#if we can put a wedge there they will both end up powerless.

[robotsandfrippary]

there are rumors that trump is PISSED that people think the musk rat is the one secretly in charge/giving trump his ideas. I feel like we should lean into that till they completely explode.

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 18)

Hiya! I'm posting late, on account of my job. Editing these takes about an hour depending on the post and inserting the images takes a little more, but I didn't have a solid block of time to work on it, so I worked on it in pieces and I only just now finished.

This arc highlights Natsume's powerlessness. He's distancing himself from Mikan to protect her, but by doing this, he leaves her defenseless at times. He wants to be there for her but can't because of the corner he's been pushed into, and in his desperation he turns to anonymity.

Chapter Eighty-One

Hotaru, Natsume, and Ruka are running after them, but are caught by Tsubasa, who asks them what their plan is, exactly. Ruka turns to Natsume, who turns to Hotaru, who pretends she was just practicing her running for the Festival and then the boys started following her for no reason. This comic relief is a badly-needed break from all the bullying and blackmail of the arc so far.

This arc is full of fun comic relief, but the main plot is so depressing and frustrating that sometimes the comic relief is not enough.

In any case, all three of them know that the others are all working to take care of Mikan, even if she doesn't know it. They're all looking out for her in their own ways, even Natsume who seems to have publicly turned against her. At least Hotaru and Ruka can see the truth: he's still quite concerned about it, but he's in something of a bind now.

The next we see of Natsume, he’s walking with Tsubasa, being spied on by both Hotaru and Ruka. It’s here that we discover that Tsubasa has been transferred to the DA class, but is keeping this secret from Mikan. Moreover, he and Natsume are on a mission to locate Yuka, and they’re both aware that Mikan is her daughter. It’s interesting to know just how much information the DA class has on the other students that the other kids have no clue about. Hotaru and Ruka are shocked by this information, but for us as readers, it also demonstrates just how much work Natsume--and Tsubasa--are putting into protecting Mikan.

All this information is stuff they have to consider on their missions. They want to protect Yuka, because she’s Mikan’s mother, but they have no choice but to pursue and chase after her with raids and attacks. On top of that, Tsubasa is keeping his new ability class a secret, and Natsume has to hurt her with this Luna farce. It’s a lot to put on two kids, not that the ESP or Persona have much issue putting pressure on kids.

For Natsume in particular, it was fun while it lasted, being close to Mikan. He had relished and enjoyed it, and now he has to change pace. He’s willing to, because that’s how he can keep her smiling and having fun, even if he’s not on her team and can’t even be in her inner circle anymore. He’s willing to sacrifice anything for her, but we can see that it’s not any fun for him. Mikan is suffering in sadness, yes, but so is Natsume.

The next thing he has to do only makes things worse.

He confronts Mikan about the rumor Luna made up, about Mikan showing her underwear to the Fuukitai to avoid punishment. It’s obviously bogus: Mikan would never even think to do that, let alone actually do it. He knows that too, because Natsume knows her very well. He asks because he has to.

Mikan avoids answering, brushing it off as none of Natsume’s business, because she is also under Luna’s watchful gaze. So they end up having an argument in front of everyone, both not saying what they really mean, and instead doing as Luna commands, to keep everyone safe. Mikan points out that she isn’t his partner--or anything--anymore, so he should mind his business. Natsume then asks if that means his concern is a bother, and she confirms: yes. It’s a big fat pain.

It's heartbreaking and frustrating in equal spades.

It’s almost as if Natsume was testing something. Now he knows that Luna must have threatened Mikan in the storeroom. Something sinister happened there, and now Mikan is different, dishonest, mean. That’s not what she’s actually like, and now he’s concerned. Luna’s shadow is spreading and it’s threatening to encroach on Mikan’s light.

Chapter Eighty-Two

Natsume walks off, having heard all he needs to hear.

Luna is causing mayhem and strife to punish Mikan and Natsume specifically for their misbehavior on New Year’s. She wants Mikan to be isolated from Natsume in particular because he’s her number one protector. If there’s a wedge between them, Mikan is easier to target. After all, Mikan’s purpose at the academy is to lure in Yuka, and the more danger she is in, the more likely Yuka is to try and save her daughter. If Natsume is around, threatening Mikan becomes tricky. He’d never allow anything bad to happen to her, hence his desperation and sacrifice in this arc. In order to fulfill their goals regarding Yuka, they need Natsume out of Mikan’s picture.

Of course, despite Natsume’s secret intel being superior to Ruka or Hotaru’s (and definitely to Mikan’s), he’s still not entirely in the know. Yuka being the main target, for example, is information Natsume is not privy to, and couldn’t even imagine. This is a game Natsume is unaware that he cannot win. If he doesn’t distance himself from Mikan, she’ll be threatened, but if he does, she’ll be threatened. In reality, there's no way he can win this round.

Chapter Eighty-Three

Anyway, the Sports Fest doesn’t slow down for the kids’ drama. The athletic meets have begun, and now there is a relay race.

Ruka and Natsume are on different teams for the relay, and this has inspired Ruka to beat his best friend, so he can be number one in Mikan’s eyes for once.

I will talk way more about the “love triangle” aspect of NatsuMikan and the question of choice, autonomy, and agency in Mikan’s essay, because when it comes to Natsume's side of things, he's very much resigned to losing every romantic game, every relay race, every competition. It's no contest. He's not competing. He's withdrawn from the race, now more than ever. He will not participate. He is destined to lose, after all, so why even bother?

And so Ruka wins the actual relay, and Natsume watches as everyone has fun without him, something that he’s been accustomed to before. It hurts more now, undoubtedly, because for a time, he was actually a part of the group. Knowing what it feels like to fit in and have fun with everyone makes it even worse when it’s gone again. He used to separate himself from the rest and suffer all on his own, but now he’s returned to that state.

He hasn’t quite let go, either. His effort and commitment to the Sports Fest, despite all the drama with Mikan and Luna, demonstrate just how much he actually wants to participate. It’s not about having his friends around him. He actually likes being able to have fun, and be allowed to take part in an event with everyone else, even if he isn’t technically by his friends’ sides.

His bad feelings are only exacerbated by Luna, who shows up to taunt him. He shouldn’t worry about Mikan and Ruka, because they’ll be torn apart eventually. Whatever happiness they find right now is temporary. It won’t last, and Luna will make sure of it.

But Natsume loves both Mikan and Ruka, and that does not reassure him at all. He’s selfless, would rather they be together anyway. In a perfect world, maybe she could pick him, and it makes him sad that the world isn’t perfect and he can’t have what he wants, but he’s always at peace with losing. So he’s not at all comforted by the idea that the happiness his loved ones have found will dissipate in no time.

Chapter Eighty-Four

Luna then giggles, because whether or not Ruka and Mikan’s being split apart will result in Natsume’s happiness is another question entirely. She wants to rub it in that even if Ruka is out of the picture, he can never be with Mikan. Joke’s on her though, because Natsume has already come to terms with this the moment he fell in love with Mikan. He hasn’t been humoring ideas of love confessions and weddings and living happily ever after. It’s outside the realm of possibility, because his circumstances do not allow him much happiness at all.

The future seems bleaker than ever, and knowing that Ruka and Mikan are being kept under watch by the school, Natsume keeps an eye on them too. He’s feeling sad and heart-broken too, of course. He’s not perfect. He can’t erase feelings of jealousy or the ache of unrequited love just because he feels it’s his duty to make peace with them. It hurts, but he’ll carry through. That’s what he’s always done.

But people are gossiping about his presence, putting his position in jeopardy. Luna can’t know he’s still hanging around Mikan, even if Mikan herself is clueless to this. Before he can be discovered, he steals someone’s mask, the mask of a boy named Kusami whose hairstyle looks an awful lot like Natsume’s.

If only he could be allowed to just steal people's identities and not have to face any consequences for it. Alas.

Unfortunately for Natsume, the Borrowing Race is about to begin, and Kusami was arranged to be a participant. He put the mask on to avoid responsibility for his spying, but it’s bit him in the butt now.

Kusami benefits from this, indirectly, since kids who call him moron get the cold shoulder from Natsume, who doesn’t have the same easy-going personality.

It seems nobody actually wants to participate in the Borrowing Race. It’s very personal and vulnerable: you have to borrow a person or item you’d least want to borrow, as dictated on a small piece of paper assigned to you. It’s then judged by some mind-reading alices to test the validity of the borrowed items. The concept of the race functions around embarrassing and humiliating people, so naturally nobody would want to participate.

Natsume has gotten himself into trouble here. He can’t even make a run for it, though he really wants to, because for some reason people are hell-bent on Kusami competing. He’s in the second round, and starts running as he--or Kusami--is supposed to. He gets his paper and although we don’t see what’s written on it quite yet, we can see a focus on Mikan in one of the panels, so we can tell his first thought is to borrow her.

To confess anonymously in front of the whole school or to not confess anonymously in front of the whole school--that is the question.

And then in a few pages, emboldened by the mask he’s wearing, Natsume runs toward Mikan and grabs her wrist. He’s decided he will borrow her, because maybe she’ll never find out his true identity, and he can be selfish just this once. This could be his only chance ever to be honest about how he feels. He's had to lie and hide it for so long that it makes sense he'd take the first opportunity available to go for it. This is quite possibly the most selfish thing he’s done. If he gets caught, he’ll be entirely exposed.

Unlike Ruka, Natsume can't really win this race. He won't be number one in Mikan's eyes, ever. He can't ever tell her it's all for her. The very best he can do is compete with a mask on. Ruka can try his hardest and impress Mikan and Natsume feels he never will. It's not much of a competition when one person cannot and will not compete.

He runs, despite her confusion and obliviousness, or perhaps because of it.

And just as the fireworks displaying his prompt start going off in the sky, he lets her go and walks away resolutely. There. He’s participated.

“The person you love.”

Mikan is chasing after Natsume, but he can’t be caught. Being caught would ruin everything, and would make his selfish act even more selfish. He shoves the mask back into Kusami’s face, and takes off.

You'd think he'd be a bit happier to have finally confessed his feelings but he just looks miserable.

Natsume has been very selfish now. He didn’t have to grab Mikan. He could’ve borrowed anybody and lost. Does it matter if he wins? He’s not Kusami. He could’ve just gotten the race over with and run away, but instead he played along, because he wanted to confess. He’s never been so honest in his life. He wants her to know he loves her, even if she doesn’t know who “he” is. And if he gets caught, then Mikan will know for a fact that Natsume Hyuuga loves her, and everything he’s done so far--hyping up Ruka, distancing himself, being cruel to protect her, allowing Luna to cling to him--will have been for nothing. She’ll know it was all a ruse, and then she’ll be open to all sorts of dangers. But he risks it, because he just can’t hide it anymore. He always has to hide, always has to pretend, always has to sacrifice his own feelings for the sake of others. This time, he’ll say exactly what he means, made all the more easier by the fact that there’s a mask on his face.

He’s done something like this before, particularly when he kissed Mikan on Christmas.

And the Christmas kiss is nothing compared to this: an actual love confession. The kiss was just that, and he had plenty of excuses for why he’d kiss her. It wasn’t because he loved her, no way! It was because she kept saying the other one didn’t count. Or maybe he just wanted to know what it felt like. That’s all. The excuses were just another mask to hide behind.

What excuse could he possibly give for a love confession that a panel of mind-reading judges corroborated? If he’s caught, she will know.

All his tiny instances of selfishness are smaller examples of the same idea: he lets himself be affectionate for once. He can say he prefers her with her hair down, or hug her during the SA class labyrinth, or cuddle with her when he’s having a nightmare, just this one time, and then he’ll give up for good. She won’t notice. It won’t have an effect. It won’t have consequences. He’ll give up for good after; he’ll just do this one selfish thing and then never again. But he can’t give it up, and eventually Christmas happens. He kisses her, unloading so much affection into one action, as if he’s trying to just get it over with. He’ll just get all his love out with one kiss and then he’ll be okay to watch her fall in love with anybody else but him.

But he can’t. He can’t stop doing these little selfish things. He can’t suffocate his love and leave it to die, hidden and smothered like a skeleton in a closet. Despite his every attempt to kill it, to hide it, to pretend like it’s not important, it has only grown stronger. He loves her more and more everyday, and the more he loves her, the harder it is to pretend like he doesn’t care if he never gets what he wants.

He wants to be with her. He wants to kiss her and protect her openly. He wants to sit next to her in class and smile with her. He wants to spend time with her and be on her team for school events. He wants to hold her hand and tell her he loves her.

He doesn’t want to give it all up and wreck his own chances.

The longer he’s loved Mikan, the harder it’s been to be selfless like this. The yearning has only gotten stronger, and now it takes all his power to be cruel to her. What used to come naturally, like being cold and distant and insulting her, has become difficult. What comes naturally to him now is to confess his love or hold her hand or be around her.

Despite the fact that Natsume was the only person who seems to have borrowed the correct person for the race, the White team still loses, on account of him not actually being Kusami.

At the end of the chapter, he sits alone, brooding in a tree.

He hasn’t been caught, so his actions have no consequences for now. He can sit there and mourn what could have been. He can’t be with Mikan, let alone confess his feelings. This was just an excuse to live out a fantasy. He wants to be loud about his feelings, not muffle them. But this is Natsume we’re talking about. He never gets what he wants. And in his opinion, he shouldn’t because Ruka deserves a happy ending way more. And Mikan would never love him back anyway. Ruka would be better for her.

This is just another instance of Natsume promising himself that he’ll do one more selfish thing before he gives up forever. But we know he’s bad at keeping his word, and this is no exception.

Chapter Eighty-Five

Before Mikan can confront Natsume about the borrowing race, Luna steps in, covering for him, claiming she was watching with him from the bleachers during the race. She clings to his arm and drags him off, spurring even more rumors that he and Luna are an item.

She's so violent with him for really no reason.

He tells her to get off, but she reminds him that she’s just done him a favor (though it’s really just a favor to herself). She grabs his hand and holds it tight, and again people get the wrong idea. It’s interesting how such physically painful things come across as romantic to the people around them, who think that Luna is simply holding his hand. Natsume’s persistent look of misery and apathy doesn’t deter people at all from rumors that he’s dating her. After all, Luna is clinging to him with a smile on her face and he’s not doing anything to peel her off, so it must mean they have feelings for each other. Natsume has been so good at hiding his feelings, that nobody--not even the girl he really loves--knows what it looks like when he’s loving and affectionate to somebody. They think he's into Luna, and can't see that what he really needs is help.

Chapter Eighty-Six

Luna has just arranged a terrifying fall for Mikan, knowing she’d use her alice as a knee-jerk reaction to save herself, thus causing others to think she did it for the attention. Mikan could’ve been seriously injured, or worse, and is definitely in trouble now, so Natsume is furious.

He confronts Luna, and the only thing stopping him from hurting her is that he could put Mikan in even more danger by doing so. But Luna is remorseless, giggling that she had no choice but to threaten Mikan. After all, she’s just doing what the principal said they’d do. Mikan should have been put in Persona’s custody in the DA class immediately following the Hana Hime party incident, but Natsume’s sacrifices have allowed her to skate by. Luna is there to observe and punish what she perceives as bad behavior, and anything less than abject misery from Mikan is bad behavior to her.

She warns Natsume: if he really wants to protect Mikan, then he’ll make sure she’s hated. That way, she won’t be in danger.

Powerlessness.

Natsume can’t go around confessing his love to her with a mask on anymore. He needs to sacrifice their relationship entirely in order to keep her safe. And so he does.

He’s sitting on a bench, surrounded by his classmates. Permy is adamantly defending Mikan. These rumors that Mikan fell on purpose for the attention are obviously stemming from Luna, who has the whole class wrapped around her finger. She turns to Natsume, looking for back-up, but Natsume has been told clearly what to do in order to really protect Mikan, and it has nothing to do with standing up for her against these rumors.

Instead, he says that it’s best not to be involved with Mikan anymore. He doesn’t want to see her or hear about her anymore, and he doesn’t want to associate with anyone who associates with her. He tries to give off the impression that he hates her, that he’s disgusted by her.

Then he sees that she’s been there all along, listening.

This is almost like the scene where he tells her he hates everything about her. He’s doing the hard thing to protect her. He’s lying, willing to hurt her, willing to be the villain, if it means she’s in the light and out of the dark.

But this is different.

Mikan could take it before. She yelled back that she hated him too, just as much, and even though that was a lie, it was still something she was able to say. She could argue and fight. This time she crumbles and runs away.

And he’s different too. Before, he could walk away, resolute and determined. Knowing that she’ll be better off this way was enough for him. He didn’t even look back. This time, he can’t leave things like that.

After all, last time was easier. He didn’t think she actually liked him back then. It would really only hurt him. He knows better now. Mikan cares about him, and it doesn’t matter what shape that care takes. It only matters that hearing Natsume call her worthless brings her to tears now, and that’s enough for him to feel way more conflicted.

This time, he apologizes.

He doesn't say he's sorry, but he's saying he's sorry.

He finds Kusami, steals his mask once again, never saying one word to a kid who has been generously keeping his secret for him. He runs after Mikan, and when he finally catches up to her, he hugs her.

Wearing the mask while hugging her is like wearing a raincoat in a hurricane. It won’t change anything or protect him at all. In fact, all he’s doing is giving her confirmation that it’s him, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t want her to think he hates her. He can’t stand it anymore. He’s sorry and he didn’t mean it.

He hugs her and this is different from his selfish hugs during the RPG or when he was having a nightmare. Those were little stolen moments for him to remember. He could take them from Mikan and cherish them as precious memories, even if she never thought of them again. This one is different. This one is for her, to comfort her, to apologize.

