#finally some hope for a change

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[titles-for-tangents]

The link is sourced in the tags, but in case you’re viewing this post on a blog that doesn’t telegraph them in browser mode (like mine), here is the link to the article from the Washington School of Medicine in St. Louis.

The study, available online in Nature, shows that people who were repeatedly vaccinated for COVID-19 — initially receiving shots aimed at the original variant, followed by boosters and updated vaccines targeting variants — generated antibodies capable of neutralizing a wide range of SARS-CoV-2 variants and even some distantly related coronaviruses. The findings suggest that periodic re-vaccination for COVID-19, far from hindering the body’s ability to recognize and respond to new variants, may instead cause people to gradually build up a stock of broadly neutralizing antibodies that protect them from emerging SARS-CoV-2 variants and some other coronavirus species as well, even ones that have not yet emerged to infect humans.

Now immune to all disease, folks I'm amazing

[aarghone]

He's just a gunky goopy lil guy

[lilybug-02]

Eimmet High...temmiE high. OMG!

Part 28 || First || Previous || Next...(Hiatus)

--Full Series--

Next update may take...much longer! I have finals and an internship and not to mention I have to draw- A LOT :')

[bunnieswithknives]

Wow Dale... There were miscalculations? And who made those miscalculations HMMMM???

Prev | Next

[obstinateson]

and tell them i was loved

that you always loved me

i know you didn't

but spare them the vision

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part nine

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of grief, suggestive material, hurt/comfort

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 6.6k

words in italics: whatever language you like

Before this misunderstanding could get any bigger, you stepped in quickly. 

“Alexia, this is Elisa, my daughter and that’s my brother’s husband, Robert. Elisa, Robert, this is Alexia.”

At that, Alexia’s gaze softened but when she met your eyes, questions swam in those hazel pools, ones that you sensed concerned your daughter. You gave Alexia a tight-lipped smile in answer–this was neither the time nor place to talk about something like that. 

“Oh, I see. It’s nice to meet you both,” Alexia spoke in English.

She walked closer to the stands to where Robert stood and reached out a hand for him to shake. Robert–who finally got some of his color back after Alexia stopped leering at him–regarded Alexia’s hand with an uneasy look like it was something dangerous before he eventually shook it. Then Alexia turned to Elisa and offered her a closed fist while your daughter only gawked at Alexia, obviously starstruck. “And it’s nice to meet you, too, Elisa.”

Elisa remained still and unusually quiet so you coaxed softly, “ladybug?”

That seemed to snap Elisa out from her starstruck stupor and as she came back to herself, her eyes darted to you. You smiled at her, encouraging, then you tilted your head at Alexia’s direction. Slowly, Elisa bumped her fist against Alexia’s, cheeks reddening immediately as she scurried off behind Robert right after, peeking through the gap between her uncle’s hip and arm to look at Alexia shyly. 

“Do you want me to sign your shirt?”

Elisa nodded. Robert passed the shirt to Alexia, who signed it, before she passed it back to Robert.

“Thank you,” came Elisa’s bashful gratitude.

When your eyes flitted back to Alexia’s face, you found her brows tilted upwards which allowed the stadium lights to brighten her already fair eyes. She looked on at Elisa’s timid display with warmth and the sight of such softness in her demeanour tugged at your heartstring. 

Without tearing her attention away from Elisa, Alexia said through a small smile, “she’s adorable, no?”

“She’s a little shy but she’s actually a big fan of yours. You should see her practicing your moves–”

“Mom…” Elisa whined, stopping you from embarrassing her further. You sent her an apologetic smile before you mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ to her.

“Oh, you play football? How old are you?” Alexia asked softly. 

After  a moment of silence, you took the helm when you noticed Elisa wasn’t going to answer. Her reaction to Alexia was completely understandable. Alexia, despite being one of the warmest people you knew, could easily intimidate some with her presence due to her reserved and stoic nature. Her gaze–especially for the ones who were new to meet her–could be so intense and disarming that it was hard not to look away or, in this case, shy away from her.

“She turned twelve last February. And yes, she’s actually enrolled in a Barça Academy located near our city.”

Alexia’s brows rose with interest. She regarded Elisa again as she spoke, switching to Spanish this time, with clear approval in her tone. “So she has Blaugrana in her blood. What position does she play?”

“Barça is by far her favorite club and it doesn’t help that you play in it. And she plays forward.” You answered in the same tongue. 

Alexia hummed, the corner of her lips quirking up. You knew that look so when she turned back to you, you raised a brow at her.

“What? Disappointed she doesn’t play midfield like you?” 

She flashed you a sheepish half-smile and rubbed her cheek with a finger, a gesture that you still found so endearing, before she threw her hands up in false surrender. “I’m just saying! And you can’t really blame me for having a bias.” 

“No, of course not. How could I hold that against you?” You said in an excessively dry tone. What you didn’t expect was for Alexia to throw her head back as laughter bubbled out from her throat in a familiar melody that tickled your ear, and you couldn’t help the grin that made its way to your lips at her amusement. She looked so beautiful like this: her hair–now back to its light brown shade–untamed with the way baby strands clung to the slight dampness on her temple, and the rosy blush painted upon her cheeks and nose from the events that just occurred; she looked so carefree in this moment, in the aftermath of their victory, that the glow of her youth shone right through, unfiltered.

When your eyes flitted over to Elisa and Robert, you found them gaping at your interaction with wide eyes, looking very much unsure on what to make of it. Then you also realised Alexia’d stopped laughing and she was now looking at you with a small smile on her lips. Your cheeks warmed at the attention, at having been caught staring, so you casted your eyes down to your feet, clearing your throat as you kicked an invisible pebble.

It surprised you, the ease with which you were able to fall back in playful banter with Alexia as if the fifteen months that made strangers from the both you never existed. Alexia must’d thought the same thing because when you looked at her again, Alexia’s smile had dimmed somewhat but the warmth in her eyes never left.

