#Amara;cassette

[scoobydoodean]

i’m trying to write a s15 fix it fic and i’m kinda stuck on what the ending for heaven should be. along with other smaller details i have figured out, i know jack’s not gonna be god, and neither will amara, but that means heaven can’t keep functioning as it has been, smth needs to change. i do have a few ideas, but i’m interested in what someone like you, who has a much more comprehensive knowledge of spn than i do, thinks. like how you wish the ending happened (other than dean living ofc), how you wish they handled the cosmic consequences of taking out chuck?

and ofc i won’t like steal your ideas! i’m just looking for inspiration and another perspective in order to flesh out my basic ideas

Well... to be honest, when I read fix it fics I often skip the world building aspects surrounding "new heaven structure". Honestly I'm more the kind of person to feel that part of the fun of fic is not having to do complicated world building and getting right into the character-oriented portions of the story. 😂

As far as my own wishes: I am a HUGE proponent of an open ending for Supernatural. Because Supernatural is about a battle between the concepts of Free Will and Destiny, and the final season, in particular, is about an evil author/god writing the characters lives, I feel the only narratively satisfying conclusion is one where even the irl author sets the characters free from their vision (after a certain point—obviously we want to have our fun and set the characters up for success). This is a HUGE issue with the actual series finale in my mind—that it attempts to write out the entirety of the characters lives even into eternity, entombing them in the author's vision with absolutely nothing left to the imagination when this show was MADE for a "ride off into the sunset" style ending because it's about free will. 15.20 simply was not that—it was far FAR too intrusive.

I mean to be totally honest because of its negative narrative significance, I kind of think heaven should simply implode. I think it would be very cathartic for everyone involved. The Winchester's provided (imo) an excellent landing pad for a fully canon-compliant fix-it fic where Dean once again tears apart the script. And yes—to me heaven is still someone else's script in 15.20, whether that was the authorial intent or not. Even if one isn't "Chuck won" truthing, one still has the line, "Cas helped" in 15.20—meaning that at the very least, Cas and Jack are trying to write paradise. They are trying to write The Future. (I discuss my criticisms of that here). This is also why the summary for my own WIP fix-it... looks like this:

Castiel abruptly drops the cassettes onto the kitchen table in a clatter, barely avoiding Mary’s morning coffee. “I need help understanding your son.”  Much to Castiel’s consternation, Dean… isn’t happy with the heaven Cas and Jack have designed and built for him. If that wasn’t clear enough from his preference for universe-hopping to alternate worlds over spending time in the heaven literally designed to be his personal peaceful paradise, or his in turns defiant and despondent attitude when grounded (read: when he hasn’t quite figured out how to chew through the plastic of his “cage” yet again)… it would be impossible for Cas to miss the fact that Dean will barely speak to him. Instead, he afflicts Castiel with one-track cassette tapes. 

On a symbolic level, to me, heaven in SPN represents false paradise. It represents Free Will losing to Destiny. It’s a hopeless, helpless, ultimate: “No matter what you do, you will always end up here”. Even if you succeed at defying The Man in life, you will ultimately be forced back into a heaven where someone else’s vision for your life plays out for the rest of eternity, sold as "paradise". You will always end up back in The Beautiful Room. The afterlife doesn't have to be conceptualized that way, but I think the "new" heaven in 15.20 still heavily misses the mark for me in this regard, especially given the surrounding context.

All of that said, in a more general sense, I think what you do with heaven in a fix-it fic really depends heavily on what relational/emotional themes you're exploring in the fic. For example, say I want to write a fic where Dean reflects on his life being full of responsibilities that were too big and how this deeply warped his sense of self-worth. Say though that I largely explore Dean's feelings and reflections on this through Jack, in the present, cracking under the pressure of being expected to be God. A narratively satisfying ending to that fix-it might intentionally leave the question of what exactly becomes of heaven an open question, because the catharsis in the end is that it isn't Jack's (or anyone else in TFW's) responsibility to figure that out. To have Jack say "I'm trying so hard to make everyone happy everyone wants me to make paradise and I don't know how and I'm drowning", and for Dean to say "You don't have to make paradise. You don't have to do any of this. It isn't your job." Could be a very emotionally poignant conclusion to a fic that focuses on that theme.

I wonder if taking even a further step back would also help? By which I mean: the concept of a heaven as a whole, or hell, or purgatory... they're all assumedly of Chuck's design, and while that doesn't make having four afterlife locations (including The Empty) inherently bad, it also doesn't make make for inherently good design either—practically or ethically. The angels were having trouble keeping the lights on upstairs as their numbers dwindled, Purgatory is an absolute mess (think about where Garth and Bess and their kids will end up...) The only place possibly doing okay in the end is Hell, under Rowena's rule. Death had lots of concerns about balance between the various afterlife areas and I actually think it would be hilarious to give Death... 4.0? a heart attack by just being like "Well... what if we just got rid of some of these places? What if we were trying to stay upright and balance on a seesaw instead of on a ball that can turn in any direction? Do we really need a separate afterlife for monsters? Can heaven and hell just both be in the same place and Rowena and a few other people run it?" Though the need for a new Death could also mean... a new one comes in with a new idea about how to structure the afterlife, but then you also have to ask yourself how intricately you want to detail any of this. If your primary goal is to build the most comprehensive possible fix-it fic that addresses any conceivable question a reader might have about the new reason of the world, then you might finely detail the new concept of the afterlife. On the other hand, if you're more interested in exploring an emotional theme, it might make sense to have whatever happens or doesn't happen with heaven symbolize or relate to an emotional/relational theme within in your story.

Idk that was very rambly sorry I hope it helps a little with brainstorming!

[winksasleeplesseye]

reunio (six)

SUMMARY: While Leon and Ashley are off on their own adventure amongst the vast castle, Amara, Luis, and the reluctant Ada are off on their own journey within the castle walls. A hunt and a reunion ensues. But, the chaos isn't over yet.

WORD COUNT: 7k (no edits, we die like men)

WARNINGS: some item hunting, angst, flashbacks and conversations and violence

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1999

The wallpaper was a bit dated, gaudy for sure. All of it in its 70s glory. The floral green upholstered couches and almost painful salmon pink of the accents and decor made Amara’s eyes hurt. 

Paired with the two suits currently occupying the couches. They looked just about excited as postmen at Christmas. Only here out of obligation to the young girl temporarily staying here. It’d been a tough first year, reestablishing normalcy to a girl who’d had less than a normal life proved to be far more difficult than expected. Another reason they’d called her here, beyond their allotted visits. 

The older woman, Mrs. Hoffman, was sweet but one could tell she ran her home with a tad bit of an iron fist. If it wasn’t already clear, this woman was strict to Sherry. 

Treating her as though what laid inside her could be fixed.

Stupid. Fucked up, really.

They’d become two of a kind. Amara knew what it was like to be uprooted quite often, never quite having stability to really put much stock into making friends, sure, she’d try but never quite knowing when they’d be off to the next place made it hard to keep in touch. 

Sherry had been in limbo, both Amara and Claire argued that this much moving around didn’t do much for her. 

Amara leaned against the doorframe, Sherry not yet made aware of her being there as she rummaged through a storage container of cassette tapes. Even from her sitting position on the floor, Amara could tell she’d hit a bit of a growth spurt in her absence. 

The soft melody of an older song played in the cassette player as Sherry clicked it on. The Jackson Five. 

Hmm, she was impressed that Sherry even knew them. 

The song was Got to Be There. Huh, how fitting. 

“Aren’t you a little young to be listening to such old songs?” Amara makes her presence known, the smile Sherry wore is enough to make her have one in return. 

Pushing herself off the ground, she practically jumped into her arms. “Amara!”

“Sherbear! Careful now, my ribs are still bruised from the last hug you gave me,” she jested, ruffling her hair. “How’s Hoffman treating you?” 

“Like a fucking dictator.” There’s a particular heavy emphasis on the curse word. It was definitely new to her. 

“Hey, watch that language.”

“Sorry. It’s just—“

“Yeah, I know.” 

They wanted her here to quell Sherry’s frustrations with going from place to place. One could say she was essentially in the system. Considering how this country operated, no one wanted to be there but Sherry had a strange predicament to start. The cards didn’t really line up in any of their favors. 

Unfortunately, soon enough, she’d be under the care of Derek C. Simmons. 

It was the last option the government had. Amara had fought tooth and nail with the decision but there wasn’t much leverage on her part. Couldn’t exactly go against her own deal, really. 

That man in question had something about him that made her stomach turn. He was like Irons 2.0, a general creepy vibe radiated from him that she didn’t like. He seemed the last person qualified to truly care for Sherry. 

“When am I gonna get to stay with you?” She has a puppy dog look in her eyes. “I’ve never been more bored in my life.”

“Sorry kiddo, but I still have no idea,” Amara answered honestly, shoving a hand into her pocket. She didn’t want to crush the girl’s hopes. Wait. She almost forgot. “Sheesh, Sherry, your keychain!” 

“Where from this time?”

Sherry had developed a strange knack for collecting keychains much like a mother collecting mugs from her kids in their many travel adventures. Amara thought it sweet and just about the funnest thing to pick up on her missions, the others assigned with her would make fun that she’d take the time to stop into the most touristy places just for a “silly” keychain but to see Sherry’s eyes light up as she looked over the fun designs made it worth it. 

“Italy, can’t you tell by the moped?” Amara pointed out the cartoon, an over-exaggerated man speeding away on his blue Vespa and the damn near kismet colors of brown cobblestone streets against a teal-blue skyline on it made it one of the more artistic keychains she’d picked out for the girl. 

Sherry, a little too perceptive for her own good, seems to notice Amara’s overall demeanor underneath the smile she wore. 

“I’m not staying here much longer, am I?”

“You know, in another life, I’d like to think you’d be a detective the way you pick up on so much,” Amara sighed with a sad smile, going down to eye level with the girl. 

“When?”

Her head hangs low, she can’t say it…not directly anyway, not while seeing the sadness that would spring to the girl’s eyes. 

“Next week. With Simmons.” 

Amara inevitably looked on the bright side. Having someone as “important” as Simmons as her guardian guaranteed that no perceived threats could get close to the girl. The only threat that she could think of was Wesker (only second to the very government themselves). After the mansion incident and RC, Wesker’s body had never been recovered so that formed the only logical conclusion to come to that he still walked among the living. 

“He gives me the creeps,” Sherry fiddled with a loose hem on her t-shirt, “a lot of creeps.” 

“I won’t fight you on that, kiddo. But, he’s just about the safest option for you now and you know Claire and me fought hard on that choice.” Amara explained. “There’s a quote I heard once that went a bit like this…in any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.” 

“This feels like the wrong thing.” Her voice is small. 

“It’s better than nothing, right?” Amara noted. “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to just up and leave and never see you again. You’ll always have me, we are two of a kind after all.” 

Present 

Amara wandered through the grandiose halls of the castle, in search of an item—a blue Butterfly to be specific—to aid Luis in creating a new suppressant and at the same time pondered on the notion of getting Sherry a castle keychain.

This mission had her thinking a lot about the past few years considering she had not one, but two familiar faces from Raccoon. And if Leon was any indication, they’d been…difficult to say the least. 

He was always pretty, but damn, he looked exhausted.

She never thought about her own struggles with sleep nor the other problems that arose too hard, barely breaching the surface. Just put them down as nights filled with distant voices on TV and ramen. The beauty of compartmentalization, she’d punch it down any chance she got. She rubbed her back gingerly, feeling a knot beneath her fingertips. A constant almost hunger sat in her stomach and it gnawed and bubbled like bile in her throat. 

“Definitely need a hot bath after this.” Amara scaled the wall. Silently wishing she had Ada’s grappling gun. 

Amara surveyed the room once she entered, gun at the ready, listening for any special guest that was too keen on choking her out.

Clear. 

She lowered her gun, putting it back in her holster. “Thank fucking God.” 

“Now, let’s see about a blue butterfly.” 

The collection room sat below one of the castle battlement towers so it was pretty clear how little whoever ran this place cared less about preservation, should it have ever come under attack. 

Her hands slid across the displays. The floor creaked under her weight with every cautious step. For a moment, it was as if she were at a museum, slowly gazing over different exhibits. Something about these items fascinated the curiosity deep down.

A letter stood out on the table next to an animal skull, almost too convenient if Amara had to guess. 

Her eyes skim the letter—a diary entry now that she looks closer—and it reads: 

Preparator’s Notes

The collection master is a tacky and lousy boss! He leaves all the dissections for me to do! Even if he does bother to come here, all he does is gawk at his three favorite specimens in a particular order before leaving. 

There’s nothing special about them anyway! Why only look at those three specimens when we have that prized butterfly to admire?

A good researcher would know such things. 

She now noticed the lock, images were the code to unlock it. Seriously? What was it with the damn puzzles? 

She walked around the room about three times. By the third time, her vision blacked out momentarily and a pain struck inside her ribcage. It sent her to her knees.  “Fuck sake, knock it off.” Amara almost wanted to punch herself in the chest but thought better of it. Was this what Leon and Ashley were going through too? 

The more negative part of her thoughts drifted to the smallest possibility of them failing. Small, but ever present. 

A puppet to a parasite. No control over her own body, her own thoughts. Controlled by some unknown figure. 

A particular twist in her gut made her feel like any contents in her stomach could come up. She didn’t want to stomach that for either one of them. Or herself for that matter. They didn’t survive everything thrown their way so far to give up now. 