It’s all the things he can’t say. I didn’t mean it. Sorry. I have to do this. I really do care about you, I promise. It’s not real. Luna’s making me do this.

But before she can turn around to look at him, he leaves again.

He knows, because of Luna’s warning, that Mikan’s life will only get harder. He wants to help her, but by helping her, he’s placing himself further from her, making it harder for him to protect her in the future. If he’s distant from her to keep Luna at bay, then he’s not around to protect her from Luna in the storeroom, or during the cheerleading competition.

It’s what one might call a Catch-22. No matter what he chooses, he loses. And the worst part is that so does Mikan.

Conclusion

Natsume isn't an active participant in the last few chapters of this arc, so this is how I'll wrap the meta here. In the next arc there will be much to say about him. The Sports Fest went deep into Natsume's love for Mikan. It's not surprising that his love inspires selflessness. Natsume will always put others in front of himself and the more he loves someone, the more fervent he is about self-sacrifice. The truly beautiful thing about Natsume's love for Mikan is that it inspires selfishness too. And I never mean selfish as bad when I'm talking about Natsume. His love for Mikan is special in that it makes him want things for himself too.

I'm having doubts about being able to post tomorrow, so I apologize for only two posts this week. Expect normal posting next week at the very least! This essay is probably more than halfway through already, though I can't say for sure how much is left. Where I am now in terms of essay-writing is already deep in the Time-Travel Arc and as a result there's entire chapters I've skipped. Like. Seven in a row at times. Yikes. So basically we're pretty far in!

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[gaylovecant]

through the eye of the needle

my take on what should have happened at the end of 15x19 

Castiel/Dean Winchester, 7880 words, T

Click here to read on ao3

“Of course I’m coming home with you. We still need to get Cas back!”

Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Even with all the excitement, losing Cas was a heavy weight on his heart. Especially after what he said...

“That’s great,” Sam interrupts Dean’s thought process. “How do we get him back?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack furrows his eyebrows for a moment before smiling wide. “But if Chuck could do it, so can I.”

“You’re sure, Jack?” Dean didn’t know if he could handle false hope right now.

“Yes! I’m sure. I think we need to go back to where he was when the Empty took him.”

With that, the three of them pile into the Impala for what would hopefully be their last mission.

~~~~~~~~

Sam manages to get a hold of Eileen on the drive back. She was safe and happy and would be meeting them at the bunker as soon as she could.

Dean watches as the tension drains from Sam’s body, slumping into his seat.

Jack was passed out in the back. Apparently having god-like powers didn’t stop him from needing rest. But it had been a long day for all of them.

Looking at Jack made Dean yawn, which Sam automatically caught.

“Let me drive for a bit, man. You need to catch some sleep.”

“I’m fine, honestly Sam. I just want to get back to the bunker.” Despite feeling tired, there was no way in hell Dean would be able to sleep before they got Cas back.

“Is this about Cas? Because Jack says he’ll be-“

“Can you just leave it, Sammy?” Dean snaps. He wasn’t sure where that came from. They won. But without Cas, Dean still felt empty and hollow.

“I get it, he’s my friend, too.”

“No, you don’t,” Dean says through gritted teeth. Sam lets out a sigh.

“Dean, if this is you feeling guilty about whatever happened to him, it’s not your fault.” A humourless laugh escapes Dean, and he feels pressure creeping up his throat and behind his eyes.

“It is,” He says in a whisper. “And that’s why I need to get him back, Sammy, I have to.” Dean trails off.

Sam seemed to realize that pushing would only make things worse, so he backed off and dozed in the passenger seat.

As the only one still awake, Dean let a few tears fall before pulling himself together. They needed to get Cas back and that couldn’t happen if he crashed the car because he couldn’t see.

~~~~~~~~

When they got to the bunker, Eileen was already there, waiting in the War Room. Dean watched as Sam swept her into a kiss, before quickly looking away, feeling something sharp wedge itself between his ribs.

“I thought you were dead,” Sam signs, not able to get the words out vocally.

“I’m alive. I’m here.” She signs back, before pulling Sam back for another kiss. They pull apart just enough to rest their foreheads together, just breathing each other in.

Dean doesn’t want to interrupt their moment, but Jack seems hyper and energized after his nap which means it’s probably a good time to try to get Cas back.

Sam and Eileen pull apart when they hear Dean clear his throat. Eileen squeezes Sam’s hand before rushing towards Dean and Jack, wrapping them into a hug. For such a small lady, her grip was bone-crushing.

“I’m so happy you’re alive,” She says, stepping back from them.

“Yeah, you too. I was worried about what would happen to Sam without you.” Dean only mouths the second part but Eileen smiles and nods.

“So, what happened?”

“It’s a long story. All you need to know right now is that Chuck is powerless and Jack brought everyone back.”

“Good job, kid,” Eileen says, making Jack smile and blush.

“Thanks, but now we need to get Cas back. Where was he when the Empty took him?”

Dead leads the way with Jack, Sam, and Eileen falling behind them.

“I don’t want to pry,” Jack starts. “But I was with Cas when he made the deal.”

Dean feels his cheeks heat. It was too much to talk about right now. He still didn’t know if they would get Cas back.

“Can we talk about this later?” Dean wills his voice to remain steady.

“Of course... Sorry.” Despite himself, Dean feels a small smile creep onto his face.

“It’s okay kid, you have nothing to be sorry about.”

When they enter the room where everything had gone down, Dean feels his knees buckle. Cas’ blood was still on the door, dried and flaky. The pressure in his throat was making a return, but he pushed through it, leading Jack to the wall the Empty had appeared from to take Cas.

Jack laid his palm against the cement wall.

“I can feel it. There’s... a tear between our world and the Empty. I just have to find the gap and I should be able to open it enough to let Cas back through.” Jack closed his eyes as he ran his hand across the cool stones, inspecting for the space he could pry open.

“I know you’re basically God now, but doesn’t that seem a little too easy?” Dean was still skeptical, even though he was shaking with anticipation at seeing Cas again.

“Come on, Dean. Maybe for once, things will be easy.” Sam was hanging back with Eileen, both of them watching the scene with hope in their eyes.

“No, Dean is right. Just opening the door doesn’t mean that Cas will be here waiting to get out. The Empty is massive and he could be anywhere. And he could be sleeping this time.” Jack explains.

“So he might not even know we’re trying to save him?” Dean could feel tendrils of dread swirling through his stomach and making their way up to his heart.

“Yes. That’s why someone needs to go in and get him.”

Three pairs of eyes were trained on Jack, reeling at what he just said.

“Jack, that’s suicide. We could get lost-“

“I’ll do it.” Dean interrupts Sam.

“Dean-“

“I said I’m going in. I’m going to get Cas back. Right?” Dean looked at Jack for confirmation.

“It could work. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold it open, the Empty won’t be happy to see me again. But if you’re quick...” Jack’s eyes widened and a thin trail of darkness began pouring out from a crack in the wall.

Dean and Jack make eye contact, green meeting bright gold, and Jack nodded. Pulling even harder, Jack managed to open the hole wide enough that a person could slip through.

Dean didn’t wait before jumping through, hearing Sam yell, “Dean, wait-“ before the silence consumed him. Turning around, Dean could see Sam and Jack and Eileen in the Bunker through the hole, but it was distorted. He felt like he was underwater.

Remembering his mission, Dean began calling out Cas’ name. The sound echoed through the empty space.

“Cas!” He yelled.

“Cas!” The echo replied, mocking him. Dean swung his head around, scanning the area for Cas, but all he could see, for miles and miles, was nothing.

Dean didn’t know how long he had been searching, time seemed to pass differently here, but when he turned around he could still see the glimmering doorway back into his world. It didn’t really matter though, because if he couldn’t find Cas, Dean didn’t know if he would be able to go back anyways.

Becoming desperate, Dean frantically began praying as he ran, squinting against the darkness. Cas you sonofabitch! If you can hear me, say something! Please!

A noise cut through the silence. It was quiet, maybe a gasp. Something you wouldn’t hear, except when it was the only sound, besides the blood pumping through Dean’s body.

“Cas!” Dean yelled again, but there was no reply. It was hard to tell where the noise had come from, but Dean followed his gut, running in one direction until he saw something appear in all the nothing.

A tan trench coat and a shock of dark hair came into focus as Dean raced towards the body crumpled on the ground.

“Cas!” Dean dropped to his knees beside him, his heart soaring like a hot air balloon. “Cas, I’m here, let’s go!” But Cas did not stir.

Panicking, Dean reached out for his pulse. Thumping away, slow but steady under his rib cage. Not knowing what to do, and with no time to waste, Dean gripped Cas and raised him up off the ground.

Slinging an arm around his shoulder, Dean half carried, half dragged Cas towards the eye of the needle that was their door back. He was running faster than he could ever remember moving in his life, despite the added weight of the angel hanging off of him.

Sam and Jack and Eileen came into view, all looking frantic yet relieved when they saw Cas. Dean could just barely make out the sound of their yelling as he pushed Cas through the gap, flinging himself out behind him.

It was like surfacing from the water, narrowly surviving being drowned. The shock of noise and colour and feeling.

Jack was heaving as he released his grip on the seam, allowing it to shut with a snap.

Cas and Dean were piled on the ground, but just as Sam approached them to see if they were all right, Cas bolted upright.

“What-“ Not a second later, Dean jumped to his feet, pulling Cas up with him by his lapels before shoving him into the wall.

“Dean? I-“

“Cas, you stupid, fucking bastard. Never do that again!” As soon as Dean finished, he lunged at Cas, attacking him with a bruising kiss.

Distantly, Dean heard Sam usher Jack and Eileen out of the room, but he was far more focused on kissing the life out of his angel. Harsh, demanding kisses that slowly turned soft and tender, until Dean felt wetness sliding down his cheeks. Damn it, he was crying.

Pulling back for a breath, Dean looked at Cas, staring into blue eyes that were wide with shock, before punching him in the shoulder.

“Ow. That hurt, Dean.” Though Cas didn’t sound too put out. All of a sudden, the situation caught up with him, and Dean let out a watery laugh.

Cas quirked his eyebrow as the laugh brought on another bout of tears from Dean.

“Dean, I don’t know what’s going on… Am I dreaming?” The low grit of Cas’ voice sent a shudder through Dean as he scrubbed his hands against his face, trying to stop the flow of tears still filling his eyes.

“No, Cas, this is real.” His voice was wrecked and shaky but full of so much joy. Cas still looked unsure, but Dean reeled him in for another kiss, this one sweet and full of everything Dean didn’t yet know how to put into words. “We’re real.”

“But how? Dean, I-“

“Jack. He- He’s God now? I think? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re back.”

“But… why?” Cas looked genuinely confused, head tilt and all, as if he truly couldn’t understand what was happening.

“Jesus, Cas. I couldn’t let you have the last word on that.” He laughed again. “You didn’t even let me reply.” This confession caused fresh tears to fall. “You left and…”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Though Cas still seemed out of it, he seemed to be coming to terms with the fact that this was real, that he somehow managed to cheat death once again.

“It better not.” Dean punched him in the shoulder again for good measure before reaching up to grip the collar of the trench coat. Cas raised his hands too, cupping Dean’s face and running his thumbs gently over sharp cheekbones.

Closing his eyes, Dean pressed their foreheads together.

“I was so scared, Cas,” He whispered. “Every time I’m so, so scared. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but-“

“Shh, I know. But I’m here now,” Cas sighed, his breath ghosting across Dean’s face.

“You didn’t even let me finish,” Dean huffed out a laugh as he pulled back to look at Cas. “I love you, too. I know I’m not as poetic as you were-“

Cas closed the gap between him, kissing away whatever semblance of thought he had left.

“I can’t believe I thought just telling you was true happiness,” Cas murmured once he pulled away. “This is better than I ever could have imagined.”

Dean remembered the conviction Cas had that Dean couldn’t love him back and felt the need to really drive this point home.

“Cas, ever since you saved me from hell, my life was changed. You, you helped me learn that I deserve to be saved. More than that, you taught me how powerful love can be. How much I’m willing to sacrifice, for someone other than Sammy. You’re the first person I let into my life for a long time, and it was the best decision I’ve ever made. I love you.” Dean gulped as he finished, not able to meet Cas’ eyes.

Cas tipped Dean’s chin up, looking at him with watery eyes and a half-smile. “I know.”

Dean looked at Cas with a stunned expression before shaking his head and laughing. “I can’t believe you just Han Solo-ed me.” Cas’ lips quirked up into a true smile, one of the rare ones that filled his entire face, making his eyes all squinty.

“I love you, Dean.” Dean reached his arms around Cas and wrapped him in a tight hug, tucking his face in the space between his neck and shoulder. They stood like that for what felt like hours, Dean breathing in the smell of Cas’ skin while Cas ran his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck.

When they finally broke apart, Dean sighed and said, “You should probably go see the others.”

“Oh, are they here?!”

“Yeah, they saw you come out but I think they ran out of here when we, you know,” Dean scratched the back of his neck.

“And they’re all okay?”

“Yeah, everyone’s good. Jack saved the entire world.” They both looked proud.

“Okay, let’s go.” Cas started towards the door before Dean grabbed his arm.

“Wait a minute,” Dean laughed. “You look…” Cas’ hair was even messier than when Dean first met him, ruffled up like someone had been running their hands through it. His lips were red and slick, his eyes bloodshot, tear tracks running down his face. Huh, Dean didn’t even know when Cas had started crying. “I imagine I look worse.”

They both adjusted their clothes that had gotten wrinkled while they were pressed together. Cas reached over and wiped away the tears that were threatening to spill from Dean’s eyes again, before tipping his head back to stop his own. Cas, in the process of fixing his own hair, only made it worse, fluffier and standing up in odd places.

“Here, let me,” Dean said, crowding into Cas’ space again. He carefully adjusted the strands of dark hair into something resembling order. Standing this close together, Cas tipped his head up for a short kiss, just a press of lips together.

“I think this is as good as it’s going to get,” Dean sighed. “I mean, it’s not like they won’t know what we’ve been doing anyway.” Cas watched as Dean slanted his eyes to the side, looking nervous.

“Are you worried about what the others will say?”

“Not really. This is just all so… I never thought I would have this,” Dean said in a small voice. “I never even let myself think that… But I’m ready.”

Cas reached out and squeezed Dean’s hand before they went to go find the rest of their family.

~~~~~~~~

Sam, Jack, and Eileen had congregated in the War Room after fleeing the scene. Sam felt like their moment deserved some privacy.

Sam was surprised, sure, but maybe not as surprised as he could be. He wasn’t blind or oblivious.

The three of them talked for a while, filling Eileen in on what had happened. Jack seemed suddenly much better at sign language, maybe a side effect of being… a god?

There was too much going on to really think about that part. What mattered was Eileen was alive, they survived, and they got Cas back.

Sam had taken a few minutes to call their friends. Charlie, Donna, Jody, everyone was all safe and sound. It seemed that Jack brought back everyone who Chuck had snapped away, regardless of whether or not they died in the past. Hell, if he and Dean got to live, everyone else deserved to.

The three of them looked up when they heard noises approaching. Cas and Dean emerged from the hallway.

Cas looked happier than Sam had ever seen him. He rushed forward, wrapping Jack in his arms. Jack smiled and returned the hug, just as tight.

Sam made eye contact with Dean, raising a questioning eyebrow. Miraculously, Dean didn’t scowl or roll his eyes. Instead, a smile grew on his face and he shrugged.

When Cas and Jack pulled apart, Jack whispered loudly. “So you and Dean-“ Cas just laughed.

“Shh, we’ll talk about it later.” Jack sighed but grinned. They really looked like father and son at that moment, sharing twin smiles with crinkly eyes.

Cas then went in for a hug with Sam. Jack looked at Dean, curiously. He had never seen the expression on the man’s face before and couldn’t figure out what it meant.

Cas and Sam’s hug ended with a slap on the back and a, “It’s good to have you back, buddy.”

Cas looked unsure when he approached Eileen, the two still didn’t know each other that well, but Eileen opened her arms wide.

“Come here!” Their hug was short but sweet, and Eileen smiled when it was over. “It’s good to have you back.”

After a moment with all of them staring at each other, Sam broke the silence.

“So-“ He couldn’t even finish the word before Dean cut him off.

“Shut up, Sammy.” But he looked to find, so happy, that words were meaningless.

Laughing, Sam raised his hands in surrender. “We are going to talk about this eventually, though, right?” Dean ignored him, but there was a spark in his eyes. Honestly, Sam really didn’t have many questions that he didn’t already have the answers to.

~~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean, and Eileen made a quick burger run, giving Cas and Jack some time to talk.

Sam and Eileen both sat in the backseat, allowing Sam to relay whatever Dean was saying in sign language to Eileen.

“So…” Sam started again.

“Fine, nosy. What do you wanna ask me.”

“Are you happy?” That wasn’t the question Dean was expecting.

“I- Yeah, Sammy. I am.” Wow, he was turning into one sappy sonofabitch.

“So, has this been going on for a while and I just missed it, or…”

“No. I mean, yes but not… officially? I’ve loved him for a long time, man.” Dean shook his head like he couldn’t even believe what he was saying. “I never thought… but he told me. Right before the Empty took him, he told me he loved me. That’s why the Empty took him. It was waiting for him to experience true happiness.”

“Wow.” Sam sighed. It was a lot to take in.

“Finally!” Eileen spoke up. Both boys looked at her, surprised.

“What? I have eyes.” She laughed. “I’m good at picking up on things like that. You give each other heart eyes every time you’re in the same room.”

“Wow, I guess we weren’t as subtle as we thought.” They finally pulled up to the burger joint, allowing the tension of the car ride to ease.

It felt so normal, after all that had happened. They waited in line, looking at all the people going about their lives. Eating, chatting, laughing.

The three of them just stood there, not talking, taking in the fact that the world went on.

The ride back was considerably more relaxed. Sam and Eileen were signing together in the back seat.

“So, since you got to interrogate on the way here, I get to grill you now.”

“Okay, shoot.” Sam sounded far too confident, and that was when Dean realized he had no clue what to ask.

“Um,” Dean thought for a minute. “What are your plans?”

Sam looked at Eileen and she shrugged.

“We haven’t really thought that far yet,” Eileen said.

“But you are gonna stick around? Right?”

“Of course,” Eileen said. “Someone needs to watch out for you.”

“Do you think you’ll keep hunting?” Dean asked, suddenly curious about what the future was going to hold for all of them.

“I don’t know. It depends if the world still needs hunters. Maybe we’ll get to retire.” Eileen mused.

Wasn’t that a thought? Dean always thought he would die before he got old. Except, he was getting kinda old now. His back hurt and his knees ached and it was kind of awesome. He never thought he’d make it this far.

They spent the rest of the ride joking around, lightheartedly. When they arrived back at the bunker, Dean felt his stomach swoop. He knew it was important to let Cas and Jack catch up, but he couldn’t wait to see him again. He was a little worried that he would open the door, and they’d both be gone. This felt like a dream, and Dean was worried he was going to wake up.