“Congratulations on the win, by the way. You earned it. All of you did.” You said, indicating at the golden medal around her neck. The urge to hug her as you spoke pervaded you but you managed to brush it off. 

Alexia looked down at it, her lips quirking up into a small proud smile.

“Thank you.” A pause as she regarded you. And then, “want to hold it?”

The suggestion took you aback and you were quick to dismiss her. “Oh, no, I’m good–”

Alexia, being Alexia, stepped into you space anyway, took your right hand and placed the medal on your palm. You tried not to focus too much on how her touch electrified you by focusing on how the surface of the metal cooled your skin, its weight surprisingly heavier than it looked, and you traced its intricate engravings with the pads of your fingers, admiring the details. 

“Can we talk?” Alexia said in a low voice that only the both of you would be able to hear. She was standing less than an arm’s length away from you–when did she get so close?–and the softness you found in her hazel eyes when you gazed up at her made you want to reach out and brush your thumb over the skin beneath them. 

At your silence Alexia touched your right wrist and you felt her thumb grazed ove the bracelet she gave you. Her gaze was magnetic and you were powerless against her pull.

You began, “I–”

“Alexia! Come on, we have to go!” Both of your heads turned to the voice. It was Misa who was waving Alexia over to where their other teammates were gathering. Alexia gave Misa a gesture to wait and she looked back at you again but with desperation now in her eyes. 

“Go. I’ll be in Barcelona for a week starting next Thursday. We can talk sometime then?” 

Alexia nodded, gave you a small smile before she turned to walk away. She startled you when she faced you again and before you knew it, her arms were wrapped around your shoulders.

“Same place?” She whispered in your ear.

You snaked your arms around her waist. 

“You know where to find me.”

So it was then on this late, warm Friday evening in Barcelona the week after the Olympics final, you found yourself opening the door to Alexia. 

You had agreed to meet the next day for lunch so it was more than a surprise to you to find her under the warm glow of the porch light right then. And before a word could even leave your mouth to voice your confusion, Alexia strode into your space, crowding you until your back hit the cool surface of the wall next to the door as it swung close.

Alexia was in front of you now, the distance between you so sparse that you could feel the heat that emanated from her body. You stared up at her, breathless when you were finally able to speak, “Alexia–”

“Are you seeing someone right now?” Her tone was even though the crease in her brows and the fervid depth in her eyes made you shiver.

“Wait, what are–”

“Just answer me!”

“No! Why–”

Before you knew it, her hand cradled your jaw as she brought her lips to yours, and the only thing you could do was gasp from the sudden heat of it all. It was filled with such ardour, Alexia’s kiss, that each movement of her lips threatened to both destroy and mend you again, each pull as devastating and as sweet as the last. But the sweetness didn’t last long; not after you felt the warmth against your cheeks and tasted salt on your tongue.

Alexia was crying.

She was aching, you knew it–could feel it in the slight quiver of her lips, in the frantic way with which her fingers tangled in your hair. And from her pain came yours, unfurling from your heart, into your throat, longing–reaching–to comfort and be soothed by her, your almost lover. Though it hurt, it made your teeth ache with the bittersweetness of it all because here she was breathing the same air as you, sharing the same heat as her lips melted with yours, and, god, how it felt like coming home–like the first breath once you breached the surface after being submerged for so long.

Was this what it felt like to be exhumed? Was this what life tasted like?

The kiss was slow and deep, the way only two almost lovers knew how to; the both of you took your time mapping each other’s lips, learning how to move in the same rhythm again. It was familiar but the tenderness–that gentle ardour–was above all else amplified, warming your flesh and blood to a delicate simmer. 

You sighed against Alexia’s lips as you pressed your body further into her, and in response she to you, and you relished how in spite of the strength that rested beneath the firmness of her self, everything about her remained, oh, so soft. And it was this want for more closeness that prompted you to tighten the grip around her hand that cupped your jaw, an unspoken plea for her to not let go–to not let you go.

How had you gone on for so long without her touch?

A familiar scream ruptured the silence, shattering the moment instantly.

It was automatic and immediate your reaction to it: you tore yourself from Alexia’s embrace and rushed towards Elisa’s bedroom, ignoring the way your vision blurred from the sudden exertion, your lungs protested as you hurried up the stairs. You were already expecting it but like all the times you were faced with it, your heart broke all the same at the sight of Elisa sitting up by the headboard of her bed, spine crooked as she curled in on herself, head lowered to the top of her knees while her hands pressed against her ears. Upon your intrusion, she lifted her head to reveal wide eyes that darted to you, frantic at first, but the apprehension in them dimmed when she saw you. 

You tried to compose yourself as you approached her slowly, before you placed yourself just by the edge of her bed.

Gently, you called out, “ladybug?”

Not a second later did Elisa throw herself into your embrace and immediately hid her face in the crook of your neck, her hands clawing and gripping at the fabric of your shirt while her sobs made rattles from her bones. All of her self was tense, taught and coiled, her pain’s physical manifestation–all the intangible grief violently wrought into existence. 

Elisa clung to you as she cried and you could do nothing in the moment but offer comfort through your embrace, hugging her just as tight, brushing back her hair–consoling–as you began a common lullaby in her mother tongue, rocking her to its gentle rhythm in the hopes that it could salve the wounds of her past even a little. 

In her own time, Elisa emerged from the throes of her grief, her grip on your soaked shirt loosened, her sobs now reduced to hiccups and sniffles. You carded your fingers through her damp hair and wiped the sweat that lined her forehead.

As softly as you could, you whispered, “want to talk about it, ladybug?”

Elisa didn’t answer as she seemed to gather herself, gnawing on her lower lips, brows creased in a pained frown. You were about to remind her that she didn’t have to when she answered in a voice so small that made the rawness in it all the more pronounced. 