Stand on your feet, girl. One of her trainers would say after a breathtaking blow would damn near make her keel over. Amara would wave a hand dismissively (tears threatening to spill from her eyes), thinking maybe just maybe she wasn’t cut out for it after all. But that was too easy. 

“Amara? Hanging in there?” Luis’ voice from her radio shaked her out of her thoughts.

“Define that, and I’ll let you know,” She pathetically pushed herself to her feet. “How’s it coming with the ingredients?” 

“Just need yours and we’re good. I’m all about taking it slow, but maybe hurry it up?” 

“So I've saved the best for last?” Amara wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m honored.” She turned the lock a few times, the crudely drawn images on it denoted the animal skulls she had examined. 

A satisfying click comes from it as it opens the display. A perfectly preserved blue butterfly. She weighs it between her fingertips, careful not to let it break. “This better work for all the trouble you gave me.” 

There’s a silence from the comms but she can still hear the sounds in the background on Luis’ end. “Luis, I’ve got it. On my way.” She hangs up shortly after.

Amara is more than ready to get the hell out of here but another letter catches her eye. 

Preparator’s Notes 

The collection master has yet to examine this painting. Lousy boss that he is. After my thorough examination, I’ve decided to have the painting moved to the gallery in the hall with the three-headed statue for display. 

I’m sure the castellan, or someone, will appreciate its rather unusual nature. 

“Two birds, one stone.” 

That had to be pure happenstance that the very last painting would be among the collection of the other rather stereotypical pieces that Amara expected on the walls. She racked her brain, retracing the steps it would take to get to the gallery quickly while also delivering the butterfly to Luis. 

Her watch read 7:35 pm. Amara lifted her eyes to the sky and for the first time, she noticed how dark it truly was. Almost a whole day had passed? 

Los Illuminados really had them on their toes for hours. And yet, here she was, fighting against the clock against a mind-controlling parasite to burn a painting. Shit, she needed to get her priorities straight. 

After having traversed a few of the castle walls (narrowly avoiding encounters with the black robes), she noticed Luis as he carried a wooden box. Amara could only assume those were his tools. 

Ada came up along the path not too long after her.

Amara handed Luis the butterfly, perfectly intact. Ada followed suit and handed him the ink and other items. “That should be everything.” 

Luis dug in his pocket, a small tube of sorts held between his fingertips. The Amber. An almost heady, painful reaction came over both women in its presence. Amara could see black veins as they crawled up the exposed skin of her hands. Her vision turned damn near kaleidoscopic. Her reaction is instinctive. Clawing at the fabric of her sleeve as if she felt the parasite squirming in her veins. 

The habit wasn’t wholly unfamiliar to her. As the G infection took hold of her six years ago, she remembered the spine-tingling pain and the way her nerves almost numbed to nothing. At random intervals she’d press a hand against her right arm to feel that her touch still registered against her skin. That she hadn't been overtaken by the virus. 

“Shit…the parasite must be reacting to the Amber."

"So, that's the Amber? Not exactly what I expected," Amara spoke. It was small, a mere tiny piece of what seemed to be something broken off a larger block. The parasite was minuscule within the resin of yellowish-red tree bark. Like it had been naturally occurring for quite some time. 

She had only learned a few things in her trek to get the Butterfly. The castle's history was in papers that laid haphazardly all over the various rooms of this place. They clearly had no problem with letting an outsider such as Amara learn their history. The Plagas had been here, naturally occurring within the village before the cult had come to deliver what they thought was...salvation to the villagers. Of course, then, it had no name, and the villagers searched for anything that would rid them of this "plague." 

Amara couldn't exactly blame them. How easy it was to go along with this lulled state of prosperity. 

But, it was false. A pyrrhic victory as they had given up their free will and their bodies to something truly grotesque. 

"It's coming," Ada spoke softly, a hand against her temple. 

An inhuman screech came from nearby. Amara's reaction isn't physical, so much as it is visual at the sight of...she can't even begin to describe it. Its face denoted that of a bug of sorts, gnarly claws extended out from underneath the robe it wore as it towered over all three of them. 

She never looked away, careful not to blink for fear of this disgusting thing lunging at them. Doesn't even flinch as this thing gets closer. Her first thought isn't even fighting this thing, it's going after that painting while she still had the chance. Clearly, it's after Ada and she guessed the suppressant could wait. Her second thought was catching up with Leon, now that Luis had recreated it, maybe she could tell him something good. 

With that in mind, experiencing a brief sense of deja vu, she ran toward the Grand Hall. "We'll meet up again soon!" 

"Head towards the mines!" Luis shouted back as he helped Ada away from the creature. 

The Grand Hall is just as Amara expected. Though, entirely too damn quiet for her liking. An elegant chandelier hung above her head, illuminating the hall with more than enough light. Marble statues lined the path and a plush velvet blue carpet leading to the staircase laid beneath her boots. Mud now stained the carpet and for a brief second, she felt bad that such quality was ruined by it. She would have loved to spend some more time wandering this place but she had to remind herself that she was here on a mission. 

Still, her eyes follow along the opulent archways, ones also cast in stainless marble. 

"If I were a gallery, where would I be?" Amara posed the question to herself. She pulled from her knowledge as a high school student, the history nerd inside her surely squealing at the chance to use what others deemed "useless" information. 

Castle galleries were usually nestled toward the back, better to keep their intimacy and the state of exclusivity to the ones who lived there rather than outwardly make them known. 

Plus, they offered their telling of the family's lineage and history beyond just the books. Not that Amara was particularly, fervently interested in learning about whoever ran this place now (she only learned by chance), considering the zealots followed the orders of their castellan and well, their castellan didn't like guests. 

That was another thing she'd learned. Ramon Salazar ran the show around here and didn't seem pleasant, based on what she read. 

A Spanish nobleman, descended from centuries of warriors, born to Diego and Catalina Salazar. 

She hoped she wouldn’t have to meet him, but she also wondered if Leon and Ashley had encountered him. Salazar sounded like…what was it that the servant called him? A Pulgarcito.

Fuck being impolite and imposing on his castle. Like, seriously? He threw acid on the face of one of his servants. He clearly fits right in with Los Illuminados. Catalina had allowed their influence to take hold and take hold of her son and while Amara could certainly understand the need to protect their flesh and blood, a parasite would be the last thing she'd give a child to "protect" them. Honestly, getting the chance to rid him of one painting was doing him a favor. 

The gallery is not as she expected. It's actually rather nice, at least the little shit had taste in art. Like she were one to talk, just about the only thing she ever owned art-wise was a knockoff Basquiat (before it was burned to a crisp in '98) but examining the paintings, she could still see the brushstrokes and dried paint laid upon the canvasses. The smell still hit her nose...huh, oil paint.

Most people couldn't stand the scent of paint but Amara found it quite fragrant, it made her miss her set-up at her new apartment. In the corner of her bedroom meeting the slanted windows to the floor, giving her a view of the city as she would let her paintbrush across canvases. 

She certainly would be committing the room to memory. Its vibrant apple-red carpets, marble flooring, and gold-framed displays were worthy on their own to be painted. Of course, they needed to get out of here alive first before that would happen. 

There it is. 

The painting. 

All its glory laid out before her. More of a macabre display than anything else and it all was mere inches from her fingertips.

Yet, a weird feeling wriggled up her neck. 

This is way too easy. 

Amara quickly scanned her surroundings at every angle, God forbid a spike or something dropped down on her head.

Her first steps when encountering one of the paintings on her missions were to document them. Preferably with a camera or something. Each one of the paintings needed to be documented, not only for top brass but for record purposes.

Amara’s eyes scanned the length of the frame. Shit. 

She was beginning to wish she had actually kept the mini camera from her last mission. 

How in the hell could she document this? 

As if a lightbulb shone above her head, she frantically ripped open the pouch (just short of tearing it apart) on her leg. If she couldn’t take a photo, she could damn well draw the picture, right?

Well, a more rudimentary version, at least. 

Kneeling to the ground, she places her notepad onto her thigh. A quick once over of the painting has her examining the more basic ideas of it as she began her outline.  

There wasn’t exactly the luxury of time. After a few minutes, she raises the notepad to the light. Amara turns her lips down in a judgmental manner.

Crude but good enough.

Could be better. 

Now, it was time to destroy the real thing. 

She managed to get the painting off the wall but she hadn’t accounted for the fact that maybe, just maybe, there had been a weight mechanism to deter thieves. The hall becomes shrouded in darkness, a particularly loud thud comes from the entrance she came from. 

“Shit!” She laughed humorlessly. “This is just delightful.” 

And it only seemed to get more delightful as Amara heard the heavy footsteps and shifting, grating sound of what had to be steel or iron plates. 

Just as she turned around, she only had a half second before she moved out of the way of the business end of a heavy sword. Sparks from where the sword hit the floor momentarily lit up the space. Part of her wanted to take a closer look at the knight that had just reanimated to attack her but the other part of her—and frankly, the more logical—pushed herself out of its way. 

Her stomach turned, a tightness constricting around her ribs as the knight wobbled and stumbled towards her, sword dragging against the carpet. 

Amara conferred with herself for a moment. Clearly the darkness was a trigger for it to come to life and attack so maybe light would be just the thing to stop it? It’s at this moment that she remembered she does have weapons at her disposal, namely a flash grenade she found lying around earlier.

She quickly enacts her idea–her only idea–to toss a flash grenade near it just as it raises the sword once more to swipe at her. The room is covered in the brightness white light, briefly fucking with Amara’s vision. A disconcerting little scream (screech?) sounded off from the knight and when her eyes readjust, she finds the armor in pieces on the floor and viscera around it. 

Moving closer to it, she stands over it and for some reason all that comes to mind for her to say is: “You are no knight in shining armor.” 

Amara realized how stupid it sounded only afterwards in the silence, but decided not to chastise herself. 

Some of Leon’s tendencies to quip had left an imprint on her brain.

With an eye roll, she stepped away from the armor and focused on the bars locking her in. In proper Indiana Jones fashion, she swiftly replaced the weight of the painting with a seemingly heavy chalice that had escaped its display during the knight’s melee. The bars lift from the entrance.

“Now,” she moved towards the sword, taking it in her hands, “time to actually destroy this painting.” 

Needing no preamble, Amara plunges the sword into the canvas. Dragging the sharp sword through the image with no rhyme or reason. The artist inside her cried a little at ruining of such a nice canvas but it was for the greater good. After the painting is practically shredded, Amara can faintly hear the sound of gunshots resonating within the halls. The only answer that made sense shouted in her head. Leon and Ashley. 

Dropping the sword, she propelled herself in that direction.

Amara followed the noise to find more of the castle goons were on Leon and Ashley like bees to honey. One had Leon in their clutches, choking him out while another attempted to grab at Ashley. Within moments, Amara dispatched both with efficiency. 

Both drop with unceremonius thuds but that sends Leon and Ashley’s attention towards her. She can’t help but smile.

“You know, if you needed the assist…I would’ve come sooner.” 

“Amara!” Ashley couldn’t fight a smile as she stepped over the bodies to meet them halfway. Leon sat on the ground, still recovering his breath. “Need a hand?” 

“Thanks.” Leon took hold of her outstretched hand, pulling him up to stand once again. “Where have you been? Where’s Luis?” 

She looked back towards the way she came briefly. Luis could handle Ada’s infection. Hers seemed more urgent. 

“It’s a long story, really long. He said he’d meet us in the ballroom.” 

Amara really didn’t want to divulge everything from start to finish in the time they’d been apart. Better to be given grief later by Leon. 

“What about you two? Anything interesting?”

The pair share a look. She can only imagine what that meant. She raised her eyebrows briefly before throwing her hands up in defeat, “I’m better off not knowing. Anyways, what the hell are you two doing now?” 

“Well, we’ve been trying to get a-head of the game,” Leon picks up what seems to be a golden lion statue head, his voice is deadpan, but it’s clear he’s attempting to lighten the mood.

Amara looks at Ashley, “Has he subjected you to this this whole time?” 

She chuckled a tad, “Get this. He paid me a compliment not too long ago.”

“Consider me shocked, I thought Leon the Grouch  over here had a heart of stone.” 

It doesn’t escape Amara’s notice that a corner of Leon’s mouth slightly quirked up. But just as quick as it had come, it was gone. “If you two are done, I’d like to get a move on.”

She waved a hand at him. “Oh, don’t get your holster in a twist.” 

They trailed behind Leon as he made his way back towards what seemed to be a three headed statue. Sans the one he currently held in his hands. The mechanism quietly slots into place at the final piece being attached but something about it seemed particularly off. Things couldn’t be that easy this evening. 

She doesn’t hesitate to voice that. “Well…that seemed way too easy. A bit…disconcerting actually.” 

As if right on cue, Ashley pointed and yelled out, “Leon! Amara! The stairs!” 

Both of them follow where she pointed, finding more of those stupid zealots coming after them. Everything after that happened so quick, it almost gave her whiplash.

Her heart pounded against her chest and reverberated in her ears, though she wasn’t sure if it was sheer terror or adrenaline kicking in. A healthy mix of both, probably. 

But, if there was one thing she learned in all her training, she had to do the hard things scared out of her mind.

Leon swiftly aimed his gun at them, ready to take them all on as Ashley stood closer to the pillars to give herself proper distance. 

Amara followed suit with the former. Better two guns than one. 

But just as quick, she heard a click from a switch and a familiar thud. A gilded cage surrounded both her and Leon. Leaving Ashley vulnerable. They were trapped.

“Run! Now!” Leon swiftly commanded through the bars to Ashley in a tone that Amara hadn’t heard from him before. (Though, to be fair, she’d never seen him in a mission setting until now).

