and picks at the tufted fabric of her old pajama bottoms. “Yeah.”

“Hey, you good?” Theia is quick to check, her tone more concerned. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”

“Warned me for what?” Olivia smirks and rubs her neck. “Trigger warning: your own damn life?”

“I mean...yeah. That’s kind of how it works.”

“Not always,” she replies, and picks up the phone. “It’s fine, Theia. I appreciate your honesty.”

Theia lets out a discomfited sound. “Maybe you should...I don’t know. Maybe it’d be best to tell her. Unless you think you can figure this out on your own. It’s up to you.”

“Yeah, it is,” Olivia nods, trying to convince herself simultaneously. All this time she’s been so worried about getting to the bottom of Cassandra’s issues, she’s scarcely thought about the consequences of her own. As if only one of them had baggage to bring around. No shit, Olivia owns her own baggage terminal. Silly for her to believe it would just go away if she just cared enough about someone else’s problems. No matter how many times she tried that trick, it never worked. 

Her and Theia manage to wrap up their talk on kinder, easier terms. Both of them acknowledge they aren’t in a place to be fully open. Agreeing to be patient with each other, they hang up, and Olivia collapses back on her bed to overthink things while staring off into the ceiling. 

This can be a really happy time, if you just let it. She thinks it, over and over, like a song lyric. Just let it. 

--

The next day, Ellinor’s glee and the prospects of fun lighten her up. She puts on one of her favorite dresses, a tea-length button-up dress with short sleeves and a ribbon around the waist. It has a print, blue and white small flowers, and flows at every little move she makes. When Ellinor sees it, she damn-near tips over. 

“You’re wearing that?” she asks, slipping her coat on. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Olivia smirks, and the back of her throat stings with nerves. She locks the door to her dorm and then drops them into her black denim jacket. Just a little touch of the normal aesthetic. 

“It’s the carnival!” she replies, “gotta dress to the occasion.”

“Hah, well, Cass will probably...hey,” Ellinor tries to say something funny, but seeing the immediate change on Liv’s face, she stops herself. “Everything okay?”

Olivia blinks. “Yeah! Yeah. Just distracted by something. Um,” she checks her phone. No messages. “Let’s hurry, parking will be a nightmare.”

--

Whatever Ellinor meant to say about Cassandra’s reaction, she was likely spot on: the minute they see each other in their kitchen, it’s like the world freezes. The first time she’s seen her all week, and Cassandra looks just as beautiful as she looks in Olivia’s memory. Black leggings and a knit, sangria-colored sweater with a dress shirt underneath, all neat and fresh looking. They stand facing each other silently while Cullen and Ellinor are off somewhere making various happy noises, giggling and joking. 

Olivia feels the strap of her string purse slipping and adjusts, her grip on it atop her shoulder turning deadly. The way Cassandra is acting confirms it: she knows its strange, too, that it’s been this long. But, as she always does, Olivia finds the words. 

“Y-ou ready?” she asks, offering a smile. 

Cassandra returns it. “Yeah! I just have to go and get my jacket.”

“Oh, you want me to--”

“No, no, don’t worry,” she says kindly, “I’ve got it.” She’s walking easier than she did the first day. Still an uneven sway, but she’s about as fast as she would be without it. She goes and comes back from her room, a fresh new team jacket over her arm. Shit, they must have got their team jackets?

She’s met in the living room with Cullen and Ellinor, who are also ready to take off. And so, with grins and happy laughs from all, they head out. 

--

The entire drive Olivia is trying to walk herself back off the mental ledge. Now that she’s aware of what she’s doing, or at least more aware, it’s almost worse. How can she tell her new girlfriend that she’s lapsing into something that’s taken her 3 years of on-and-off counselors for her to know is even real? When she’s not thinking about that, she’s thinking about how she should have been more honest with her, especially when Cass was raw about her own issues. Then she feels unreasonable for her expectations, and then…

In the middle of it, her gaze wanders to the center console, and then to the left, where Cassandra is seated. She’s sitting there, and then she feels Olivia’s gaze and looks over, and she smiles. She’s smiling, and she’s looking so happy in the sunlight shades changing so fast as the car goes fast downtown. 

Hands gathered against her waist like a kid on a school field trip, she grins back. 

Next thing she knows they’ve arrived, and Ellinor and Cullen are romping in the parking lot like spring yearlings, egging each other on for donuts or something. They’re so happy it almost rots her teeth. Ellinor tries to stick with the group, and before Olivia can ask her to stay, Cassandra surprises her and waves them off. That’s all the lovebirds need to fly off. 

Olivia takes a stiff breath and slips her aviators on. Who would have thought being alone with Cassandra after the week she’s had would be the exact opposite of what she wanted?

“Well, we better catch up, right?” Cassandra smiles again -- she’s smiling so much -- and slides her hands in her jacket pockets. 

Olivia looks over, nods, and goes forward. “Yeah! Yeah.”

“Everything okay?” Cassandra asks as she starts walking. “You seem anxious.”

“I...I am, a bit.”

They’re near the entrance when Cassandra stops. Olivia jerks and turns around, immediately admonishing herself. “Am I going too fast? I’m sorry, shi--”

“No,” Cassandra shakes her head. She’s reaching into her pocket. “My wallet is just stuck in the pocket. Give me a sec.”

Oh. That’s...that’s okay. Ok. Everything’s good. 

“You don’t have to worry about getting your wallet out,” Olivia says, grabbing her purse. “I got us!”

Cassandra furrows her brow and meets her gaze. “What? You sure? It’s not a big deal, I…”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Olivia puts in the effort for a sweet smile. She already has her wallet out and ready by the time Cassandra gives up grabbing hers. 

“Oh, okay then.”

They get in through the ticket stand without trouble. Once they’re in, it’s a marathon for the senses: spices and sugary treats freshly made and slathered lace the air, groups of people in bright autumnal hues exchanging cotton candy and stuffed animals. Music plays low and abundantly on speakers staked throughout, echoing the party of the open dance floor and festival stage somewhere through the fray. Machines and games ring out their sirens, with all the bells and whistles. Far beyond the front is the ferris wheel towering over the rest of the park yard and its sea of striped spotted tent roofs. It’s paradise for a bunch of young hearts with sweet teeth and salty energy levels from a semester nearly concluded. 

Olivia and Cassandra walk at a glacial pace. Cassandra looks just as endeared, scanning slowly from side-to-side, a carefree expression on her face. She looks so much more content than the last time Olivia saw her in a celebratory crowd. She’s cooler than cool. They walk beside each other so closely their shoulders bump, and ever so often one glances over and the other smiles in reassurance.

Then, because of course, they are hollered at by familiar faces. 

“Cass! Liv!” 

Lysette is walking over -- no, sauntering -- complete with what looks to be a giant inflatable hammer under her arm, and an ember-colored soda bottle in the other. She looks like a fabulous lumberjack, flannel, belt, boots and all. And a smug face of victory. 

“High Striker champion strikes again?” Cassandra asks with a clever laugh. 

Behind Lysette, a man looking like Rylen...or, sounding like Rylen, the way he’s cussing, is taking his turn at the game. Surrounded by several other bros, all chuckling and gesturing towards him as if to give pointers. Pointers he’s definitely not taking. 

“Agh, what can I say,” Lysette shrugs, looking over her shoulder. “He’ll be the last to call himself a loser.”

“That’s for sure.” Cassandra tilts her head, brow raised. “He’s lucky I’ve retired.”

Olivia gapes a little at the tall machine. “You played that?” 

Lysette laughs and hits Cassandra playfully on the shoulder with her balloon trophy, which Cass brushes off while smirking. “Cass taught me the magic,” she corrects proudly and takes a swig, “it’s from her that I inherited this heavy crown.”

Olivia’s brows lift into outer space as she looks over at her girlfriend, thinking of course she would, and Cassandra looks modestly self-satisfied. 

“Eh, well--” Lysette is interrupted by Rylen’s roar. They all turn around and see him, huffing and puffing like the wolf from the three little pigs story, strike hammer in hand. 

“Lys, you get your ass ov--h-hey! Liv! Cass!”

Olivia waves a little sheepishly. Cass nods. Lysette takes another glug of her beer. Poor Rylen couldn’t be gesturing toward a more unimpressed crowd of women. But, never one to be discouraged, he struts over swinging the thing like a baseball bat. 

“Either of you wanna take me on for the Striker?” he asks it generally, but his eyes stay on Olivia. The petite dancer, of course. Easy target. 

“Almost didn’t recognize you in the dress, Liv. C’mon,” he says, holding it out to her. “Take a swing!”

Olivia lets out a cautious laugh, and gently pushes the hammer away. Before she can give an excuse, Cassandra inches closer to her, until their sides are up against each other. It sends an excited chill down her spine. 

“Don’t get her caught up in your losing streak, Rylen,” Cassandra defends her. 

“Yeah,” Lysette snickers, “no need to pull innocent lives down with you, dude.”

Rylen looks sincerely confused at this disrespect, spreading his arms out wide to puff out his chest. “Ya’ll just don’t want to mess with the hometown glory!”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Olivia giggles, taking the opportunity to slide an arm around Cassandra’s waist. Cassandra is steady and warm. Irresistable. 

“We’re going to walk around some more before getting looped into games,” Cassandra says to Lysette, who happily nods and side-steps toward Rylen. 

“Come on,” she says, nudging him, “I’m not done with my streak.”

Liberated, Cassandra and Olivia turn to the left and walk on, her arm staying around her and Cassandra sending hers over Olivia’s shoulder. It’s one of the first acts of public affection they’ve done in a place like this. Well, that is, as a definite couple. The milestone is not lost on Liv, who for the first time since waking up in the morning has started to let the anxious “what if’s” slide. Cassandra isn’t dodging her, nor is she ignoring her. She’s here, she’s cheerful, and they’re here, together. The way Olivia’s head fits against the crook of Cassandra’s neck is perfect. 

“He was right about one thing,” Cassandra says as they walk down an aisle of stands. “You in a bright blue dress feels like a rarity.”

Olivia smirks and folds some wisps of hair behind her ear. “I live to shock and amaze.”

“That you do. You hungry?”

“Actually, kinda. I was hoping we could go to--”

“--the funnel cake stand?”

Olivia freezes and pulls away just a bit, just to be able to look up at her with eyes wide and mouth open. Cassandra looks back at her, a bit surprised. 

“Yes…” Olivia says slowly, “but the only flavor that is valid is…” 

Cassandra, catching the hint, chuckles softly. “Strawberry.”

“Agh!” Olivia lays her head back and smiles, leaning into her some more like before. “See, babe, it’s the little things that get me.”

Cassandra’s chuckling continues to bubble as she wraps her arms around her. As she pulls her in, she mumbles a soft caution: “careful, easy on me.”