~~~~~~~~

After the trio left, Jack brought Cas to speed on everything that happened, from all of their friends disappearing, to the entire population disappearing, to Lucifer, to Michael, to Chuck, and back to when they rescued him.

“Wait, you didn’t kill Chuck?”

“We didn’t have to. He’s powerless. He’s not writing the story anymore and I’m not either. We burned the script.”

“So… we’re free?”

“Yup!” Jack said. “It’s not up to anyone to dictate our lives anymore.” Cas paused for a moment to take this in.

“Wow… Jack that’s… Just wow.”

“Okay, now that you’re caught up can I ask about De-“ Before he could finish his sentence, the bunker door swung open.

“We’ve got grub!” Dean called out, Sam and Eileen following behind him.

“We can finish talking later,” Cas said warmly, ruffling Jack’s hair before going to help Dean with the food.

Their hands brushed as Cas took a bag, sending a shock straight to Dean’s heart. They shared a brief look before bringing the food to the table.

“Jack, I didn’t know if you still eat now, but I got you some food anyways.” Dean said, carefully. He still felt off-kilter with what happened to Jack. He just wanted Jack to be okay.

“I think I would still like to eat? So I guess I can.” Everyone looked at him expectantly, until he tore into his bag and began munching on fries.

“So, Jack… What do you want us to call you now?” Sam asked.

“Jack is fine. Jack Kline-Winchester?” He added the second part with a hopeful smile.

“Of course, buddy. Jack Kline-Winchester, it is.” Dean announced.

“I would say welcome to the family,” Sam began. “But you’ve always been a part of our family.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dean said, before getting up. “Cas, can you help me grab some beers.”

“Of course.” And the two of them left the War Room, leaving Sam and Eileen to share a smile, while Jack looked on confused.

“What? Nobody will tell me what’s going on with them.” He sounded like the petulant toddler that he kind of was. Sam constantly forgot how young he was.

“I think that’s something they have to tell you themselves,” Sam said, gently. Jack huffed but left it at that.

~~~~~~~~

Dean wanted to be alone with Cas for a minute. It was hard to process what was happening with everything going on, and he wanted to take a minute to breathe and bask in the moment.

Cas seemed to have the same plan because as soon as they got there, Cas pushed up against Dean until he had to brace himself against the counter. Leaning into each other, they met with a kiss, Cas fisting his hands into Dean’s shirt while Dean gripped the smooth metal, trying to not fall. That was easier said than done, as his legs turned to jello and his arms began to shake.

Just when Dean thought he was going to melt into a puddle of goo on the floor, Cas pulled back, still gripping Dean’s shirt. Dean was panting, trying to catch his breath.

“You,” Cas gave him quick kisses between words. “Are,” Kiss. “Beautiful.” Kiss.

Dean lowered his eyes and blushed, then looked up at Cas through his eyelashes. He didn’t know what to say.

“I mean it, Dean. You are the most gorgeous thing I have ever laid my eyes on.”

“Right back at you,” Dean replied, lamely. “Sorry, I’m still trying to figure out the ‘talking about your feelings’ thing.” Cas kissed him on the forehead.

“That’s okay. We have time. But we should head back before the others start to think-“

“Oh, yeah, right.” Dean grabbed three beers from the fridge, while Cas took the remaining one and a pop for Jack. Even if he was a god now, he was still little and Cas didn’t want him getting thinking he was all grown now. He still wanted to protect him.

The men returned to the War Room to see Sam and Eileen had started their food as well. Dean slid two beers across the table to them before cracking open his own. Jack pouted when Cas handed him the pop, but opened it and quickly guzzled it down.

“Cheers!” Dean said, clinking his bottle against Cas’. They both reached for their bags of food and dug in. Dean glanced at Cas, curious as a question formed in his mind.

“Are you… an angel? I mean, does the food taste like food or molecules?”

“Hmm,” Cas took another bite of his hamburger, considering the taste. “It tastes like food.”

“So, you’re human.” Sam inquired.

“I’m not really sure. Jack?”

“You’re whatever you want to be now. It’s up for you to decide. Whatever you want, that’s what you’ll be.” Jack said sagely. Everyone looked at Cas expectantly.

“Well, I don’t know what I want. I’ve never really had a choice before.” Cas’ face brightened as he realized what this meant. “I get to make my own choice about this? No interference from Chuck? No impending disaster?”

“Nope!” Jack popped the p. “It’s up to you.”

“I guess I’m going to have to think about it.” Then he continued eating his burger.

With all of the big questions out of the way, for now, the group began chatting about nothing in particular. Just laughing and enjoying being together without the threat of death looming over their heads.

Once they had finished their dinner and beers, Sam exchanged a look with Eileen before standing up.

“Okay,” Sam announced. “It’s been a long day so I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Me too,” Eileen said, quickly.

“But it’s only 8 o’clock,” Jack said, confused.

“Well, Jack, when a man loves a woman-“ Dean started.

“Dean, shut up! Jack, it’s been a long day and I just want to get some rest. You should probably get some sleep, too.” Sam said, giving Dean and Cas a pointed look.

“Yes,” Cas cut in. “You’ve had a big day and you need to go to bed.”

“But Cas!” Jack whined.

“Just because you’re a god now doesn’t stop you from being a kid. You still have a bedtime.” Cas replied sternly.

Jack grumbled as he got up, and Cas shot a smirk in Dean’s direction.

“Okay, well I guess that settles it. Goodnight!” Sam and Eileen began walking away.

“Goodnight!” Eileen said, giggling as she grabbed Sam’s hand.

“Be safe.” Dean teased and was met with Sam flipping him off over his shoulder.

“Adults are weird.” Jack sighed as he made to leave.

“Wait a minute,” Cas said. “C���mere.” He wrapped Jack in his arms. “Thank you.” He said sincerely.

“Of course, Cas. I would never leave you there. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jack,” Cas had a fond smile on his face. “Now get to bed before I have to drag you there.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“G’night, kiddo,” Dean said, ruffling Jack’s hair as he walked by.

“Night, Dean.” Jack waved, then he trailed down the hallway until he was out of sight.

As soon as Jack was gone, Dean turned to Cas and laughed.

“I guess our next mission is raising a baby god?”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do. I know he’s powerful, but I promised Kelly I would take care of him and I’m not going to stop now.”

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out. I mean, we’ve made it through the end of the world how many times? I’m sure we can manage raising a kid.” Dean realized that this was the first time he could say that honestly.

His whole life, he was terrified of himself, of becoming like his dad. He never believed he could be a good father, convinced that he was too full of rage to nurture anyone. And yeah, he had made lots of mistakes in his past, but if Cas could believe that he was a good person, he was going to try his hardest to make that true.

~~~~~~~~

The War Room was now empty except for a possibly retired hunter and a possible human angel. Dean was thinking about all that had happened, still wondering if this was his life.

“Jack told me you didn’t kill Chuck,” Cas said suddenly. “Why?”

“Um, honestly?” Dean cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit. “Because of you?”

“What?”

“Chuck was, he was egging us on, trying to get a rise out of us, and he called me the ultimate killer,” Dean let out a humourless laugh. “In the past, I would have believed him. But I remembered what you told me. That I’m not what our enemies think. And I just couldn’t do it. I wanted to be the man that you see me as.”

“Dean, you’re already that man, even if you can’t see it. You didn’t make that choice because of me, you made it because of you. You’re a good person, Dean.”

“I don’t know if I can believe that yet.” Dean’s voice was small.

“You can’t believe me?” Cas asked, with a head tilt.

“I believe that you think I’m a good person and I’m going to do everything to keep it that way.” Cas sighed.

“That’s good enough for now, I guess. But I hope one day you will see yourself the way I see you.”

“I’ll try, Cas, I promise. I’m trying.” There was still something Dean needed to say, though. “I’m sorry!” He blurted out suddenly, knowing if he didn’t do this now, it could be ages before he worked up the courage.

“What are you sorry for?”

“That I made you feel unwanted. That I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I never even entertained the idea that you might love me back. That I pushed you away. That I ever made you feel like you couldn’t have your true happiness.”

“Yes, well, it wasn’t your fault. Not really. I could have made my intentions clear from the beginning, but I didn’t know what you would say. Not because you made me feel unwanted but because that was the first time I ever wanted. I had no precedent for falling in love.” Dean’s heart flutters at the word. He doesn’t think the novelty will ever wear off. “So maybe we both made some mistakes along the way. But still, it got us here.” Cas looked at Dean with that fond smile, the one the Dean is realizing makes it impossible to resist the urge to kiss him.

They both lean in, bumping their noses together as they misjudge the angle, but quickly fit their mouths together. Dean licks at the seam of Cas’ lips, feeling as they open for him. Dean has done a lot of kissing in his life, but each kiss with Cas blew all the other ones out of the water. Maybe it was something about kissing your best friend, with whom you share a profound bond, who you have been in love with for years. Dean sighed as they pulled apart.

“I think both of us were stupid because if we didn’t have our heads shoved up our asses, we could have been doing this for years.” Dean leans back into the kiss.

~~~~~~~~

After cleaning the remnants of their dinner from the table, the two men made their way to Dean’s room. The rest of the bunker was quiet, only the sounds of their footsteps echoing off the floor. Dean had Cas’ hand firmly grasped in his own.

“Come on,” Dean said, pulling Cas into his room. “I have something I want to show you.” Dean kicked the door shut behind him before gesturing for Cas to sit on the bed. “Gimme a minute, I need to find it first.”

Dean began rummaging through his drawers while Cas watched him. Finally, Dean pulled out something small from the bottommost drawer.

“I made this years ago.” Dean held up a cassette tape, with a label that read Songs For When You Tell Him in neat printing.

“Dean…” He trailed off, at a loss for words.

“Scoot over.” Dean sat on the bed next to Cas, reaching into his nightstand to pull out an old cassette player.

Can’t Find My Way Home by Blind Faith played out through the speaker. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, Dean and Cas listened to the songs. At some point, Dean rested his head against Cas’ shoulder, closing his eyes and letting the comfort of the moment wash over him. Cas rested his head against Dean’s, reaching out for his hand to twine their fingers together. After 10 songs, the final notes of Ready for Love by Bad Company fizzle out. The two of them sit there for a moment until Dean pushes Cas gently, maneuvering him to lean against the headboard.

Crawling into his lap, Dean braces himself against Cas’ shoulders while Cas fits his hands on the curve of Dean’s waist. Melting together, the men share their breath, brushing lips softly together. Though these tender kisses were wonderful, Dean wanted more. He nipped on Cas’ lower lip, causing hands to tighten around his waist.

Flipping them around, Cas ends up on top of Dean, hovering over him. Dean’s hands are held tight over his head as Cas takes control. Dean, faced with an onslaught of harsh, bruising kisses, more teeth than tongue, lets out a low moan.

The air in the room becomes thick as Dean feels himself become lost to pleasure. His head is swimming and his eyes, when he opens them, are glassy and unseeing.

“Dean?” The voice floats through his trance. “Dean…” Slowly, Dean feels him come back to himself, aware of Cas looking down at him.

“Mm, yes?” He still felt floaty. In 41 years of his life, Dean had never been kissed breathless before.

“Just making sure you’re still with me.”

“Yeah, 'm here.” He makes grabby hands at Cas’ coat, trying to pull him in again. He manages to get one, two, three kisses before Cas leans back.

“Dean, it’s late,” Cas whispers into the quiet night. Dean tries to make a noise of protest, but all that comes out is a yawn.

“Mm, fine.” Dean leans back into his pillows. Suddenly, the weight on the bed shifts and Dean opens his eyes in panic as he watches Cas stand.

“Wait!” He says in alarm, bolting upright. Cas looks back at him. “Stay?” Cas leans in again to press a kiss against his forehead.

“Always.” Cas takes off his coat and returns to the bed. “I just thought I should get comfortable if I’m going to stay the night.” They both discard unnecessary layers until both men have stripped down to their boxers. Dean gets up to grab two of his old t-shirts, ones that he has reserved for sleep.

Dean tosses one to Cas, where he is laying in bed, before crawling in next to him. They put the shirts on, fabric soft from so many cycles through the wash.

Pulling the covers over them, Dean presses a kiss against Cas’ neck, right on his pulse point.

“Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you even sleep?” Cas had told him he would watch over him while he slept before, but it would be nice to be able to sleep together.

“I’m not sure. I guess we’ll find out.” He turns to give Dean one more kiss before sinking down into the pillows. With Cas laying on his back, Dean turns to his side, laying his head against his heart. Listening to the steady thump, Dean slings an arm across Cas’ chest and feels Cas bring up a hand to run his fingers through his hair. Feeling more safe and content than he has ever felt in his life, Dean drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

~~~~~~~~

Dean wakes up pressed against a warm body, nestled in an embrace. The events of the previous day flash through his mind and he thanks Jack that this wasn’t all a dream. Cas is passed out, breathing deeply.

Carefully, so as not to wake Cas, Dean extracts himself from the arms encircling him. It is only 7 am, but he needed to do something special to celebrate their win.

Still in his boxers and sleepshirt, Dean made his way to the kitchen so he could start whipping up their breakfast of champions. When he got there, he was surprised to see Eileen, dressed and already brewing a pot of coffee.

When she saw Dean, she gave him a warm smile.

“Good morning!” She said, cheerfully.

“Morning,” Dean said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Well, when you die and come back, sleeping feels like a waste.”

“Don’t I know it!” Dean began rummaging through the kitchen, looking for supplies to get started on the pancakes. “Did you manage to get any sleep?”

“Yeah, Sam tired me out.” She said with a smirk.

“Ew, gross!” Eileen laughs and Dean can’t help joining in. “Besides, that… How is Sam doing? The look on his face when you didn’t pick up the phone…” He trails off, remembering his brother’s face, full of sorrow.

“He seems good. He cried but they seemed like happy tears. I’m just glad to be back here.”

“Aw, Sammy, the softy. So, if you’re staying, is there anything we should get for you? Make you feel more at home?”

“I’m a big girl, Dean. I think I’ve got it covered.” She said, but there was no heat behind his words.

“I know. I just worry. Sam’s track record with previous girls has been… bleak.”

“Yeah, he told me about that. He thinks his dick is cursed or something,” Dean let out a choked laugh at that. He really did like this girl. “But I’m a hunter and I can take care of myself. It’s just nice to be able to take care of yourself knowing that someone else is there for you, too.”

Dean let her words sink in, feeling the truth of what she was saying. Love didn’t make you weak or reliant, it just gave you someone else in your corner.

“You’re a wise lady, you know that?”

“So, I’ve been told.” The serious conversation ended and Dean began getting into his cooking, trying to balance the pancakes with the bacon with eggs with the sausage with the toast, all while Eileen was offering moral support through cups of coffee.

Since they were already hanging out together, Dean asked if Eileen could teach him some more sign language. He had already picked up a bit, namely swear words, but with Eileen hopefully becoming a more permanent fixture of the bunker, he knew he had to make more of an effort. So, for each thing the Dean picked up (spatula, egg, butter, knife), Eileen showed him how to sign it.

While Eileen was teaching Dean how to sign, “Pass the beer” when Sam stumbled in still yawning.

“Ah, look what the cat dragged in,” Dean said, attempting to sign along, as well.

“Mmm, I smelt breakfast.” Sam sidled up to where Eileen was leaning against the counter, pressing a kiss into the top of her head. Wrapping an arm around her, Sam turned his attention to Dean. “So, what’s all this about?”

“We won! This,” Dean gestured to the mountain of food. “Is a celebration!”

“A celebration?” Jack walked into the kitchen, a blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape. “What are we celebrating.” He finished with a yawn.

“It’s done! It’s over! At least for now, we can have a break without the end of the world coming and ruining our day. Really, it’s a celebration for you, Jack.”

“Really?! That’s amazing! I call dibs on the best pancakes.”

“Only if you help bring this food out to the table,” Dean says, handing Jack platters containing the bacon and sausages. “You too,” Dean points at Sam and Eileen, who have been canoodling. “Everyone has to pitch in.” Just as he finished saying this, Cas walked in. Still in boxers and Dean’s old t-shirt, he looked half-asleep.