“I saw Mother’s… I saw her dead beside me again.” She cuddled closer to you before she continued, “it’s always been her but when I looked this time I–”

Fresh tears sprung to her eyes, they fell when she squeezed them shut, and your heart broke a little more. You were quick to hug her tighter, pressing a kiss on the top of her head to console her. Elisa sniffled then she continued, “this time I–I saw you instead. I saw you dead.”

Elisa whimpered and she clung to you again.

“Oh, ladybug. That must have been difficult to see.” You hugged her tighter. “Were you scared?”

Nod. 

“What were you scared of?”

Silence. 

“I was scared because I thought I was alone again. I was scared you left me, too.”

Her answer made you pause and you regarded her, your worry now twofold. 

“What else do you feel, Elisa?”

“I don’t know,” Elisa shrugged. She pressed a fist to her chest, “but it hurts right here. I hate it. I want it to disappear. Why does it still hurt so much?” 

The state of her pained you enough as it was but how much more agonising this must be for Elisa? So you pressed your temple on her head as you began, soft but firm when the words passed through your lips. 

“It aches so it’s not surprising you want it to go away. And you hate it because it stays with you. And it hurts because you’re still grieving, Elisa. A year may feel like a long time but what happened to you is not an easy thing to move on from. You’re still trying to heal.” 

“If there is part of you that’s telling you it’s your fault your family died, I want you to remember that it isn’t. It isn’t your fault. You were so loved, Elisa, and you loved them just as much. And you still are loved.”

“I won’t leave you. As long as we’re here–your Uncle Derek, Uncle Robert, Nana, and I–as long as you want us to be, we’ll be your family and we love you. And death might come for all of us, and it is scary, terrifying and painful most times, but our love will never fade. The love given to you and the love that made you, they will never leave you, Elisa. Love comes and goes, and it may change its form, but it is never lost. You’re right here with me and you’re safe, and I love you. You’re never alone, ladybug, don’t you ever forget that.”

Elisa turned her head to look up at you and in the warm glow of her nightlight, you saw her chin quiver. “Promise you’ll never leave me?”

“As long as I breathe, I promise.”

You pressed a kiss on the top of her head, on her temple, then on her forehead before you hugged her again. Elisa sagged in your embrace as a watery sigh escaped her lips, and though she sniffled, she shed no more tears.

“I love you, too, Mom.”

In response, you kissed her forehead.

“How are you feeling now, ladybug?”

“A lot better, thank you.”

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

“Water, please?” 

“Okay. Do you want to come with me downstairs or are you alright with me going for a bit?”

Elisa thought about it before she said, “I’ll be alright here.”

You smiled at your daughter, half encouraging and more than proud, as your chest filled with warmth at her display of bravery. You stood, grabbed a fresh shirt from her closet and placed it on her lap so she could change out of her damp one. “Okay. How about you change into this while I’m gone, hmm? I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and you darted out of the room but not after you placed another kiss on top of her head and squeezed her knee for reassurance. So engrossed were you in your aim that you nearly ran into Alexia who was just standing off to the side of the doorway, an unopened bottle of water in hand. As soon as she saw you, she offered it to you without a word with a soft look in her eyes made warmer by the dim, yellow glow of the wall lamp beside her head. It was a simple gesture but your heart expanded from the thought behind it, so much so that you nearly cried when you took the bottle from her. 

“Is there anything else you need?” Alexia whispered as she stepped into your space, brushing the back of her hand over your cheek gently. You leant into the comfort of her touch and sighed, before you shook your head in answer.

“This is more than enough, thank you.” You met Alexia’s gaze one more time before you knocked on Elisa’s door and slipped back into it upon her consent. Once inside, you opened the bottle and gave it to Elisa and as she sipped from it, you ventured into her closet again to grab a small towel to dry her sweat with.

“How do you feel, ladybug?” You asked as you ran the towel over her face and the back of her neck.

“Sleepy,” she said with a small smile. You returned it in kind.

“Do you want to try going back to sleep? I’ll stay here if you want.”

Elisa yawned her agreement as she nodded so you tucked her in. Then you reclined against her headboard and began a lullaby, gently dragging the back of your finger in the space between her eyes until her eyelids fluttered close before her breathing deepened and eventually evened out. You remained there until you were certain Elisa had fallen asleep completely before you slipped back out, making sure to leave a slight gap between the door and the frame just in case Elisa woke up again. 

It wasn’t a surprise when you found Alexia still patiently waiting out in the hall, who pushed herself from the wall she was leaning on upon seeing you.

“Is she okay?” She asked softly, looking over your shoulder at Elisa’s door, concern apparent in her tone and the crease between her brows. 

“She’s… she’ll get there. She’s been through a lot for someone so young but she’s getting better.” It was getting frequent again, you noted with more than a hint of worry, Elisa’s recurring nightmares about the horrors she’d witnessed. You knew you needed to talk to Elisa about her therapy and if she’d be inclined to take more sessions to unpack this because there was only so much you could do to help her.

“What happened to her?” 

You looked at Alexia at that, unable to answer her–had no desire to if you were being honest. How could you come up with the words to explain it especially when doing so would lead to questions about what happened to you? And that was something you truly didn’t want to, or even knew how to, talk about. 

Alexia must had found something in your eyes because she just nodded at your reticence and casted her gaze down. You grazed your knuckles over the back of her hand, partly in appreciation for her respect and partly for her to follow you, while you stepped past her to the stairs down to the living room, Alexia’s footsteps not too far behind you. 

The both of you entered the living room in silence, the tension from what transpired between the two of you upon Alexia’s arrival and the weight of what you were about to talk about made the air thick for breathing. 

With crossed arms you settled on the wingback chair on the far side of the coffee table while Alexia situated herself on the other at the opposite side, leaving the couch unoccupied; the memories in it far too intimate for two people who’d grown apart.

During this reprieve, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to take Alexia in. You didn’t really get the chance to, it had all been a blur the moment she strode through the door, but now your eyes roamed over her freely. 