They briefly shared a glance before turning their attention to the threat.

Two of their zealot friends had somehow joined them within the golden enclosure. 

She leapt out of the way of a scythe, just barely scraping at her ankles. 

Through the bars, a flaming arrow scraped against her arm. Trying not to wince, she unloaded a few rounds into the zealot with her good arm. She slid between their legs. A quick slash of a boot knife, then a disgusting spurt of red at the zealot’s ankles.

She had to be sure. 

It was a shame the higher ups couldn’t see what a pair these two were. Both worked with an efficiency and a finesse even within the barrier of the enclosure.

The zealot laid at her feet, guaranteed they would not get back up. Blood seeped onto the marble floor beneath.

There was almost a deafening silence except the lock of flames emanating from torches nearby. Amara could only breathe a sigh of relief. 

But, that didn’t stop her from being brought back to reality. Her arm. 

Damn arrows. Amara checked the sleeve of her sweater, that fiery arrow cut through it straight to her skin. Blood sat at the surface of a fresh cut and stung more than the countless other scrapes she’d acquired over the years. 

She examined the surroundings more clearly. An array of the black-robed zealots lay haphazardly around the space of the cage. 

Only she and Leon remained standing. 

Now Ashley had to fend for herself, something that Amara hated to think about. She briefly put herself in the girl’s shoes. Thinking about how scary this whole ordeal was without the necessary tools and training that the two of them had. 

She gingerly rubbed a thumb over the wound, smearing the blood onto the inside of her sweater. It’d heal. 

Just like every other wound. Part of her “experimentation” before they loosened her leash noted the G virus had granted an almost protective ability over certain types of wounds. This was one of them. 

But, with the added intruder swimming in her organs, it was almost as if this ability were halted. The pain stayed and the cut still bled. 

“You alright?” Leon asked, immediately taking gentle hold of her elbow to examine her. Amara found herself doing the same—something she’d been doing a lot since reuniting with the pair. Besides the mussed hair, dirt, and other grime, Leon looked just about as unscathed as when he’d first arrived. Except for the wound on his hand, she didn’t see it but one could ascertain from the blood on the grip of his gun.

“I’ll live. Just a scratch. Now, let me see your hand,” Amara held out her own. Leon scrunched his eyes in confusion. “What?”

“I’m no gun aficionado, but guns don’t make your hand bleed through a glove, Leon.” She gestured once more, “Now, hand please.” 

He hesitantly placed his hand in her palm. She took her time to remove his glove, the cut through it more obvious when looked at directly. Sheesh, how’d he do that? 

“Do I want to know what you did?” She asked, half joking and half serious as she met his eyes. 

He scoffed, “Will it make you feel better if I tell you?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“Ashley tried to stab me.” He stated, as if he were describing the most mundane thing like the weather or something.

“She what?” 

“It’s not what you think���something…or someone took over her,” Leon looked as though he was still trying to piece it together. “I, at least, had—ah—the sense to stop her—shit—before she took an eye out.” Leon hissed as Amara rubbed alcohol along the cuts. 

“All it cost you was some flesh.” Amara looked away briefly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there… to help.” 

“I’m a big boy, I can fight my own battles.” 

“You don’t have to fight them alone, you know? I don’t want you to,” She admitted. “Being alone, it’s not a nice feeling-” 

“Amara—“

“And you won’t ever be alone. Not when you have me. Okay?” 

Leon pulls away the second she finishes cleaning the wound, and a heavy sigh leaves him. 

“It’s not that simple,” he spoke faintly. 

“Why not?” She asked just as quietly, ready to lay it all out considering they weren’t leaving the cage anytime soon. “Why can’t it be?”

“Is this really the time for this?” Leon is cold, cutting in his tone. It’s obvious to Amara that he’s trying to deflect. The more direct, the more indirect people became, she realized. 

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen you in—what? Six years? Now is as good a time as any,” She barked, she could feel herself running hot with anger. “I guess the message has been pretty clear and I was too stupid to see it.” 

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes more than likely annoyed to even have the conversation especially right now. 

“I stayed away for a reason, Amara, and not for whatever reason you think I have.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Because you deserve normal. A normal life. Normal everything.” The frustration is clear in his voice, but his voice remains at the same level. 

“And you don’t?” 

“Has anything since Raccoon shown that I do?” Leon gestures briefly.

“Leon, I don’t know if you’re aware but…shit’s been fucked up for me too since then. Doesn’t make the both of us any less deserving of something good.” 

“I can’t take that risk. I need you to be safe.”

“From what? The world? The government? I’ve never needed protecting, Leon. I’ve needed yo—“

You. That’s what she was going to say: that after everything, she had no one to turn to. To tell about everything and that would understand and he was the one person, her person… and he wasn’t there. It devastated her in a way she couldn’t fathom. But none of that came out, because his mouth was suddenly covering hers.

Was it a way to get her to shut up or to distract her from the topic, or both? 

Amara panicked at first, muscles stiffened, standing frozen, but his hand was on her cheek, the other wrapped gently around her neck, and she was suddenly kissing him back. 

Her arms fervently wrapped around his shoulders, crushing her front against his. Her hands thread through his hair, messing up its carefully styled appearance, making it a bit more disheveled, but it wasn’t enough. 

She wanted to dishevel all of him. 

Realizing they both needed to breathe at some point, Leon pulled away first, looking down at her. The thumb on her cheek traveled to her lower lip, tracing it.

“Don’t you realize?” Leon whispered, and she watched his lips, “The reason I need to protect you so badly is because I’m in love with you?” 

Her breath hitched at those words. Amara hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear them. 

“I’ll be damned if I let myself be another part of your suffering. You don’t deserve that,” He repeated himself as if he were trying to convince himself more than her. 

“And what do I deserve?”

“Better than me.”

“I think I can decide that for myself,” she spoke. “Leon, you’re worried about the risk, but what about the guarantees?” 

“Amara-“

“Leon! Amara!” Ashley’s voice echoed from higher up. It quickly separates the two as they both search for where it came from. 

Amara cracked a smile, her first in what felt like hours, though it was brief. 

From her vantage point, the voice seems to come from a gated door at the nearest balcony. “Ashley? Are you okay?” 

“…Yeah, hang tight, I’ll get you guys out of there!” 

The sound of her boots gets farther and farther away but Amara can’t help but feel a weight lifted. 

They both nod their head in understanding despite her not being able to see it. She had to give her some credit, she’s a smart cookie. She moves towards the statue, deciding to sit down for once.

“Sit with me?” Amara asked him innocently. He couldn’t do anything but oblige. 

Were it any other place, not surrounded by corpses, he’d think it romantic to sit under a statue. Huh, maybe this is their romantic?

Her words made the gears turn in his head. When he sat next to her, she laid her head on his shoulder. Leon cherished any sort of contact she’d give him, god knows the last time he’d known a gentle touch. 

He’d spent a lot of time alone, by choice. Having anything even remotely close to a “close” relationship with anyone was a risk. It’s probably why he’d gotten such a reputation around the office according to Hunnigan. Leon never really cared for the gossip or the attention he got. 

He never really divulged anyone in his love life prior to Raccoon and after. At least, he tried to. Hunnigan certainly pestered him enough. He’d only let himself slip up once in mentioning Amara (not by name, of course). 

She certainly teased him enough about it before this mission, but it was easy to tell that she worried about him. Leon would constantly wave her off, wave her off, wave her off until she gave up. 

But now, Amara offered a new perspective. One he never thought to consider. 

He always thought about the risks of it all and became quite familiar. What if he died on his next mission or even this one? Never got to see Amara again, something he couldn’t exactly face head-on. What about the guarantees? What if he could prove himself wrong? Do this kind of work and have someone to come home to?

Leon knew it was too soon to retire now as a government agent (not that they’d let him), but he’d imagined it—well, he didn’t imagine beyond a certain point these days. Just getting to the next day with a pulse was good enough. But a part of him—deep down—had yearned for that silly white-picket-fence life when he was more idealistic, more bushy-tailed, more the bright-eyed rookie he’d left behind in Raccoon City. Buried under the remains of a forgotten city. 

He could see that now as if Amara had unlocked it from the deepest recesses of his mind. The guarantee of someone to confide in, someone happy to be with him, happy to come home with him. 

“Get out of your head,” Amara nudged him with her elbow. “Is this a bad time to ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you…seeing anyone? You know, it’s been…six years.” 

“I just kissed you and said I’m in love with you, is that not answer enough?” 

“Maybe? People kiss people all the time—“

Leon sighed. “No, I’m not. You?”

“Don’t laugh. But no.” A strange giddiness came over him at this information. But still, he found it insane that that was even the case. Her? Of all people? 

“No? I find that hard to believe.” 

“Why?” 

“Why? Look at you, any man would be insane to not kiss the ground that your feet walk on.” 

“Huh, then would that make you insane?” 

Damn. She had him there.

“That’s debatable.” Her laugh is brief, it’s nice. Leon wished he could bottle it up. 

“Fucked up circumstances aside, this is good.” 

“Yeah.” His reply is terse. 

“How have you been?” Leon stares straight ahead, genuinely thinking about the question. But something inside wants to retract, dial it back in fear of revealing too much. Vulnerability isn’t exactly his strong suit. Too much of his life had become classified information. 

Awful. Terrible. Like nothing seems right. 

“I’m alive, usually counts for something,” he quipped.

“It does, so working directly under Graham, huh? How’d you manage that?” 

“Well, they asked me and I couldn’t exactly say no.” 

Amara nodded in understanding. She knew too well but he couldn’t fault her for asking. More curiosity nagged at him for what she had been doing for six years. He knew that she’d become a top agent but not exactly how that came to be. Training, a few covert ops, and Operation Javier all came to mind for himself. 

He shuddered to think what they’d had her doing. What about the past six years was fucked up for her? 

“So, uh…what about you?” 

She looked away. “I’m sure you’ve read the file.” 

He noticed her blinking rapidly as if she were trying to clear something from her vision. 

“A file only says so much.” Leon ran a hand across her forehead, still checking that she was okay. “Jesus, you’re burning up.” 

“Damn parasite.” She cursed, leaning into his touch. “Your hands are still cold.” 

That alone made Leon become more alert, and back into focus mode. She felt unnaturally, uncomfortably warm. He abruptly stood up, carefully pulling Amara up with him so that could better assess her. Holding her face between his palms, he scanned every inch of it even as her brow furrowed in obvious confusion. 

“Everything okay?” 

“I hope so.” 

That's when he noticed a brief twitch and almost jerk, he had to catch her before she all but collapsed to the floor. He recognized it, the parasite had to be working hard to take Amara down. He hated to call it a shield, but considering the G virus, she still looked just as sorry as the rest of them but it had to be fighting just as hard to keep her at "optimal" performance. Like a machine. 

She dug a hand into his bicep, eyes scrunched close while her other hand pressed against her temple. She’d been having the visions too, seeing and hearing that hooded figure in her head. Trying to lure her in with his almost sinister, charming words. 

Leon could only wonder what he’d been filling her head with. Whatever it was, it was bullshit. 

Amara seemed as though she had come up for air, the vision had passed. “Give me a fucking break.” 

“Couldn’t agree more,” Leon sighed, turning his head in the direction of where Ashley had called out to them. He really hoped that she was alright. For now, he basked in the closeness with Amara, curling his fingers around hers briefly.

Something about it was strange…foreign almost. 

Physical touch didn’t exactly fit into his busy schedule. Which in hindsight is incredibly…sad (something that Hunnigan doesn’t fail to remind him of). 

“Leon?” Amara softly spoke.

“Hm?”

She snickers a bit to herself, “I may have fibbed a bit earlier.”

He furrows his brows, turning his attention from watching the outer perimeters of the cage to her. “About?”

“Dating someone.” 

Leon’s response is swift. “Don’t tell me anything.” 

Amara jokingly scoffed. “Seriously? Why? Think you’ll get jealous?” 

“I won’t bullshit you and say I wouldn’t���because I would, insanely.” And it’s the truth. Leon always thought honesty is the best policy but that doesn’t stop the slight heat creeping up his neck in embarrassment. 

“Well, rest assured, it’s much like the antiques in this castle. Ancient history.” 

“How thoughtful of you to tell me,” Leon deadpanned. Much like with their resident Spanish heartthrob, Leon couldn’t exactly stomach the thought of anyone else wrapped up in Amara’s arms. Besides, right now, they needed to get out of this cage.

“Now, can you focus?”

“Hey, you’re the boss here,” Amara put her hands up in surrender with a knowing smirk. 

Just then, Leon could faintly hear footsteps from above. Of course, neither he nor Amara were aware their momentary reprieve was coming to an end. 

[bbiking]

дешевый подвес за 700$ насколько реально?

намного лучше чем было раньше но ограничения попрежнему по росту и весу ездока -  вес до 75кг (лучше 60кг) основной минус - шарниры подвески которые люфтят от большого веса ездока. аморт в подвеске дешевый и диапазон регулировки не более 15%

рама 17.5″ алюминевая внутр проводка тросов и общий вес велосипеда до 17-18кг!!! колеса 29!!! покрышки 2.3!!!

аморт вилка хорошая сантур, она и улучшает работу задней подвески ))

гидр тормоза!! реплика шиманы

трансмиссия кассета 1-9!!! альтус!! и разделенные шимано шифтеры!!!

[a-walking-fandom-reference]

aspecnatural week day 2 + emmanatural week day 6: connection + love - alex, emma, and jack bond over being aroace

[ID: A scrapbook page about Supernatural characters and an aroace colors theme. The background paper is blue watercolor.