“What are we doing?” In the morning, his voice was even deeper than usual.

“Jack, Sam, and Eileen are bringing this food to the table, and you’re going to help me with the rest.” Cas nods, eyes still bleary. After eons of not having to sleep, waking up in the morning really put him out of it.

Jack, Sam, and Eileen hurry out of the kitchen, arms laden with breakfast. Once they’re gone, Cas slowly pushes Dean against the fridge, mouthing sloppily at his neck. The wet sensation makes Dean squirm away.

“Ew, Cas,” He says with a laugh. “What’re you doing?”

“Mm, come back. You taste good.” Cas tries to attach himself to Dean’s neck again, but he catches him by the shoulders.

“You know what would taste even better?” Cas huffs, not able to imagine anything that could possibly be- “Coffee.” Dean pushes the coffee canister into Cas’ hands.

“Well, you’re a close second,” Cas says, leaning in for a quick kiss before he is ushered out of the room.

Alone, Dean surveys the kitchen, still messy from prep work but something he can deal with later. Grabbing the last trays of pancakes and toast, Dean goes to join the rest of his family for breakfast.

The table is arranged beautifully, courtesy of Jack who wanted everything to be perfect. When Dean arrives with the final platters, everyone is already sitting, filling up their plates with eggs and bacon and sausage. As soon as Dean sets down the pancakes, Jack is on them like a piranha.

“Wow, easy there, kid. There’s enough pancakes to go around.”

“Yeah, but I want the best ones.” He rolls his eyes like it’s obvious and holy fuck is this what raising a kid is going to be like? Dean just rolls his eyes back at Jack.

“I made them, so they’re all good,” He concludes, dropping into the seat next to Cas. Looking marginally more awake than when Dean last saw him, probably due to the empty mug in front of him, Cas smiles at Dean. Filling himself a cup of coffee, Dean prepares to enjoy his celebratory breakfast. Just as he takes a sip, Jack pipes up again.

“Did you and Cas have sex?” Dean chokes on his coffee, coughing for several moments before he can get his breathing under control. The rest of the table looks just as caught-off-guard, eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

“What?” Dean splutters.

“I said-”

“No, I heard what you said.” Jack tilted his head, in a way very reminiscent of Cas.

“I think what Dean is trying to say,” Sam butts in. “Is why did you feel the need to ask that.” Jack huffs and rolls his eyes again like it’s everyone else who is being ridiculous.

“I keep asking what’s going on with you two and no one answers me. Usually that means you’re talking about something you think I’m too young to hear. But I’m not a baby. I know about sex! Cas gave me the talk.” Three pairs of eyes train their attention on Cas, who looks too tired to even attempt to take place in the conversation that is happening around him. However, with three sets of desperate eyes pinned on him, Cas decides to take mercy.

“No, Jack. Dean and I did not have sex, yet.” Cas deadpans.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims as Sam and Eileen start to let out incredulous giggles. Jack, however, didn’t seem to care about the “yet”, already moving onto his next question.

“Then what’s happening that nobody wants to tell me about?”

“Cas and I are in love, we have been in love with each other for a very long time but since we’re both so stupid, neither of us knew until Cas admitted his feelings so he could feel true happiness and save me from Billie by letting the empty take him. Now he’s back, I told him how I feel and now we’re together.” Dean rambles, saying more than he thought he would when he started that sentence.

“Oh,” Jack says. “I thought you already knew that?” Head tilt. “I always call you my dad’s boyfriend.”

“To who?” Dean asks, not offended, just wondering who Jack is talking to that they don’t already know.

“Doesn’t matter,” Cas interjects. “What matters is we’re happy. Sam and Eileen are happy. And you’re happy too, right?”

“Of course! I’m here with my family: my dad, my dad’s boyfriend, my dad’s boyfriend’s brother, and my dad’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend.” He counted off on his fingers as he said each one, smiling when he finished.

“Wow.” Dean sighs, watching Jack dig into his pancakes like nothing’s wrong. And, really, nothing is wrong. They’re all here, happy and healthy and safe, even if Dean is embarrassed and Sam and Eileen are in shock and Cas is tired but smiling. They have nothing to worry about.

~~~~~~

The rest of breakfast passed smoothly, the absurdity of that conversation leading Sam and Dean to share some of the craziest things they experienced on the job.

Dean just finished telling them about when Gabriel put them into television shows when Sam lets out a cackle and doubles over.

“What?” Dean asks.

“Remember those, what did they call themselves? Ghostfacers? They were right!” Sam let out another surprised laugh, looking up at the ceiling.

“Right about what?” Dean asks, confused.

“The power of gay love really can pierce through the veil of death and save the day.”

Click here to read on ao3

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Chasing His Heat

Characters: Loki x Reader

Chapter: 1 of 2

Rating: Explicit

Summary: After a failed mission strands you in the Siberian wilderness, you and Loki are forced to take extreme measures to fend off hypothermia.

Warnings: Language, making out, partial nudity, implied smut, Loki is an ass but not completely

Taglist: @just-the-hiddles

“I’m going to kill Thor the next time I see him,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest against the biting wind that cut through your clothing as if it didn’t even exist.

“Only after I am finished with him,” Loki snapped, trudging a path through the snow ahead of you. His long strides were a bit too wide for you to keep your steps within, but you did your best, although the effort was pointless after spending several minutes out in the dreadful weather. Your shoes, socks, and pants were completely soaked, adding to the chill seeping into your bones.

You put on a mediocre impression of Thor’s booming accented voice, shaking your head back and forth and rolling your eyes, “Loki can assist you with that mission! He is the God of Mischief, and you will require stealth to successfully enter the base undetected.”

You let out a shriek of frustration and kicked at the snow. It was a dumb gesture, and you knew it before you did it, but it didn’t stop you; it only ended up with you sprawled on your ass, snow surrounding you on all sides. It immediately wetted down the rest of your clothing that had somehow remained relatively dry despite the light snowfall. Not anymore.

You had the sudden and intense urge to just give up and throw a temper tantrum.

“Didn’t account for their anti-aircraft missiles shooting us out of the sky, did you, Lightning Man?” you snarled and shook a numb, trembling fist at the cloud-covered sky.

Loki turned around and lifted his brow in a smirk at your defeated prone figure. “I am not coming back to retrieve you. There is what appears to be an abandoned building up ahead. We can use that for shelter until Stark can send another jet for our retrieval.”

The promise of shelter from the elements spurs you on, and you scramble to your feet and book it towards the small wooden cottage standing against the washed-out gray horizon. Behind it a dense forest of evergreens, blocking out the mountains that dotted the Siberian wilderness. You could only hope there’s a bit of firewood somewhere around it, or you could very well get hypothermia before help arrived.

Loose floorboards creaked underneath your combined footsteps as you both rushed into the cabin and slammed the door behind you against the howling wind. Your eyes darted around the room hopefully in search of firewood, a blanket, anything to keep warm. You’re left wanting when the only thing to be found is a worn rug that had seen better days at least a decade ago.

“Got any space heaters up your magical sleeve that I don’t know about?” you asked bitterly as you rushed over to pull the thick shutters over the two front windows to stop the worst of the wind blowing into the tiny space. Even with the shutters drawn and windows closed, a draft still blew in through near-invisible cracks between the logs. There wasn’t anything you could do about that. You peered around, using the faint light filtering in through the gaps in the logs, in one last-ditch hope that a change of clothes, plush couch, firewood, and a hot bath would have suddenly appeared in the few seconds you back was turned.

No dice. Damnit.

“Unfortunately I do not, no. It is not an issue I worry too terribly about,” he replied with a dry chuckle, walking over to the nearest wall and sliding down until he was seated against it.

You mimicked his position on the opposite wall, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them as tightly as you could manage. You tucked your chin between your knees and chest and your blue-tinted mouth found a home against the sodden fabric of your thin light gray pants. You had dressed to blend in if you had the misfortune of getting spotted, either inside the Hydra base or outside, and the thin layers you wore did nothing to protect you from the elements even before you had been forced to abandon the downed Quinjet. Now that they were soaked through with snow, you shivered uncontrollably in as tight of a ball as you could manage.

“Lucky you, Asgardian. Just scrape me off of the floor when they get here,” you bit back, dropping your forehead onto your knees. Your breath barely warmed the small pocket you’d created between your thighs and chest, but it felt better than the frigid air of the cabin, so you closed your eyes and tried to focus on that small bit of comfort instead of the ache of your extremities from the lack of blood flow.

If only you’d gone on this mission with Nat, or Sam, or even Cap, they would know what to do. But you had no choice but to stick it out with Loki. He was unbothered by the cold, and most likely too far up his own ass to notice that you were freezing to the wall you huddled against.

A gasp of surprise left your chapped lips when a heavy arm settled over your hunched shoulders. You had been so fixated on the tremors wracking your body that you hadn’t noticed Loki’s heavy footfalls as he crossed the space to sit down beside you.

“Wh-what are you d-doing?” you asked, brow furrowed in concentration and indignation as you tried to get the words out around your chattering teeth. He radiated delicious heat that you long to curl into like a kitten but you held onto the last bit of dignity with your fingernails. You’d freeze to death before you accepted help from the asshole Asgardian who seemed to revel in nothing more than when he caused you endless amounts of frustration.

“I won’t be viewed favorably by our colleagues if I allow you to freeze to death. Hush and come here stubborn mortal,” he grumbled, velvet voice full to the brim with exasperation.

Your muscles seemed to have solidified in the short time you’d sat there, so you didn’t even try to uncurl when he lifted you like you weighed nothing and deposited you in the circle of his lap. Your jaw dropped to sputter against the forward action, but you instantly shut up at the blissful heat accompanying the actions of his arms wrapping the both of you in his green and black cape and pulling you into his chest.

A soft moan of pleasure rushed unbidden from your lips at his intoxicating warmth enveloping you, and you were powerless to resist the urge to bury your face into the hollow of his neck. The heady, masculine scent of spice and leather that perfumed to his skin and clothing washed over you, and you breathed it in greedily. His fingers tensed on your back briefly, but soon he relaxed and allowed his gloriously toasty touch to permeate your icy clothes.

“We tell no one about this,” you commanded quietly, words muffled against his racing pulse point.

A breathless laugh blew against your damp hair plastered to the crown of your head. “As if I would speak of it. No one would believe it if you deigned to inform anyone of your rescue by the dashing Asgardian Prince, so settle your nerves and be still.”

You bit back your retort to wrap your hands out from around your shins and up to cup his jawline, unfeeling fingers seeking the heat that you so desperately craved. In any other situation it would mortify you to act so boldly with the god, but it was just between the two of you, and he had started it. You were simply staving off hypothermia.

Well, you were trying. Despite the impressive heat his body gave off beneath his cape, it wasn’t enough to combat your water-logged clothes, and the tremor rattling your bones.

“You will not approve of this suggestion, but you will never warm properly while you remain in those clothes.” He patted his hand against your back to punctuate his statement, the wet slap of his palm loud in the almost unnatural quiet of the dimly lit cabin.

You closed your eyes and sighed drowsily. “Not happening.”

The answering shake of his head pulled your hands back and forth as they clung to his jaw. You stilled the abrupt movement by running your thumbs over the hollows of his cheeks. Subconsciously you continued the soothing movement. You couldn’t feel your fingers anyway, so what did it matter?

~~~

Loki’s hands shook your shoulders roughly, pulling you from the light doze that you had fallen into. It was so hard to open your eyes, but you forced yourself to when he called your name and cupped the sides of your neck so his thumbs propped your head up by your jaw.

He looked worried. His shining emerald eyes narrowed with concern and he cursed quietly under his breath. Your forehead fell onto his shoulder when he adjusted you on top of him so that your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms were wedged between you so your hands splayed across his broad, bare chest.

He was so warm. You could really feel it with your chests pressed together as they were. Your heels dug into his lower back and you tightened your fingers into his pectoral muscles to leech as much of his body heat as he had to give.

“Such a fragile little thing,” he murmured. The quiet words brushed his lips against the frosty shell of your ear and sent another wave of heat through you, but this time it went straight to the faint stirrings at the pit of your stomach.

Slowly, you came back to your senses as painful pins and needles pricked at your hands and feet. You groaned - more unhappily than pained - at the unpleasant sensation and lifted your head so you could visually inspect the offending body parts.

In the shadows of Loki’s cape, though, all you got was an eyeful of the half-naked god beneath you. Your wide eyes shot down to take in your own lack of clothing, and you were at least slightly relieved to see that you’re both still wearing underwear.

But that doesn’t explain where your clothing and your bra went. How had you not felt that happening?

Damn wizard.

“Loki, where the fuck are my clothes?” you exclaimed, crossing your arms over your bare chest and leaning away from him.

His hands remained firmly rooted to your back, not allowing you to gain more than a few inches of distance between your underdressed bodies. “You were succumbing to hypothermia. I made the decision to save your life at the risk of upsetting your delicate sensibilities about partial nudity,” he stated matter-of-factly with a shrug of his shoulders, having the gall to look bored with the entire conversation.

Your head shook side to side erratically. “Well, that’s not. I mean, you-”

He cut off your sputtering with a sharp shake of his head, raising one brow while he looked at you expectantly. “-I saved your life. You’re welcome.”

You shifted on his lap, and the innocent motion rubbed across the beginnings of his arousal, restrained by almost indecently thin underwear. The warmth that flooded out from between your legs had nothing to do with the toasty bubble created from your bodies beneath Loki’s cape, and everything to do with the lust shining in his eyes mere inches from your own.

This close, you took a moment to actually look at the god pinned beneath you, at the regal line of his nose, the jawline so sharp it could cut glass, brows furrowed together and tilted slightly downward, and green eyes with pupils blown, darkening them and adding a hint of danger to his expression that sent a jolt of electricity to your core and made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

Your hand tentatively flattened itself onto his chest just beneath his collar bones. A muscle in his jaw fluttered at the chill of your firm touch. Curiosity drove you, and you leaned forward, eyes focused on his lips that parted when you stopped your advance so close that you heard his breath hitch in his throat when your thumb caressed the pulse fluttering beneath the closure of his cape.

Sating your sudden intense need to know what the god tasted like, you tilted your head and brushed your lips across his experimentally.

His lips were softer than you expected. His large hands found the dips of your waist and anchored there, not pulling you in or pushing you away, just holding you. You pulled back just enough so that the tip of your nose nudged the length of his, searching his eyes for his reaction. His face was guarded, revealing nothing, but the growing hardness trapped between your bodies said everything his face did not. It cast a spell over you, ridding you of logical thought, removing your intense dislike of him, and you dipped your head to kiss him more thoroughly.

He tasted of the coffee he had on the jet, bitter and sweet, when your tongue darted out to trace his bottom lip. His answering groan rumbled out of him and settled low in your stomach, tightening the muscles there pleasantly. He finally returned the kiss with equal fervor, melding his lips expertly against yours in a languid, teasing dance that did a much more complete job of easing the chill from your bones than a fire would have, and at a faster rate to boot.

Fire blazed in the wake of his caressing fingers as they skimmed from your waist to smooth over your underwear, taking as much of your backside into his hands as he could and grinding you down onto him eagerly. Your tongues tangled together, fighting for dominance in a frenzied battle that you both simultaneously won and lost. Each generous squeeze of his hands into your pliant flesh and stroke of his tongue stole more of your breath.

You were both panting when you finally broke the kiss to press your foreheads together. His eyes were glazed over, heavy-lidded, and his hips bucked into you when you let your fingernails barely scratch along the flexed muscles of his torso to come to a halt just above the hem of his underwear.

“This is a terrible idea,” he whispered hoarsely even as his lips pulled back into a mischievous smile.

“Wouldn’t want me to get hypothermia, would we?” you breathed with a matching grin.

[darkpoisonouslove]

“The Art of Having a Tea Party”

Summary: Tea parties have always been a constant of Griffin and Faragonda's friendship - always changing to accommodate its ever evolving nature but still able to provide the warmth and comfort they need every time. And even after life has drained all happiness out of them, there's nothing that can take away the strength and magic of their bond. Set after 3x14.

This was supposed to be lighthearted and then it turned into angst. But there's still plenty of friendship feels to hang on to just like they do!

Griffin didn't turn to look at her despite the screech of the door. The hinges had been silent before the witch's arrival but peacefulness seemed to be her worst enemy currently so she'd forced her agony on the environment in an attempt to alleviate it. There was no startle, no alarm spilling from her even though she was harboring worry the size of Cloud Tower. She refused to let it go as if it was the only thing she had left to fill the hole her powerlessness had pushed her into and bury herself alive.

"Tea?" Faragonda offered, hoping the comforting warmth of their shared favorite drink could soothe the burns on Griffin's soul despite their proven persistence during the last seventeen years. There was nothing more for her to do than provide the shoulder Griffin could lay her burdened mind on and the hands Griffin could put her tortured heart in. She could only share her pain and couldn't crush it to dust no matter how hard she would clench her fists. And clutching at Griffin to pull her away from her heartbreak would only bruise her more than Valtor had already managed to with his refusal to lay his magic on her. He hadn't wanted her, had only wanted her to suffer, and that was exactly what she was doing, as devoted to loving as she'd ever been.

Griffin turned around to face her, the light in her eyes ready to flicker out underneath the exhaustion of keeping the tears from falling. "We just need a party to go with it," she said, no mirth in her smile when he'd taken all of it. He'd taken her love and her happiness but he hadn't been able to take away their friendship. He didn't have the might to deprive her of their familiarity and the history between them that outdated his fingerprints on her life. He hadn't touched every part of her, nor would he ever get to do that. She wasn't his to have and neither were her students.