She had a pair of low rise denims on, a leather jacket over a white shirt that revealed a strip of her stomach while her loose, light brown hair framed her face. Even when sitting down, her character remained undiminished especially with the way she sat with her legs parted, one hand hanging over the chair’s arm while the other was on her chin, fingers splayed over her lips as she regarded you quietly in a fixing gaze that left you feeling exposed–vulnerable. 

Alexia brushed her lower lip with her fingers as she sank further against the upholstered back of the chair, tilting her chin up slightly as she kept her eyes trained at you. Her movement caused the warm glow of the light to touch her lips, drawing your attention to them, and you noted how they still glistened from the sheen of your lip balm from when she’d kissed you before, and the reminder made you burn, unpleasant in the way it ached, a bittersweet mixture of your immense desire and longing for the woman before you. It was intentional the way she moved; you knew it from the way Alexia’s eyes challenged you to speak up but you couldn’t quite find the words to say–you didn’t dare to. 

“Are they real?” Came the question. 

It was low and even, how Alexia posed it, but the abruptness with which the silence was broken made you flinch. That didn’t go unnoticed by Alexia it seemed because her gaze immediately softened. 

“Are what real?” 

“What you wrote in those notes you left me. Are they?” 

The silence that settled in the space between you pressed against your chest, made even heavier with the weight in Alexia’s eyes. You tore your gaze away from her and you didn’t dare look back up. 

“Look at me and tell me those didn’t mean a thing and I’ll leave.” ‘Just like you left me’, you heard the words Alexia left unspoken and then she continued, “I’ll leave and I won’t bother you again.”

She was serious. You knew if you lied and told her otherwise, she’d keep her word; she’d be out of your life completely. Were you willing to run? Were you ready to live a life without her for good?

Still without meeting her eyes you voiced barely above a whisper, “I… I can’t.”

Then you heard Alexia draw a breath, long and deep, followed by the unmistakable rustle of clothes before the air stilled once more. Not a moment later though a choked sound broke the quiet and immediately, your head whipped to the sound and found Alexia now bent forward, elbows resting on the top of her knees, her head bowed into the cradle of her open palms while her hair formed a curtain around her face. 

“‘What’s happening to me? I’ve not know desire like this–like how it is with you. How, then, can I go on without you now that I found you?’” Each word came out strained as her breath stuttered and yours, too, hitched at what Alexia just recited. Then she lifted her head up a fraction but it was enough for you to see the undisguised pain reflected in those eyes and the sight of them made yours burn. 

“You didn’t even give me a chance. You wrote and left those words to me but what was I supposed to do with them? What was I meant to do?” 

A pause.

“I thought I knew what feeling lost was like. My ACL taught me that and when my father–” Alexia screwed her eyes shut as she drew in a heavy breath. She continued after a moment, “but after you went away, I felt lost again. I didn’t know what to do with myself, didn’t know how or what to feel. All I knew was I was mad at you for leaving, for what you said to me, for not responding… I was hurt. And I felt so empty that I didn’t look through that damn bag you left me.”

“But I missed you. God, I missed you, so I opened it and what did I find? Your fucking notes.” Alexia laughed, flat and void of any warmth, and she shook her head as if in disbelief, digging the heels of her palms into her sockets before looking back at you with raw eyes. “‘With every kiss, every touch, I become more yours. If you ask me to, I will surrender myself to you.’ If you truly meant that, why did you leave?” 

“Won’t you even tell me why?” Alexia repeated, now pleading. 

“I–” You began but the words caught in your throat as you turned her question over in her head because why, why did you leave? 

“I was… I was afraid.” You admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Afraid of what?” 

“To hear that I meant nothing to you, to know I felt more for you than you did for me. I was just one of your girls, right?” You laughed bitterly, hating the way tears immediately fell down your cheeks, as you looked over Alexia’s shoulder, unable to look her in the eye as you spoke. You were weak enough as it was, so bare that one word from her could make you bleed if she wanted to.

“I couldn’t bear to hear that from you so I left. And perhaps it was cruel of me to leave those notes behind but I didn’t want to take them with me. I didn’t want the reminder of what we had and what we could’ve been. And I guess, deep down, I just wanted you to know how you made me feel because even if it ended, even if it meant nothing to you, that doesn’t change the fact that you made me happy.”

“‘Nothing?’ What do you mean–” Confusion first swam in her hazel eyes but her eyes suddenly widened. “That day… you were there?”

You hastily wiped your tears away with the back of your hand. “Yes.” 

“Oh my god,” Alexia whispered as she lowered her head even further, fingers digging into her scalp as she shook her head. You heard her mutter something in Catalan that you couldn’t quite understand, barely catching the familiar Spanish words for ‘kill’ and ‘two’ from whatever she said. 

Then Alexia gazed up at you with fire in her eyes. “If what we had meant nothing to me, I wouldn’t be here. Whatever you heard that day, there’s no truth to it.”

“All of it? Then tell me, what did Mapi mean when she said I’m one of your girls?” 

At that, Alexia opened her mouth before closing it again, then she casted her gaze aside. 

Your heart dropped.

She wrung her fingers, the muscle in her jaw ticked while her frown deepened but she found the courage to look you in the eye again as she began to speak. “After I got injured, I was a wreck. It was one of the lowest points of my life. I felt like I was stuck, like my life was playing out in front of me and I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

“The world moved on but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get past it, what happened and what would come after. It was a constant one step forward, three steps back. So I… I slept around because I needed control. I was spiralling when you met me and it’s–it’s true I had others while I was with you.”

Oh, how her words branded you! Perhaps there was still a small part of you that hoped Alexia would deny it but as the words spilled from Alexia’s lips, that vision was immediately dashed and in its place bloomed anguish. Your eyes burnt as you took Alexia in, she–with her lips pressed in a thin line and the corners of them crooked downwards, brows furrowed so deep her eyes were almost covered–looked guilty and in as much pain as you upon her own admittance.