Olivia is eyes closed and latched onto her like a koala when she hears it, and immediately backs off like they’re suddenly magnet ends.  

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! Ugh, I forg--”

Cassandra tilts a bit in reaction to the sudden shift of weight, and takes hold of Olivia’s flailing hands before they make her airborne. “Hey! Easy!”

Hands secured and attention obtained, Olivia once again freezes in a state of stress. 

“Liv, I’m okay,” Cassandra comforts with confidence. “I’m not a piece of fine china.”

Olivia can feel the embarrassed blush as she relaxes her arms. They stay linked, Cassandra rubbing the back of her hands with her thumbs. 

“I...I know that, I so know that,” Olivia repeats, “I’m sorry. I’m s--”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Cassandra adds, further dispelling the worry. 

“No, yeah. Yeah,” Olivia shakes her head fast, almost dizzying herself if not for Cassandra’s close presence. “Um, listen. Uh, hm…”

Cassandra blinks. “You okay?”

She looks so open, so understanding. Liv could tell her, she could just say it. Or, she could have a bit more mercy for her and not unload all of this on what is supposed to be a good, lighthearted night out. But would it help the stone in her gut, or the noiseless but deafening sensation in her head, between her ears? Will it make the dull but deep sense of dread subside?

“Cass, I…” her voice shakes a bit. Now she’s starting to become overwhelmed by all of the sensory overload and busy energy around them. Her cheeks go from hot to cold. 

“Olivia,” Cass says softly, coming closer. There’s a new look in her eyes, one that is least lost and confused. “We should go over to the picnic tables, okay? Just hold onto my hand and follow me.”

Olivia follows the instructions to the letter. After all, it isn’t exactly an unthinkable task holding onto her and letting her take the lead. Cassandra leads them over to where a few picnic tables form a semi-circle facing the venue, all but one taken up by people. It’s as if the last empty one was reserved especially for her unpredictable episode should she need it. 

But this isn’t an episode, right? God, she hopes not. 

“Have a seat,” Cassandra requests. Olivia, ever the dissenting queer, sits on the edge of the picnic table rather than the bench seats on either side. Her hands clamp on the wood while Cassandra stands in front of her, taking off her prized new jacket. 

“W-what are you doing?” 

“The thing that happens in every teenage romance film pre-dating 2005,” Cassandra replies. She then loops the jacket up and around Olivia’s shoulders. It’s a size or two bigger than she would wear, which makes it perfect. Olivia’s spine goes straighter than she’s ever been in her life, and she clutches the ends of it against herself like a blanket. 

Cassandra rubs up and down Olivia’s arms, slow but vigorous. The athlete is showing. “There.”

Olivia, feeling so sheepish she could be cast as an extra for a Charlotte’s Web remake, stares and rolls her lips shut. She feels better, but if she doesn’t let herself breathe, it’ll all surely get worse. 

“Are you in a place to tell me what’s going on, or should I just distract you?” 

Olivia’s fast becoming enthralled in just how prepared Cassandra is. If only she could say marveling at her was distracting enough without sounding corny. Yet, she’s asked the million-dollar question: can she say it, or should she? Without thinking, her gaze flashes to either side of Cassandra’s shoulders toward the crowds. Cassandra notices and immediately hooks a finger under Olivia’s chin.

“Olivia, don’t worry about them,” she says and guides her attention back to her. Butterflies. 

Olivia parts her lips and lets herself sigh. “I can’t.” She takes hold of her hand and guides it to rest in both of hers in her lap. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Not here. We’re supposed to be having a good time.”

“What we are supposed to be doing doesn’t matter.”

“I know, but, I’m okay. I just need a second. I promise.” She says it honestly. She can enjoy this, if she just gives herself permission to without scolding at every turn for mistakes she had no intention of making. “Just a minute to cool down.”

“Okay.” Cassandra turns and slides onto the table right next to her, for which Olivia gladly scoots over. She lets go of her just so she can hold onto the jacket again. The sun is heading toward the mountains in the distance, but the evening is still far out. 

After a moment’s silence -- well, silent as one can get amid a fall carnival -- Olivia takes her first solid breath. The feeling in her throat is cooling down, and the tension in her chest is releasing. Her wandering eyes go across from the horizon to the next tallest thing: the ferris wheel, where it looks like a couple very similar to Ellinor and Cullen are in one of the carts. If only she could see past the obstruction of a giant stuffed animal. 

Knowing them, that probably confirms that it is, in fact, them. It makes her snort. 

Cassandra picks up on the reappearance of good humor. “Feeling better?”

In return Olivia looks over and gives her perhaps the first real and relaxed smile of the entire day. “Yes, a lot. Thank you.”

Many yards away, near a ring toss stand, two people begin to wave. Olivia zeroes in and sees that one has a beautifully-crafted side-braid of black hair and a fabulous ruffled coat. The other is a less-familiar face, but not a stranger’s.

“Oh, Josie!” Olivia says, and waves back. Josie is holding a smaller stuffed animal, bright pink, looking like a teddy bear. The other person says some words to her, looking like a question. 

She looks happy. That’s good. 

“Where’s Theia?” Cassandra asks, sticking a pin in the moment without even knowing. 

Taking another breath, Olivia leans her shoulder into hers and groans. 

“Am I missing something?” 

Olivia sighs. “You and me both. I’ll explain later.” Her phone dings from her bag. She looks up and sees Josie and her company gone, only to look down at her phone and have an answer: 

Josie: I hope we can link up before either of us leaves and take a pic! You both look adorable!

She hums in speculation, and replies: 

Olivia: Yes please!! 

With one click and toss, her phone is back in her back, and her sense is back in her head. Ariana Grande’s song “Tattooed Heart” has started to play on the Carnival DJ speakers. 

“I love this song,” she smiles, and sways a little to the beat. “How are you feeling?”

Cassandra rolls her shoulders as she leans back a little. “Great, I have no complaints.”

“Really?”

She takes one look at Olivia’s hopeful look and bites the side of her lip. “I mean, I still have my expectations. Firstly, the funnel cake. Secondly, I do want to see you take a swing at the High Striker. Third, I--”

“Oh, what!” Olivia scoffs playfully, “That hammer looks taller than me and about as heavy!”

Cassandra smirks. “With me coaching you, Love, you can’t lose.”

Butterflies, part two. “I...suppose you have a point. But if it’s gonna happen, I’ll need that funnel cake to help hold me down.”

“Deal.”

Love. I like that nickname. Hell, I’d change my name to it, why not?

She hops down with her spirit anew, and helps Cassandra back onto her feet. Just a little help, as a treat, since Cass is right: she isn’t fragile, and Olivia doesn’t have to worry. Watching the people she depends on for strength deal with physical limitations doesn’t always have to be a crisis. It might have been in the past, but the here and now is what matters. And she is allowed to believe that. 

They hold hands that gently swing as walk back into the crowds. It goes from feeling like a minefield to that scene in Rapunzel where she and Eugene are frolicking among the city folk. Friendly faces turn and offer smiles and “hello’s,” and they wave back. It’s easy. It’s effortless and thrilling at the same time. The popping and bell sounds are no longer menacing. The heat of the day is no longer suffocating. 

And, at last, they find their way to the main event: that beautiful funnel cake truck, with its beautiful plates bigger than her faze of fried dough, strawberries, and whip cream. After dousing it in powdered sugar because, of course you douse it in powdered sugar, she approaches Cassandra with a bit of purposeful mischief.

Smart to the look, Cassandra raises a brow, holding her fork in ready. “You pull anything, Sinclair, and it’s war.”

“Whaaat?” Olivia asks coyly, pinning her own fork between her teeth and smiling. She’s holding the plate in both hands like a holiday pie. 

“You know what. Don’t even think about it.”

“I just thought maybe you could do a little taste test a--AAH!” she can’t even get the tagline out before Cassandra strikes the first blow, scooping a dollop of cream onto her fingers and smearing it across Olivia’s nose and cheek. She squeaks in a pitch nearly at Ellinor-level, and stands there, shocked and holding the pie while her fork falls from her mouth onto the plate. Eyes wide, mouth agape, and face whipped. 

She can’t believe it. Cassandra, standing there, smug and unable to run. But it’s not like she would, anyway. The woman stands and is judged for her crimes just as she is for her wins. 

“I…” Olivia huffs, “Did you just seriously…?”

Cassandra, folding her arms with one hand going to her mouth as she only half-conceals her kind of playful grin, only plays dumb: “What? I have no idea what you are referring to!”

“Is this revenge for the ice cream?”

“I would prefer to call it a preventative measure.”

“Preventative...for what? I was only going to feed you the first bite!”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “Sure, Olivia, sure.”

“I was! Dammit, I was being a nice girlfriend! I swear!”

“I suppose we will never know, now,” Cassandra laughs and takes the napkins Olivia has in her hand, the ones she’s forgotten about during this heinous act of assassination. Carefully she unfolds it and hooks her finger under Olivia’s chin like before, only now she tilts it to the side so as to get the prime angle. 

“Hold still,” she’s still laughing a little as she wipes off most of the whip cream. Olivia’s eyes are adrift to the floor but she can’t resist glancing. Glancing turns to staring. A brief moment in time where everything is messy, but everything is wonderful. Cassandra looks so thoughtful, so kind. 

Such a pity, since she’s in for it. 

Striking just as quick, Olivia leans her cheek in and rubs it across Cassandra’s mouth and tip of her nose. Most of the mess is already off her face, but they can still share in the stickiness. 

“Ha!” She beams, bouncing back. “Rules of engagement are rules of engagement, Pentaghast!” She grabs her fork and points it at her like a defensive weapon. 

Cassandra chuckles and folds the napkin she had in half, looking down at the floor modestly like she knew it was coming. She isn’t mad, though. Far from it. And she definitely isn’t mad when Olivia offers to take the napkin from her and pay her due, cleaning off her face. 

“You know, sometimes,” Cassandra says more quietly, as Olivia finishes with one last brush along her chin for good measure, “I...I can be very bad at allowing someone else to take care of me.” The silliness has slipped from her tone. 

Olivia goes still, her hand full of scrunched, stained napkin still caressing Cassandra’s jaw. Their eyes meet, and in the hazel hue she can see it. She can see the recognition, the apology for the amount of little things that have become a pile of a bigger thing. She knows. She knew in the kitchen earlier that day, and she knows now. And for some reason Olivia, who has always been team “an apology means saying the words,” this feels like it means something deep. Something trusting and vulnerable. 

Something definitely forgivable. 

And so, tossing the napkin to the trash a couple feet from where they stand, Olivia grins wide and cuts into the plate of precious funnel cake until she skewers a perfect bite-sized piece of cake, cream, and berries. Then, holding it up for just a few seconds, she then stuffs it into her own mouth. She then holds the plate out to Cassandra, who grasps the plate edge with one hand. 