"We'll have that." Faragonda waved her hand to catch the reference and make t tangible to remind her friend how much they'd been through only to come out of victorious. They'd survived every single punch–among which a war, the loss of their friends, the Ancestral Witches and Valtor once already–life had thrown at them to find themselves drinking tea together again. Just like they always had. "For now all I can give you is memories, though," she gestured to the pot of jasmine tea she'd conjured on the little coffee table that seemed so small compared to all the moments rising out of the steam for both of them to see them like they were pages in a book.

Griffin nodded and made her way to the bed for Faragonda's heart to relax along with her as she sat down. There was so much resistance in her muscles every time she was offered comfort that Faragonda tensed instinctively each time she let her hope reach out to Griffin just to be there with her and keep her company. She would go everywhere with her no matter how taut her whole body was in its struggle not to snap under Griffin's refusal to let her take some of her misery off her shoulders or how badly she'd scald her fingers by touching her friend only to feel Griffin's own hand slipping out of hers as it was shaken by the shudders running through her like her heart had been stuffed in a freezer for the last seventeen years only for Valtor to force it back in her chest with his return.

Griffin took the cup of tea she handed her, her hands steady and unyielding as if they'd been carved out of stone. "We used to spill so much of it when we first started having those tea parties together," the ghost of a smile that possessed her lips still had enough power to drive up the corners of her mouth into her cheeks like chisels trying to shatter her face in pieces. "It was all over the carpet," her voice echoed in the empty silence around them that was only not murdered thanks to the energy she was exerting not to let her heels pierce her brain with the sounds of her restlessness. It wasn't the plush quietness of her childhood room that they'd played in once but Faragonda was content enough with simply having Griffin's breath reviving the memories.

"It was a good thing your mother had magic," she let herself bring back Emalyn as well only because she knew they were all safe inside the past of their friendship. Griffin wouldn't let anything touch it–no more than Faragonda would–and even her mother's murder couldn't take away all the warmth she'd given them both. She'd practically been raising Faragonda for years as well and she'd also nurtured the bond between the two of them. In a way, she was still living through it, through the family she'd given them.

"I'm pretty sure that was a period in which she actually regretted that. Considering that I only had my magic because I inherited it from her," Griffin continued the thread of the conversation with her own words and wove into it more moments to revisit. Like all those times she'd pushed her newly developing powers to move her stuffed toys around as if they were alive–which was, incidentally, how they'd usually ended up spilling the tea and scalding themselves until Griffin's mother had forbidden them to have real tea without her supervision–to give their parties a real sense of celebration and vitality and to impress Faragonda as if she hadn't already deemed her the most astonishing person she'd ever known. And that had never changed no matter what had happened to their powers or their hearts.

"Well, if I was even half as scared as she was when you passed out, then I can certainly understand that," Faragonda clutched at her tea cup to have the burning heat of it grounding her in the present and away from the sight of the freezing paleness of Griffin's face and the fleeting rising and falling of her chest slipping through her fingers.

"You know I was always a showoff." Griffin sipped her tea as if to scorch every last word of truth trying to make its way up her tongue. As if that could incinerate the traces that day had left on Faragonda's heart and later on her mind once she'd learned why Griffin had been pushing herself so hard. As if anything could erase that when Griffin kept following into the same patterns over and over again giving away every piece of herself and blaming herself for not having more, for not having enough even after all the times she'd been her everything.

"I know you were strong enough for both of us," Faragonda caught Griffin's gaze, letting the deep blue of her eyes put out the fires melting the gold of Griffin's to plate her guilt like it was a trophy. She'd always been the witch Faragonda had had to be but could have never become. Not with someone like her own mother imposing on her more worthlessness than the world had forced on Griffin. "And I wouldn't have even discovered that if you hadn't insisted so recklessly on carrying both our weight on your shoulders." Griffin had tried to be her magic as well as her friend on their first–and her last–day in Cloud Tower only to reveal that she'd been her hope all along. She'd gotten caught by the teachers and it had finally shined a light on why their powers seemed to always go together just like their friendship. "You were too smart for me to figure it out and I had to learn it the hard way." Griffin had always made sure her pretense was as small as Faragonda had needed it to be to believe it, always conjuring just a few drops of tea in her cup to make sure she wouldn't wash away the cover of her deception. She'd done everything to share her magic with Faragonda when she hadn't had her own.

And there she was, shaking her head and parting her lips to let through the wedge she was about to drive between them despite all the previous times they'd pulled it out and let the wound heal.

"I'm glad you didn't have to carry my burden on your shoulders for the rest of your life," Faragonda reached to wipe away the hurt leaking out of Griffin's eyes and leaving its burning traces over her cheeks. Now that it was out of Griffin's system she could take it away. "I had to rely on my own wings and that wouldn't have happened with your magic keeping me from falling out of the sky." Being rejected by both herself and Griffin had felt impossible to overcome but she'd finally found it in herself to come out of the shadow behind Griffin's back that the her friend had sheltered her for so long and step next to her, hold her hand and be the support that Griffin had been for her.

"I abandoned our friendship," Griffin sobbed out, still carrying all the responsibility in their relationship, "twice." Even when she didn't have to make all the choices now that Faragonda could make her own.

"And you came back twice." Faragonda took a deep breath feeling her soul reentering her body all over again at the power the words held. Griffin had left her whole life behind several times but she'd always come back to her. She'd escaped death but she'd found her way back to their friendship when nothing could kill it. Not even all the bitterness she was given for her magic.

"It wasn't that hard when there was someone waiting for me," Griffin's tears rolled right down her face and into her abandoned tea to keep it warm with their heated care for each other. And to drown the coldness Valtor's return had painted all over her features to freeze the life right inside her and force it to die there and make her rot from the inside out like he'd been without her. Faragonda had felt that for herself and knew how hard it was to sustain yourself without Griffin's magic to do that for you.

"I was only here because you let me find my own strength, Griffin," Faragonda's fingers encircled Griffin's wrist to imprint the words there in a bracelet she could wear like the monad necklace she hadn't taken off ever since Faragonda had given it to her for her promotion to Cloud Tower's headmistress.

She'd found her own hope, found her own power in the unrelenting faith she'd put in her friendship with Griffin. She'd become the fairy she'd always been meant to be once Griffin's talent to use all the negativity shoved inside her to create something beautiful straight out of it had been taken away. She'd become capable of standing next to Griffin instead of leaning on her and their friendship had survived a war and their own downfall, even their pride, on the solid foundation of their shoulders as they both carried it.

"Now we can be strong together."

Faragonda's magic whisked the cups of tea away to the table as she was positive the intensity of the emotions had already erased them out of Griffin's memory and opened her arms to catch her witch in their shared feelings. It was far from a party but she would always celebrate their friendship when it was the reason why Griffin was never helpless and she was never hopeless. She could always find more faith between her fingers tangled with Griffin's and she was right there to be Griffin's strength after she'd already given all of hers away.

[looselucy]

Candour

December 31st Me and the girls were wrapped up tight as we made our way to The Royal Rose where we planned to bring in the New Year, our arms linked with me firmly in the middle, searching for as much warmth as possible. “It’s so cold I can feel my toes dropping off.” Chloe shuddered.

The lot of us had been debating all week which pub we should spend the evening in, and it had been such a tiring deliberation that it was difficult to believe we only had three options to choose from in the first place. We’d finally reached the decision that The Royal Rose was the place to be, mainly because we knew it was the least tame option of the three, and we wanted to make a night of it. An inordinate amount of time had been spent drinking over the past week, and we wanted to end the year in the same way. When we got inside, the lads were already there, already drinking, Harry already behind the bar serving up drinks like he bloody owned the place. “Here they are!” Niall greeted cheerily. “Harold, more drinks.” “I’m on it!” He complied, scrambling for a few clean glasses. I had my eyes trained on Harry as he got to work, seeming as happy as ever. In spite of the fact I’d seen plenty of him, both on our own and with everyone else, we’d barely acknowledged what had happened the week before, the damage the storm had done, the way I’d looked after him. The morning after, when we’d woken up side by side on Christmas Day, he’d apologised for what happened, how he’d reacted, and I’d told him there was nothing to be sorry for, and I’d asked why it had happened. All he’d told me was that he’d had that fear for years and he couldn’t help it. I knew that would be the best I’d get out of him. I still hadn’t quite come to terms with the way it had made me feel, the desperation I’d felt, the ache of it, how seeing him in such distress and so petrified and distressed had done things to my heart that I could hardly fathom. I’d never felt so powerless and yet so protective of someone. I had wanted to terminate his pain in any way I could, I was still haunted by the sight of him. The whole thing had been extremely unexpected, so strange to see from this boy who I knew to be so strong. He hadn’t let it affect him since. We hadn’t spoken about it, he didn’t seem bothered; in fact, he acted as though it hadn’t happened at all. I’d done the same, almost to humour him, but it had been playing on my mind relentlessly. His physical scars may have been dominant, things he couldn’t disguise, but I knew that he was hiding scars, harmful memories that were now phantoms that appeared in thunderous clouds and bolts of light, entirely out of his control. I’d been approaching him softly for a week now. I was sure he was sick of it. “Hey.” I smiled at him as I sat on one of the stools at the bar. “Y’alright?” He asked cheerily, pulling me a pint. “Yeah, good. You?” “Yeah, sick. Lin’s trying to persuade Gina to get the karaoke machine out.” “Of course he is.” I tutted, looking over my shoulder to see him chatting up the landlady, then turning to look at Niall. “And how’re you?” “Good, yeah, trying to convince Louis to kiss me at midnight.” “Louis, eh?” I smiled. “Thought you’d be trying your luck with Harry.” “He’s my second option, if Louis says no.” “Fuck you, I’m no second best.” Harry sniggered, passing me my drink. “So I stand a chance? Okay, I choose you then!” Niall attempted, wide eyes. “Too late now. This ship has sailed.” “Fuck.” Niall sulked, slamming his hand against the bar. I knew I wanted to kiss Harry at midnight, I just didn’t know how to go about it. I wasn’t used to kissing him without there being the opportunity for things to go further, and that meant usually when we kissed it was somewhat intense. Me and Harry weren’t really good at keeping things tame. I knew it’d be different, if I was to kiss him in public, we’d have to keep it short and sweet and pretend it was utterly platonic, just someone to kiss at midnight, casual, easily dismissible, but I really wanted to kiss him, more than I was admitting at the time. I always wanted to kiss him, really. That special midnight would be no different. It was just the perfect excuse. Lin bounced over to the bar a few seconds later, looking very pleased with himself, which lead me to believe that karaoke was on the cards. “Bro, I’d get out from behind the bar,” He said to Harry. “People are starting to think you work here. A very nice lady who’s at least eighty just asked Gina when you got the job here and what your number is.” “Send her over.” He was smirking, as charming as ever. “Maybe I’ll kiss her at midnight since Niall isn’t interested.” “I’m going to find Louis!” He cried. “Damn it, I am kissing someone tonight!” Lin picked up his pint and flung his other arm over my shoulder. I noticed the look on Harry’s face immediately, the way his eyes darted between us, how he nodded suggestively, as though trying to reinforce that his predictions about Lincolns feelings towards me were correct. I wanted to give him the middle finger, but I didn’t want Lin to notice. The conversation was tedious enough without getting him involved, making something awkward when it needn’t have been. “Who’re you kissing at midnight?” Harry asked him directly, with a smug smile that I’d have loved to wipe off his face, if only I knew how. “No one, I don’t think.” Thankfully, he wasn’t clocking on. “Anyone you want to?” “Lupita Nyong'o if I’m being picky, but I doubt she’s here.” I don’t know what Harry was expecting, really, that Lin would announce randomly that he wanted to kiss me when clearly that wasn’t the case. What was frustrating me most was that I couldn’t tell if he was being that way through jealousy, or if he was egging it to happen, trying to spark something between us. I really couldn’t tell. All I knew was that it was getting really old, really quickly.

“We should kiss at midnight.” I spoke quietly to Harry, biting my lip to contain my smile. He seemed puzzled, glancing to his side where I was practically hovering over his shoulder, his brows low, eyes sceptical. “What?” “We should kiss at midnight.” I said again. “M’not sure that’s the best idea.” He muttered. “Why?” “I thought you wanted to keep this a secret.” “I’m not asking to fuck you at midnight, it’s just a kiss.” He sniggered, looking back out to the room rather than at me, only minutes from midnight. I’d sort of known there’d be the possibility of him not feeling too eager about my plan, but I was willing to try and coax him into it. All I knew was that the thought of bringing in the new year and seeing people around us embracing but not kissing him just didn’t feel right to me. “I dunno, Fee. I just think it’d be too weird. One of them lot would see and read into it, and next thing you know, everything we do is under a magnifying glass. Maybe they’d… start asking questions. We don’t need that, we’re doing good. It’s more stress than it’s worth.” “What if I pout.” I rested my chin on his shoulder with some difficulty, my bottom lip protruding. “Beg?” “You’re something else.” “Kiss me.” I sulked. “Don’t push it.” “A lil smooch.” “It’s not happening.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You know I’m right.” I didn’t care that he was right. The gang were all a little drunk and were bound to be too rowdy and distracted to notice me and Harry sharing a brief kiss, one that was bound to be uninteresting. I thought the coaxing would be easier, to be honest. “Harry-” “Please leave it, Fee.” “But-” “I don’t want to!” He almost snapped at me before sighing and rolling his eyes. “I’m trying to do the sensible thing here. Can you let me do that?” I was practically scowling without meaning to, removing my chin from his shoulder, taken aback. I hadn’t meant to create this weird hostile environment, but how the hell was I supposed to know suggesting a simple kiss would put him in such a sour mood. I distanced from him, taking a step away, and the last thing I wanted to do was argue with him, again, but his tone had shrivelled my good mood completely. Before I lost my cool, I took a second, taking in where we were and how inappropriate it would be to exchange foul words with the boy, not that I wanted to anyway, but I felt like something had changed recently; my temperament,  the way things were between us. I kept thinking about what had happened the other week, how we’d argued when I’d seen that upstairs room, and I’d really not wanted to feel that way again, to be angry at him over something that was really nothing, but I couldn’t help myself. Feeling irrational, I thought on my feet, my conclusion questionable. “Alright, maybe I’ll kiss Lin then.” “Fine, do.” He shot foully, but he didn’t look at me, jaw wound tight. I had no plans to kiss Lin, and I knew he had no plans to kiss me, but I was hoping for a reaction, something from him. I stormed away from Harry and went and nestled myself into the side of Lincolns body, being greeted as naturally as I’d expected, friendly, normal. I glanced back over my shoulder so I could drink in the vulgar look on Harry’s face, but I didn’t care. There was this part of me that was really starting to believe the reason he’d been pushing this thing with Lin was because he could feel himself getting close to me, and he wanted distance. He wanted to create this thing that wedged a gap between us, and I almost couldn’t blame him. What with everything that had happened with my family, seeing that room, seeing what the storm had done to him the week before, things had changed. Things were no longer simple and fun between us, it had gone further than that, and I felt like he was running. It only hit me then that I did not want to run away from it, I wanted to run right into it. It seemed me and Harry had started on the same page and ended worlds apart. I’d been sweeping things under the rug for months and all that had done was create a mountain of secrets that I kept finding myself tripping over no matter how much I tried to avoid it. When the sixty second countdown began, there were tears in my eyes, my stomach twisting, my lips trembling. I felt really fucking sad. I was glad everyone was too distracted by the countdown they’d put on the TV in the top corner of the room, because I could feel myself getting worked up and I had no excuse as to why I was crying, no explanation behind what the hell was going on in my head. I tried to hold it in. I tried so hard to take that feeling and place it under the rug with everything else but I couldn’t. I’d hit my limit. We were just about to reach the ten second mark when it became too much. My vision was blurred and my heart was racing and the inside of my stomach was mangling. I couldn’t bare it. I tried to slyly slip out of the group, needing air. “Alf, where’re you going?” Niall asked. “You’re gunna miss it!” “I’m just feeling anxious, I need air. Don’t worry!” I yelled back to him, to which he nodded understandingly, and let me go, not wanting to miss the moment. I paced towards the back door, hoping to get out into the smoking area to give myself a few minutes of alone time, turning the corner, virtually inches away from the door when I felt a pair of hands on my waist. I could barely make sense of what was happening as Harry backed me up against the wall and started kissing me the very second it hit midnight, loud hollering and celebrations sounding off in the background as he pushed his body against mine, his hands gripping at my jaw, his tongue swaying with mine.  He was zealous, strong, passionate enough to dry my tears before they’d fallen. It was more than I’d wanted, not just the kiss but the abundance of feelings I could feel it inspiring. The sensation I experienced when he kissed me then was unlike anything I’d felt before, entirely overpowering, completely coaxing. I didn’t know if the reason he was kissing me was because he’d found himself being jealous or because he realised that he fucking needed to, that I was his to kiss and he wanted me, needed me. I actually hoped it was the latter. As things began to mollify, he kissed at my bottom lip a few more times before stopping completely, my jaw still cupped in his large hands and his face still just inches from mine. “Are you happy now?” He asked bluntly. I hated those words. I hated what they said to me. I hated how he presented it like he’d done me a favour, like the actual only reason he’d wanted to kiss me was to shut me up, stop my nagging. I looked back up to him, and once again I felt like I was fighting tears. He seemed so fucking clueless. “No.” I simply replied, my brows sinking low, my patience at its end.