“I had others but not after the first time we had dinner together. At that point, I stopped. I stopped because I hoped… I hoped that we could be more. I still do. But it never meant nothing to me, you never meant nothing to me. I just want you to know that.”

You bit your lip as her words sank in, and your stomach dropped even further as you realised something. The falling out, it was all your fault, wasn’t it? If you’d just talked to her, none of this would’ve happened. 

The silence must had lasted longer than you realised because you heard Alexia’s whispered plea, “please, say something.”

“I… I want nothing more than to be with you, Alexia. In my mind, it had always been you and instead of telling you, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t make my intentions clear and it was unfair of me to expect you to know them. I was going to–I was going to ask you to be mine that night but when I heard you say those words, I lost it.” 

Tears tracked down your cheeks as you choked out, “I’m sorry. I broke us, didn’t I?”

Alexia was quick to answer. 

“No, you were scared and hurting. I can’t hold that against you. And it’s not just you, it’s not like I was very vocal about what I wanted either. I should’ve told you what you meant to me, I should’ve made it clear what I wanted from this–from us.” Alexia looked into your eye with an ardent disposition that made you shiver while a small, hopeful smile graced her lips. “I still want you. If you still want me, have me.” 

Her declaration moved you and this wasn’t the first time tonight that her words made your heart ache–fed fuel to the fire that was your yearning. The temptation to accept her offer was too much but you stopped yourself; the logical part of you who knew that you weren’t the same person as the one Alexia met prevented you from saying yes. 

“I’m not the same person I was from before, Alexia. And I have a child. I don’t want you to trick yourself into thinking you want what comes with me just because you want me.”

“Then let me in! Let me know this version of yourself and don’t decide for me if I want or don’t want to be with you. Let me make that choice this time.” Alexia said, almost exasperated in the way she threw her hands up but desperation weighed heavier in her voice. “We don’t need to label it. You’re mine and I’m yours, isn’t that what matters?”

“And if it doesn’t work out?”

“And if it does? And now that we know what we want from each other, it’s not like how it was before.” Alexia countered easily. Then she added with a half smile, teasing. “C’mon. I thought you’re the optimistic one in this relationship?”

You couldn’t help it, you smiled at her lightness. Then you nodded. 

“Okay. So, can we start over slow?”

“That sounds good.” Then Alexia grinned, mischievous with the way she brushed her thumb over her nose and how her dimple gilded the corner of her lips. “Hi, I’m Alexia. What’s your name?” 

The absurdity of what she said caught you off guard, even more so the laughter that bubbled out from your throat. As your laughter faded and Alexia’s grin dimmed to a small smile, a vacuous silence settled over the both of you, a welcome reprieve from the weight and tension that filled the air moments ago. Your eyes roamed over Alexia’s figure in silent appraisal, and hers over yours, as you mapped the familiar contours of her silhouette. Then you noticed a change in her demeanour: her eyes darkened, a look you were well acquainted with fifteen months–a look that your body remembered all too well with the way your flesh burnt. 

“Did you have others?” The question took you aback and you were sure that you weren’t able to hide the surprise from your face because where the hell did that come from? Still, you indulged her.

“Not in the way you think. I can’t even kiss anyone without thinking of you. It’s not fair to them if I take them on as my lover when I know I’m still hung up on you.”

“‘Still’, huh?” Alexia hummed in response and her gaze only became darker, eyes now lidded.

You scoffed at her arrogance but it lacked any real bite because it was true anyway. Your cheeks warmed at her attention and you crossed your legs, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Alexia–the way she bit her lower lip made it known to you she knew just what she was doing to you–before you casted your eyes aside, down to the floor. “Don’t be an ass about it.” 

At the sound of clothes rustling, you looked back up only to find Alexia had already crossed the distance and now stood an arm’s length away. Your body, always in tune to her presence, parted your legs before you could think better of it and Alexia claimed what little space between you, her knees now against the edge of the chair. 

She planted both hands on either side of your chair’s arms as she leant down, craning her neck so that you could feel the warmth of her breath against your cheek.

“I’m being serious.” 

The words were whispered so close to your lips that you could feel the heat of hers as they brushed over yours. 

“I tried. But you… you had others, didn’t you? I saw the photos.” You tilted your head, relished the way Alexia followed and ghosted over your lips as you did so, whispering the words against her jaw. 

She shivered.

“One. Just the one before I read your notes.” And she leant in again and this time, you could almost taste her lips from how close she was to you. “She never touched me. And besides, who do you think she looked like?”

An image of the woman came to your mind. You didn’t realise it then but now her resemblance to you became apparent: the colour of her hair and the length of it, the colour of her eyes, her height. They were all similar to you.

“But you touched her.” It wasn’t a question and the silence that followed was confirmation enough. You didn’t hold that against her–couldn’t–but it hurt you still. You didn’t even know you’d teared up until Alexia swept her thumb over the corner of your eye, soft and careful; apologetic. And then a fire sparked in you, an all consuming green that prompted you to ghost your lips back to Alexia’s neck. You didn’t miss the way her pulse jumped when you left a light kiss there.

“Tell me, Ale. Did she feel better than me?”

“No,” Alexia choked out and the heat of it warmed your ear.

A kiss to the corner of her jaw. “Did she moan your name like I did?”

“No.”

You placed another kiss to the lobe of her ear before you whispered, low and cruel, and obscenely shameless. 

“Did she come for you like I did?” 

That did it.

Alexia took the back of your head in her hand and pulled you in for a kiss. A soft moan left your mouth–or was it from Alexia–as you surrendered to her heat, melting instantly and lips parting for her and her only. You felt her other hand creep down to the small of your back where she pulled you forward, urging you to stand up. When you did, and without breaking the kiss, Alexia manoeuvred the both of you until you felt the soft texture of the couch against the skin of your calves.

You pulled away with a gasp and before Alexia could upon her eyes, you stepped aside and pushed her just enough for her to end up on the couch, eyes flying in surprise at the sudden change of position. She opened her mouth, as if to protest, but she quickly shut it when you straddled her lap, hands automatically over her jaw and neck as you sank into her lips again. 