“Don’t worry,” Olivia says with a mouth half-full, “I suck sometimes at letting others care for themselves. Maybe we both need to learn when to just stuff our faces and let things happen.”

Cassandra, looking relieved and with fondness, begins to dig in with her own fork. “You might be onto something, there.”

Though she can never not overthink things, Olivia is happy to think ahead with this one: their edges and sharp points aren’t what they used to be. The intuition she had to just ride the wave and let things play out proved vindicated. It’s uncertainty that isn’t tragic. It’s hopeful. Is this what it feels like, then, to be falling in love?

Bring it on, Hammer Strike. 

[bigskydreaming]

kai06leaf replied to your post:

Ended up all night, with sleep derailed by a RUDE...

Um I had asked for a link for your batman related works?:)

Oh score, this is actually weirdly timely then! FlashinthePan is my Batfam pseudonym (https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashInThePan/works), its just it hasn’t been useful for much other than to use my bookmarks page there as a fics rec list. Since the only other things still up on it are the YJ WIP I haven’t updated in a couple years and an elephant’s graveyard collection for the random ficlets I often write on here while forgetting they’re usually long enough to be actual one-shots...and that I then forget to actually add to that one, that I created for the specific purpose of putting all those in one place. My mind. Its just....*staggers at the Legend of it all*

I’ve been on a pretty committed “No more posting unfinished WIPs kick” for the past couple years but am finally at a point where I have stuff to post without cheating, so that streak officially ends today, when I finish my read-through of the first fic* in question and hit publish. “The Requiem Rites of Robins,” the ten chapter first story in an AU Battle For the Cowl fix-it series, “A Legacy of Robins,” with TRRoR being roughly 40K, focuses on Dick and Jason and their issues with each other and Bruce’s believed death, picking up and going AU at an indeterminate time not long after the end of BFTC. 

Specific goals of focus with this particular fic were addressing Bruce’s bullshit last will and testament to Jason (ugh), the eternally unremarked upon moment that was Dick watching his brother refuse to take his hand and instead fall to what at the time must have seemed very likely to be Jason’s second death, in a pretty fucked up parallel to his parents’ death (ugh), various other unaddressed issues between the brothers that kept them making like they were Cain and Abel instead of two people who loved each other and very much could use each other while grieving for their father or even just pretending they weren’t....and also steadfastly jumping their combined train of events well off the tracks before Morrison’s whole...”Jason” thing ever happened at all (ugh).

Just a headsup for readers for whom certain characterizations of Bruce are a dealbreaker - full disclosure, this fic and its sequels do consider various less pleasant moments between Bruce and his two eldest to be in character and canon, with NTT #55 and the ending to UTRH the most touched upon and relevant. For what its worth, my intention there (and hopefully my execution of things) was not to vilify or bash Bruce, or to make it at all a question of whether or not both really loved Bruce and he them. 

To be clear...I do categorize Bruce’s actions towards Dick and Jason at those times/specific others as abusive, but a huge part of my reason for even writing this particular fic was to explore and examine the reality of loving a parent even despite a history of actually abusive behavior on their parts. Of how to mourn for someone you loved at some times and hated at others, who was both the person who made you feel whole again and the one who made you at other times feel the most broken. 

Especially when you’re two people who pride themselves on being heroes, who are ‘supposed to know’ that there’s no defense, no excuse for some of the things their father did, but that doesn’t always change or erase how much they want to. And who are both looking for an answer in the other, as to how they’re supposed to live with the fact that deep down, there’s a part of them that will always still be those ten and twelve year old orphan boys who came to believe their father was a man who could literally do the impossible...even mend what was broken, make things right with them and the world as they knew it just like he’d managed once before, when he’d first come into their lives and they’d been just as certain then that there were no more happy moments in their futures at all. 

And with the both of them still, even after everything, having held onto that secret hope that someday he was going to find the secret loophole, the magic words that let them forgive him, that let them let the past all just be in the past and the future all that really mattered, that their best days as a family weren’t all behind them yet and there was still time for things to be different, for him to be different....because their dad wasn’t like other ordinary dads, their dad was the Batman, he was a superhero.....

....who was also still just a man, and sometimes men die with their most important deeds still left incomplete.

This first story is centered firmly on just Dick and Jason, because I have a tendency to let things get too widespread and expansive plot-wise the more characters I focus on, and because this first story, about mourning Bruce and finding a way to move on, needed to be just Dick and Jason, although Cass and Tim and Damian, as well as Steph and Babs and Alfred all have things in the wake of his believed death that IMO they needed explored, and that were never explored in canon. But Dick and Jason had to be the first two and a solo act except for each other, especially as this series is still geared towards Bruce’s eventual return, and just to a much different status quo....because the thing about Dick and Jason at this specific point in time, is that they were quite possibly the only two people in the world who would ever have the relationship with Bruce that they did, to see him the way they both at times did, and nobody else ever fully grasped. 

They knew him at his highest and his lowest points, the best parts of him and the worst, the center of their whole universes and the destroyer of them....and for them, at this place and time, its about being forced to realize that for as much as come between them over the years, they each are the only ones who will ever fully be able to speak to the entirety of their father as not just Bruce Wayne, the Batman, the myth and the legend, but Bruce the man, the flawed father who was supposed to be better than his worst mistakes with them, because he was supposed to be a hero. 

Even as close as others were to Bruce, there were specific slants to the light they saw him in....for Alfred, even when making his worst mistakes, he was still his son, for Cass he was still the father who fought her personal demon not because of what he wanted her to be but so that she could be who she wanted to be, for Tim, he was imperfect but still larger than life, the hero he’d still first only come to know through the lens of a camera from a great distance, a perspective he’d yet to entirely shake, and for Damian he was still largely a figure of make believe, a bed time story he’d been told all his life. 

There’s an inherent goodness, a nobleness around the idea of Bruce for most others in his life, that defies coming face to face with the realities his failings could be.....which only Dick and Jason could ultimately attest to, as losing the ability to keep sight of that innate shine was why they’d found themselves so disillusioned by their father at the lowest points between them. And so in a lot of ways, the ultimate goal of writing this fic was trying to get Dick and Jason to a point where they could share their full, messy, complicated as hell feelings about their father with each other, but simultaneously feel a need to preserve the way each of their siblings still saw him, because the truth is that if there’d been someone who could have preserved that shine for their own eyes, to keep their memories of him clear and unobstructed by complication....they would have been glad to have been left just missing Bruce their father, and not the mess of feelings forever tied up in a Gordian knot upon by his death.

So yeah. LOL. That’s the link to my Batfam works, though there hasn’t been much on their for ages, but stay tuned for Chapter One of The Requiem Rites of Robins, later today.

“In the wild, a group of robins is called a round. But Gotham’s birds have always been of a different sort, something entirely unique. And the only proper plural for them, I’ve found, is a legacy.”

An investigation leads the newly minted Batman to London, alone and without Robin’s back-up for the trip. In the past couple months, Dick Grayson has barely found time to breathe, let alone to grieve for his father and come to terms with his new role as the Dark Knight’s successor. But his distracted state leaves him vulnerable, and when a new villain’s one-man war threatens to make a casualty of him too, he’s left with no alternative but to work side by side with his rescuer - at other times better known as his brother, his successor, and a couple times his would-be killer.

(Their family always has been one of over-achievers. And if you’re going to pick a pair of brothers to play compare and contrast against with that in mind, its hard to go wrong with something biblical.)

But Dick seeming no more happy about it than he is, doesn’t do much to pick up Jason’s mood. He’s come to London for his own reasons, and no, he’s still not inclined to share. Curiosity killed the cat, but he’s sure Selina wouldn’t mind if innate nosiness knocked off a few birds here and there as well. Well-earned paranoia aside, however, secrets and cynicism can only carry them so far when the two are forced to rely on each other to fight their way free of a city turned death-trap. Both are keenly aware that the last time they’d fought side by side like this, they’d been all the way back on the other side of Jason’s first untimely death. And as far as potential omens go, that one’s about as shitty as they come.

But a mixed curse and blessing are nothing new for them, and so that’s not just a painful reminder, but also proof that things were different once. That the brothers they’ve become were not always the brothers they were supposed to be. It was time and pain and bloody loss that weighed them both down so much further than the altitudes that came most naturally....not fate, or destiny, or even them. And as their new enemy forces them deeper and deeper below ground, it becomes all the more clear there’s only one skill in either of the brothers’ arsenals that will see them through to the other side of all this: 

And only if they can not just remember, but rediscover, how to shed all of that and finally fly free again.

[mac-writes-fanfiction]

The Interruption

An update for Slow Burn!

Taglist: @heyyitsangie

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

The House of Wind had become somewhat of a project for Elain since she had been training for longer hours. Still dressed in her training leathers with well-worn tunic pulled over it, she held a potted moonflower lovingly held in her arms as she moved toward the balcony. Rhys had dropped her off with the flower just a moment ago, tugging one of the two braids parting her hair on his way off.

She had decided to drop off the flower before meeting Cassian and Nesta for a grueling training session. Cass throwing innuendos and Nesta acting like she was unaffected for four hours was exceptionally low on her list of activities she was interested in today. Thus, the brief respite with plants before the coming storm.

She had made it her mission to fill the house with various foliage. Not that it needed to be any more perfect than it already was, but she felt the urge to put in her own personal touch, a reminder of how much she appreciated each and every person to frequent the residence. Each of them had saved her and given her a reason to look forward to this new immortal life to be lived.

This particular balcony she knew well. If only because Azriel tended to favor this balcony for his returns from missions. A moonflower would be good, one that bloomed in the night when he returns. She hoped he saw it as a welcome home even when she was not present to welcome him herself.

She could feel the presence of them before she rounded the entrance, readying her face with a smile at the company she turned the corner.

Her breathe hitched when she took in the almost intimate position she had caught her present company huddled in. Mor’s hands were placed simultaneously on both Azriel’s face and his forearm. While his hands, his beautiful gnarled hands, clasped both her elbows. Their whispers were low and intent, the barest smirk spread across his lips.

When both of them turned to face her, Elain could feel her face blanch and her smile shake. Their expressions were what she would perceive as taken aback when they separated from each other. She wished her heart would not squeeze so hard in her chest, or the pit of her stomach had not leaden so quickly. Recounting moments of Feyre under the breath remarks and glances between her new family surfaced in her mind with clarity. Of course, she had seen moments between the two in front of her but always assumed it was of a type of love between two friends with centuries of history. Not between two people in love.

It was Mor that spoke first, bounding toward Elain in a graceful way only Mor could, “Hello, Darling! Oh, what did you bring for the house today?”