Despite the copious amount of drinks I’d had, I hadn’t managed to get drunk. I think my mood had been so foul since midnight that it just couldn’t happen for me. I hadn’t spoken or even really acknowledged Harry since that kiss. It was almost four in the morning, and other than one lone man in the corner and Gina behind the bar, me and Niall were the last two standing. Well, sitting. Everyone had dwindled gradually, through exhaustion or vomiting, in Chloe’s case. I hadn’t even needed to tell Harry that I didn’t want to stay at his or have him at mine, despite the fact that was how we’d planned to spend the night, because he could tell. He knew I was angry, whether he fully understood why or not, at least he’d given me the space I so clearly desired. I was no mood. I was glad to be out of his company. For months, I’d been stupid enough to ignore my instincts and disregard all the signs that things were too complicated, that we’d let it go on for too long. We’d continued to overlook things that we really shouldn’t have, and it needed to stop. “You had fun?” I asked Niall, who looked like he could’ve been asleep. “Aye. Always have fun with you lot.” He kept his eyes closed, slouching a little further down in his chair. “How about you? Are you alright? Did you have a nice time?” “Yeah it was nice, wasn’t it.” “Sorry you were feeling so shit just as it was getting to midnight. You better now?” “Yeah, m’fine, it was nothing really. Y’know what I’m like, just got a bit worked up.” “Did Harry go and check on ya?” “Uh, yeah.” I lied. “Yeah, he kept me company.” “Good lad that one.” I mumbled in agreement, dropping my eyes down to the beer soaked table-top, and although my evening with Harry hadn’t necessarily been a good one, I’d never agreed with that statement more, I’d never been as fond of the boy, I’d never been so aware of just how much I liked him. I made a snap decision, one that made me immediately shoot up so I was on my feet. “Niall, m’gunna go.” I spoke quickly. “You want me to walk you home?” “Nah, I’m good. Staying for another pint.” He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “There’s no one here.” “Gina’s here, that’s good enough for me.” “Alright, be safe. Night, Niall. Happy New Year.” “And to you, my love.” I headed to the door with as much speed as I could without actually running, gaining some life from somewhere, a plan in mind, one that was likely foolish, but it wouldn’t be the first example I’d shown of such behaviour that night. It seemed I’d left my head at home which put my heart in charge, and that made my choices questionable. Even so, I stormed down the quiet streets of Rosebury, heading straight to Harry’s home. Light drizzle was falling from the sky, another reason to pick up the pace. Once again, I found myself feeling thankful that our village was so small, how I could literally get from one side to the other in five minutes. As I walked, I could see some celebrations still going on, in people’s homes, in The Railway, happy people making sure their night was one to remember, making it last. I just wanted it to end. The night hadn’t gone how I’d wanted it to. In fact, it felt like the last fucking month hadn’t gone how I’d wanted it to. I wanted to start the year by bringing myself up rather than feeling so down. I couldn’t keep pretending that what had been happening was fine, that I felt fine about it, because I didn’t. I wanted to step forward, do better, feel better. Things needed to change. I was shivering by the time I was making my way down the beaten road up to Harry’s house, but I was walking up there with poise, confidence, assurance. As soon as his home came into view, I was practically marching up to his door, my chest on fire. I scuttled up onto the porch at the front of his house and knocked ferociously on the door, so many times I knew even if he’d been sleeping, I was likely to wake him, but he hadn’t even been home too long. Through the beveled glass, I saw him walking down the stairs and the hallway as he stalked towards me, rubbing over his eye with the back of his hand as he slowly opened the door. “Fee? What’s up?” He asked, his torso bare, loose pants hung low around his hips, concern in his tone. “Is everything okay?” “This needs to end.” I spoke bluntly, my voice dry and dead. “Huh?” “This, what’s being going on between us. It needs to end.” “What? Why?” I tried to walk away, but he took hold of my hand, trying to keep me back. “Alfie, talk to me.” “Talk to you?” I shot my head back around, but kept the distance. “Really? Don’t you think that’s a little rich?” That shut him up, if only briefly. He dropped my hand, his frame almost deflating, eyes wavering over me until I turned around and started walking away from him, down the steps and back on the road before he managed to speak again. “Just tell me why!” He yelled. I stopped myself, turning around to look up to him, and I decided to be honest. I decided to just tell him the truth, be open, like he’d told me to be. One of us had to be. I took a deep breath in, and said it. “Because I like you, Harry.” His face dropped. “I really fucking like you. And I can tell you don’t feel the same way, so we should end it, right?” The rug that we’d spent months hiding his secrets beneath had just been pulled from beneath his feet. He was dumbfounded, nothing to say, purely staring at me in a state of shock. I stared right back, waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to finally open his mouth and share something with me. I don’t know why the hell I was still surprised when he couldn’t. I was losing my nerve. “See, you’ve got nothing to say, as usual. So whatever the fuck this has been, it needs to stop.” I really was desperate for him to say something, even if he was to vocally shoot me down, but he didn’t even have the stamina to do that. I knew he didn’t feel the same way, but he didn’t even the guts to tell me and I hated that so much. Even though that night was the first time I’d been able to fully accept that the way I cared for him was much more than a friendship, that I actually truly liked him, I’d also never hated him more. “And I don’t even fucking understand why I feel this way, because I don’t know anything about you, do I?” He was still stood in silence, shell-shocked. “I don’t know how it’s even possible for me to like you, because you don’t talk to me. I don’t really know anything about you. It makes no fucking sense, but unfortunately, that’s how I feel. So it ends, now. We’re finished.” His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, but he still didn’t say a word. I thought he’d at least argue with me, that he’d think up excuses, but he was doing absolutely nothing other than looking like he’d seen a ghost. I’d not gone there expecting to lose my temper in the way I was, but to see him stood there once again giving me absolutely nothing was so infuriating. I knew he didn’t like me. I’d figured that out already, but it still hurt to see how apparent that was then. “I don’t understand how you do it.” I sighed. “I don’t understand how you can… spend so much time with someone, and feel nothing. We’ve been so fucking close, Harry. I don’t understand how you can be so intimate with someone and feel nothing.” “I-I don’t feel nothing.” He finally choked. “But you don’t feel this, do you? You don’t feel what I fucking feel, I know you don’t!” “Fuck. I just-” He stood clutching and rubbing at his temples with his thumb and middle finger. “I dunno. I guess… I guess sex just isn’t a special thing for me.” “It’s not for me either!” I yelled. “I have spent the last few years of my life sleeping with a boy and feeling nothing, feeling… fucking lifeless. I know what it’s like to sleep with someone without emotions, trust me. But I didn’t feel that with you! What we’ve been doing, that’s not just sex, Harry! Surely you can see that.” Once again, I’d stunted him, forcing him back into a corner, back to the silence he was using so frequently. He’d managed just a few words and then he was back to being this coward, this person who wouldn’t and couldn’t share. I was done with it. “What we’ve been doing, the way we are together… it’s so beyond sex. Even with you being how you are and refusing to talk to me, it’s so much more than sex. We never should have done this. We were so fucking stupid to think this could work. Because it’s not working, and you know it! We let it go too far, so I’m being the sensible one and I’m stopping it.” “But-” “Don’t argue with me, Harry!” I barked. “We said when we started this that when one of us wants it to end, it does, with no arguments. That’s what we said.” “I know what we said!” He finally raised his voice, finally showed some emotions. I was still stood just looking up to him, and the thing that surprised me most was that I’d expected tears. I thought it would all get the better of me, but I didn’t feel that way at all. I was just so exhausted by the whole thing, so worn out after months of trying to get to know someone who did not want to share himself with me. “We promised we would do this without feelings, and I can’t keep that promise anymore.” I shrugged. As much as I’d known what to expect when I got there, how I’d known that he didn’t feel the same way, that naive part of me had bitten again and had me hoping something within him would snap. Not just that he'd tell me he liked me too, that he’d kiss and hold me, but that he’d actually share something with me, something with depth, something that meant a lot to him, something that lifted the weight that I could practically see was built upon his chest, crushing him. I kept hoping for the best and being let down. I felt like such a fool. “I’m done with it, Harry. I’m so fucking done with it. Aren’t you?” “No.” That was the first time he’d sounded confident since I’d knocked on his door. “Well you should be.” “But I’m not! I don’t care that we said we wouldn’t argue, I don’t want this to end, Fee.” “But I don’t feel like I have enough reason to stay! Why would I do that when you don’t like me, Harry? You don’t want to talk to me, you don’t like me in that way, you clearly don’t share my feelings. Fuck, you don’t even have the guts to share your own feelings with me. With anyone! What the hell is there to hold onto here? It’s done!” I’d rendered him speechless again, to the point where he couldn’t even hold eye contact anymore. He dropped his head, nothing to say. I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to get in bed and sleep it all off, wake to a New Year with a new mindset, new circumstances. I had no idea how things would be between the two of us, how we’d move on from all of this. It was always bound to be difficult, but the fact that we were now both so aware of the feelings I’d developed for him only made things worse. But I knew I had to tell him. It would have killed me if I hadn’t. Harry had been the person in my life who had encouraged me to open up, be honest, share, deal with what I was experiencing. That was coming back to bite him. I finally started to walk away from him, a little later than I should have, but at least I was finally doing it. “You can keep hiding yourself away, Harry, because I am done searching for you.” I left him without another word. He didn’t try to stop me, he didn’t call me back. He did nothing, like I should have fucking known he would.

[ettadunham]

A Buffy rewatch 7x18 Dirty Girls

aka gotta have faith

We did it, guys! We made it to the last season! Also, hello if you’re new, and stumbled upon this without context. As usual, these impromptu text posts are the product of my fevered mind as I rant about the episode I just watched for an hour (okay, sometimes perhaps two). Anything goes!

And in today’s episode, our secondary villain is finally revealed made of pure misogyny, and Faith is here to make everything better.

So... Dirty Girls. We really are in the finish line of the season now.

This episode opens with two scenes that I’m not sure were intended to have the connection I made, but let’s do it anyway. In the first, we’re introduced to Caleb, a priest with extremely misogynistic views of women, who is revealed to be an agent of the First. And one who’s been pulling a lot of its strings in our world at that, like blowing up the council, or organizing the Bringers.

I guess Caleb hates humanity as a whole - he is aligning himself with the First after all -, but he directs pretty much all of that hatred onto women. He calls the Potential he picks up with his truck a ‘whore’ and ‘dirty’, and from his fantasies of his past, you get the idea that he specifically targeted young women using his authority, seduced them, and then turned it around and punished them for it.

Misogyny as a theme happens a lot on the show of course, Buffy fights the patriarchy after all. But when it comes to overt depictions of it, it’s often a bit… well, overt. You want to cheer Buffy for punching the douchebag in the face, but you’re also aware of how it’s an exaggeration of reality, made to get that fistbump reaction out of you.

And actually, that’s something that I think is worth re-examining too. A few years back, when the Supergirl TV show was about to premiere, there were a lot of discussions around this type of overt feminism. When I watched the pilot, I experienced some of these cringe moments myself. But, despite some of the many actual problems of the show and its feminism at the time, it also got me thinking.

Why? Why do I actually feel cringey about this?

And the answer that I found was that I was imagining watching the show from a perspective other than my own. Kind of like watching the 1992 Buffy movie back in the 90s with my brother made me hyperaware of its many faults, instead of giving me a chance to enjoy its culty ridiculousness.

So, while considering other perspectives can be essential in forming critical thought of your media, there’s a difference in trying to understand a minority perspective for instance, and feeling the need to put yourself in the shoes of the dominant culture, and base your opinions with that in mind.

But that’s a tangent inside a tangent.

Disregarding all that, imo the show’s most successful and impactful depictions of misogyny arguably come from characters who don’t always act like monsters. I actually like the bad guy from Reptile Boy for instance. He acts charming and nice to lure Buffy in, and only reveals his true nature, once he holds all the power.

Caleb in that sense then, is the show’s best and most horrifying example of that type of misogynistic evil.

(And yes, we could also talk about the Trio here, but trying to fold them in would be yet another tangent, and it’s time to talk about the actual episode at this point.)

Caleb says to the First that he doesn’t lie... but that’s a lie. He does lie. By wearing the symbol of authority, of someone you can confide in, he tells you that he can be trusted. And yes, there is very much a commentary here about the evil of religion and Catholicism, but the point being is that for someone in that community, Caleb’s appearance signals no threat. And Caleb uses that assumption to his advantage.

He only gradually reveals his true nature to Shannon at the beginning. First by calling her a whore. Because hat that point, he knows that he holds the power in their interaction and that he doesn’t need to pretend to be anything but the monster he is in order to lure her in. Shannon’s guard is down, and he knows that she can’t escape.

Caleb’s misogyny is disturbing because it’s still believable in all of its overtness. He does what he does because he knows that he can. He has the power, and that power reveals all of his deepest darkest thoughts with nothing to keep him in check.

And right after this scene, you get Xander’s dream. Where he dreams about two Potentials coming onto him in a threesome situation (and specifically with the two women also getting it on with each other in front of him, because I guess fetishizing lesbians is still a thing that Xander hasn’t internalized despite his best friend being one), while the rest of the girls are having some sexy pillow-fight in the other room.

So… I guess we’re pairing up scary misogyny with “”fun”” misogyny?

Of course, since this is a dream, we can argue that Xander can’t really be held responsible for it. We don’t have power over our dreams after all. It’s where our subconscious works through stuff, and that doesn’t reflect our persona wholly.

Except then the question still remains – why is this scene here? Why would someone write this scene in, especially in an episode full of these themes? When Xander wakes up, he’s immediately faced with the reality, where his role is to fix the toilets. It’s supposed to be funny. Look how powerless he actually is, compared to the girls.

But then he also gets the big speech moment in the very same episode, supporting Buffy, and then loses an eye to Caleb. How are these things connected? And if they’re not… why is that scene at the beginning there?

I mean, you could interpret Caleb removing one of Xander’s eyes as a punishment for Xander having these ‘urges’… Except Caleb’s comment before doing that doesn’t reference that. It references Xander’s speech from Potential, where he’s telling Dawn that he sees a lot by being underappreciated.

So, that’s probably not what they were going for. And it’s a stretch of an interpretation. In the end, there’s little to no reason for that scene to be there, and therefore I’m left with the impression, that the writers weren’t even aware of the misogynistic angle of Xander fetishizing all these young women in his dream. They just thought it was funny.

God, I wrote 1k workds already, and I haven’t even got to Buffy’s storyline in this.

This episode is setting up the pre-finale twist of everyone turning against Buffy, which I kinda hate. And that bleeds into my thoughts of Dirty Girls, unfortunately.

Like, I get it. Everyone kept telling Buffy that this was a trap, that it was a bad idea to bring the Potentials to confront Caleb without knowing more, and she ignored them. And that got a whole lot of them injured. At least two of them dead. It was a bad call.

On the other hand, didn’t Giles keep telling her in the last episode that she needed to make these hard decisions? That she needed to think big picture, and accept that there would be losses? And now, when he advises her against action, and she makes the damn ‘hard choice’ and ‘acts like a general’ I guess it’s still her fault, huh.

I swear, nothing Buffy ever does is good for these people. And maybe that’s the point we’re making, that leadership is lonely and hard and whatever the fuck, but I’m tired and I kinda hate it.

Buffy fucked up, yes. Okay. But instead of dealing with that, instead of having an honest conversation where we can explore these things, we just vaguely hint at how this is driving a wedge between her and the rest of the group.

Thanks, I hate it.

But hey, at least Faith’s here! The way Eliza Dushku delivers this line in particular is an absolute highlight:

SPIKE:  “Not all that tension was about you. Giles was a part of a plan to kill me. For Buffy's own good.” FAITH:  “Well, that makes me feel better about me… worse about Giles...kinda shaky about you.”

The show also addresses the fact that no one told Faith about what the fuck was going on. Which… is a bit of a problem, and paints each and every character on Buffy in a pretty bad light? Willow’s whole explanation about how, well, Faith was in prison and they thought she was safe there falls pretty flat (especially since Faith was in fact attacked in prison due to this), and the characters know it. More than anything, it just feels like they all forgot about Faith, and how this whole plan of the First to murder the Slayer line affects her.

And yet, to be honest, I couldn’t help but feel like it was the writers that actually forgot? Or at the very least, thought that it was inconvenient to share this information with Faith, before both shows came to a point where they could integrate her character into the story again?

Anyway, whoever you blame this on, it’s kinda bad.

Overall, Dirty Girls is still chilling and effective, and Faith is a breath of fresh air in this final stretch of the season. I’m just not a big fan of where we’re taking Buffy’s arc here before the big finale, and that shows.

Next up: Wine mom and vodka aunt fight over the kids’ love.

[scratchface]

Long Overdue Thoughts on 71-76

There’s... a lot of ground to cover here. Considering I binged all five episodes, I might also be missing some things. I’ll have to comb over the episodes more closely later. 

Jumping right into it, Bohman’s dueling now completely emulates Yusaku’s style, particularly with the almost excessive abuse of graveyard effects and link-spamming (I say with the utmost affection). Yusaku deciding to trust Ai’s judgement, and then refusing to let Ai blame himself when it goes wrong, was a nice touch. But I’m not sure it will be a good thing in the long run, especially considering how shaky Ai’s current allegiance is. But Yusaku knows better than anyone that Ai is an untrustworthy liar, and sticks with him anyway.

In regards to Ai having instinct, this relates quite a bit to the last section part four of my Yusaku analysis. Ai really does have something AIs shouldn’t have, while Yusaku seems to lack the very same thing, whether you call it self-preservation, fear, or instinct. It looks like Vrains really is going to confirm that Ai took more than he was supposed to from Yusaku, or possibly even pursue the switching angle (Ai is the human and Yusaku is the AI). 