In the left corner is a blue button holding a woven aroace bracelet that is trailing down the side of the page. To the left is a sticker of a stack of 5 cassette tapes, each a different color making up the aroace flag.

In the right corner is a polaroid of Jack Kline, Emma Winchester, and Alex Jones all wearing aroace pride merch. Jack is wearing a white shirt with an aroace wave, a yellow jacket, and an aroace agender pin. Emma has a dark blue shirt with aroace flowers. Alex has a black shirt with an aroace sun and clouds, a dark orange jacket, and two aroace pins. There is writing on the polaroid. In black, Claire writes, “How did I get 3 dorky aroace siblings?” In red, Alex writes, “Rude..” In orange, Jack writes, “I think we are cool!” In pink, Emma writes, “I agree.” On the side of the polaroid, Dean writes in black, “Assholes! This was for my scrapbook!!” Emma replies, “Sorry dad.” The polaroid is taped at the top with orange and white washi tape. At the bottom corner of the photo is a cloud and moon sticker.

There is an index card with a yellow border and smiley faces at the top. On the lines, Dean writes, “Amara took them to an aspec get together in some city. Also Claire is a hypocrite because they also dressed up. And I have the photos to prove it.” In smaller writing at the bottom, “Check out the dork on the next page. (arrow pointing right)” Surrounding the card is a sun border and underneath both is a rectangle of yellow flower paper. At the top right corner of the paper is a sticker of 5 admit one tickets, each a different color making up the aroace flag. In the bottom right corner are two blue star stickers and an orange burst sticker. Then two photos showing close-ups. END ID]

scrapbooknatural 1/?: dean’s scrapbook - claire’s aroace siblings alex, emma, and jack

Merch used: Jack’s pin | Jack’s shirt | Emma’s shirt | Alex’s pin 1 | Alex’s pin 2 | Alex’s shirt | Mixtape sticker | Admit one sticker | Bracelet

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

24 Oct. Suptober: Movie Character Mischief

Halloweens came and went; prank revenge was forever.

au somewhere in the s11-12 era (no possessions or Amara): deancas

Note: There is a fake film mentioned in here that spoils a basic plot point of the real movie, Last Christmas (which I have not seen because life is so short). So heads up on that. :)

Waking up in a bed devoid of linens -- no sheets, pillowcases, blankets or mattress cover -- was the last straw. At this point, Dean declared total war.

Yes, he'd hidden Sam's toothbrush behind the toilet. And Sam had hidden Dean's favorite robe, the soft gray one, in a box that required a recitation of fives lines of Latin plus a splash of fresh sheep urine before it could be unlocked.

Yes, Dean had accidentally-in-scare-quotes dropped gum into Sam's hair, requiring an impromptu trim. And Sam had replaced the movie night DVD Dean thought was cued up; instead of the cold open pipe organ chords of the cult classic Cathedral of 10,000 Cadavers, the bunker TV started spewing Last Thanksgiving, the single stupidest film ever made about a woman causing turkey-related botulism at a family gathering while falling in love with her organ donor ghost.

(Did Dean watch it -- cough, again, cough -- anyway, because Cas vaguely indicated he wouldn't mind seeing it? Yes. It was very gratifying that Cas wound up hating it.)

And yes, yes, all right, Dean had texted a select few friends and well-wishers a recent photograph he'd taken of Sam snoring, three pieces of crispy bacon resting peacefully on his slack-jawed face. Sam had mailed every cassette tape Dean owned to Jody -- who was a dirty conspirator Dean would be dealing with separately one day, once he figured out how to do that in manner that wouldn't end up with her just straight up killing him -- and the one tape Sam did leave in Baby was Lawrence Welk and Myron Floren Present Polka Favorites, which was way more lit than it had any right to be.

How had Sam removed all of Dean's soft, clean, 600-thread or better bedclothes when Dean was sleeping on said bed? Who cares. The relevant fact was, Sam needed to be punished. The nuclear option was the only choice left. Dean spent the whole day driving from nearby little town to nearby little town, and the new purchases strewn out along his bare mattress proved the depth of his commitment.

He glanced at the clock on his bedroom wall. He, Sam, Eileen, and Cas were due at a hunters' Halloween costume party in three hours in Hastings. 

Plenty of time, then, for Dean to transform himself with pigtail wig, floppy shoes, oversized striped jumpsuit, four strategically placed wads of cotton balls, white gloves, pingpong nose, ten colors of grease paint, and one pair of yellow plastic fangs smeared with red lipstick into the most grotesque homage to Honky the Clown (of Honky the Clown Slays Again! infamy) the world had ever beheld.

Was Dean looking forward to chasing his baby brother through the bunker and wielding Honky's signature weapon, a pickaxe stained with the blood of orphans (or in this case, ketchup)? Yes, yes he was. 

Halloweens came and went; prank revenge was forever.

"Dean?" his treacherous lil snake of a bro called from the library. "Can you come out here for a sec?"

"I don't know what you did with my shit," Dean was saying, as he rounded the corner into the library. "I don't care what either, um. Wha. What?" He skidded to a halt in every way, using his one working brain cell to put a question mark on the end of the last syllable he was able to utter.

"Hey, so, Eileen needs to be picked in Riverton," Sam said, "so we'll need to skedaddle out of here maybe half an hour earlier than planned." Leaning against a pillar, he was dressed like a priest and his demeanor was Bored plus a dash of pure unmitigated evil.

Somewhere amidst Dean's fraying sanity, he took the opportunity to be petty about the lack of creativity that had gone into the priest costume. They already owned those freakin' cassocks, for pity's sake.

What Sam was wearing wasn't important. 

Dean tried to rally his strength. He looked at the other person in the room, who was just standing there in front of a bookshelf. 

Dean kept looking even as his mind unraveled further. "Cas," he finally said.

"Hello, Dean." Cas tipped his cowboy hat in his direction.

Sam coughed. 

Cas startled slightly and said, "Oh. I meant to say, Howdy, partner."

"Uh hmm," Dean said in as strangled a voice as possible.

Here was the thing. 

Dean could under extremely rare and specific circumstances -- say, during dreams or violent kidnappings (his own) -- admit, somewhere in the vicinity of out loud, that his old friend Cas was not difficult to, you know, perceive. Great arms, not that Dean had ever noticed because why would he. Cas was usually wearing at least as many layers as Dean himself was. Columbo and Constantine could have a fight to the death over Cas's wardrobe. 

Cas himself? Cas was just some guy. Shy! Nerdy. 

...Devastatingly handsome, Dean had once told someone in public. All right. Sure. Was Dean lying? No. Had Dean otherwise been the soul-- Nay, the master of discretion with regards to discussions of the physical attributes, pleasing or otherwise, of his best friend whomst he loved as, as, family, and certainly not in any other way?

Also no.

(Also no. Oh no.)

A dangerous smile was playing at the corner of Sam's mouth.

Cas shifted his weight, maybe 'cause he wasn't used to wearing cowboy boots. Nice ones, plain and sturdy, like a person'd wear to rope calves or bale hay. The blue of his long-sleeved shirt matched his eyes, made 'em seem more like a clear sky from 'neath the brim of a fine Stetson, and there were white patches on the shirt shoulders embroidered with little cacti. The shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, and around the collar Cas had chosen to wear a bolo silver medallion embossed with a bull head. 

Cowboy chic, Dean's brain dialed in for a moment to comment. 

Then there were the jeans. He'd seen Cas wear jeans before? Yes? This pair fit like Cas'd been sewn into them. Belt had a nice heavy buckle, and this...oh, this was where Dean started to stutter, silently, like a man having a stroke, because the belt -- obviously -- encircled Cas's waist. Cas had a waist. Hips. Hips. That one hip cocked just the smallest amount, to account for the way he stood.  

Eat your heart out, Urban Cowboy.

The smile Sam smiled matched his steady, lethal eyes.

KO, Dean thought. I have been murdered by my own brother. How dare.

Also, I have been standing here ogling my best friend for seven years.

"Dean?" Cas ventured, sounding, indeed, just the slightest bit shy. But his expression was open, bright, like, like…

Like he liked the way Dean was drinkin' him in like Cas was a cold canteen of water a man'd drink with the sun beating down on him and the trail hot 'n' dusty.

"Y'know, I think I might skip the party," Dean said, looking at Sam. He schooled his expression into one he hoped was not too humiliating, for all he was begging for a truce. "Feeling a little tired. Ran around all day, you know how it goes."

"Of course," Sam said, a portrait of generosity. "No problem. The gang'll miss you."

"Oh. If you're not going to the party, Dean -- Sam, do you mind if I stay home? I have no real investment in Halloween." Cas looked genuinely apologetic. "I appreciate the costume advice, though."

"Yeah, Halloween's not my favorite either." Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. 

Dean narrowed his back. Then let it go.

Sam backed down. A kinder, much more genuine smile lit up his face. "Eileen likes the holiday for dressing up. We'll say hi to everyone for you." He patted Dean on the shoulder as he wafted by in ministerial serenity. "Have a nice quiet evening on the lonesome prairie, y'all."

"Well," Dean said to Cas when Sam was out of range. "Guess I'll fix some dinner later. Maybe tacos."

"I'll help you," Cas said, because he was generous like that even though he never ate more than one or two bites.

He was generous about a lot of things. Dean tried to breathe through a wave of longing for him, well aware the feeling was neither new nor temporary.  

"Do you happen to know why someone left a big stack of linens on my bed?" Cas asked. "I think I recognize your comforter in there."

Dean sighed. "It was a strategic maneuver." 

"Oh."

"Sam's."

"Okay."

"I lost," Dean said.

"So I gathered," Cas said. He smiled after saying it, then looked thoughtful again. "What was your costume going to be?"

"Homicidal clown."

"Was that going to require a change of clothes?"

"Hey," Dean said, scandalized and elated.

"Hmm." Cas shifted his eyes to Dean mischievously, and Dean was reminded of the sheer immensity of Cas, cowboy-sized currently or not.

They looked at each other for a while longer.

Eventually, willing his voice not to break like he was twelve, Dean said, "Gonna go deal with my linens and stuff."

Cas nodded. "I can help with that too." 

They went down the hall side by side.

Dinner never was managed, but thankfully, the prairie, subsequently to be known as Dean's bedroom, proved to be anything but lonesome.

[erinceleste]

INFP buddies 👯‍♀️✨

(photo and edit by Aly)

Erin (left)

Hair: Stealthic - Reckless

Top: *Tentacio* Ethel fatpack

Shorts: TETRA - Geena ripped shorts (Cliff)

Freckles: [theSkinnery] Drunk In Love Addon & Kawaii Freckles

Aly (right)

Hair: DOUX - Kiara Hairstyle

Top: CATARSIS - POGO Corset - KHAKI

Shorts: Gaia - tiffany ruffle shorts//cream

Tattoos: Meliora - M. Apocalypse (M/F)

Necklace: MICHAN - Starlight Necklace - Silver

Earrings: (Yummy) Rigged Amara Earring Collection

Rings: (Yummy) Chaotic Energy Ring Collection

Background

Backdrop: MINIMAL - Sand Backdrop Pink

Pose: Gamma - Hang With Me Pose 2

Couch: :HAIKEI: MY SNUG APARTMENT / GACHA / 1

Divider: .:Abedul:. Divider With String Light

Flowers: Terrashop- Sunflowers in the Vase MC

Fan: :HAIKEI: MY SNUG APARTMENT / GACHA / 4

Wine: KraftWork Sienna's Clutter . Wine Bottle and Glasses

Body Cream: :HAIKEI: YOUR BLOOM PART2 / 5

Heels: :HAIKEI: SWEET TIME / 8-green & :HAIKEI: LOOK TO THE SKY / 8 1

Lingerie: :HAIKEI: SWEET TIME / 1-pink

Cassette Player: Sari-Sari - Mini Cassette Player (Classic)

Makeup: Lyrium. Get Glam - Make - Up Clutter Pastels

Books: Amitie Sunflower Pile Books & dust bunny . book pile

[notfunnydean]

This is for @spnhiatuscreations

-> week 10: Ways to say ‘I love you’

“Dean?” Castiel asks and he seems worried for a moment. Lucifer was finally out of Castiel’s vessel… no out of his body. With Amara now gone and the sun not dying, Dean should actually be happy for once right.

He is not.

“I’m fine.” Dean says anyway, just so Castiel would stop to look at him like that. They even have a few free days now at the bunker, but Dean feels restless. His fingers are shaking all the time and he has no idea how to stop that either.

“You are lying.” Castiel says and Dean ducks his head. He wouldn’t deny it but he would also not confirm that Castiel is of course right. Castiel sighs very loudly and then he puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean kinda wishes he would touch him a few inches lower, where once the handprint was.

“Okay, I’m tired.” Dean says and this time he looks up. Castiel smiles down at him and for a short second he even strokes over Dean’s short hair. Since Dean was sure he would die and then came back, Castiel touches become more and more... sweet.

Dean craves for more, but he just can’t say it. He hates himself for it, but whenever he opens his mouth, nothing comes out but excuses.

“Then lay down, hm? Want me to watch over you?” Castiel asks and there is this soft voice again, that makes Dean shudder, each time Castiel uses it. Dean shakes his head, that would make things only harder.

“It’s okay.” He says and is already getting up, so Castiel has to step back. Dean misses his touches as soon as Castiel takes his hand away. Dean nods to himself and then walks over to the door. Maybe he could really lay down.

“And Dean?” Castiel says, just as Dean wants to leave.