Even though her heart stung she straightened her smile and her shoulders, “It’s a moonflower. I figured it would look best where the moonlight could reach it first. I had no idea you two were out here or I would have waited. Sorry for intruding,” realizing almost too late she looked as though she were skulking in the shadows.

A worrisome expression flashed in Mor’s face; Elain still had yet to look at Azriel, even as she felt a small whispery breath against her ear tell her to look at him. Truth was she was scared to see what his face said. She was even more worried she would see nothing on his face at all. Her movements were unnatural as she set the moonflower off to the side of balcony’s entrance.

From behind her she could hear his cool, raspy voice, “You aren’t, El."

Her heart jerked inside her chest. She was going to embarrass herself more if she stayed.

Saving face and making a quick exit was all she could do at this point.

Her eyes came back to Mor, just Mor, “Well I should head to find Cassian and Nesta,” Mor’s eyebrow raised at that. No one wanted to find Cassian and Nesta. Lately, as they had been working out the kinks in their whatever it was they were doing they were all giving the couple a wide berth. But they felt safer now than this situation.

Still, she avoided looking at the male, whose gaze she could feel burning into her, before she gave into that same voice almost desperate this time, look at him, just look at his face. She practically sprinted to the training grounds to avoid doing just that.

Nesta smiling at Cassian almost made her freeze. Cassian took two fingers and tapped them between Nesta’s eyes who playfully slapped them away.

Cassian caught her eyes first, “There you are. I thought I would have to find Az to see if you were glued to his side again.”

At the mention of Azriel she tried with all her effort not freeze. Judging by the narrowed eyes from Nesta and Cassian’s furrowed brow it was unsuccessful.

“Nope just had to find a place for a new plant.”

Cassian’s gaze slid to Nesta, who side-eyed him in return. Elain rolled her eyes at the both of them. Before Cassian could give her a directive on what she should start on, Elain made her way to the makeshift body double made of cloth and stuffing. Her hands were shaking, before she could make them stop her sister grabbed the wrappings and started working on her hands. When she had tightened the last of it, Nesta held her hands until Elain met her stare. Elain’s defiant streak rarely came to life, now she could feel it leaking through her skin. Nesta must have decided not to push her because all she said was, “we’ll talk after dinner,” and returned to the area were Cassian had two blunted swords at the ready.

She left her hands fly in escalated sequences. Fifty sets of one-twos, one hundred sets of one-two-threes. On and on. Over and over. She let her mind wander, not fully aware of what she was doing but relying on muscle memory.

Again, she had overestimated someone’s feeling for her, and how could she not blame herself.

Had she read too much into the comfortable quietness she and Azriel had when they were alone? Did he still think of her as the selfish sister he had first seen at their family’s manor so long ago? As the useless, heartbroken girl who had gotten captured by her own stupidity? She was not that same girl and would never be again. She grew nauseous to think about all the times she had given him a lingering look or kiss on the cheek. She had slept next to him not even a month earlier. She had been terrified she would lose him physically that night. She had never considered losing him emotionally could be almost as devastating.

Maybe her heart had deceivingly fallen in love with the how he had taken to helping her adjust to life as a fae. Not even a heartbeat later a resounding no answered her. No, she had not loved him at first. But over the months by his side, learning about him, studying him, being his friend, she had discovered that she had truly known no one as fiercely loyal and as good as he was. He was at once one of the most dangerous males in history and her safest place. This love for Azriel was not based on superficial looks and needs like the false love she had with Graysen. It was built on a foundation of implicit trust. Even back when she was human she was drawn to his quiet ability to put her at ease.

But if the encounter she had witness was any indication, Mor was the one that held his heart. Mor, who had treated Elain with such fondness and care, deserved to be loved. Mor had told Elain about her past. And if Azriel loved anyone else, she would not hold it against either of them.

Maybe she was to be alone. Let it make her into a stronger person. No one else knew that she had already rejected the bond with Lucien. She had not even told Nesta or Feyre. She thought back to the night, both of them sitting in the garden at the townhouse after he had helped Azriel. He could never know her heart. And she could never know his. She still felt that bond tug at her ribs every now and then, a gentle reminder than Lucien still cared. She found herself tugging back when he crossed her mind, another reminder to stay safe on his journeys. He still had much to learn from Helion, having vowed to be the one to break to curse on Vassa himself. Yes, he would find someone.

She had found her someone, but he already had another. And she would have to live with that. Maybe for eternity.

“…ain… Elain… Elain!”

Scarred, calloused hands grabbed at hers, breaking her out of her trance. The blue syphons attached to said hands were faintly gleaming. Blood seeped from the knuckles of her hands, Elain stared at it as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. She had not even felt the skin break, even now that she had noticed it she still could not feel anything as she flexed her hands. Quickly and efficiently her hands were unwrapped. She wanted to stroke the fingers that held hers, but those fingers did not belong to her, no matter how much she wanted them to. Instead she stood there with her hands limp.

“What happened? Look what you did to your hands. Let me fix them. Please?” she had never heard him speak so quickly, like she might run away before he finished speaking.

“Look at me, Elain. Please. Just look at me,” looking at him seemed dangerous to her. Like it might crack her wide open. A hand under her chin lifted it up, up, up until their eyes met. His looked to be somewhere residing between worried and panicked.

Truth was walking away was impossible and it was slowly killing her. She needed to move away from this closeness, she could not breathe with his hands on her face.

Her hands went to his chest, trying to put even the slightest distance between them. “You shouldn’t have to take care of me. I’m so sorry if I made you feel like you have to.”

Her eyes shot open wide when she felt his hands lock around her neck keeping her from moving away.

His eyes were too intense, anyone else would think it was anger, “I do not have to take care of you. I want to. I will always want to.”

Elain shook her head almost violently, trying to throw off the words before they settled into her chest giving her hope, “You cannot say things like that to me. Not when you have Mor.”

Why was he giving her his confused face?

He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

“If you and Mor are together, you should be with her right now not trying to help me. I know you might still see me as fragile because of how I was when we first met, but I am not that person anymore, Azriel. I need to learn to no-“

His hand was on her mouth. At least she had cut him off before he even started to speak, cutting her off in the middle of a sentence was more than a little frustrating especially when it was something this important. Although, his face was still alarmed. She decided her frustration slip from her. His face moved from alarmed to soft. His hand slid away from her mouth and back around her neck.

“There is a conversation that needs to be had. That has needed to be had for a long time, I think. I would suggest we move to another location to have it since I’d rather not have Cassian and Nesta glaring at me from across the training yard. But first, I am not nor, have I ever been with Mor.”

Hope and confusion were warring inside of her. Her mind had not yet caught up with Azriel, yet. The slight smirk on his face was indication he was aware she had yet to catch up. His arms drew her close and she did not stop him.

“Wrap your arms around my neck.” And she did.

However, she was not expecting him to take off immediately without even putting his arms underneath her knees. Her initial panic made her throw a leg over each side of his hips. She knew she was clutching onto him for dear life, and underneath her sudden embarrassment she knew if he had not wanted this exact reaction his hands would not be drawing her closer even still. She was thankful Rhys, yes Rhys, had braided her hair this morning or it would be damned awful to untangle later.

Their flight to the townhouse was silent, much like most their flights were, but it was different. She felt too much. Clutching him, her face pressed next to his, her legs wrapped around him. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, this way. His wings had always mesmerized her, but this way she studied the shifting in his broad shoulders that carried them. She knew it was inappropriate to touch wings without asking, but she found herself wondering how they felt.

He landed in the garden. Of course, he took her to the garden.

When she made a move to loosen her grip on him, he held fast. She was grateful for it. She had never felt another person this close before, it thrilled and terrified her. His hands were ever slowly inching themselves down her thighs stopping just before they got to her rear. Her breathing was out of control, while Azriel remained perfectly calm. She felt his amusement. She hoped he was proud of himself, she could not even glare at him.

He reached the garden’s bench and lowered her onto the wood. She kept herself from sighing in disappointment when his arms fell away from her.

“I am going to get something for these,” he tugged her hands closer to his face. Cool wisps of shadow traced her fingers and replaced themselves with the shadowsinger’s lips while they traveled up her arm and curled around her shoulder and ear. When she looked back up from the shadows he was walking into the townhouse.

His shadows her playful with her. They had been for a while. Surprisingly, she never noticed them interacting so much with the others. She could feel the shadows move behind and around her neck and jaw, rest there, then move back down to encircle her upper arm almost like a cuff.

Azriel strode back to her. He reminded her of a large cat, the way he prowled. He was almost too graceful and silent for how big he was. Sleek came to her mind when she looked at him. Sleek, Dark, and Silent. Getting overwhelmed by him was still easy after all this time. Would there ever be a time when she would not be?

Instead of crouching in front of her, he straddled the bench. Her legs were pulled to the side and draped over each of his legs so that she was face to face with him. Certain that her face was the color of the roses behind Azriel’s back she ducked her head to focus on their hands. His hands cleaned hers, his hands rubbed salve gently over the wounds. It was while his hands started wrapping her knuckles that he started to speak.

“I have never been with Mor, but I did have feelings for her for a long, long time. You know what she went through all those centuries ago, they started before even then,” she wondered if he was pausing to test her reaction. Her stomach wanted to heave itself at his words. Her hands must have stiffened because he rubbed her palm after he had finished wrapping the first one.

“I had feelings for her, but I never believed I was good enough. For hundreds of years I kept my mouth shut about it. I watched her take lovers, and I had my own,” he said unapologetically. Elain knew he had lovers. It would be absurd for someone who had lived for centuries to not have them, “But in all those years, the only thing I felt in regard to my feelings for Mor was pain. I know now my feelings caused her pain as well. Mor, Cassian and I danced an uncomfortable dance for centuries because I clung to my feelings for her, Mor was afraid to hurt me, and Cassian was stuck in the middle trying to navigate and be a buffer for us both.”

His face was stark and open to her, “Mor and I hurt each other, and we hurt Cassian.”

His second wrapping job finished, he settled for holding her hands firmly in his, she turned hers around to hold his back. “My romantic feelings for Mor did not make me a better person. I know you understand what that is like.”

Elain thought about how bitter Graysen had become toward her after she had been Made.

Azriel lip curled up a little at the corner, “Although to be fair, Graysen might just be a prick.”

A watery giggle broke left her mouth with a smile. She saw his eyes lock onto it, “There she is.”

Elain cleared her throat, he watched her, waiting for her to speak, “Do you still have those feelings for her?”

Eyes always intent on hers, “I’ve reconciled that no, I no longer have those feelings for Mor. And what you saw this morning,” Elain felt her cheeks flush again, “was a conversation of forgiveness. I asked for her forgiveness. And she asked for mine in return. When I saw you standing there, I froze. I was concerned you had heard what I had just told her, before I could come to you and tell you myself.”