Alexia dragged her lips away from yours and you were about to sigh in disappointment until you felt her tracing the lobe of your ear with her tongue. Then she nipped along your jaw as she whispered, a smile clear in her voice, “that’s right… You like being on top.”

You shivered as her hands traced your silhouette but when you felt her hands move from your ass to the edge of your shirt, brushing against the skin of your back with clear intentions, the haze lifted immediately as apprehension filled you. The words didn’t even leave your mouth before Alexia stopped her ministrations, pulling away from your lips gently, and she opened her eyes, which revealed at first the deep desire in them, now replaced with concern as she met your gaze.  

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Shaking your head, you placed a slow, lingering kiss on her lips before you broke away again, breathing heavily as you rested your forehead on hers.

“I’m sorry. And no, you didn’t. It’s not that I don’t want you because I do. God, I want you so much, you don’t even know, but I’m not–I think we’re going too fast and Elisa…” You trailed off, cheeks warming. 

Without another word, Alexia fixed the hem of your shirt so the strip of exposed skin was covered, and placed a tender kiss on your cheek. Then she shifted beneath you, shrugged off her leather jacket and placed it on the coffee table, before she lied down. 

A gentle hand on your back urged you down on her chest and upon doing so, you sighed as a sense of peace washed over you and you found yourself sinking into her tender warmth, into the safety of her arms wrapped around your waist.

She brushed back hair from your temple and you felt the flutter of her hum against your cheek before you heard it. “Are you comfortable?”

The gesture made you ache and you feared your words would fail you if you spoke so you only nodded, nuzzling the column of her neck with your nose and placed a kiss there as a form of gratitude.

Alexia pressed her lips on top of your head and then you heard her sigh, content. “Good.”

[oneluckydragon]

“Fool me once, Dusknoir. Fool me twice?” Echo supplies, ice in the bite of her voice, “And you’ll regret it.”

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

ECHO : (Hero)

Abilities: Bad Dreams / Synchronization

Nature: Impish / Quiet

Moveset: Dark Void / Psychic / Alluring Voice / Moonlight

[skrunksthatwunk]

landing

[cautiously0ptimistic]

No god, no religion, Just bad, bad decisions.

[echo-of-the-eye]

Can’t stop thinking about Viktor and Jon parallels cause I have tma brainrot and anytime I see anything even remotely similar I go “is that a magnus reference?”

Anyways thinking about the differences in the choices they did and did not make and how both of them came back from the dead and were involved in ending the world.

I talked a bit about it before but Jon chooses to come back to life and become a monster. Granted it wasn’t a fair choice but he did choose it. Meanwhile the end of the world was not his choice. As much as he thinks otherwise it was not his fault. He didn’t “accidentally” start the apocalypse, he wasn’t “manipulated into it” he straight up did not end the world. Jonah did. Using Jon. Yes he was manipulated to prepare for the ritual (still not his fault), but actually ending the world? Jonah did that. He straight up took control of his body. Jon was the tool. The key to open the door. Jonah shaped the key and turned it.

Viktor is the opposite. He did not choose to come back to life. In fact he had basically accepted his death and was actively suicidal. Jayce brought him back (and I don’t really blame him for that. He didn’t know the consequences and he was trying to save the man he loved). Viktor did however, almost end the world (and succeeded in some timelines? I’m confused). Now it’s hard to say how much of that was Viktor. He was heavily influenced by the arcane, but Jon was also heavily influenced by the Eye (not that you can really compare them). We don’t know how sentient the arcane is but we can guess that its main goal/instinct is to spread. If it worked through Viktor or if it was simply influenced him, altering his thoughts and feelings to more easily rationalize what he was doing. Either way Viktor would not have done what he did without the arcane. But he did do it. The arcane isn’t a person. You can’t really put all the blame there. And we did see that Viktor was still in there, deep down, enough that he could change his mind. Meaning that to a certain degree, he did choose it. Viktor’s actions were his own, even if they were influenced. He’s the most responsible for what happened. Jayce also carries some responsibility for bringing Viktor back in the first place and creating hextech alongside Viktor, but again, he did not know the consequences of that. Neither did Viktor at first. So how much are they to blame?

I just find it fascinating how such similar events (even if they are still vastly different) happen in two completely different series and how the characters had different levels of agency throughout it.

[stjernespiller]

Another eye

Can also be found on AO3

You can’t see anything.

Blood drips from your face. You think it hurts, in that distant way everything does now. You try to get it out of your eye, just enough to see the fight, but your vision stays dark through the wet sounds of blood and flesh.

Stupid, you think to yourself. Stupid stupid idiot, zoning out in a battle. Should have just looped forward to the king instead of taking that bathroom break and fighting the floor boss. Couldn’t even blinding cry, so what did it matter?

Your family members are speaking. They don’t do that much in battle. You should probably listen.

Bonnie is crying.

Mirabelle heals you again, a light feeling drifting over you that does nothing to take away the weight in your stomach. You don’t know why she did it again, you just need to get this blood out of your eye and you can go back to the fight, stop zoning out just enough to beat the sadness blocking your way to asking the king the question you’ve been dreading.

Isabeau is saying something very close to you. You think it’s him, at least, from the deeper tone. You can’t hear it. Can’t fight can’t see can’t hear. You’re pathetic.

He touches your face.

It’s- new, strange, unexpected. You flinch, and he takes his hand back, like your family always does because you’re so weak you can’t even handle being touched. But the hand only leaves for a moment before it’s back again, holding your cheek. you stand very, very still.

Is the fight over? It has to be. You almost had it before you got distracted and let yourself get hit. Maybe Isabeau and Odile got it while Mirabelle was healing you. He wouldn’t be touching you like this if the sadness was still attacking, back turned to where it stood.

He wipes the blood away from your eye, unstained hand doing a much better job than yours had. You still can’t see. You still can’t hear what any of them are saying. He sounds close to tears, though.