Ryoken showing up at the hotdog truck again was a treat. He casually reminded Kusanagi (and us viewers hint hint) how important Kusanagi is to Yusaku’s peace of mind. It goes to show Ryoken’s genuine concern for Yusaku’s wellbeing, and his desire to fight Yusaku fairly, with both of them at their best. I’ll come back to this when I talk about Ryoken and Yusaku’s next meeting, which shows us the darker side of Ryoken’s investment in Yusaku. Gotta say, it was cute how Yusaku had zero hesitation. He really believes that Ryoken won’t use underhanded tactics against him. Like hell Yusaku would ever doubt his special person’s intentions towards him, I suppose. 

Earth was very likable, in the end, and his death was upsetting. There are few more terrible ways to die than being cut to pieces, gradually losing everything bit by bit. I hope Queen suffers for this one. Both Go and Akira come out the other side looking bad too; Go for completely losing his sense of right and wrong, and Akira for his powerlessness and inability to control or protect anything (seems to be a running theme with Akira; where’s it going?). I do have to wonder why he sticks with SOL, despite everything; it’s clear Queen isn’t going to allow him to use his position to help Playmaker or do right by the Ignis. (I get why he has to be there plot-wise; Aoi and Ema need an inside source of information.) I can’t help but think he’d at the very least be more effective doing literally anything else.

And then there’s Go, who has really, really lost it at this point. It’s pretty sad to see him twisted like this, but I figured that so long as he stuck with the “gotta be number one” mindset, he would keep on falling until he hit rock bottom. But the introduction of AI implants opens lots of interesting doors: like, couldn’t Lightning put AIs in those implants and put those implants in people in his conquering humanity scenario? Gotta hand it to SOL, if there’s one thing they’re good at, it’s inventing humanity’s doom. Plus, Go seeing a “new world” within the network...it’s very reminiscent of Yusaku’s Link Sense. Does Yusaku already have an AI implanted in his brain (is he the AI implanted in his own brain?)?

But all this talk of “becoming one with an AI” makes me really think we might be seeing a Yusaku/Ai fusion someday. That might be the best shot of beating Bohman next time; combining Yusaku’s skill and logic with Ai’s instincts and unpredictability, into what could even be considered to be the “original Fujiki Yusaku”...

In the early days of Vrains, a lot of people theorized Go would end up teaming with the Earth Ignis; I wonder if that’s still in the future? If Earth can be restored, or if he managed to hide a copy of his programming. Everyones’ reaction to his death had a sense of finality, but I do think Earth will be coming back, if only because of the combined Ignis Bohman was talking about being the vessel for (and because I want to see Earth and Spectre interacting). I think Lightning is going to want Earth’s data back for that project.

Maybe all the Ignis will end up being combined together in Bohman and we’ll finally get to see a Divine Ignis. It is very interesting that out of anyone or anything, Lightning decided that the ultimate Ignis should be based on Yusaku (+Ai, who was also based on Yusaku). But it also makes a lot of sense; Yusaku has already proven that he’s the best duelist in Vrains and, in the eyes of the Ignis probably, the pinnacle of humanity’s potential. Instead of basing an AI on an AI based on a human, Lightning might as well default straight to the best of the original goods, plus the results of the original Hanoi Project. It also makes sense; Ai was born from Yusaku being forced to duel what we presume to be an AI over and over again, and Bohman was finalized the same way: by dueling Yusaku over and over, and watching his previous matches.  

I gotta wonder how Ryoken set up that conversation with Yusaku. They’re clearly at Stardust Road, but I don’t think Kusanagi would casually set up shop there of all places anymore. 

Did Ryoken call Yusaku up and tell him to come by?

The whole reason Ryoken gave them the program IRL was because he wanted to avoid Lightning’s monitoring. We can assume that’s why they were having the Earth convo IRL too; but the fact that they’re having this conversation at all suggests that Ryoken and Yusaku now feel comfortable sharing what they know with each other. The fact that Ryoken callously used that as an opportunity to incite Ai’s resentment towards humanity right in front of Yusaku’s eyes is...well, there’s a lot to unpack in this short scene. 

Clearly a little delighted by Earth’s fate, Ryoken is still trying to drive a wedge between Yusaku and Ai; this tentative alliance they have now might exist for entirely that purpose. It allows Ryoken to take the steps necessary to keep Yusaku out of Lightning’s hands, while pushing Ai towards “revealing” that he’s been humanity’s enemy all along. It’s twisted, but really adds a fascinating element to Ryoken’s character. He sees that the easiest way to get rid of Ai is to dissolve the bond between Ai and Yusaku.

That, or Ryoken is trying to create distance between Ai and Yusaku emotionally. He’s still determined to destroy Ai, but he knows that will hurt Yusaku, so maybe he hopes to lessen that future blow for Yusaku a bit. Either way, it’s not entirely fair to blame Ryoken for being such a jerk; he no doubt believes he’s doing the right thing for Yusaku and all of humanity. 

At the same time: Ryoken, you bastard. (I love you)

On Yusaku’s end, its nice to see that while he trusts Ryoken, he’s under no delusions about who Ryoken is or what he gets up to. From easily guessing Ryoken has a spy to not batting an eye at his cold treatment of the not-evil Ignises. Yusaku is as cold and unemotional as ever, while Ai is growing increasingly unstable in the face of having lost everything he originally set out to protect. The contrast is interesting, but whether it will bring them closer or push them apart has yet to be seen. 

Now that Aoi and Aqua met, I worry that Aqua will just do the “I see the truth” thing with Playmaker and Soulburner. I’ll be pretty disappointed if that is how Aoi learns Yusaku is Playmaker. But regarding the “truth” thing, we see that Miyu lost a friend because of a lie, which may have led to Aqua developing her lie-detecting ability. But do the Ignis all have unique abilities like that, unrelated to their elements but related to their Lost Kids? It doesn’t seem like it, but there’s a lot we don’t know, especially about Ai. 

I want to see more of Miyu--or rather, I still very much want all the Lost Kids to team up! Now that we have five out of six, I would love to see them all interacting together a group. I hope she gets back on her feet and a larger role next season, instead of just existing to hand Aqua over to Aoi. I’m not to sure on where I stand with Aoi getting Aqua as a partner to begin with. On one hand, it was obviously inevitable from the start. On the other hand, it’s kinda like Aoi gets all the benefits with none of the trauma. Plus, what makes the Ignis and human partnerships so interesting is that the Ignis were born from each Lost Kid’s pain. I wonder if Aoi and Aqua’s more indirect connection can compete with that kind of complexity. Aqua might return to Miyu when she wakes up, or Miyu will insist on Aqua staying with Aoi and supporting her. That all said, I really like Miyu and Aoi so far and look forward to seeing them reunited.

RIP everyone that shipped Ema and Kengo; I knew y’all were playing a dangerous game. I want to know so much more about them though. What sort of relationship do they have? What was their childhood like? Where do they get their magenta hair from? Are they full siblings? Are they half-siblings? Adopted? Step-sibs? Blood siblings that grew up separately? I hope we find out.

The fact that Ema is a little sister too does a lot to explain the kinship she feels with Aoi, and why she’s encouraging Aoi to be stronger; its possible she wants Aoi to be able to be there for Akira in a way Ema might never have been for Kengo. It also explains Kengo’s disregard and lack of respect for Ema; of course he looks down on his little sister (assuming I’m not misinterpreting Ema calling him “nii-san”...which I’m pretty sure I’m not.)

There’s undoubtably more in these 5 episodes that I didn’t get to here, but lots of new and interesting possibilities for how the story is going to progress.

[eternityunicorn]

Elijah’s Eternity: New Orleans - Part Nineteen

Author: eternityunicorn 

Genre: Romance/Drama/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Violance, Smut (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: Sequel to the AU Elijah’s Eternity - Ten years have passed, a mournful Elijah has finally started to move on without his lady. In that time, he has gained a reunited family and has also found a new lady love. Yet, all is not well as danger comes for the smallest member of the Mikaelson family: Hope, and it prompts Niklaus to call upon the white goddess, drawing her back into Elijah’s life. As they reunite, can Elijah really say he’s truly moved on?

NOTE: OC and original elements are from my up and coming novel series! Masterlist link to all my fics is in my blog profile. Thanks and happy reading!

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Jor! 

This man was Eternity’s eldest child, the one whom sided with Loki. He recalled what Eternity had told him about the young immortal. He hated his mother and worshipped his father like the god he was not. 

From what Elijah understood there was a long line of contention between mother and son over this fact. Jor believed Loki to be the wronged party and believed Eternity had forsaken the Trickster with malicious intent. In other words, in the younger immortal’s mind, him mother was the villain and his father was the victim, when in truth, it was the other way around.

Physically speaking, Jor was a spitting image of his father. There was barely any distinction between the two. He was of the same height and slender build. He had the same aristocratic features, same twisted smile, same pointed nose and thin lips. He even had Loki’s bright red hair and wore the same silks and leathers his father did. In fact, the only thing that was from his mother were his sapphire blue eyes. 

“Jor? What are you doing here?” Eternity asked her son warily.

“I heard you were getting married,” he replied, with a lighter version of Loki’s voice. “Word has spread through the cosmos of the Universal Queen’s unusual husband-to-be. An Earth-based immortal, to be exact. I had to see if it were true and let me say, what a downgrade from Father! Really, Mother? Surely you could do better than...this.” He gestured at Elijah with disgust, “or better yet, you could have simply stayed with Father instead of murdering him.”

“Your father was lost, Jor, to his darkness,” Eternity replied calmly. “There was no coming back from it for him. He was a threat to the innocent and I had to do it. I had to kill him. He wasn’t going to stop and I, as a guardian, had to put him down as I would any enemy. Duty before the heart, my son.”

Jor’s face twisted into a horrible snarl as he shouted in a fury, “He was my father!”

“Yes he was and I can see his darkness in you,” she responded just as evenly, with a hint of sadness in her tone. “You are your father’s son. Be careful of the footsteps you follow. There is nothing but misery down that path. Now, what is it that you have come for? Besides to be angry with me, of course.”

Jor grinned sinisterly. 

It was so foreboding that it sent chills down Elijah’s spine, whom stood beside his lady during this exchange. He was immediately set on edge with worry for his lady. He bristled at the threat before them, wishing more than anything that he wasn’t so helpless against the higher classes of immortals. That and he didn’t care for the boy’s condescending regard of himself, as if he were less than. It was rather insulting and wounded his pride as an Original. If only they weee more evenly matched, then he’d teach Jor some manners.

Then the younger immortal turned his hateful gaze on Elijah. “So you are the husband-to-be. I could crush you so very easily,” he sneered at him. “I do hope you never expect me to call you my father, as you are not only unworthy of my mother, but you are also unworthy of my respect or to be part of this family. You are beneath us all.”

Elijah was infuriated by his cruel words. His jaw tightened and his hands balled into fists, as they itched to retaliate. However, before he could respond, his lady stepped between them protectively. 

“Enough, Jor,” Eternity growled warningly.

Loki’s mirror image turned his attentions back to his mother. “Or what? You’ll kill me?” He taunted and then snickered. 

She stepped closer to her son, “Do not tempt me, child.”

Jor only grinned wider, seeming to be unafraid of his mother’s threat. “If you do, Mommy, then you shall never see your beloved middle son again,” he murmured down to her cruelly, causing her to gasp and take a step back. 

“What have you done?” Eternity sounded horrified.

“Nothing much, I only tried to make dear Fenrir see the errors on his ways in supporting you one more time, after I learned of your horrid plans to replace our father,” the insane young immortal shrugged nonchalantly. “I wanted him to side with me, so that maybe we could talk sense into you for this terrible decision. Unfortunately, he’s as stubborn as you are, Mother, and still refuses to join the right side.”

Provoked, she lashed out in a rage. With psychic powers, she threw her own son across the room,  sending him through the wall and into the parking lot. Jor’s body left a considerable hole there. Eternity followed his path with the grace of a panther, ready to strike again.

Elijah and Kol both chased after her. One brother wanted to make sure his lady stayed safe, while the other simply wanted to enjoy the show. The younger Mikealson did get a thrill seeing chaos unfold; though usually he was the cause of said chaos.

“Where is he?” Eternity demanded of her son, as he staggered to his feet. Her katana appeared in her hand, unsheathed and ready for use. “Speak quickly!”

Jor only laughed, “Denounce your ridiculous engagement to that inferior man and I’ll tell you, Mother!”

She wasn’t about to do as the young fool demanded. Instead, she attacked her son, forcing him to conjure his own sword - a broadsword to be exact - and defend himself against her relentless assault upon him. 

Jor was a good swordsman, but Eternity was of course better. She didn’t give him any room to counter her, only to block her blade strokes. They moved with equal speed, evenly matched in that regard. However, one single misstep had Eternity’s insane son flat on his back with his sword tossed away from him, out of reach. That one miscalculation had him defeated.

Elijah’s lady stood over the boy with the point of her katana directed at Jor’s throat. “You will tell me where your brother is or so help me, I will end you here and now,” she hissed threateningly. 

Elijah was impressed and turned on by Eternity in warrior mode. What made it truly sexy in this instance was the fact that she had fought her son in her short sweater dress and wedges. She was truly remarkable to be able to fight in any apparel and he found he could watch her fight all day long.

“The warehouse by the docks,” Jor groaned up at Eternity with a defiant gaze, despite having been defeated. “You’ll find your precious Fenrir there. This is far from over. Till we meet again, Mother.”

Then, as quickly as he had come, Loki’s lookalike vanished like a coward.

The ethereal beauty let her blade disappear from her hand and turned worriedly to Elijah, whom had been near by. “I have to go get my son,” she said urgently.

Elijah only nodded and proceeded to go to her side. He was of course going with her, not wanting her to make the journey alone. He wanted to support her in everything, especially if he was going to become her husband soon enough. That and he was rather curious to finally meet this other child of his lady’s. He wrapped his arm around Eternity’s waist and raced off at vampire’s speed to the warehouses by the docks.

Once there, his lady sensed out where exactly Jor had stashed Fenrir and together, they entered the warehouse cautiously. There was no telling what lay ahead, if her mad son had left traps for them. He did yield rather easy and Elijah wondered as to why.

“Because Jor wants to believe himself to be a ruthless villain like his father, but he doesn’t actually have the stomach to follow through,” Eternity whispered to him, answering his thoughts.  “The only reason why he kidnapped Fenrir in order to try and turn him against me is because, well because my younger son is vulnerable, an easy target as he is rather timid and not at all interested in fighting or leading or anything that has to do with conflict. Jor has always bullied his brother into yielding to him. Though, it would seem Fenrir finally learning to stand up for himself as my eldest wasn’t able to get him to give in this time.”

They moved quietly through the warehouse behind crates and stacks of pallets, sticking to the shadows until they knew it was safe to venture about without worry of ambush. They went around in stealth until Fenrir came into view. 

The boy was tied to a chair with his arms shackled with strange gold bracelets. He looked bruised and bloody - unconscious by the way that his head dangled downward. 

Elijah and his lady waited near by, until they knew that nobody else was there. Then as one, hand in hand, they still moved in with caution, just to be safe. There was no telling what could happen in enemy territory, even a defeated one’s.

“Damn,” Eternity muttered as she reached her son, her eyes automatically falling to the golden bracelets upon his wrists. “These are very special,” she told Elijah, “very rare trinkets that can render any magical being powerless, myself included. Jor no doubt put them on Fenrir and then proceeded to beat the hell out of him. My poor boy.”

“Can you removed them?” Elijah asked as he watched her stroke the boy’s curly white hair in that loving, motherly way. 

She gave a small grin as she answered, “Of course.”

Immediately the shackles were on the ground with a loud, echoing clank. Almost as quickly did the young man awaken, as if reviving from a sleeping spell. He blinked rapidly and groaned, before his eyes widened in relief at the sight of his mother before him.

“Mama!” Fenrir shouted, throwing his arms around her tightly. His wounds upon his pale skin were healing instantly, as he held her and she held him. “Oh, it was terrible, Mama! Jor, the bastard, cornered me on the way to meet Hel and clamped those horrid shackles on me, only it drag me here to beat me into submission - which I didn’t give him, much to ire.” He pulled back and looked proudly at Eternity. “I will never let Jor or anyone else turn me against you,” he cupped her face in his hands with an adoring gaze. “Hel and I will always be your greatest champions, no matter what.”

Eternity took his hands in hers and pulled them from her face gently, holding onto them tightly. “I know, my darling,” she said softly. “You are a brave boy, my brave boy.”

Fenrir grinned at his mother, before Elijah’s shifting behind her caught his attention and he looked up at the vampire with wide, mistrusting eyes. 

Elijah smiled gently in the most nonthreatening way he could manage. He found the boy fascinating, quite frankly. He really was a male version of Eternity. He had all the same ethereal paleness, though to a lesser degree like his sister. His hair was a curly mop top of white hair and he had the same big sapphire eyes she did, along with the exact plushly rose pink lips too. He was small like his mother too, but certainly broader. His voice was deeper, yet soft spoken just like Eternity’s as well.

Yes, a male version indeed.

“Are you the Earth-based immortal whom will be marrying my mother, I’ve heard so much about?” Fenrir asked him cautiously. 

“I am. My name is Elijah Mikaelson,” nodded Elijah. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Fenrir got up from the chair with his mother’s help and approached him slowly. “You are a product of dark magic, a violent creature with much blood upon your hands,” he said, in a slow, hypnotized sort of way, reading the vampire’s mind. “However, you detest the violence, reserving it for your enemies, including those whom would harm your loved ones. You are the devoted sort of monster. I can certainly see that you are completely devoted to my mother, a fact that truly matters to me, which is why I welcome you, sir, to our humble little family.” He grinned and held out his hand to Elijah.