Scared to hear the answer as she was, Elain asked the question anyways, “And what is it you wanted to tell me?”

“That I love you. I think I have for a while now.”

He said it so casually, like it would not break open her world and put it back together more beautifully than she could have ever imagined.

She knew she was crying and did not try to stop it. He wiped the tears away, while he continued talking, “I wanted to give you time to come to me at first, to know it was your choice to love me. It might be selfish of me, but I need to tell you. You need to know sleeping with you in my arms that night was the happiest I have ever felt. I want you to know I could spend the rest of eternity waiting for you if that is what you need.”

Elain’s hands grappled for the front of his leathers, pulling herself up into his lap fully. And this time her lips met his. His lips were cool and a relief to her own that were burning. Their lips separate and just as quickly came back together again, this time almost wild. Her hands tugging at him needing him closer. She sighed, and he growled. His tongue received entrance to her mouth freely. Hers seeking his in return. She like he was stealing her soul and replacing it with his own.

She separated their lips; she may be immortal, but she still needed to breathe. He was staring at her eyes almost glazed like he could not believe what just happened.

“I love you, Az,” at that his gaze cleared and touch hers.

“You could see me, when no one else could. I feel stronger because of you. A mate bond could not even keep me from loving you,” maybe she should have told everyone about her rejecting that same bond.

“I told Lucien I would not mate with him. We both decided rejecting the bond was the right thing to do.”

His face did not register surprise at the fact, “Sometimes, I think the shadows are just as attracted to you as I am.” They had told him, is what he did not say. It felt nice to be favored by his shadows.

“Kiss me, again,” was all she said. He kissed her like she was indestructible. And she loved it. Her instincts her screaming to take and give. Her body pushed insistently against him. Finding him hardened against her stomach only made her more desperate. It was Azriel who stopped them this time.

His throat cleared, “As much as I want to make you scream on this bench, I think it’d be better to wait until we can find somewhere all our lovely friends will be unable to witness it.” Elain buried her face in his neck and groaned, earning her a raspy chuckle.

“Your sister has been watching us for last twenty minutes at least.”

“Oh, Mother Tits,” she might die from embarrassment, “Want to skip dinner tonight?”

Azriel’s laugh was full and burned a path to her heart, “I can think of something I would much rather eat.”

She knew she should be scandalized, yet a firm, “Please,” is what she answered stroking a finger along the ridge of his wing causing him to shiver.

His answering smile was wicked and gorgeous. Without another word he stood with her still clinging to him and took off into the blue canopy over Velaris.

[lushscreamqueen]

ROCKY JONES-MANHUNT IN SPACE – 1956 for THE SCHLOCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW

Opening: Hello, good evening and welcome. You look great. But enough about you!. Let talk about Pirates... Arr! When a band of interstellar pirates, headquartered on a hidden planet, threatens the space-ways, and only the Space Rangers can save the day. Richard Crane, and Scotty Beckett star in this feature-length science fiction adventure from loving repackaged from the early TV series "Rocky Jones, Space Ranger. He’s always so cool, he’s always right, and he never fails! What a guy. So sit back, graba space stick and enjoy The delights of Rocky Jones Manhunt in Space.

Break: All that cheese and not a cracker in sight. Perhaps one of these nice chap can sell you some. And then after the ad break. More Rocky Jones-Manhunt in Space on the SCHLOCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW!

MIDDLE: So LONG before television was learning to do “Clip Shows” and call them Flashback or encore performances TV executives had learned to repackage a “3 part serial from 1953” as a fully fledged 1955 motion picture called Manhunt in Space and send it off to the cinema. Rocky Jones, Space Ranger was a syndicated science fiction television serial originally broadcast in 1954. The show lasted for only two seasons and, though syndicated sporadically, dropped into obscurity. But because it was recorded on film rather than being broadcast live as were most other TV space operas of the day, it has survived in reasonably good condition. The film format also allowed more elaborate special effects and sets, exterior scenes and much better continuity. Indeed, many of the effects that became standard sci-fi fare, such as the forward view screen and automatically opening doors were seen first on Rocky Jones. They may have been plywood but they were NEW plywood. In this film Rocky and crew's spaceship must defeat "space pirates." Of course the writers Carl K. Hittleman who also Wrote Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter and Marianne Mosner from Lassie and Shazam, couldn't just refer to them as pirates; in fact nearly everything in this show with a name is prefaced by the word "space" just to make it clear where it's being used. This early 1950's Space Opera is complete with a hero by the name of Rocky Jones, played by veteran movie and television actor Richard Crane later to be known as DICK Crane. Poor Dick was not at all typecast when he left Rocky Jones to play Commando Cody Sky Marshall of the Universe, while simultaneously, appearring in the Lone Ranger as Billy. He eventually settled into the world of medicore guest appearances on shows like Perry Mason, General Electric Theatre, 77 Sunset Strip,Wagon train and Lassie. But back in the 50’s, Rocky Jones is the quintessential action hero – brave, strong, handsome, highly moral, and always ready to defend his beliefs with action. To women he was irresistible but like bollywood there was no kissing or physical displays from Rocky. That kind of comraderie was strictly for the compulsary annoying sidekick’s Ranger Winky played by Scotty Beckett, who for most of his acting carreer before was know as Child Uncredited and after this just as Uncreditied. It seems Rocky Jones stole his childhood and in a twist Michael Jackson couldn’t get away with, sidekick number two was 10 year old Bobby played by Robert Lyden . Fortunately for us Robert left the acting profession in 1957 after playing Creighton Chaney. Not so the case with the lovely Sally Mansfield aka Vena Ray, Naviatrix and Rocky’s love interest in that wholesome 1950’s hubba hubba mini skirted but non sexual way. She moved onto the upbeat world of the Gene Autry Show , Mchales Navy and the Andy Griffith show.

And what would a Space Opera be with an elderly and brilliant Professor Newton, Played almost to perfection by Maurice Cass, who in spite of being a genius, makes just enough miscalculations to get them into real trouble. Maurice had bit parts in Over 50 films before Rocky Jones Plucked him from Obscurity before plunging him back into obscurity. Blondie Goes to college, Enemy Agents meet Emery Queen and Charley Aunts to name too many.

Surpisingly the Director Hollingsworth Morse is actually quite a big name in Hollywood. Fall Guy, Dukes of Hazard, Isis, Marcus Welby MD, Shazam, H.R. Pufen stuff and the Lone Ranger are just a few of the 69 TV shows he directed For a complete list please send a 10 note with a self address envelope to the address at the end of this film and I’ll see what I can do.

Closing : So for those of you who fell asleep, Vena is stranded in space by wicked pirates! Rocky makes the Orbit Jet invisible with Professor Newton’s latest doohickey! Winky sings a song! Rocky & Winky track the pirates to their secret base -- it’s no surprise that

they turn out to be employed by the naughty Cleolanta, who’s still so hot for Rocky that you can almost see her thighs quiver whenever his name is mentioned.Played superbly by Patty Parsons, another of those shy acrtesses’ who choose to use the name“uncredited”.If it wasn’t for the costumes and vanilla bondage, this could have been long Friday night for me. I don’t get out much at my age. And what was with the actors pressing buttons and pushing levers that don’t exist; that was just a blank wall. I don’t even have eyes and I could see that. And if Rocky Jones tells you to "go knit a sweater" (and she actually does!) when they have a disagreement! All I can say in closing is Hooray for emancipation and join me next week as we sift through the chaff of the Public domain to find that ine germ that is good enough to be shown on THE SCHLOCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW. “Toodles”

by Lushscreamqueen 26th May 2009

[sonnenstola]

So in the movie Mother Gothel says something along the lines of “the world is dark, and selfish, and cruel, if it finds even the slightest ray of sunshine, it destroys it,” and I’m curious about what does Flynn think of this philosophy? What’s Flynn philosophy on humanity as a whole? Are people inherently good or bad to Flynn?

this is a really great question, so i just want to start by thanking you for sending it my way!!

in my personal opinion, i don’t think flynn agrees with gothel’s philosophy. not entirely, at least. life has not been kind to him, and he has learned not to be trusting of others as a result. he knows that there are awful people out there in the world, he knows that some people consider him to BE one of those people because of his crimes and??? moral ambiguity???, he knows what it’s like to be abandoned, and he’s developed his own coping mechanisms to get through on his own. however, while he is always watching his back and doesn’t trust people or their word easily, he lives a more laid back life style, because when you’re living a life of adventure you have to be able to have a plan and be able to wing it simultaneously. flynn knows the world is dark, but doesn’t let it beat him, if that makes sense. eugene might have, but through the flynn persona he learns how to deal with the cards life dealt him. 

through the events of the movie and meeting rapunzel, who has been warned about the darker parts of the outside world and still yearns to explore it in the name of all the wonders it hold, eugene finds a way through his own persona. he finds the ray of sunshine through rapunzel and does everything he can to make sure the world/gothel don’t destroy the light in her. we see him become less and less of a selfish person throughout the movie as rapunzel shows him that holes can easily be punched into gothel’s philosophy , to the point of self-sacrifice. 

as for his outlook of humanity as a whole, eugene tends to fall in a pretty neutral point of view. he isn’t trusting in nature, relies heavily on himself and his own means, but once you’ve been proven trustworthy, he’s all in. he will trust you with his life. cassandra is a pretty good example of that. because while we know he didn’t trust rapunzel right off the bat ( his skepticism when she promises she’ll hold up her end of the deal ), their progression of trust was based on going through high pressure situations that kind of forced them to work as a team in order to survive which is?? a natural bonding experience i guess?? and rapunzel is much easier to trust because of her open, empathetic personality. cass is different. she and eugene had a rocky start, and they still don’t exactly get along, but over the course of time they’ve learned to trust one another and have each others backs even though they both prefer to work on their own. eugene didn’t find it easy to trust her at first because he didn’t know her, but once they had to work together ( like in cassandra v. eugene ) he could respect her, which was a step towards fully trusting her. by the end of season one he’s riding into battle with her, trusting that she knows what she’s doing and following her lead ( which he has trouble doing sO THAT’S PRETTY NOTEWORTHY ).

so i guess all in all he approaches people with caution and is distrustful until someone proves themselves trustworthy if that makes sense!! he’s pretty neutral when it comes to his opinions on morality/whether or not people are good or bad before the movie, and some of that lingers post-movie as well.

[somevirtualnolife]

Frostbitten

2120 Words Rating: G (T if you count the word tit) Pairing: Male Mage Trevelyan x Cassandra Summary: It’s cold out there, looking for Skyhold.

Previous One Shot: Flatterer

Author’s Notes: More like Frost-smitten amiright. Some more slow-burning fluff between my Inquisitor and Cassandra. Apologies for any typos and the like.  