Ah. You know why you can’t see.

It clears your hearing. Fear, for some reason, leaves when you exhale. You breathe deep in, again, and a full sense of calmness fills the space of the fear you breathe out.

The blood hadn’t covered your eye, it was coming out of it. Stupid Siffrin didn’t pay attention to the fight and lost another eye.

Isabeau is cursing, voice wet with tears. His other hand cups your jaw, keeping your head in place. He wipes more blood away, touching your eyeball with so much gentleness you feel it should heal it. Mirabelle crafts another healing spell, and Odile asks Bonnie for the one sweet tonic you picked up this loop.

You pick up your wooden arms, raising them slowly, like through a thick fog, to land your hands on Isabeau’s. He drops his hands from your face. You’re speaking to your whole party when you say, “It won’t work.”

Bonnie sobs. Someone, likely Odile, pours a tonic on your eye anyway.

You just need to get to a frozen tear. You don’t remember where they are, but maybe you could convince your family to lead you to one. If you could find some excuse. Or just swing your arms around until you hit one.

“The head housemaiden could heal you,” Mirabelle whispers, voice just as teary as Isabeau’s. “I should have taken more healing classes. Studied more on my own. I can’t do it. And by the time we get to her...”

She trails of. Crafts another healing cure. It works just as well as the others.

Healing of this scale needs to be done quick. You know, because you all talked about it when you lost your first eye, and when Isabeau showed you a small scar on his bicep. Go more than an hour or two without the right healing craft, and it’ll be permanent.

An idea lights up in your mind. You turn your head, but it all stays black, and you can’t look anyone in the eye.

“We can find a tear. Freeze me.” It’s so perfect. You almost have to stop yourself from grinning. The best excuse you could have ever asked for. “when you beat the king and everyone unfreezes, someone can help me.”

The lie is easy, as easy as all the others you’ve filled these two days with. They won’t beat the king without you. You won’t unfreeze with everyone else, and the head housemaiden will never help you. But you need to see to fight, and you need to loop to see, and you need a tear to loop.

It’s quiet for a moment. “Will that work?” Odile asks, voice strangely soft.

“It’s worth a try.”

“We’ll find a tear!” Bonnie yells. They either stamp their foot or jump in place. “We’ll defeat the king and you’ll get your eye back!” their voice is still wet. You don’t know why. Are they scared of fighting the king without you? Now you’re thinking about the loop you let them go alone. Stars, you really are an awful person. Of course they’re scared when you can’t keep fighting, and just before the king, too.

“Let’s bandage it until then.” Mirabelle says, and a piece of cloth presses against your face. It’s nice and cool. “Your coat is all dark know.”

Odile, you think, listening to the footsteps, start walking. “We can’t go back,” she says, “hopefully there will be some tears further in.”

You walk after her. The corridor is as familiar to you as the rest of this blinding house. You don’t need an eye to know the way.

Isabeau still hovers beside you, steps heavy but careful. He doesn’t offer to guide you, probably afraid to touch you, but you can imagine his arm reaching out, hovering above your shoulder, ready to steer you away from the walls or the floor or what else you might kill yourself on. Fragile little Siffrin, can’t walk on his own.

Bonnie is to your other side, rushing ahead for two steps at a time before falling back again, never straying far. They hiccup, and audibly sniff their snot in. You feel awful. The tear is close. You just need to loop.

Mirabelle walks in front of you with Odile. You can almost feel her continuously looking back at you, footsteps irregular in that familiar pattern. You don’t know why it’s familiar, and when you try to remember, it slips away like lightless sand between your fingers.

The air is tense. You slip into your mind, a little. Claude is up ahead, frozen in time with the secret ingredient. You turn a corner, and don’t think about how strange it looks to your family for you to walk through the corridor like this. Isabeau calling you graceful is there, memory pushing itself to the front of your mind, but you don’t force yourself to act as if you don’t know this place better than yourself. They won’t remember.

“Does it hurt?” Bonnie whispers besides you. You instinctively look towards them, but still see nothing but darkness around you. “Sorry, stupid question. Of course it hurts.” Their voice is still wet. They sniffle. “You just act like it doesn’t.”

You’ve been acting a lot. Almost everything feels like a secret, a lie, a play. This isn’t one of them. “It’s just an eye.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN JUST AN EYE?!” Bonnie yells, and their voice is still wet, but it cracks in fury. “You always do this, you don’t care about anything! It’s your eye, you can’t see, you lost both of them now! You have to care!”

They hate you. You remember, now, that they don’t love you. You couldn’t get yourself to help them this loop, too tired from hearing the same thing again and again and again. In this moment, Bonnie hasn’t hugged you. In this moment, you haven’t talked with Bonnie about losing your first eye. In this moment, they still hate you.

But it’s fine. You’re on your way to a tear. You’ve all been walking this stretch for a while, Mirabelle should see Claude soon, and then they’ll find the safe room, and after that - you think you’ve seen tears there before.

“It’s just an eye,” you say again, because you can’t bring yourself to pretend any differently, that it matters to you more than having to loop and run through the third floor again. “I’ve lost worse.”

Bonnie doesn’t respond. Claude has to be here soon, right? Was she always this deep in the corridor?

"How is your eyes not the worst thing you've lost?" Mirabelle asks, so quiet you almost don’t hear her. The kind of question she doesn’t expect a response to.

You shouldn’t respond. You don’t want to respond. How can you. You can’t speak it’s name, can’t tell them anything about it, and you already didn’t help Odile this loop because you couldn’t bring yourself to follow the blinding script again when she won’t understand and won’t remember and won’t care.

“I lost my home,” you say anyway, because it’s all one big cosmic joke. They won’t remember anyway. It doesn’t matter. “And I don’t even remember it.”

Does your country matter, if no one remembers it?

Isabeau speaks up, always the emotionally mature one. “I’m sorry, that sounds awful.”