“Yeah?” Dean asks back and there is a smile on Castiel’s face. It looks almost teasing and now Dean is really interested what the angel has to say. Castiel points at the stove behind him.

“When you wake up, there will be pie.” Castiel says and Dean’s whole tummy is in flames. God, he is falling so hard and there is nothing to stop him, but himself. Dean can’t help his own smile and he wishes he could go over to the angel and kiss him.

“Thank you, Cas.” Dean says, even though he wants to say three very different words. Castiel is smiling anyway, happily pleased and then he turns around to get started. Dean has no idea, if the angel knows how to cook or bake, but he would eat the pie either way.

“Anything for you.” Castiel says back, quietly, as if he doesn’t really want Dean to hear it. But Dean’s heart beats a bit faster, when he walks to his room to lay down. It feels as if Castiel’s words mean something different as well.

*

Dean feels so bad. His head is hurting like hell and while that is nothing really new, this time it’s different. Dean is sick. He has the fucking flu and he is sure that is the way he has to go. Sad ending for a hunter.

“Hey.” 

Dean turns around in his bed as good as he can and sees that Castiel is standing in his doorway. Dean would never admit it, but he actually whimpers. Castiel is currently human and can’t heal Dean, but that is not what Dean wants anyway. 

“How are you feeling?” Castiel asks and he comes over to sit on Dean’s bed. Normally Dean hates it when other people come into his room, but of course Sam and Castiel are the exceptions from that rule.

“I’m dying.” Dean says and he actually means that. He can’t really eat anything and his nose is stuffed and if the coughing doesn’t stop soon, he will for sure die from that alone. Castiel chuckles and then presses his cold fingers against Dean’s forehead.

“I’m sure you’ll live.” Castiel whispers and Dean presses more into the touch. He knows that Castiel is just looking for a fever, but he likes the touch anyway.

“Sam won’t get me more tissues.” Dean says then and points at the mountain of tissues on the other side of his bed. Castiel grins only more, while Dean pouts. His own brother will let him die here like this.

“I will get you some in a minute.” Castiel promises and Dean knows why he fell in love with him so many moons ago. Castiel is there, always. He is the most generous person Dean knows and he… he actually cares about Dean.

“Leave now. I don’t want to get you sick, too.” Dean says and he is really worried about that. He is not sure how Castiel would handle it to be sick and he isn’t sure that he wants to find out.

“No, I’m good where I am.” Castiel says and then he strokes his fingers over Dean’s cheek. Dean closes his eyes and he kinda wishes Castiel would just lean down and kiss him finally. In the end Castiel doesn’t. Dean coughs again, maybe that’s better anyway.

“How about some soup hm? I will even feed you.” Castiel says and then he is getting up again. Before Dean can protest, he actually shakes Dean’s blanket again and then tucks him in a bit more. Dean is bright red and he can’t even pin that on his fever.

“You are the best.” Dean says and somehow those words are true, but not the ones Dean was actually looking for. Castiel seems to be happy to hear that anyway and Dean is sure that he will get teased for this.

“I know.” Castiel answers and he winks so badly. God, sometimes Dean feels as if he falls in love each day a bit more. Just as he thinks that Castiel will leave, the angel presses a kiss to Dean’s burning forehead.

Dean coughs as an answer, embarrassed but Castiel winks again. Maybe… they just have to use their words.

*

“Dean?” Castiel asks when he comes into the room again. Dean is still not healthy again, but he feels a least better. Currently he is sitting at the small desk in his room and swears to throw his old recorder against the wall. 

“Hi Cas.” Dean says then, smiling carefully. He takes a deep breath and then nods for Castiel to come closer. Castiel does come closer and he looks over Dean’s shoulder, causing Dean to shiver. 

“I got something for you.” Dean says and he picks up something from where Castiel can’t see it. He understands now, that maybe Castiel is just as nervous as he is and maybe they don’t even need to say the words for now.

Maybe it’s okay, when they both know how true it is.

“For me?” Castiel says and he sounds so surprised. Dean nods, feeling a bit shitty, maybe Castiel had just thought he wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings. Carefully without hurting Castiel, he turns his desk chair around.

“Yeah of course.” Dean says with every strength he has and then holds up a small cassette. Sure that is not really much, but it’s what his Mum did when she wanted to court his dad and he still remembers how often she told him that story.

“You bought me a cassette?” Castiel asks and he sounds already so happy. Dean frowns and then shakes his head. He points at the old recorder and shrugs.

“I uhh… made it myself.” Dean says and surely Castiel has no idea how hard it is. He had to wait for the songs to come on the radio and then had to record them. Just like he did when he was sixteen.

“You made this.” Castiel says and he sits down on Dean’s bed. For a moment Dean actually thinks he is going to cry, because Castiel has his free hand in front of his mouth. Dean swallows.

“Do you… uhm wanna listen to it? Together?” Dean asks and Castiel looks up. He is already nodding, before he starts to speak.

“Yes! I would like that.” Castiel says and he holds the cassette back out. Dean takes it and when their fingers touch, they are both smiling. Dean turns around and then starts his recorder. 

The first lines of the most romantic song from Led Zeppelin Dean could find, start to play and Dean sits next to Castiel on the bed. He opens his mouth but before he can try to say something, Castiel shakes his head and puts a finger on Dean’s lips.

“I understand.” Castiel says and then he takes Dean’s hand in his and kisses him. Dean closes his eyes and he feels as if he is falling.

This time it’s okay.

Castiel is there to catch him.

[sebastianshaw]

BOLD   any   which   apply   to   your   muse   !

feel   free   to   add   to   the   list  !   REPOST;    DON’T   REBLOG.

[ COLORS ]  

red.   brown.   orange.   yellow.   green.   blue.   purple.   pink.  black.   white.   teal.   silver.   gold.  grey. lilac.   metallic. matte.  royal blue.   strawberry red.   charcoal grey.  forest green.   apple red.   violet.   navy blue.  crimson.  cream.   mint green.   bubblegum pink.  sky blue.   pale jade.  magenta.

[ ELEMENTS ]  

fire.  ice.   water.   air.   earth.  rain.   snow.   wind.   moon.   stars.   sun.   heat.  cold.   steam.   frost.   lightning.   sunlight.   moonlight.  dawn.   dusk.   twilight.   midnight.   sunrise.   sunset.   dewdrops.   time.   aether.

[ WEAPONS ]  

fists.   legs. sword.   dagger.   spear.   bow & arrow.   hammer.   shield.   poison.   guns.   axes.   throwing axes.   whips.   knives. throwing knives.   pepper sprays.   tasers.   machine guns.   slingshots.   katanas.   maces.   staves.   wands.   powers.  magical items.   magic.   rocks.   mud balls.   claws.   teeth.   stealth.   strategy.   words.

[ MATERIALS ]  

gold.   silver.   copper.   platinum.  titanium.   rose gold.   diamonds.   pearls.   rubies.   sapphires.   emeralds.   amethyst.  metal.   iron.   rust.   steel.   glass.   wood.   porcelain.   paper.   wool.   fur.   lace.   leather.   silk.   velvet.   denim.   linen.   cotton.   charcoal.   clay.   stone.   asphalt.   brick.   marble.   dust.   glitter.   blood. dirt.   mud.   smoke.  ash.   shadow.  carbonate.   rubber.   synthetics.   ribbon.

[ NATURE ]    

grass.   leaves.   trees.  bark.   roses.   daisies.   sunflowers.   tulips.   lavender petals.   seeds.   hay.   sand.  rocks.  roots.   flowers.   fungi.   ocean.   river.   frozen lake.   meadow.   valley.   forest.   desert.   tundra.   savanna.   rain forest.   caves.   underwater.   beach.   waves.   space.   clouds.  mountains.   snow.   mist.   pond.

[ ANIMALS ]    

lions. wolves.   foxes.   eagles.   owls.   falcons.   hawks.   swans.   snakes.   turtles.   ducks.   bugs.   spiders.   birds.   dove.   seagulls.   whales.   dolphins.   fish.   sharks.   horses.   cats.   dogs.   bunnies.   penguins.   praying mantises.   crows.    ravens.   mice.   lizards.   werewolves.   scorpions.   unicorns.   pegasi.   dragons.   ladybugs.   scarabs.   chickens.   magpies.

[ FOODS / DRINKS ]    

sugar. salt.   candy.   bubblegum.   wine.   champagne.   hard liquor.  vodka.   beer.   coffee.   sake.  tea.   spices.   herbs.   apple.   orange.   lemon.   cherry.   strawberry.   watermelon.   vegetables.   fruits.   meat.   fish.  pies.   desserts.   chocolate.   cream.   caramel.   berries.   nuts.  cinnamon.  burgers.   burritos.   pizza.   ambrosia.   eggs.   milk.   bird.   insects.   omelette.   cake.  honey.

[ HOBBIES ]  

music.   art.  watercolors.   gardening.   smithing.   sculpting.  painting.   sketching.  fighting.  writing.   composing.   cooking.   baking.  sewing.   training.   dancing.  acting.   singing.   martial arts.  self-defense.   war tactics.   electronics.   technology.  cameras.   video cameras.   video games.   computer.   phone.   movies.  theater.   libraries.   books. magazines.   cds.   records.   vinyls.   cassettes.   piano.   strings.   violin.   guitar.   electronic guitar.   bass guitar.   harmonica.   harp.   woodwinds.   brass.   flute.   bells.   exploring.   playing cards.   poker chips.   chess.   dice.   motorcycle riding.   eating.  sleeping.   climbing.   running.  jogging.   parkour.   studying.

[ MISC ]    

balloons.   bubbles.   cityscape.  light.   dark.   candles.   growth.  decay.   war.  peace.   money.   power.  percussion.   clocks.   photos.   mirrors.  lighters.   pets.   diary.   journal.   fairy lights.   madness.   sanity.  sadness.   realism.   happiness.   optimism.   pessimism.   loneliness.   family.   friends.  clan.   assistants.   co-workers.   enemies.  loyalty.   smoking.   drugs.   kindness.   love.   hugs.   kisses.   spring.   summer.   autumn.   winter.   farmland.  countryside.   suburban.   village.  mischief.   stability.   lies. truth.

tagged by:  stole   it   from  @lcdiablcblanc tagging: @themarchinghare @badmusesdoitwell  (Tessa, Emma, Amara, or Rogue) @untamedtempest @witchgoddesshero @tesstingyou @noworldnomad  @kimikomasuda @medusakisses

[winksasleeplesseye]

Angel of Darkness - Chapter Preview

I haven’t forgotten AoD! I do have the next chapter almost ready to post but for now I’ll provide a chapter preview with just a bit of the beginning! I’ll keep it short but the rest will be up tomorrow!

Reunio

1999

The wallpaper was a bit dated, gaudy for sure. All of it in its 70s glory. The floral green upholstered couches and almost painful salmon pink of the accents and decor made Amara’s eyes hurt.

Paired with the two suits currently occupying the couches. They looked just about excited as postmen at Christmas. Only here out of obligation to the young girl temporarily staying here. It’d been a tough first year, reestablishing normalcy to a girl who’d had less than a normal life proved to be far more difficult than expected. Another reason they’d called her here, beyond their allotted visits.

The older woman, Mrs. Hoffman, was sweet but one could tell she ran her home with a tad bit of an iron fist. If it wasn’t already clear, this woman was strict to Sherry.

Treating her as though what laid inside her could be fixed.

Stupid. Fucked up, really.

They’d become two of a kind. Amara knew what it was like to be uprooted quite often, never quite having stability to really put much stock into making friends, sure, she’d try but never quite knowing when they’d be off to the next place made it hard to keep in touch.

Sherry had been in limbo, both Amara and Claire argued that this much moving around didn’t do much for her.

Amara leaned against the doorframe, Sherry not yet made aware of her being there as she rummaged through a storage container of cassette tapes. Even from her sitting position on the floor, Amara could tell she’d hit a bit of a growth spurt in her absence.

The soft melody of an older song played in the cassette player as Sherry clicked it on. The Jackson Five.

Hmm, she was impressed that Sherry even knew them.

The song was Got to Be There. Huh, how fitting.

“Aren’t you a little young to be listening to such old songs?” Amara makes her presence known, the smile Sherry wore is enough to make her have one in return.

Pushing herself off the ground, she practically jumped into her arms. “Amara!”

“Sherbear! Careful now, my ribs are still bruised from the last hug you gave me,” she jested, ruffling her hair. “How’s Hoffman treating you?”

“Like a fucking dictator.” There’s a particular heavy emphasis on the curse word. It was definitely new to her.

“Hey, watch that language.”

“Sorry. It’s just—“

“Yeah, I know.”

They wanted her here to quell Sherry’s frustrations with going from place to place. One could say she was essentially in the system. Considering how this country operated, no one wanted to be there but Sherry had a strange predicament to start. The cards didn’t really line up in any of their favors.

Unfortunately, soon enough, she’d be under the care of Derek C. Simmons.

It was the last option the government had. Amara had fought tooth and nail with the decision but there wasn’t much leverage on her part. Couldn’t exactly go against her own deal, really.

That man in question had something about him that made her stomach turn. He was like Irons 2.0, a general creepy vibe radiated from him that she didn’t like. He seemed the last person qualified to truly care for Sherry.

“When am I gonna get to stay with you?” She has a puppy dog look in her eyes. “I’ve never been more bored in my life.”

“Sorry kiddo, but I still have no idea,” Amara answered honestly, shoving a hand into her pocket. She didn’t want to crush the girl’s hopes. Wait. She almost forgot. “Sheesh, Sherry, your keychain!”