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“I dun believe you,”

“It’s true,”

“My tits are already freezing under all these layers, and you’re trying to tell me that you don’t feel the least bit cold with both of your actual tits exposed to these winds? Do you believe him, Cassandra?”

“I want no part of this conversation,”  

“What are you three on about on about now?” asked Reagan, walking up from behind three of his companions; Sera, Iron Bull and Cassandra.

“Well, if it ain’t the Boss, himself! The healers finally gave you the okay to walk on your own?” the large Qunari gave the mage a firm pat on the back and almost sent him falling face first into the snow.

It had taken some time for Reagan to fully recover from the encounter with Corypheus at Haven. Part of him was still surprised he managed make it out alive. Call it Andraste’s Grace or just pure luck. Either way he was still alive. Needless to say, it had been a difficult period. Haven was currently under a mound of rock and snow. Lives were taken from them suddenly. The Breach was closed, but the darkspawn magistrate showed no signs of weakening. Arguments were fierce between the War Council members to what their next move should be.

But not all was lost. If what Solas said was true, there was a fortress, hidden in the northern mountains. If they could just make it there, then perhaps there was still a chance for them. They could still turn this around. They could still save Thedas.

The trek was not easy however. This was not just a party of soldiers. Many were civilians or injured as well those who had just lost their homes. They were not prepared for such a journey which slowed them down quite a bit.

At least today, despite the below freezing temperatures, the sun and blue sky were out today, making the journey a little more bearable than usual. Just a little.

“Honestly, I’ve been fine for the past three days. They weren’t listening to a word I was saying, until I finally convinced them that I heard the divine voice of Andraste. That she ordered me to go to the front and lead our people right at this very moment,” the mage wasn’t entirely sure if he should’ve said that. That might’ve been a little bit blasphemous, but what was done was done. If there really was an Andraste out there, surely she would’ve understood.

“But you still haven’t answered my question; why are we on about Iron Bull’s tits?”

Cassandra groaned and rubbed her temple. “Please do not encourage them,”

“Oh don’t listen to her. We’re having real conversations, right?” Sera’s eyes sparkled with a certain excitement. “We’ve been walking in this bloody cold weather forever, and Iron Bull is out here, no shirt, tryin’ to tell me he just keeps warm by sheer willpower,”

“It’s true,” Iron Bull said, laughing loudly. “I’ve dealt with much worse, believe me,”

“We all have our own ways of trying to steer away this cold bite,” Reagan said, not entirely sure if what Iron Bull said was actually possible. “I’m pretty sure Blackwall has grown his beard out even more to keep himself warm. I wish I could do that,” grown man of 28 and he could barely get past a stubble.

“Ha! You with a beard. Now that’s a laugh,” the elf snickered, no doubt imagining him with one. “Alright then. If Blackwall’s got his beard, an’ Bull’s got his willpower or whatever, what about Vivvy?”

“The finest Orlesian coats,” Reagan answered. “Or she full embraces it,”

“Cole?”

“He’s a spirit, isn’t he? Do they even get cold?” Iron Bull said.

“That’s a good point,” Reagan nodded. “Hmm. Dorian?”

“Blood magic,” Sera cackled. “Solas?”

“He’ll say that it’s warmer than the Fade. Varric?”

“Chest hair,” Cassandra finally said, surprising all three of them.

“Ha! So, Cass does have a sense of humor. Well done,” Iron Bull bellowed.

“Well, that one was very obvious. I’m surprised he wasn’t the first on your list,” the Seeker responded with a shrug.

“Alright then. Trevvy,” Sera said, looking back Reagan. “What’s your trick for keeping warm? That freaky hand of yours? Andraste bless you before you fell out of the sky?”  

“Well, I did study fire magic extensively back at Otsiwick, so-”

Sera managed to make both a farting and booing noise simultaneously. “Boring. Also cheating. And stupid. Out of all the stories we have and you end us with that one?”

“That was a legitimate and honest answer!” the mage protested.

“Yeah, but it’s no fun if it’s just basic magicky magics,” Sera made another farting noise. “Cassandra, what you got?”

“As though Cassandra has a better answer than-”

“Well, obviously I just punch the cold,” she responded before the Herald could finish, leaving him stunned once more. She really did have a sense of humor.  

“And Cass is two for two! You might have studied the flame, Boss, but it looks like our Seeker here is on fire today,” the large Qunari grinned even wider.

Suddenly, the sound of a loud horn echoed across above them, signalling that it was time for the group to take rest.

“Ugh, finally!” Sera groaned. “I’m gonna go an’ see if I can snag some extra blankets or jumpers from one of the caravans,” and with that the spry elf girl ran off, cursing under her breath about the cold.

“As for me,” Iron Bull stretched. “I’m going to go and see if any of these lovely ladies might need a hand or more in ‘keeping themselves warm’, if you catch my drift,”

“We didn’t need to know that,” Cassandra replied, shaking her head.

“Yeah you did,” the Qunari gave another firm pat on the back to the Seeker and mage before he two disappeared off into the crowd. Well, not really disappeared. He was a big guy, so all he did was just get slightly smaller than he normally did.

And so, it was down to Reagan and Cassandra again. They hadn’t really spoken on their own since Haven was attacked. With his injuries keeping him in one of the caravans with the healers, and everyone else on duty he didn’t get a chance to chat with any of his companions.

“Fancy grabbing some stew from the cooks?” he said with a bit of a grin, pointing at another wooden caravan nearby. “Or are you fine just punching your fists at the winter cold?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes at the comment, but nodded.

--------------------

“How do you actually stay warm?” Reagan said as he passed one of the tin mugs to Cassandra and then walking finding a large, snowless rock for the two of them to sit on, overlooking the group.  

“I don’t,” she said with a sigh, bringing the mug close to her face, closing her eyes. “I just don’t see any sense in complaining about something that you cannot change,”

“So, I’ll take it that you’re freezing right now,”

“I feel as though my fingers my fall off,” she said in an irritable voice. “I do hope that Solas is right about this fortress. If he is attempting to trick us in anyway-”

“I trust him. I doubt he has little to gain from leading us astray,” Reagan replied, taking a sip from his own mug.

“And yourself? You do not seem like the type who would enjoy such frigid temperatures. Yet, you don’t seem nearly as bothered as you should be,”

“It’s as Sera says. I’m a cheater,” he with a small shrug. “Even before I knew what I was, I knew how to focus the heat into the palm of my hands. Think of a small flame. Just enough to feel a slight tingle in the palm of your hands, ”

“That’s impressive. I can’t imagine too many children being able to focus their magic like that when they don’t know what they are,” Cassandra responded, her eyes brows raised in interest.

“Don’t be too impressed. One day, the flame I thought of was a little too large and I set our estate’s tree on fire,” he laughed. “Yet, I still managed to lie about it and didn’t get found out for another year. I just told my parents I was playing with match sticks and only got a firm spanking,” he still remembered that day very clearly. 11-years-old just playing outside in the snow when he pointed his hand to the large oak tree in the garden. And just like that, several flames appeared around it and it became nothing but black charcoal. In hindsight, his parents must’ve knew it was magic. There’s no way a small match in the snow could do that.  But maybe they were in just as big denial as he was at the time.

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” Cassandra closed her eyes and gripped the tin mug tightly, as though trying to absorb the heat from it. “You seem like that the type of child that would have gotten into far more trouble than he’s worth,”

“I assure you I was only a slightly spoiled brat in comparison to the rest of my siblings,” he grinned wildly.

“Ah, that’s right. There’s three more of you,”

“Legally speaking,”

It was then that a biting gust of wind came across the group of people, though thankfully didn’t last long. Reagan looked over at Cassandra and he could see her dig her cheeks into her fur collar of her coat and shiver. But she was true to her word. As cold as she was, the Seeker did not complain. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her.

“Here,” he said, placing his cup down and pulling of his gloves and offering his palms. Cassandra’s grey eyes looked at him suspiciously. Right, yes. She wasn’t a particularly touchy-feely individual. This would look strange to her. “You said your fingers are freezing right? We can’t have one of our best warriors unable to wield her sword when disaster can strike at moment,”

The Seeker quirked a brow, but eventually also put down her cup and pulled off her gloves. “You’d better not set me on fire, Trevelyan,”

“Lady Pentaghast, you wound me with such accusations,” he said, smiling at her as he lightly took her hands into his. They really were as cold as ice, to the point when they were going from red to yellow. It really must’ve been painful.

Slowly, the Seeker felt the prickled cold pain in her fingers disappear, and instead felt a warm pulse start to form from her fingertips all the way through her hands. Whatever tenseness and uncertainty she felt about earlier seemed to dissipate with the cold.

“See? Still in one piece,” the mage said, running his thumbs across her palms. “Not even a blister,”

“I suppose it is nice to have feeling in my hands again,” she admitted, turning away from him. “… Thank you, Trevelyan,”

There was that blush again. The one that she would no doubt blame on the cold weather. The one that made him want to tease her more. The one that mad him want to caress her cheeks. The one that, as of late, made him want to pull her in close and press his lips against hers. Yet, there was still a question nagging at him, at the back of his head, that prevented him from completely hinting towards those feelings.

“Cassandra, who’s-” before Reagan could finish his sentence, the large sound of the horn sounded off again, indicating that they would be starting up again soon. The two quickly let go of each other’s hands.

“We should get back,” the Seeker said, grabbing her gloves and swiftly pulling them back on. “You are leading in the front with Solas, correct? You may want to confirm the details before we get moving again,”  

The dark-haired hero let out a sigh and stood up as well. Right. Now was not the time to be even thinking of what he and Cassandra could be. It wouldn’t do Thedas much good if he found frozen on top of a mountain fantasizing about his bewitchingly beautiful companion.

“Right,” he said, putting on a chipper voice. “And you have another exciting and riveting conversation ahead of you. It’s occurred to me we didn’t even touch upon our trusted council members. I’m sure Sera has some unique thoughts about them,”

“Please, don’t remind me,”

“Don’t miss me too much,”  

A final scoff came out of Cassandra. “And don’t make me give a reason to put you back on the caravan with the healers,”

“Again, Lady Pentaghast, you wound me,” 

[togreblog]

ACOWAR when Nesta and Cassian admit their feelings.

Sooooooo…..

I saw this post a while ago by @modernacotar asking how people thought Nesta and Cassian admitting their feeling for each other would go aaaand being me, I got totally swept up with this idea and so here it is… my 3395 word summary of how Nesta and Cassian admit that they love each other (are mates).

UPDATE: link to my mood board for Nesta’s outfit is here now, but despite spending way too long on it, I couldn’t find THE dress so I just put together the different elements as I visualise it.