“You never remember anything,” Bonnie sniffles, sounding tired. The kind of exhausted you get calming down from crying. You wish your stupid eye would let you cry.

You’ve already broken the dam. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. “I don’t.” Isabeau tugs at you cloak, pulling you slightly towards him. He lets you go, a meter more to the left of the corridor than before, and doesn’t explain anything. You don’t ask.

“Not even the word for a stuffed animal. Or a sharpening stone, which you use all the time. Or bananas.” It seems to calm Bonnie down, listing all the things you don’t remember. You follow along.

“Not the name for all the birds in Dormount. What bonding earring are. What we did last week. My family. My country. Your names, that one time.”

It doesn’t calm you down. Or the others, for that matter. Isabeau stopped walking. The other three follow suit.

You stop too, because the others did. Then you wish you had kept going, because now you’re just standing here, and you still can’t see anything.

“Sif...” Isabeau starts, soft and careful. “I’m sorry. We’ve been poking fun at your memory, but this... We need to talk, after we beat the king.”

You don’t want to talk. Have you already made the pun on your memory this loop? Bonnie said you couldn’t remember the name, so probably, you need something else, something to divert the attention, it doesn’t matter because they’ll forget but right now they remember and you don’t want to talk.

“Aren’t there any tears here?” You ask, and it comes out harsher than you planned.

“Oh! No, not yet, but there’s a door here, maybe on the other side?” Mirabelle sounds nervous and jumpy. Did you do that? Stars, you’re awful.

Then you think. There’s a door, and you hear someone open it. Claude was before the door. She was, you know it, you can’t have forgotten that, Mirabelle stops you all and says the same thing every time.

Did you all walk past her? Did... did Mirabelle change the script? Because you’re blind now?

Your head hurts. You walk towards the door, and only need to follow the wall for a moment before you reach it, having been pulled from the middle of the corridor by Isabeau. Was that.... because of Claude? Did he pull you out of the way?

When Mirabelle tells everyone to hurry through the safe room, they do so. No one talks about taking a break, and Odile’s stomach doesn’t rumble. You’re through the room without eating or touching the star.

“There!” Bonnie yells, first out of the second door.

“A tear,” Odile says simply. “Two, actually. Pick your poison, Siffrin.”

You chuckle, just a little. Lean right. But you don’t actually know where in the room the tears are. You just know the door to the king is straight ahead.

“Can I lead you to it?” Isabeau offers. You empty your mind, think of nothing, and hold out your hand.

He guides you in an arch. Let’s go of your hand. You reach out, and dream of nothing.

[ananke-xiii]

Okay, I think I can finally share this now.

In my version of "Moriah" Chuck orders Jack to kill Castiel with the promise of bringing things back to how they were before all the mess they're in now, Mary included. Jack starts panicking and crying and is clearly being played but he's in no state to rationalize things so he starts blurting out all kinds of stuff and eventually resolves to actually do it. Sam and Dean are forced to watch by Chuck and are totally incapacitated just like us, hypothetical viewers, are made to watch Jack's tragedy as it unfolds.

But Castiel is okay with that and actually plans to do the deed himself in order to avoid at least this one pain in Jack's life so he comes close to Jack and holds his face in one hand while the other is ready for the blade. He needs to tell him one last thing before the end. They're both crying but somehow Cas find the courage to recite a different type of blessing over the children, one that of course doesn't involve God and it goes something like this:

Jack, don't cry. It's okay, it's okay.

I need to tell you something, Jack and I need you to listen carefully, okay? Okay, good.

Being elected as your father has been the greatest joy and honor of my life. Hey, it's okay, shhh, it's okay, listen to me.

It was a joy so great that I got scared, Jack. I'm sorry Jack but I got so scared. I didn't know it then but it was this gnawing fear of losing it all, of losing you, that made me make... many mistakes. It was this fear that prevented me from understanding who you really are, from seeing the truth. So here it is.

Jack, you were, are and always will be such a luminous, beautiful and important presence in this world. Ah, as a matter of fact, in any world. Because you're... you. And you are... amazing.

No, no, no listen to me now, please, shhh, it's okay: You have to know that whatever happens in your life, I will be there for you. No matter what, I will be by your side. If things will go wrong, I'll be there to give you my energy. If things will go right, I'll also be there to give you even more energy.

You must never forget that you're loved, Jack. Oh, look at you: my son...my son... I love you. So much.

Cas, in an instant, is ready with his angel blade but it's in this moment that the Shadow erupts into the world to take Castiel away: no reasoning, no strategic plan, nothing. The moment of happiness is the moment of unconditional love.

Chuck's frantic because this "unconditional love" thing wasn't in his script and yells that it was not supposed to happen this way, that he gave them the possibility to access everything they ever wanted, the price was just one self-loathing, doomed-anyway angel but it still wasn't enough for them, was it?

It's also the moment where Sam, briefly freed from Chuck's powers, gets his lucidity back and decides to pull the trigger on Chuck (and himself). In the background, Jack's screaming and crying so much that the mere force of his screams is enough to resurrect the whole cemetery but Cas is not coming back to him.

Chuck is wounded by Sam (who's also hurting in return) and is forced to flee. Dean is also wounded beyond repair and is like turned to stone and almost can't breathe because he's living, again, one of the worst moments of his life as we go back to a distorted, more messed-up version of s12 finale and to the beginning of Jack's tragic story.

Jack is spiralling and he's out of control and out of himself as he starts opening woundsrifts after rifts through dimensions and worlds looking for Chuck, looking for the Empty, looking for whatever comes first at this point because he's moved by the dangerous, unpredictable and explosive bomb that is revenge spurred by love. Until Billie finds him.

[castielsprostate]

genuinely though if they continue venom without tom hardy, or without eddie brock, i will blow myself up and not in a good way

[truth-01001001-liar]

Fahlthahrk and young Viir

[peppermint-moss]

OH NO RAIN'S EYES ARE GREEN???? FUCKKKKK