“Where from this time?”

Sherry had developed a strange knack for collecting keychains much like a mother collecting mugs from her kids in their many travel adventures. Amara thought it sweet and just about the funnest thing to pick up on her missions, the others assigned with her would make fun that she’d take the time to stop into the most touristy places just for a “silly” keychain but to see Sherry’s eyes light up as she looked over the fun designs made it worth it.

“Italy, can’t you tell by the moped?” Amara pointed out the cartoon, an over-exaggerated man speeding away on his blue Vespa and the damn near kismet colors of brown cobblestone streets against a teal-blue skyline on it made it one of the more artistic keychains she’d picked out for the girl.

Sherry, a little too perceptive for her own good, seemed to notice Amara’s overall demeanor underneath the smile she wore.

“I’m not staying here much longer, am I?”

“You know, in another life, I’d like to think you’d be a detective the way you pick up on so much,” Amara sighed with a sad smile, going down to eye level with the girl.

“When?”

Her head hanged low, she can’t say it…not directly anyway, not while seeing the sadness that would spring to the girl’s eyes.

“Next week. With Simmons.”

Amara inevitably looked on the bright side. Having someone as “important” as Simmons as her guardian guaranteed that no perceived threats could get close to the girl. The only threat that she could think of was Wesker (only second to the very government themselves). After the mansion incident and RC, Wesker’s body had never been recovered so that formed the only logical conclusion to come to that he still walked among the living.

“He gives me the creeps,” Sherry fiddled with a loose hem on her t-shirt, “a lot of creeps.”

“I won’t fight you on that, kiddo. But, he’s just about the safest option for you now and you know Claire and me fought hard on that choice.” Amara explained. “There’s a quote I heard once that went a bit like this…in any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.”

“This feels like the wrong thing.” Her voice is small.

“It’s better than nothing, right?” Amara noted. “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to just up and leave and never see you again. You’ll always have me, we are two of a kind after all.”

[opiaismarchive]

BOLD any which apply to your muse ! ft. AMARA ZABINI feel free to add to the list !     REPOST;  DON’T REBLOG.

[ COLORS ]     red.  brown.  orange.  yellow.  green.  blue.  purple.  pink. black.  white.  teal. silver.  gold. grey.  lilac. metallic.  matte.  royal blue.  strawberry red.  charcoal grey.  forest green.  apple red.  violet.  navy blue.  crimson.  cream.  mint green.  bubblegum pink.  sky blue.  pale jade.  magenta.

[ ELEMENTS ]     fire.   ice.   water.   air.   earth.   rain.   snow.  wind.   moon.  stars.   sun.   heat.   cold.   steam.   frost.   lightning.   sunlight.   moonlight.   dawn.   dusk.   twilight.   midnight.  sunrise.  sunset.   dewdrops.   time.   aether.

[ WEAPONS ]     fists.   legs.   sword.   dagger.   spear.   bow & arrow.   hammer.   shield.   poison.  guns.   axes.   throwing axes.   whips. knives.  throwing knives.   pepper sprays.   tasers.   machine guns.   slingshots.   katanas.   maces.   staves.   wands.   powers.  magical items.   magic. rocks.   mud balls.   claws.   teeth.   stealth.   strategy.   words.

[ MATERIALS ]     gold.   silver.  copper.   platinum.   titanium.  vibranium.  rose gold.  diamonds.   pearls.  rubies.   sapphires.   emeralds.   amethyst.   metal.   iron.   rust. steel.   glass.   wood.   porcelain.   paper.  wool.   fur.   lace.   leather.  silk.   velvet.  denim.   linen.   cotton.  charcoal.   clay.   stone.   asphalt.   brick.  marble.   dust.  glitter.   blood.  dirt.    mud.   smoke.  ash.   shadow.   carbonate.   rubber.   synthetics.   ribbon.

[ NATURE ]     grass.   leaves.  trees.   bark.   roses.   daffodils.  daisies.   sunflowers.   tulips.   lavender petals.   seeds.   hay.  sand.   rocks.   roots.   flowers.   fungi.   ocean.   river.  frozen lake.  meadow.   valley.   forest.  desert.   tundra.  savanna.   rain forest.   caves.  underwater.   beach.   waves.   space.   clouds.   mountains.   snow.   mist.   pond.

[ ANIMALS ]     lions.   wolves.  foxes.   eagles.   owls.   falcons.   hawks.   swans.   snakes.   turtles.   ducks.   bugs.   spiders.   birds.  dove.   seagulls.   whales.   dolphins.   fish.   sharks.   horses.   cats.   dogs.  bunnies.   penguins.   praying mantises.   crows.    ravens.  mice.   lizards.   werewolves.   scorpions.   unicorns.   pegasi.   dragons.   ladybugs.   scarabs.   chickens.   magpies.   elephants.  goats.

[ FOODS / DRINKS ]     sugar.   salt.   candy.   bubblegum.   wine.  champagne.   hard liquor.   vodka. beer.   coffee.   sake.   tea.  spices.   herbs.   apple.   orange.   lemon.   cherry.  strawberry.   watermelon.   vegetables.   fruits.   meat.  fish.   pies.   desserts.   chocolate.   cream.   caramel.   berries.  nuts.   cinnamon.   burgers.   burritos.   pizza.   ambrosia.   eggs.   milk.   bird.   insects.   omelette.   cake.   honey.   potatoes.

[ HOBBIES ]   music. art.   watercolors.   gardening.   smithing.   sculpting.   painting.   sketching.   fighting.   writing.   composing.   cooking.   baking.  sewing.   training.   dancing.   acting.  singing.   martial arts.  self-defense.  fencing.  war tactics.   electronics.   technology.   cameras.   video cameras.   video games.   computer.   phone.   movies.  theater.   libraries.   books.  magazines.   cds.  records.   vinyls.   cassettes.   piano.  strings.   violin.   guitar.   electronic guitar.   bass guitar.   harmonica.   harp.   woodwinds.   brass.   flute.   bells.   exploring.   playing cards.  poker chips.   chess.  dice.   motorcycle riding.   eating.   sleeping.  climbing.   running.   jogging.   parkour.   studying.  driving.

[ MISC ]     balloons.   bubbles.   cityscape.   light.   dark.  candles.   growth.  decay.   war.  peace.  money.   power.   percussion.   clocks.   photos.   mirrors.   lighters.   pets.  diary.   journal.   fairy lights.   madness.   sanity.   sadness.  realism.   happiness.   optimism.   pessimism. loneliness.  family.   friends.   clan.   assistants.   co-workers.   enemies.   loyalty. smoking.   drugs.   kindness.   love.  hugs.   kisses.   spring.   summer.   autumn.   winter.   farmland.  countryside.   suburban. village.  mischief.   stability.   lies.   truth.

tagged by: @toujoursfleure

tagging:  y’all

[angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat]

I know many people have this this theory Baby is an extension of dean. It's a physical manifestation of Dean and his well being. If you want to know how dean is, pay attention to Baby. So I wanted to get your thoughts on that and maybe examples i didnt think of. So here are mine.

I should have realized something was still off when Cas mentioned the broken cassette player. I'm assuming the player was broken because there was a tape in there that couldnt get "fully ejected" and therefore the cassette player was more likely still partially open. Just like michael said he left Dean. We all know the car represents Deans state of being. And if the engine is the heart of the car, the thing that keeps the car going. I would equate the radio/dashboard/casette player, if you will, to the mind. It will work once again, but you gotta get the cassette player to "eject" the cassette. The cassette being Michael.

Also to further emphasize it.

So you know how Amara brought back Mary. Well remember when they rescue Sam from that lady from the British men of letters who kidnapped and tortured Sam. Well, Baby gets beat up badly during the fight. But they rescue Sam. Dean gets him back safe. Mary is back, Cas is alive. Everyone is back home. Dean's in a good mood and he is happy. Everyone he knows and loves is safe and he flat out says Baby has been restored to "mint condition" both she and Dean are in the best conditions they've been in a very long time.

[kazashiniwielder]

My top 3 most powerful Supernatrual scenes

So, I got the idea to write this thanks to a friendly chat on this site, but there are some super incredible scenes in Supernatural. There are a lot that come to mind when I think of different things, almost all of Yellow Feaver and Clap if you believe when I think about comedy; a list of episodes when I think of loss, and a even a few when I think of the characters being happy. But there are also some I think of when I just think of power or impact, so my top three list!

Number 3: Dean talking to Sam about closing the gates of Hell/ the angels fall

That moment where Dean is begging Sam not to finish the last trial to close the gates of Hell. Dean has learned that if Sam finishes this trial he will die. The moment Dean learns that he rushes to Sam because he can’t live without Sam. Their whole lives they have only had each other, neither even really met other hunters until they’re dad died.

Sam for his part sees this as his responsibility. Sam wants to go through with it because he can’t let people get hurt but more importantly he believes if he doesn’t finish this, he will let Dean down again. Sam genuinely believes he has let Dean down so much, the fact he chose Ruby over Dean, the fact he left Dean in Purgatory for a year because he didn’t look for him, to Sam it is all just him letting down Dean over and over again. Sam sees Dean’s relationships in that season as Dean replacing him with people he can ‘trust’ and he can’t bare to see that happen again.

And Dean realizes Sam believes he hates him, that Sam believes he truly let Dean down and isn’t important to him and he knows if he can’t make Sam understand how important he is, he is going to lose Sam for good. Sam is the most important thing in Dean’s life, someone he has killed one of his best friends he ever had over just to ensure Sam made it back safely. And Sam actually caves, understanding and Dean begs him to let it all go, an Sam does. And there's that moment of relief on their faces, they succeeded and no one is about to die.

Then shit hits the fan. Sam goes down as his body starts to fall apart and Dean is terrified. He doesn’t know what to do, and the only thing he can think of is getting them out and getting Sam to some help and as he gets Sam outside he sees all the angels falling, he knows they lost and Cas was tricked, and the worst possible outcome they imagined has just happened. Earth is about to be filled was confused and powerful angles and Sam is in his arms dying and he has no one to turn to because as Sam put it ‘all your friends are dead Dean’, except for Cas who for all Dean knows in this moment could be dead.

Number 2: Fare thee well

I really like this scene because we have two stages to start. We have Dean who is sitting with Sam and he’s realizing that he is the only person that is going to make it out. He sees Sam dying in his arms again, he hears the people in the next room dying, and he knows everyone outside is already dead and gone. Just a few minutes ago he was told he will be the only survivor and now, he understands that. At this point Dean is at his all time low. He knows there is nothing he can do and he’s about to lose everything. At the same time Metatron has finally spoken his peace to God/Chuck. Chuck tells him to read his manuscript, that he’s going to like it as he picks up the guitar and begins to sing.

So we Metatron, whose hope is rising, believing he had an impact to his ‘father’ and friend, that he believes maybe he made a difference, that Chuck is going to save them from Amara and come back to them. His hopes had building this whole time with Chuck beginning to take an interest, to stop hiding and truly show himself.

Then Chuck starts singing, and it’s not some big raging song, but a farewell balled. And as the song goes you see two very different reactions. Dean sees Sam’s pocket start to glow with an amulet that shouldn’t be there, and the boys know what that means. God, a man who they gave up all hope in, was there. And Sam is suddenly healed, and so are the people in the building. And Sam and Dean are trying to process and understand because now people aren’t dying and the amulet is telling them God is there. And they start to go outside, seeing these people who were dead or dying getting up and you can see hope building in the boys.

Meanwhile Metatron is reading the manuscript and you see the hope fall away. Now we as the watchers during the first watch didn’t know what it said, but judging from the situation, the song, and what we know about Chuck in that moment, we can figure it out. This is Chuck saying good bye. He doesn’t plan to make it through this fight, something that paralleled John on his life quest. He wasn’t planning to survive the confrontation with Azazel. So we as the viewers are seeing this stark contrast in the reactions to God’s big return. To the humans he is bringing hope, but to those who know that this is his suicide mission, it brings despair.

And then Sam and Dean see Chuck among the people. Chuck, a man who they were sure was dead because there can’t be two profits at once and we’ve already meet two more since Chuck so surly he is dead. But he’s not, he’s standing in front of them and the amulet is telling them that this guy who they knew as a drunk who wrote shitty paperback books in his underwear is God, and holy shit is he powerful because he just saved and revived and entire town like it was nothing. And he just turns to these two lost and confused boys, boys that up to this point have seen their life so small that there is no way someone like God would even notice they existed, but no God has been writing books about them for years and he just walks up to them saying they need to talk and you can just see the two boys standing there trying to understand what is going on.

1. Dean facing Lucifer and Michael

To me, this is the MOST powerful scene in Supernatural, which makes sense because it was originally supposed to be on of the last. So we have Dean, who at this point has seen everyone, his father figure, his best friend and guardian angel, give up hope. They have all made it clear that there is nothing else that can be done, the world is lost. And Dean has just lost his brothers to these crazy angel that are about to torch the world but Dean isn’t ready to take it lying down. He’s not stupid or crazy enough to believe he actually has a chance to defeat two of the most powerful beings in the world, especially at once, but it isn’t in Dean’s nature to just give up, and worst comes to worst then his brothers aren’t going to go through this alone, because he’s going to be there.

And you got Sam who is trapped inside his own body. He had taken a major gamble, giving Lucifer his body on the chance he could cage him, but Lucifer overpowered him an it didn’t work. And he’s trapped with Lucifer, who is throwing a tantrum, slightly justified but still not necessary to wipe out the world because Daddy put you in time out for a few millennia.