Nesta POV

The war was over, my sister was back and this celebration was well deserved. Feyre told me not to dress up to fancy and to wear practical footwear.

We were going to a place called Rita’s. Feyre, who seemed surprisingly unfazed by the fact that she had just returned from her creepy ex-fiancés court, had told me about it. Apparently, it was their usually place as it catered to Amren’s taste, I didn’t know what that meant as she never ate with us, always leaving just before the meal. Rita’s also had a spacious dining area, I knew that that was to cater to Az and even Cass’s wings, which were almost fully healed, though still damaged enough that he kept them tucked close, away from what he deemed to be “judging eyes.”

I found it hard to believe that they were all inclined to celebrate so soon after Feyre’s return. Even without him kidnapping her, to seduce her and break a 49-year-old curse, it had to have been awkward between her and Tamlin back at the Spring Court since she broke off the engagement and was secretly mated with another High Lord.

I heard Elain going downstairs past my bedroom door and allowed myself one final look in the mirror. Night Court fashion was… revealing, to say the least. When I had first arrived, I had hated the way it showed off my new body, even after moving back to our manor, I never managed to gain back the weight lost during harsh winters in the cottage. With this new, taller, fae body, I had looked even more bony and starved. Now, though, I filled the lean frame perfectly and the flowing chiffon night court attire flattered me. I had allowed Nuala and Cerridwen to help me shop for a new wardrobe, not knowing my way around Velaris made it hard to find the best shops, I had even allowed them to help pick out the specific dress and accessories I was wearing tonight, but I had absolutely refused to allow them to dress me and fuss around with hair and makeup. This body wasn’t so different from my old one, I still knew which colours of eye shadow brought out the bright blue undertone in my otherwise stormy blue-grey iris’ and what shape the contours and eyeliner should be to draw attention to my best features and diminish those less beautiful.

The dress we had chosen certainly didn’t suggest a casual night out with friends (even if they were not my friends, they were the closest thing I had), but I enjoyed attending balls with mother when I was younger, since living in a hut didn’t exactly warrant parties, then father had been away tending to his reinstated business and once in Pyrithian the war had taken precedence, there had not been reason to dress up in a long time, and I did not intend to waste this one, besides all of my more casual dresses were also more conservative and after spending so much time with certain members of the inner circle, I was starting to have a reason for wanting to dress more… temptingly. Feyre had also advised against heels in the certainty that Mor would talk us into going dancing and heels would give me blisters. She had been spared the social training from our mother because I was already trained to dress and parade like a pageant child in front of her friends. This upbringing, however, meant that I was no stranger to heels and actually found them quite comfortable now, so I had donned a strappy pair of heeled sandals.

It was then that I realised that my ‘one last look’ had turned into one last minute of gazing, glassy-eyed in the general direction of the mirror. Not wanting to hold everyone up, I hurriedly sprayed on a little bit of perfume and turned towards the door. Moments later I began to descend the stairway. Cauldron, I liked Rhys’s townhouse, if only for the fact that the entryway at the bottom of the staircase allowed for grand entrances and the wide steps lent themselves to a graceful descent, even in stilettos. I could tell that my look had the desired effect as I reached the landing half way down, where the stairs turned to face the bottom, I paused so that they had a minute to appreciate my dress, just as I had as a child, always the perfect distance behind my mother and a little out to the side so that her friends could appreciate her perfectly preened child. I was well versed in this scene, silence fell just as I had anticipated and no one spoke until I continued to walk. With no small amount of satisfaction, I noticed the attention of Cassian, and even though I had spent a lot of time on my hair and makeup, I didn’t exactly mind that my low-cut dress was drawing his attention elsewhere. I thought he was going to step forward and take my arm, but I also knew that looking like this… I had him frozen to the spot. Mor and Amren stepped forward instead and the three of us curtsied to one another as I reached the bottom step, before simultaneously breaking out into smiles, well Amren’s was more of a smirk, probably to do with the effect I had on Cassian, but it was there none-the-less. Linking arms we began to cross the entrance hall, Mor and Amren turning from where they had come to greet me at the stairs, complimenting each other as we went. We reached the door and I let Amren and Mor go ahead of me, filing through one-by-one. I looked back, Cassian had begun a conversation with Elain and Azriel, but I had no doubt that he had been appreciating the back of the dress as I left,

“are you guys coming? I thought we were going out to celebrate?” I called over my shoulder. I was met with a flurry of movement and a few whoops of delight.

The meal was interesting. Mainly, because I learned why Amren didn’t eat with us, but also because this was the first time I had seen Cassian, Azriel, Rhys, Mor and my fae sisters. Not the army commander, the Shadow Singer, the High Lord, the Third in command, the High Lady and Elain, my dear Elain who was strong and powerful and didn’t need me in the way she used to. No, here they were as a family and I was a part of it. I didn’t know much about any of them and I soon realised that even when you think you know a lot about an immortal being, they probably have several hundred more years’ worths of stories to tell. I tried to retain as much information as I could. And learnt that Amren was not always fae, but like my sisters and I, had been made, but not only humans could be made into fae. Az and Cassian were bastard born Illyrians. Cass and Mor had been together to make her a less desirable match to other high lords, but the mention of anything more made everyone extremely uncomfortable, myself included. Az and Mor were not brought up and I could tell that it never would be, the nervous looks contrasted by subtle smiles and laughs spoke volumes. Rhys and Mor were cousins, but even that wasn’t simple because Mor’s dad wasn’t exactly nice to Rhys and begrudged him his position and power, so Mor was basically forsaking her close family by acknowledging her cousin.

After dinner, Mor proclaimed that none of us were going home just yet and, as Feyre had predicted, dragged us to a dance bar.

Being the Night Court, it was unsurprising that the bar was full of people dressed in navy and black, with Glitter, diamante and jewellery accenting the dark skies of the women’s dresses. No one’s jewels could quite compare to Amren’s, but even so, it seemed like the jewellers of the night court had captured stars to make each and every piece, in a way that I had never imagined possible. It had taken me a while to find this evening gown. Whereas Elain had found that the style of the night court clothes didn’t suit her and had decided upon making her own, which were much more practical and conservative, I liked the style but hated the constant dark navy and black, which suited most born of the night court. Unfortunately, each shop seemed to only sell one or two dresses in light colours, leaving me with little choice of style. I had spent many days learning my way around Velaris with Nuala and Cerridwen, by visiting every single dress shop, I had been overjoyed to find this dress, the colour, the style, the sway of the fabric. It made me feel so beautiful in my new body. Of course, I bought it immediately and had been waiting for an opportunity to wear it ever since. Now standing in a crowd of navy and black, my dusky purple gown was light enough that I looked like a single bright star in a deep endless night. The dress had a halter neck which draped low at the front, the fabric underneath pulled back tightly on either side to join in a low V-shape near the waistband at the back, but the lack of fabric forming the revealing top was more than compensated by the long flowing skirts of layered fabric, which fell from the dress’s drop waist. The skirts finished slightly higher at the front than at the back, which billowed slightly, behind me, when I moved, but hung just above my ankles when I stopped. Not only was the higher front more practical for walking and dancing, it also accentuated my long legs and showed off the heels I had chosen to wear, a pair of nude stilettos with pointed toes and ties which wound elegantly around my ankles. I felt people’s stares on me as I strutted to the bar with Mor, the only other person who had dressed up as much as I had and was as enthusiastic about continuing this night out. Even though I knew it was probably just because I stood out, I enjoyed the attention none-the-less.

Elain, Feyre and I quickly fell back into our old rhythm dancing in sync with each other, even to the unfamiliar music. Having spent a long time talking over dinner, it was late when we began dancing and it didn’t take long before the tone of the music slid between the upbeat dance music of the revellers and clubbers and the slower, more romantic music for those planning to take someone home. At that point, Rhys politely swept Feyre away. Amren had decided that at that point she was going to head home and Elain asked, in her sweetest voice that if, and only if, it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would Amren please drop her home on the way. Amren threw some sarcastic remark at us all that, of course, she would leave Elain to suffer the smooch fest. Having consumed just enough alcohol not to care, the rest of us brushed her off, but Elain blushed deeply and looked embarrassed on all of our tipsy behalves. That left four of us sat around the table, Mor stood up the minute the first slower song ended and in the quiet lull, demanded that she have a partner for the next dance. I stood up agreeing that the night wasn’t over yet. Cassian raised an eyebrow at us suggestively, but his look quickly turned to that of disdain when Mor and I reached for his and Azriel’s hands. Mor pulled Azriel up, leaving me to trail behind them, dragging Cassian out onto the floor. For all their protesting, both were surprisingly good dancers and soon fell into the rhythm. Since everyone was out celebrating the liberation of Prythian, they were playing some, more traditional music, which dictated that dancers swap partners, but Cassian and I seemed to gravitate towards each other, and sure enough I spent every other verse in his arms and every other one in the arms of strangers. When the song ended, we were back together and since the next song was a rather more romantic one, there was no changing of partners and half an hour later, I found that Cassian and I were still dancing, my head against his shoulder, moving slowly in time to the music. As if some mental thread between us was tugged from the middle, I turned to look up at him at the same time as he moved to glance down at me. Our lips crashed into each other. Caught unawares and held against his body from dancing, I couldn’t pull back, by the time I realised I should, I also realised that he hadn’t pulled back either. I smiled to myself as I allowed my body to melt into his. The kiss was too short and when we broke apart, I feared what he might say, there hadn’t ever been anything romantic between us and after his fiasco with Mor, I doubted this was ever going to be a casual thing, not that I wanted that. Scared of rejection, I simply nuzzled into his neck and continued swaying slowly. I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to stay in this moment, maybe forever, but he hesitated and I couldn’t help the breath I drew as I wondered if he would push me away. When he didn’t, I released the breath I had held and felt him rest his cheek against my head, drawing me closer and adjusting his arms, his hands moving, one from my back and the other from where it had been clutching my hand against his chest, to drape my arms around his neck and before resting them around my waist.

After a further three songs, I pulled away from him to look up at his face. He smiled at me, a soft, genuine smile, and leant down towards me. I felt his hot breath against my ear and wanted to melt against him once more, but his words stopped me.

“Shall we get out of here?” He breathed. Wordlessly, I nodded once and slipped my hands from his neck, he brought his hands up to catch one of mine. Suddenly remembering my sister, I turned to look for Feyre, I couldn’t find her, I noticed that our booth was empty too, as if sensing my confusion, he whispered once more, “they were having trouble keeping their hands off each other so they left, Mor got a bit drunk so Azriel took her home, you don’t need to worry about them.” Realising what he meant, I allowed him to begin leading me through the crowds. As we burst out into the fresh night air, it struck me just how stuffy it had been inside and just how tired I was. Without any prompt from me, Cassian swept my legs out from under me. I had learned to shift using Spring Court magic and could create Illyrian wings having studied the ones Feyre could produce by the same power and Rhys’s and Azriel’s, but I couldn’t fly far on my own. Besides I felt safe knowing it was with Cassian and as he shot up into the air, I curled up against him and closed my eyes against the wind that threatened to draw tears, whilst trying to steal some warmth. After 20 minutes of flying, I realised we should have been home, I opened my weary eyes to see mountains far below us. I looked up at Cassian, the movement causing him to look down at me.