He clasped hands with the young immortal readily, glad to see that this son was actually quite sane, as well as kind and accepting of him. “Thank you for your acceptance of me,” said Elijah. “I do hope that we get along splendidly.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Fenrir nodded.

Eternity came to stand beside Elijah, taking his hand in hers with her fingers threading through his. She smiled adoringly up at his and then at her son. “Come along, son. Let’s get you out of here and somewhere safe.”

“Actually, I should go meet Hel,” her son replied. “I’m recovered enough from Jor’s tricks to get to her. She’s probably wondering where I am and with her, I shall be safe.”

The enteral woman nodded, “Aye, you’re right. You should. Your sister is a worrier. She’ll send a search party after you, if you don’t show up to greet her.”

With that said and one final farewell between parent and child, the younger immortal vanished from the warehouse, leaving Elijah and Eternity alone together. 

The ethereal woman turned to him and smiled, “Thank you for coming with me. I apologize for our evening being hijacked by my out of control son. I’m sure Jor left quite the impression into the family you will be entering, my darling.”

He smiled back and brushed her hair back from her face as he replied, “I’ll follow you anywhere, Sweetheart, and your family is no more crazy than my own, so I am not scared off at all. As to the evening, the night is still young. We should probably get back to the club. We did leave a Kol and Davina behind. They might be wondering what became of us.”

She kissed his lips briefly and agreed, “Aye, we did. Besides I wasn’t quite done dancing the night away with you, my love.” She gazed at him flirtatiously.

Elijah smirked, pulling Eternity to him bodily and plundering her mouth with his own until she was moaning and clinging to him. Then he pulled back, before he got too lost to his never ending passion, and rested his forehead against hers. 

From there, without a word, he whisked them away back to the club to find Kol and Davina back inside, being merry together with the rest of the patrons, as if the threat of Jor hadn’t ever happened. The club was in full swing as if nothing amiss had happened. Typical of the supernatural community, Elijah supposed. 

“Well, it seems we weren’t missed,” Eternity quipped good naturally, unpin their reentry. 

“No, but I’m not all that surprised,” he replied as he held up his hand for her to take. “Shall we, Sweetheart?”

She beamed, “We shall.”

Then upon her taking his hand, Elijah lead them back into the fray, where they joined his brother and Davina in their merriment on the dance floor, into the wee hours of morning.

To Be Continued....

[frankterranella]

A look at a 1972 song that is still sadly relevant

By FRANK TERRANELLA

Harry Chapin is best known for his bittersweet stories of lonely lovers in songs like “Taxi” and “A Better Place to Be,” and distant fathers and sons in “Cats in the Cradle.” But his work included stories of all aspects of humanity, including the dark side. One striking example is a masterpiece of storytelling called “Sniper.” I listened to it recently, and was struck by how relevant this song still is today, nearly 40 years after Chapin’s untimely death in an auto accident.

The song tells a fictionalized version of the mass shooting at the University of Texas in 1966 in which former Marine Charles Whitman took a bunch of rifles up to the top of a tower on the college campus and began shooting randomly. Over the next 96 minutes he shot and killed 14  people (including an unborn baby) and injured 31 others. Such incidents were very unusual in that time and this incident grabbed tremendous public attention for months. Sadly, today, such shootings have become everyday occurrences.

Harry Chapin’s song “Sniper” was released in 1972, on an album whimsically called “Sniper and Other Love Songs.” It tells the story of the Texas Tower shooting in the voices of a narrator, acquaintances of the shooter, and the shooter himself. Chapin uses syncopation in the music to switch between voices. You can see a live performance of the song on YouTube at https://youtu.be/dT1cxP3JT0c.

The song goes on for 10 minutes, and so it never got airplay on most radio stations at the time. But it is a work of art. It demonstrates, as few other songs do, the ability of a songwriter and a song to tell a powerful story in words and music. The lyrics are poetic. They begin with the narrator setting the scene:

It is an early Monday morning. The sun is becoming bright on the land. No one is watching as he comes a walking. Two bulky suitcases hang from his hands.

He heads towards the tower that stands in the campus. He goes through the door, he starts up the stairs. The sound of his footsteps, the sound of his breathing, The sound of the silence when no one was there.

Then the music changes and we are hearing the voice of an acquaintance of the shooter:

I didn't really know him. He was kind of strange. Always sort of sat there. He never seemed to change.

And after that short interlude, the narrator continues the story:

He reached the catwalk. He put done his burden. The four-sided clock began to chime. Seven AM, the day is beginning. So much to do and so little time.

He looks at the city, where no one had known him. He looks at the sky, where no one looks down. He looks at his life, and what it has shown him. He looks for his shadow, it cannot be found.

And then the music changes again and we are hearing another voice with an echo effect, presumably his mother:

He was such a moody child, very hard to touch. Even as a baby he never smiled too much. No no. No no.

And now the music changes again and for the first time we hear the voice of the shooter:

You bug me, she said. You’re ugly, she said. Please hug me, I said. But she just sat there With the same flat stare That she saves for me alone When I'm home. When I'm home. Take me home.

And then the narrator returns, continuing the story:

He laid out the rifles, he loaded the shotgun, He stacked up the cartridges along the wall. He knew he would need them for his conversation. If it went as he planned, then he might use them all.

He said “Listen you people I've got a question You won't pay attention but I'll ask anyhow. I found a way that will get me an answer. Been waiting to ask you 'till now. Right now !”

Chapin sees the sniper as someone who considers himself ignored and invisible and now is using his rifle to get people to pay attention to him. He wants people to notice him. He wants to have a “conversation.” And now the song changes from the narrator quoting the sniper to the sniper speaking himself, reflecting on his empty life and looking for answers:

Am I ? I am a lover who’s never been kissed. Am I ? I am a fighter who’s not made a fist. Am I ? If I'm alive, then there's so much I've missed. How do I know I exist ? Are you listening to me ? Are you listening to me ? Am I ?

The song reaches a crescendo with the sniper’s key question -- “Am I?” – and then the song returns to the narrator’s voice as the shots begin to fire out with the “words” of the sniper’s “conversation”:

The first words he spoke took the town by surprise.  One got Mrs. Gibbons above her right eye. It blew her through the window, wedged her against the door. Reality poured from her face, staining the floor.

Chapin gives us a momentary relief from the tension as the music changes, and we hear a person who dated the shooter being interviewed:

He was kind of creepy, Sort of a dunce. I met him at the corner bar. I only dated the poor boy once, That's all. Just once, that was all.

And then Chapin gives the microphone back to the narrator who tells the rest of the gruesome story:

Bill Whedon was questioned as stepped from his car. Tom Scott ran across the street but he never got that far. The police were there in minutes, they set up barricades. He spoke right on over them in a half-mile circle. In a dumbstruck city his pointed questions were sprayed.

He knocked over Danny Tyson as he ran towards the noise. Just about then the answers started coming. Sweet, sweet joy. Thudding in the clock face, whining off the walls, Reaching up to where he sat there, answering calls.

Thirty-seven people got his message so far. Yes, he was reaching them right where they are.

They set up an assault team. They asked for volunteers. They had to go and get him, that much was clear. And the word spread about him on the radios and TV's. In appropriately sober tones they asked "Who can it be ?"

And then it’s on to another person being interviewed about the shooter:

He was a very dull boy, very taciturn. Not much of a joiner, he did not want to learn. No no. No no.

The tune again changes and we hear the voice of the shooter:

They're coming to get me, they don't want to let me Stay in the bright light too long. It's getting on noon now, it's goin’ to be soon now. But oh, what a wonderful sound!

And now the music gets sweet, with a cello in the background, as we hear the shooter recalling how he was denied the love he needed:

Mama, won't you nurse me? Rain me down the sweet milk of your kindness. Mama, it's getting worse for me. Won't you please make me warm and mindless?

Mama, yes you have cursed me. I never will forgive you for your blindness. I hate you!

And now the shooter’s reverie is over as he turns his attention back to the situation at hand:

The wires are all humming for me. And I can hear them coming for me. Soon they'll be here, but there's nothing to fear. Not any more though they've blasted the door.

Chapin then returns to the narrator who gives us the finale to the story as the shooter gets his answer:

As the copter dropped the gas he shouted "Who cares?" . They could hear him laughing as they started up the stairs. As they stormed out on the catwalk, blinking at the sun, With their final fusillade his answer had come.

The music comes to a full stop and we end the song with the last thoughts of the shooter:

Am I ? There is no way that you can hide me. Am I ? Though you have put your fire inside me. Am I ? You've given me my answer can't you see? I was! I am! and now I Will Be I WILL BE

The shooter has gotten his answer. He was, and now he will be remembered forever.

I wanted to draw attention to this classic work by Harry Chapin both because it deserves more recognition, and because it shows that mass shooting is not a new phenomenon in the 21st century. Certainly the number of incidents has escalated in the years since the U.S. Supreme Court found an individual right to firearms in the Second Amendment. And the number of incidents has escalated since the dawn of the Internet. The internet has done much to fuel extremism. Now there are more lonely, angry people who feel powerless, and there are more guns for them to use to act out their frustrations.

I think that any effective action to reduce the number of mass shootings has to address both the conditions that make people want to commit these horrible acts, and the ready availability of weapons to do it. I pray that people from both sides of the political divide can come to some agreement to do this soon. It is literally a matter of life and death.

[batmenplayingpoker]

Let’s talk about: Arrow 5.19

In which I’m forced to defend Felicity.

After a month’s hiatus, Arrow has returned. Adrian Chase has been exposed as Prometheus, but he’s escaped, and the entire episode revolves around Felicity’s acts of desperation conflicting with the higher moral ground that Oliver has decided to occupy this week.

First off, shout out to Dinah Drake, who didn’t have a whole lot to do but worked what she got.

So anyway, as I mentioned, the dramatic tension of this episode revolves around Oliver v. Felicity (or Oliver and Diggle v. Felicity) with a little bit of Diggle v. Lyla thrown in there at the end. I should say that my feelings about Felicity throughout the course of the series has been conflicted at best. When she was basically a vehicle for “witty” one-liners and double entendres, I mostly rolled my eyes and ignored her. When she was elevated to romantic lead and Supreme Goddess, I hated her. And yet for most of season 5 I’ve ping-ponged back and forth between ambivalence to maybe, sorta, almost liking her in spite of myself?

And yet throughout the series, regardless of my feelings for the character, I have loathed the paternalism levied on her, levied on every prominent female character, in fact, with perhaps the exception of Sara (I would have to go rewatch S2 to be sure). The entire conversation between Oliver and Diggle had me practically seeing red, as they bemoan Felicity’s descent into that moral gray zone that only they are supposed to enter.

The face I was making, it was kind of like this:

Consider this line of dialogue:

“We knew she was involved, and we let her get in deeper.”

The entire conversation is framed in this way, as their failure to exercise control over Felicity’s actions. To be clear: it’s perfectly fine to express concern when you think someone is making poor choices, but they did that. Both Diggle and Oliver on separate occasions expressed their concerns to Felicity, and she took note of those concerns and decided to continue on the path she was going down, because she’s a grown ass woman who can make her own mistakes. It doesn’t mean she’s justified in what she does, she can be wrong! But at the end of the day she is the one responsible for her actions.

To make matters worse, it’s clear this conversation between Oliver and Diggle is not about Diggle taking Oliver to task for failing to exercise control over a team member as the leader of Team Arrow, but for failing to exercise control over her as her ex-fiance! 

Felicity did look pretty amazing in her heist gear, I must say. It was completely inappropriate for the occasion, and I’m not sure why you need 3″ wedge heel boots and smoky eyeshadow for a caper, but whatever, she was wearing something other than those glasses and those ugly designer dresses and she looked amazing! That works for you, Felicity. You should go on capers more often. 

But back to my rant: Sometimes Felicity’s bad choices are just Felicity’s bad choices, and she should be allowed to make them and live with the consequences of making them without being immediately absolved. But the show writers have consistently shown a wariness or inability to give Felicity any kind of moral complexity. She is routinely deified as “the best of us,” “the strongest of us,” “our moral voice,” and her questionable choices are always narratively justified or nullified. Her complicity in Susan’s firing earlier in S5 was waved away with a weak “I didn’t know what Thea was going to do!” (she asked you to plant leading evidence on Susan’s computer and you didn’t know what she was going to do with it? I thought Felicity was supposed to be some sort of genius!) It makes for a character who, when you get down to brass tacks, is pretty boring, who isn’t allowed anything by way of character growth. The scrapes and bumps she must heal from are always inflicted from the outside; her problems are never hers, she’s a victim of the mistakes of others.

For whatever reason, the writers can’t stop themselves from tripping over themselves to elevate her, even with awkward throwaway lines like the one from Diggle in this episode:

“Felicity Smoak is one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

It’s weird, the way other characters talk about her. I have some very close friends who I love with all my heart, but I don’t think I have or would ever appraise them in quite that way, surely not in a pseudo-argument with my spouse (especially since Diggle was basically saying “If even Supreme Goddess Felicity could go darksided, then oh god you, my wife, it could definitely happen to you.”) And this is far from the first time that other characters have talked about Felicity in a way that is entirely unique, that is not found in the way characters talk about any other character. It’s like an edict from on high; every now and then the Powers That Be must possess someone and use them as a mouthpiece to remind the audience that this is a good character and we love her, OK? 

This was also true about Oliver and Felicity’s relationship when it was getting off the ground and/or in full force, by the way. Diggle’s descent into the king of Olicity shippers was just weird, but even that pales in comparison to Laurel shipping Olicity on her deathbed. Why do we need everyone to love and endorse this relationship, this character? It suggests a lingering, uncomfortable insecurity in the writer’s room, a fear that they can’t adequately convey how good and right this relationship or that character is without having it explicitly reinforced by anyone and everyone. 

And let’s talk about Lyla for a second. Unpopular opinion: I hate Lyla.

I know, Digg. But hear me out. In a meta sense I have never warmed to Lyla. She was introduced as a replacement for Diggle’s S1 love interest, who we never saw or heard from again, and she eventually became Amanda Waller’s ARGUS replacement. That’s two black women that Lyla’s stepped in the shoes of, taking their place in the narrative. I’m not trying to draw anything from two data points, I’m just saying it’s enough to give me pause.

Amanda Waller was not a good person. Her decisions as the head of ARGUS weren’t even morally questionable, they were often morally wrong, yet in spite of that, Team Arrow worked with ARGUS on a number of occasions for their own ends (and, again, going back to Felicity, I can’t blame her being frustrated for being told she can’t follow the team’s general “ends justify the means” ethos because she’s been placed on a pedestal as the team’s moral beacon). In this episode Diggle expresses dismay about Lyla becoming “like” Amanda Waller, but what? Excuse me? Wasn’t she always complicit, if not outright involved in some of Waller’s questionable leadership decisions? Lyla wasn’t some powerless lackey, she was fairly high up in ARGUS even before Waller’s death. She chose to be there, she chose to act in concert with Waller, and Team Arrow often benefited from those choices. They’re all hypocrites.

This episode maybe (for me, hopefully) has sewn the seeds of the dissolution of Diggle and Lyla’s marriage. At the very least, it’s a problem that will doubtless linger. Early in the episode when Lyla takes a piece of evidence for ARGUS, the camera lingers on Dinah’s disapproving expression. This suggests to me that there is some merit that perhaps they’re going to explore Diggle and Dinah’s relationship to some extent. How do I feel about this? I don’t know. I’m happy to have Diggle do something other than act as Oliver and Felicity’s cheerleader, I’m happy for him to finally take a stance against his wife’s dubious actions, so I’m certainly interested to see where this is going. But I fear for Dinah if she devolves into Diggle’s arm candy.

The B-plot is Quentin “Hoss” Lance ignoring Rene’s boundary-setting by taking it upon himself to summon Rene’s daughter for an impromptu, surprise meeting, which ends with Rene’s renewed commitment to getting his daughter back. 

I get that this plot is supposed to be heartwarming, but Quentin bowls through Rene’s concerns due to his fresh grief over losing his daughter. To Quentin’s credit, he’s doing remarkably well for someone who’s managed to lose his two daughters THREE times, but sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is recognize that you’re not good for them, and if Rene truly feels that he isn’t good for his daughter, then it’s a good thing that she’s in a more stable environment. Let’s not forget this is a guy who runs around in a hockey mask and carries a gun; he may not be passing out drunk, but I still have some serious concerns about his ability to provide a stable environment. And for Quentin, it’s not even about Rene--not really. It’s about Quentin vicariously living through Rene, because he misses Laurel.

And finally, there were at least three references to Curtis’s “lawyer friend.” This is a strange turn of phrase to be repeated multiple times throughout the episode. Not “Curtis’s friend, who’s a lawyer,” not “a lawyer I’ve been put in touch with, thanks to Curtis,” but Curtis’s Lawyer Friend. Curtis’s Lawyer Friend. Curtis’s Lawyer Friend. Is this alluding to something (someone)? Or is is just strange dialogue? The writing on Arrow is so uneven that it’s difficult to distinguish when they’re attempting to signal something and when they’re just writing sloppy dialogue. Is “Curtis’s Lawyer Friend” supposed to ping something? I honestly can’t recall if we’ve got any relevant lawyer characters waiting in the wings; personally, I’d love for “Curtis’s Lawyer Friend” to be Damon Matthews, but again, maybe they weren’t attempting to signal a new, incoming character. Maybe Rene’s lawyer will, forevermore, simply be known as “Curtis’s Lawyer Friend.” Maybe that’s his actual name. I don’t know. ‘Til next week, which looks like a bottle episode.