And you have Adam, who until not long ago had no idea any of this existed and to make matters worse he was even dead and at peace until the angels tried to use him as bait for an older brother he had known nothing about. And now, because that brother wouldn’t ‘play his part’ he’s being forced to do it for a man who believes that he is doing the right thing and has the self-righteous attitude to back it up.

So Michael and Lucifer show up on the battlefield, and Sam and Adam can only watch knowing what is about to happen but knowing there is nothing they can do about it, and these two sets of brothers do truly love each other but they have their reasons for being there and the only way out is a fight that is going to destroy half the world and two of them that are standing there. They both express regret, how they don’t want to do this, but they both feel like it is the right thing to do.

And then you just hear ‘Rock of Ages’ blare along with the Impala’s engine. The sound of that engine, especially for Sam and some of the fans has been associated with the cavalry, that everything is going to be fine and work out some how because the boys are all there and they can make it through anything. And the song that Dean played (on a cassett mind you because by this point people stopped selling cassets but I have a whole thing about how Dean represents the old way of hunting, the traditional ideas of hunters but I’m going to spare you that) demonstrates what is Dean in this moment, announcing that he has arrived and is not just going to leave. And Dean drives up to what is about to be an archangel smack down, unarmed and without any form of back up or help. He’s just a normal freaking person who both of these archangels are mildly annoyed with for his defiance and refusal to do as they wanted and he just get’s out of the car like it’s nothing. Like these two beings couldn’t just cease his existence with a snap of their fingers with that cocky grin on his face and they know he shouldn’t be there, that this is the dumbest thing either of them can fathom a lowly human doing and Dean just casually get’s out like ‘Howdy boys. Am I interrupting something?”

[seideegiapulp]

Lungo i filari, gli erpici avanzano estirpando l’erba primaverile e rivoltandola per farne concime, dissodando la terra perché trattenga l’acqua più in superficie, scavando piccoli solchi per l’irrigazione, distruggendo le radici maligne che rubano acqua alle piante. E nel frattempo i frutti ingrossano e i fiori sbocciano in lunghi grappoli sui ceppi di vigna. E con l’avanzare della stagione avanza anche la temperatura, e le foglie si fanno di un verde più scuro. Le prugne si allungano come verdi uova d’uccello, e il loro peso fa curvare i rami sui puntelli. Le piccole pere dure prendono forma, e le pesche cominciano a farsi vellutate. I fiori della vite perdono i piccoli petali, e le perline dure diventano acini verdi, e gli acini si fanno pesanti. Gli uomini che lavorano nei campi, i proprietari dei piccoli frutteti, guardano e calcolano. La stagione è florida. E gli uomini sono fieri, perché è con la loro competenza che sanno rendere florida la stagione. Con la loro competenza hanno trasformato il mondo. Il grano corto e smunto l’hanno reso grosso e fecondo. Le piccole mele aspre sono diventate grosse e dolci, e quei vecchi vitigni che crescevano tra gli alberi, e nutrivano a stento gli uccelli con i loro minuscoli acini, hanno generato un migliaio di varietà d’uva, rossa e nera, verde e rosa pallido, porpora e gialla; e ogni varietà ha il suo sapore. Gli uomini che lavorano nelle fattorie sperimentali hanno creato nuovi frutti: nettarine, noci dal guscio sottile, quaranta tipi di prugne. E non smettono di lavorare, selezionare, innestare, ruotare colture, impegnando se stessi e impegnando la terra a produrre. E per prime maturano le ciliegie. Tre centesimi al chilo. Al diavolo, come facciamo a raccoglierle a questo prezzo? Ciliegie nere e ciliegie rosse, succose e dolci, e gli uccelli si mangiano la metà di ogni ciliegia e le vespe vengono a ronzare nei buchi fatti dagli uccelli. E i noccioli cadono a terra e si seccano, con i lembi di polpa ormai nera che gli marciscono intorno. Le prugne violette si fanno tenere e dolci. Perdio, non possiamo raccoglierle, asciugarle e ramarle. Non possiamo pagare nessun tipo di paga. Allora le prugne violette tappezzano il suolo. E la buccia comincia a raggrinzirsi, e nugoli di mosche si avventano per banchettare, e la vallata si riempie del lezzo dolciastro della putrefazione. La polpa si fa scura e il raccolto avvizzisce a terra. E le pere si fanno gialle e tenere. Cinque dollari la tonnellata. Cinque dollari per quaranta cassette da venticinque chili; alberi potati, terreno irrigato, e poi tutta la trafila: raccogli le pere, mettile nelle cassette, carica i camion, consegna la frutta al conservificio…quaranta cassette per cinque dollari. Non ce la facciamo. E le pere gialle e tenere cadono dagli alberi e si spiaccicano al suolo. Le vespe succhiano la polpa tenera, e c’è odore di fermentazione e marciume. E l’uva. Non possiamo fare vino buono. La gente non può permettersi il vino buono. Allora strappa i grappoli dalle vigne, grappoli d’uva buona, d’uva cattiva, d’uva mangiata dalle api. Pressa i gambi, pressa insieme polvere e acini marci. Ma nei tini ci sono peronospora e acido formico. Carica zolfo e tannino. L’odore della fermentazione non è quello corposo del vino, è odore di decomposizione e sostanze chimiche. Al diavolo. Almeno l’alcol c’��. Si possono sbronzare. I piccoli coltivatori vedono i loro debiti montare come una marea. Curano le piante ma non vendono il raccolto, potano e innestano ma non possono raccogliere la frutta. E gli uomini di scienza hanno lavorato, si sono impegnati, ma la frutta sta marcendo al suolo, e il mosto in decomposizione nei tini sta appestando l’aria. E il sapore del vino: nessun sentore d’uva, solo zolfo, tannino e alcol. L’anno prossimo il piccolo frutteto farà parte di una grande azienda, perché i debiti avranno strozzato il proprietario. Il vigneto apparterrà alla banca. Solo i grossi proprietari possono sopravvivere, perché possiedono anche i conservifici. E quattro pere sbucciate e tagliate a metà, cotte e inscatolate, costano appena quindici centesimi. E le pere in scatola non vanno a male. Possono durare anni. La decomposizione si estende a tutta la California, e il tanfo dolciastro diventa un’enorme piaga. Uomini che sanno innestare le piante e rendere fecondi i semi non riescono a trovare un modo per far sì che chi ha fame possa mangiare ciò che produce. Uomini che hanno creato e dato al mondo nuovi frutti non riescono a creare un sistema che consenta di mangiare i loro frutti. E la rovina incombe sul paese come un’enorme piaga. Il prodotto delle radici, delle vigne e degli alberi dev’essere distrutto per tenere alto il prezzo, e questa è la cosa più triste e amara di tutte. Camionate di arance rovesciate a terra. Gente che fa chilometri di strada per prendersi la frutta buttata, ma bisogna impedirlo. Come fai a vendergli le arance a venti centesimi la dozzina se possono pigliare la macchina e andarsele a caricare gratis? E allora uomini muniti di pompe spruzzano kerosene sui mucchi di arance, e sono furiosi per quel delitto, furiosi con la gente venuta a prendersi la frutta buttata. Un milione di persone affamate, bisognose di frutta…e le pompe spruzzano kerosene su quelle montagne dorate. E la puzza di marcio riempie il paese. Si brucia caffè nelle caldaie delle navi. Si brucia mais per riscaldare, col mais il fuoco viene bene. Si buttano patate nei fiumi e si mettono guardie sugli argini per impedire alla gente affamata di ripescarle. Si scannano maiali e si seppelliscono, e la putrefazione s’infiltra nella terra. Un delitto così abietto che trascende la comprensione. Una piaga che nessun pianto potrebbe descrivere. Un fallimento che annienta ogni nostro successo. La terra è feconda, i filari sono ordinati, i tronchi sono robusti, la frutta è matura. E i bambini affetti da pellagra devono morire perché da un’arancia non si riesce a cavare profitto. E i coroner devono scrivere sui certificati “morto per denutrizione”perché il cibo deve marcire, va costretto a marcire. Gli affamati arrivano con le reticelle per ripescare le patate buttate nel fiume, ma le guardie li ricacciano indietro; arrivano con i catorci sferraglianti per raccattare le arance al macero, ma le trovano zuppe di kerosene. Allora restano immobili a guardare le patate trascinate dalla corrente, ad ascoltare gli strilli di maiali sgozzati nei fossi e ricoperti di calce viva, a guardare le montagne di arance che si sciolgono in una poltiglia putrida; e nei loro occhi cresce il furore. Nell’anima degli affamati i semi del furore sono diventati acini, e gli acini grappoli ormai pronti per la vendemmia

John Steinbeck, Furore (1939) 

[dealgemeneverwarring]

De Algemene Verwarring #56 - 20 september 2021

The fifty-sixth episode of De Algemene Verwarring was broadcast on Monday September 20 2021, and you can listen to it by clicking on the Mixcloud widget below. And if that does not work, here’s the direct link to the Mixcloud page:

https://www.mixcloud.com/MedialabKortrijk/de-algemene-verwarring-56-20-september-2021/

Pictured below is the Chicago minimal post punk band Algebra Suicide. I think I first heard the song “Seasonal Zombies” in a new wave/goth/minimal special of Dana K’s radio show Don’t Back The Front, and since then it’s been on my want list. I finally bought the song on a Dark Entries compilation called “Still Life”, which is probably a cheaper and quicker solution than trying to dig up the original tape. The song stuck to me because it sounded a lot like Belgian wave from the likes of Berntholer or Isolation Ward: female almost poetry-like chants on top of a minimal post punk soundtrack. Singer and writer Lydia Tomkiw was accompanied by her husband Don Hedeker, and this album “Still Life” is a very intriguing ride. More interesting stuff in this episode comes from two lesser known and very different Belgian post punk bands: Palais des Bauzards and De Kommeniste. I could probably write a lot about those two bands too, but I’ll keep that for later. Anyway, there’s also other music from The Stools, Midnite Snaxxx (with a Cure cover), Andy Human & The Reptoids, Liiek, Vanessa Amara, Exek, C. Worth, Lightning Bolt and a dubstep killer track from the new The Bug Album. And beneath the photo you can find the playlist for the show. Enjoy!

Playlist:

Lightning Bolt: Dracula Mountain (LP “Wonderful Rainbow” on Load Records, 2003)

Chiff Chaffs: Filthy Kicks (7” “Filthy Kicks” on Hopvil Records, 2021)

The Stools: Rockpile (7” “Feelin’ Fine” on Drunken Sailor Records, 2021)

Midnite Snaxxx: I Just Need Myself (LP “Music Inside” on Slovenly Recordings, 2019)

Andy Human & The Reptoids: Echo Pedal (LP “Psychic Sidekick” on Total Punk, 2019)

Friendly Boyfriend: Gone For A Time (7” Pick Up!” on Happiest Place Records, 2021)

Liiek: Conceit In My Head (LP “Liiek” on Adagio830, 2020, originally released on a tape in 50 copies)

De Kommeniste: De Mogren (LP “1000 Duizend Titels” on Mastik, 2020, originally released in 1980 on Mastik)

Red Lorry Yellow Lorry: Walking On Your Hands (LP Paint Your Wagon” on Red Rhino Records, 1986)

Exek: The Plot (LP “Good Thing They Ripped Up The Carpet” on Lulus Sonic Disc Club, 2021)

Palais Des Bauzards: Soylent Green (LP “In The Grassfield” on OnderStroom Records, 2015)

Algebra Suicide: Seasonal Zombies (LP “Still Life” on Dark Entries, 2019)

Martial Canterel: Other Half (LP “Austerton”, reissue on OnderStroom Records, 2014, originally released in 2007 on Xanten Records)

Vanessa Amara: Leopards 2 (digital release “Leopards” on Posh Isolation, 2020)

C. Worth: Alone, At Her Mirror (Cassette, “Dirge For Beverly Jarosz” on Kirigirisu Recordings, 2021)

People Skills: Town Of Diana (LP “Gunshots At Crestridge” On Blackest Ever Black, 2016) - solo-project van een zekere Jesse Sinclair Dewlow

The Bug: Fuck Off (2LP “Fire” on Ninja Tune”, 2021) - Kevin Martin = king of the dubstep

[dustedandsocial]

Music 2018 April: There’s too much music and it isn’t helping anyone. Please stop all music.

Rock, punk, post-punk, psych, etc. Also folk I guess?