“Where the hell are we?”

“I’ll explain when we get there, don’t worry.”

I never worried when I was with Cassian, not now that he had his wings back and was strong again, but I still gave him a questioning look, he grinned in return and I rolled my eyes before closing them again and leaning into him further. 

About 5 minutes later, we dropped down into a snowy field, lined with trees. He set me down on to wobbling legs. As they threatened to give way, he held my shoulders and turned me around to face the little cabin behind us. He prompted me to walk inside and as we approached, the door swung open.

“This cabin has become somewhat of a tradition for newly mated couples within the inner circle.”

I froze in shock at that, but he didn’t seem to notice and kept talking.

“If you want time to think, you may do it here, but if you are of the same mind as me, then we may spend the time here… together. The cabin is magically equipped to take care of anything you want or need, apparently when your sister was here thinking, she wanted paints.” He was glancing around the room and Feyre’s paintings and only when I hadn’t said anything for a couple of minutes did her turn to look at me with a concerned look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“What did you say about this being a tradition?” Making my voice as strong as I could muster.

“Well, this is where Mor brought Feyre when she needed time to think after she found out she and Rhys were mated from that suriel and where she, in turn, brought Elain to allow her to think about Lucien when you were training with me after Hybern.”

“You mean we’re …” I trailed off, unable to continue the thought. Part of me knew it made sense, the other, human, part of me had never thought I would have a mate, even if Feyre did.

The look on Cassian’s face was one of pure shock, he clearly hadn’t meant to tell me that.

“Oh my goodness, you didn’t feel it did you? Oh, I should have known, I mean you have only just been made, how would you know?” He was babbling and when he turned to look at me, I could tell he was mortified. Speaking slowly, but without stumbling nearly as much, he explained: “Just before we kissed, there was a tug on my heart sort of, it was what made me turn around, that was the mating bond falling into place.”

“Oh,” I frowned, “well I felt that,” I paused, “is that the mating bond? Is that it?”

He laughed nervously at that, “no, not by a long shot. When you accept it, if I mean… you don’t have to accept it of course, but if you were to do that, then it becomes like an iron bridge between our souls so that we can reach for each other’s minds even when we are not near each other. Or so I’ve been told, I have never had a mate before, well obviously not, you only get one and they are very rare.”

“Cass, you’re babbling” I cut him off, stepping forward and taking his hands, looking at them as I spoke. “I think that I have been in love with you for longer than I care to admit. I think that as much as I didn’t want to believe it, I knew I wore this dress for you tonight. I need time here, but not entirely alone. I need you, I want to be here, alone, with you.” Those last few words were slow and with shaking breath, as I uttered the last word, putting extra emphasis on it, I dared lift my eyes from our hands to try and read the look in his eyes, we held eye contact, but the love we each saw meant it lasted only a moment before he gave way to his primal instincts and we kissed fiercely and passionately. He hesitated when I dropped his hands, but I grabbed his shirt pulling him closer, urging him to wrap me in his arms and in his scent, because I had loved him for a long time and now he was mine and I was delighted to be his.

We didn’t leave for a week. No one came to find us, but I had a feeling it was because they already knew what was between us.

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[larryland]

by Barbara Waldinger

Casse Noisette, French for Nutcracker and subtitled A Fairy Ballet, is Bridge Street Theatre’s current World Premiere offering. Given these clues, audience members may be excused for expecting Balanchine’s ubiquitous holiday ballet, set to the familiar score of Pyotr Illyich Tchaikovsky, based on Hoffmann’s famous fairy tale.  However, Michael Whistler’s play combines multiple tales–a kitchen sink full, in fact–in one very long production.

The double plot parallels scenes from Tchaikovsky’s life (as he fulfills his commission to compose music for the Russian Imperial Theatre’s ballet of Casse Noisette) with the life of the fictitious Joe Jessup, an earth science teacher in twenty-first century Spokane, Washington.  The piece dramatizes the struggle of both men to come to terms with their homosexuality, which they have strived mightily to keep secret.  In addition, the playwright attempts to interpret Tchaikovsky’s music (which he claims to have heard a thousand times) as explained by Joe, who, like Whistler, is obsessed with the composer’s work.  Joe analyzes different sections of the Nutcracker score for his latest boy toy, while Tchaikovsky, explaining his need to write Romantic compositions that express human feeling, argues with his brother, Modeste, about why he doesn’t want to waste his talent on a meaningless ballet that is merely “the waking dream of a confectioner.” As if that were not enough material for several plays, there are reflections about earth science and the state of public education.  Furthermore, a dancing Sugar Plum Fairy, accompanied by her consort, attempts to summarize the plot of the ballet and its possible endings, to offer an epilogue about the conflicting versions of Tchaikovsky’s death, and to express her philosophy that one’s life cannot be lived “on point” without someone to hold you up:  only love can restore the ugly Nutcracker back to a handsome prince.

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Perhaps there is a significant connection between the uncle in the fairy tale whose young nephew is the Nutcracker/prince, and Tchaikovsky, whose liaisons with his own young nephew and with the nephew of a powerful Russian Duke played major roles in the maestro’s final years.  Fascinated by the composer’s struggle with his homosexuality, Whistler asserts in an interview with Joseph Dalton for the Times Union that his mission is “to depict the lives of contemporary gay men with humor, honesty and dignity.”  But in  highlighting the difficulties faced by both Tchaikovsky and Joe on account of their sexual orientation, Whistler underplays their predilection for underage boys.  This fact undercuts the idea that these good men, with whom we sympathize, were victims of bigotry, given that pederasty was and still is a crime.  Indeed, Tchaikovsky decides to write the ballet because of its depiction of beautiful, innocent children.

Led by a mesmerizing performance by Jason Guy as both Joe and Tchaikovsky, the five talented cast members play roles in both the nineteenth and twenty-first centuries.  Jennifer Anderson’s costumes: beautiful, functional, and fittingly representative of each time period, make it easy to distinguish each character.  Not only does Guy’s gray cutaway indicate Tchaikovsky, but so do the actor’s voice, manner, his physical appearance– arms akimbo and sideways-facing posture—and his emotional outbursts.  Joe, with his gray shirt and bow tie, is quiet-spoken, meticulous in his habits, not wanting to call attention to himself, living in a state of withdrawal and isolation.  Keeping these two men separate is hard enough when Guy moves from one role to the other in successive scenes, but it must be doubly difficult to portray each of them when the time periods occur nearly simultaneously.  This pas de deux with one performer is miraculous.

Nancy O. Graham offers a wonderfully comic portrayal of Antonietta Dell’Era, a principal dancer with the Imperial Ballet.  We next see her as a fellow teacher in Joe’s school, cautiously trying to break through the wall Joe has built between himself and the world, resulting in a heartbreaking confrontation.  Jason Kellerman plays both Tchaikovsky’s brother Modeste, who manages and protects the composer, and a physical education teacher, distinguishing himself in each role (not to mention a comic turn as the consort of the Sugar Plum Fairy and Modeste’s impressive sleight-of-hand maneuvers).  Serena Vesper is both Tchaikovsky’s sad and sickly sister Sasha who can hardly move as the result of a terrible accident, and the agile and graceful Fairy, a gorgeously-costumed ballerina.  Finally, Bradley Levine plays Blaine, the male prostitute picked up first on the phone and then in person by Joe, and Tchaikovsky’s upper class nephew Bob.  By means of costumes, diction and demeanor, Levine enables us to easily identify each character.

John Sowle, the Artistic and Managing Director of Bridge Street Theatre, serves as director and designer of Casse Noisette.  The challenges he faced in producing this play include the creation and use of a thick red velvet curtain across the entire stage (described in the script) with a painted proscenium arch surrounding it; multiple moving set pieces (including a kitchen in the teacher’s lounge with a working microwave oven) and rapid costume changes;  two completely different time frames; seven footlights, and a painted backdrop upstage to represent the Candyland of the ballet (though the playwright requested a fully-realized candy landscape!).  Sound designer Carmen Borgia not only supplies the sounds of the imagined audience during Tchaikovsky’s concerts and the sound of the school bell ending each class (accompanied by the sounds of students moving through the hallways), but also underscores most of the production with Tchaikovsky’s music, while locating exactly the right segments of his work as they are discussed by the characters.

Bravo to Sowle for choreographing the changes between time periods and scenes so efficiently that there is never a delay, despite characters entering and exiting from between the curtains and the wings, and large set pieces moving backstage while scenes take place in front of the curtain!  The director finds both the humor and the pathos in this play, often changing on a dime.  But despite his considerable skill and best efforts, Sowle is stymied by Whistler, whose overwritten play runs two and a half hours (including intermission).  Every scene could use judicious cutting and some could have been excised.  Brilliant ensembles, such as the one in which Graham, Kellerman and Levine imitate the sound of the celesta as they sing the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies, are eclipsed by the sheer weight of the script.

Still, Casse Noisette presents an original concept and scintillating performances.  One hopes that like many World Premieres, the play will be revised and abridged to its benefit.

Casse Noisette runs from November 8—18, 2018 on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 7:30 pm and Sundays at 2:00 pm at the Bridge Street Theatre. Tickets may be purchased online at casse@brownpapertickets.com or call 800-838-3006.

Bridge Street Theatre presents Casse Noisette by Michael Whistler.  Directed and designed by John Sowle.  Cast:  Jason Guy (Joe Jessup, Pyotr Illych Tchaikovsky), Nancy O. Graham (Nancy Klein, Antonietta Dell’Era), Jason Kellerman (Marc Maynes, Modeste Illych Tchaikovsky, Consort), Bradley Levine (Blaine, Vladimir “Bob” Levovitch Davidov), Serena Vesper (Sasha Illynovna Davidov, Sugar Plum Fairy).  Costumes:  Jennifer Anderson; Sound:  Carmen Borgia; Stage Manager: Julia Rothwax.

Running Time:  two and ½ hours (including intermission); Bridge Street Theatre, 44 West Bridge Street, Catskill, NY; Thursdays through Sundays from 11/8; closing 11/18.

REVIEW: “Casse Noisette” at Bridge Street Theatre by Barbara Waldinger Casse Noisette, French for Nutcracker and subtitled A Fairy Ballet, is…