Full-Lengths Bart De Paepe - Pagus Wasiae LP (Beyond Beyond Is Beyond) Blank Realm - Last Seen LP (Hobbies Galore) Blind Mans Band - Blind Mans Band CS [Orig. 2016] (Insula Jazz) Bridge of Flowers - Bridge of Flowers CS (Sloow Tapes) Bodies On Everest - A National Day Of Mourning CD (Third-I-Rex) Chris Cogburn, Ingebrigt Håker Flaten, Bob Hoffnar, Henry Kaiser - En Las Montañas de Excesos LP (Self Sabotage) Christian Kann - Tang® Under the Bridge... CS (Metaphysical Circuits) Chocolat Billy - Délicat déni LP (Kythibong / Les Potagers Natures) Convivial Cannibal Clan - Autosarcophagy CS (Ignorant Ear Tapes) COXNOX - COXNOX CD (Econore) Death by Delirium - Pushing up the Daisies CS (Wilhelm show me the Major Label) The Doozer ‎- Figurines LP (Feeding Tube) DLVRNC - DLVRNC (Self-Released) Faux Départ ‎- Au Pied Du Mur LP (Colilla / Doomtown) Flesh Narc - Songs of Reality CS (NULLZØNE) Great Saunites - Brown CD (Il Verso Del Cinghiale / Hypershape / Toten Schwan) Gnaw Their Tongues - Genocidal Majesty LP (Consouling Sounds) Headroom / Dire Wolves - Split CS (Pome Pome Tones) Holiday Inn - Torbido LP (Maple Death) Hospice - Hospice CS (Scavenger of Death) Itchy Bugger - Done One LP (Low Company) Jacob Yates - The Hare. The Moon. The Drone. LP (Optimo Music) Jesus Is My Son - Tout a une fin (même l'amour) CD (Cheap Satanism) King Dick - KDIII LP (King Dick) KTB - KTB II LP (Feeding Tube) Lewsberg - Lewsberg LP (Self-Released) Leverton Fox - I Am Zebra LP (Not Applicable) Litku Klemetti - Taika Tapahtuu LP (Luova) Locean - Object / Disco CS (Box) Maailmanloppu - Tuhon Koodi LP (Svart) Marc Ribot's Ceramic Dog - Yru Still Here CD (Yellowbird / Enja) Lonker See - One Eye Sees Red CD (Instant Classic) Makoto Kawabata • Richard Pinhas • Yoshida Tatsuya - Trax LP (Bam Balam) Mark Wynn - Damp Towels Stink Drama (Desert Mine) MÄSÄ - Viimesen päälle LP (Luova) Mr Sterile - Haters, Wreckers and other Friends CD (skirted) Ramble Tamble - Outlaw Overtones CS (Eiderdown) The Shna - Fairytape CS (Kitchen Leg) Sonic Death - Punks Against Mafia Vol. 1 (DTH Studios) Spost - Monkey Face LP (Self-Released) Stratocastors - Living Under The Johnny Vacances LP (Et Mon Cul C’est Du Tofu) Thee Agnes Muller - Le Bad CS (Degelite) The Submissives - Pining for a Boy CS (Egg Paper) Tommy Jay & The General - Florida Songs LP (Feeding Tube) Total Leatherette - For The Climax Of The Night LP (Mïlk) The Trendees - NIGHTMARE CITY (Self-Released) Vanta - Vanta II CS (Self-Released) Weasel Walter - Skhiizm CD (ugEXPLODE) Weeping Bong Band - Weeping Bong Band LP (Feeding Tube) Wombo - Staring At Trees CS (Sophomore Lounge) Yes Deer - Gloss LP (Abstract Tits) Ylayali - Pumpkin Patch CS / Picked Apart (Self-Released) Zëro - Ain't That Mayhem 2xLP (Ici d'Ailleurs)

Singles, EPs, Demos Basic Human - Cassette CS (Meatspin) Bodybags - Demo 2018 (Self-Released) Can Can Heads - Duo Exchange in 4´42 Minutes EP (Self-Released) Cerkkyu - Demo CS (MYDY / Overflöd / Pissed Off!) Crude - Drug Culture 12" (Farewell) Dauðyflin - Dauþiflin 7" EP (Iron Lung) Dick Whyte & Finn Johansson - What Kind Of Bird Am I 7" (Ilk Ither) Ecstasy - Ecstasy 7" EP (Digital Regress) Fatamorgana - Fatamorgana CS (Self-Released) Floating Skull - FROSTED MINOTAUR / SECULAR BUTCHER CS (Self-Released) Gen Pop - II 7" EP (Feel It) Hetze - Bedbugs (Self-Released) Jesus Is My Son - Désolé 7" (Lexi Disques) Kovaa Rasvaa - Pahan vaimon käsikirja 12" (Svart) Laurence Wasser - The Garden CS (Kitchen Leg) Life Fucker - Z - 12" (Static Age) Merlin Nova - Protect Your Flame EP (Blank Editions) Nandas - EP II (Toxic State) No Future - Demo CS (Televised Suicide) NoNoNo - Cutting Edge CD (Self-Released) Photogenic - Demo CS (Self-Released) Physique - Punk Life Is Shit 12" (Iron Lung) Primer Regimen - Ultimo Testamento 12" (Byllepest Distro) Punctï - Quartz Hour Shining Sphere (Self-Released) Pvnisher - Pvnishment Demonstration CS (Razored Raw) Rapid Tan - Golden Wonder EP (Self-Released) Sara Fuego - soundcloud demos Scarlatine - Tine EP (Self-released) Slab City - Regina Delle Streghe CS (Always Restrictions) Slant - Demo 2018 CS (Headcount / Pissed Off!) Skitklass - Kaos Och Förstörelse 4-låtars 7" EP (Hardcore Survives) Stagger - Thermobaeric Blues CS (Self-Released) Street Gurgler - Live on WRUW CS (Adamant Blasts / Pete Smokes Weed Tapes) Terebentina - O outro (Self-Released) XUX - XUX CS (Hobbies Galore) [pictured] WAMEKI - 72 Hours EP (Self-Released)

 Experimental, Avant-Garde, Free Jazz, etc

6majik9 - Ritual Zero / Monk Nun 2xCDr (chemical imbalance.) Ad`Absurdum & Strøm - Infest LP (Acoustic Desaster / Tonzonen) Adam Cadell - Bush Songs CS (Soft Abuse) Adderall Canyonly - The Limits of All Known Ice CS (Lighten Up Sounds) Aeolipile - Observational error CD (Foolproof Projects) AMK & WM Zarate - Embedded CS (Regional Bears) Amuleto - Misztériumok LP (Three꞉four) Aqueduct Ensemble - Improvisations on an Apricot LP (Last Resort) AmErIkAn TeEnAgEr - Bandcamp CS (Barreuh) Awkward Geisha & GX Jupitter-Larsen - Final Destination CS (Lurker Bias) Baldruin - Vergessene Träume LP (Ikuisuus) Bianca Scout -  __dislex-ia (Beatrice & Annie) Bella e Cadu Tenório - Vazios CS (QTV) Body Morph - The Three Mothers CS (Moon Myst Music) Brianna Kelly / Sympathy Pain - Split CS (Whited Sepulchre) Carlo Giustini - Sant'angelo CS (Purlieu Recordings) Chaos Echœs with Mats Gustafsson - Sustain LP (Utech) Chesterfield - Consuelo CD (Mikroton) Chow Mwng - Ah Alpine ! CDr (Self-Released) Church Shuttle - Natural Disaster 7'' (Soft Abuse) Columbus Duo - À Temps CD (Dead Sailor Muzic) Crazy Doberman - "Get Lost Pens Of Baldwin" Particle I & II CS (Fag Tapes) Dane Rousay - IMP-ENV 10'' (Colour8) Dead Voices on Air - Mirror Carrier CS (Format Noise) Dirk Wachtelaer, Jürgen De Blonde, Alec Ilyine, Gert De Meester - Tales From The Hellhole (Self-Released) Disposición Asoleada - Sigses Saturninos 7'' (Lexi Disques) Dwarfs of East Agouza - Rats Don’t Eat Synthesizers LP (Akuphone) Èlg - Vu Du Dôme LP (Editions Gravats) eRikm & Percussions de Strasbourg - Drum-Machines 2xLP (Percussions de Strasbourg) Fuck My WInter - Hic svnt leones CS (Jeunesse Cosmique) Jérôme Noetinger & Sec_ - La Cave Des Étendards CD (Mikroton) John Godbert - The Sealed Container CDr (Chocolate Monk) Kurt Liedwart & Petr Vrba - Punkt CD (Mikroton) kutin | kindlinger - Decomposition IV (Variations on Bulletproof Glass) 2xLP (Ventil) Lärmschutz - Divine Descent CS (No Index) Lao Dan 老丹 - 思維扭曲的行動體 Functioning Anomie CS (WV Sorcerer Productions) Les Horribles Travailleurs & Mechanical Ape - Collaborative Soundworks CS (Noir Age) Li Jianhong 李劍鴻 - 1969 CS (WV Sorcerer Productions) Louise Landes Levi - IKIRU or The Wanderer LP (Oaken Palace) Lucrecia Dalt - Anticlines LP (RVNG Intl.) Maria da Rocha - Beet Root & Other Stories CD (Shhpuma) Martín Escalante and Charlie Mumma - Escalante / Mumma CS (Sploosh) Me Donner - ÉÀ&! (Self-Released) Mei Zhiyong 梅志勇 / Ryosuke Kiyasu - 高円寺 Kōenji CS (WV Sorcerer Productions) Michael Foster / Ben Bennett / Jacob Wick - Glove Issues CD (Palliative) Mike Dilloway - Hay Bale Paws CD (Chocolate Monk) Nat Birchall - Cosmic Language LP (Jazzman) Neutrals - 0318 CS (Alien Passengers) Nick Hoffman - Salamander CS (Notice) La banane de Hakim - Q EP (Self-Released) Q'uq'umatz - Tepeu CS (WV Sorcerer Productions) Paulie Shankwank / Zawinul Cropse - Split CS (Post-Materialization) Red Brut - Red Brut LP (KRAAK) Richmond Avant Improv Collective - Communion / Il Delirio E La Mortalità Di Amore 2xCD (Arachnidiscs) Rob Michalchuk - Where Did You Learn To Fly CS / Thirty CS (Poor Little Music) Saboteuse - X CS (Crow Versus Crow) Sensual Spasmo - Lichhouse Drip Feed CS (Moon Myst Music) Simon Cummings - 間 (ma) CS (Crónica) Sparkle in Grey - The Bones of Quietness CD (Grey Sparkle) The Spiders - Bit Offset 2xCS (chemical imbalance.) STARBIRTHED - The Dweller On the Threshold CS (Flower Room) Tasos Stamou - Musique con Crète LP (Discrepant) Tatras / Oostanaula - Split CS (Park 70) Thembi Soddell - Love Songs CD (Room40) Threes And Will / Deludium Skies - Kraaipan / From The Dirt Arose The Lesser King CD (Xtelyon) Tomaga - Music for Visual Disorders LP (meakusma) Torben Snekkestad, Agusti Fernandez, Barry Guy - Louisiana Variations CD (Fundacja Słuchaj) VA - 2018 Balkan Experimental Survey - Post Industrial Culture Series (Unexplained Sounds Group) VA - New Modernism (Unexplained Sounds Group) VA - Solidarity Is Our Weapon Against All Prisons (Anarchist Black Cross Benefit) 2xCS (Totes Format) Uton - Sax On, Sax Off CS (Eiderdown) Vanessa Amara - Manos LP (Posh Isolation) Wukir Suryadi - Atas Nama Bunyi /  In The Name Of Sound 2008 EP (Self-Released) Zohastre - Pan And The Master Pipers LP (S.K Records)

Reissues, Archival

A New Personality - A New Personality 1981-84 (No Label) Cardiacs - The Seaside (Original Edition) [Orig. 1983, Remastered] (The Alphabet Business Concern) Dino J.A. Deane - For Leena 2xLP [Rec. 1991-1998] (Lullabies For Insomniacs) Expo 70 - Mother Universe Has Birthed Her Last Cosmos 2xCD [Rec. 2008-2010] (Zoharum) Goz Of Kermeur - Greatest Hits 2xLP [Rec. 1992-1996] (Jelodanti / Et Mon Cul C'est Du Tofu / Degelite) Heldon - Electronique Guerilla LP / Heldon II LP [Orig. 1974, 1975] (Bureau B) Nexda - Words & Numbers LP [Rec. 1982] (Emotional Rescue / Blowpipe / Mannnequin) Nocturnal Projections - Complete Studio Recordings LP / Inmates In Images LP [Rec. 1981-1983] (Dais) No Trend - You Deserve Your Life. LP [Rec. 1983] (Digital Regress, 2018) Norgez Bank - Samfunnets tjenera LP [Rec. 1980-1982] (Fucking North Pole) Onyx - Complete Works 1981-1983 LP (MIND Records) Peggy Lee & Dylan van der Schyff - These Are Our Shoes [Orig. 1998] (WhirrbooM!) Pellethead - The Best of a Bad Bunch LP [Rec. 1992-2017] (GNUinc) PRRRL JAM - Prrrl Jam 2xCS [Orig. 2014, Expanded] (Grog Pappy) Residents - The W⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎ B⁎⁎⁎ Album LP [Rec. 1971]͙͙ (New Ralph Too) Shatterbox - Strung Out On The Line LP [Orig. 1981] (Dig! Records) Sun Ra - God Is More Than Love Can Ever Be LP [Orig. 1979, Remastered] (Cosmic Myth) Tunnelrunners - Neath Abbey Road CD [Rec. 1980-1982] (Only Fit For The Bin) Unknown Artist - Early Sampling Puzzle, Potentially Recorded During The Late 1980′s LP (Delodio) Unovidual - Synthetic Solitude CS [Rec. 1983-1986] (Kontakt)

Electronic

AQXDM - Aegis 12'' (Bedouin) Astrid Sonne - Human Lines LP (Escho) Beat Detectives - Rhythms & Edits Volume 1 CS (Altered States) Blue Nude - Blue Nude CS (Puff Boys) burnet207 - forever CD (Jacktone) C_C - Brumas, Nieblas, Neblinas CS (Zamzam) Chloé - Recall Remixes 12'' (Lumière Noire) Curses - Pedal To The Metal And Don't Look Back 12'' (Bordello A Parigi) CVN - Kaisou CS (Altered States) Cyclist - Alabaster Thrones 12'' (100% Silk) Eomac - Reconnect LP (Eotrax) Garland - Preludes #1 LP (Lullabies For Insomniacs) House Of Kenzo - Bonfires Of Urbanity CS (Ascetic House) Hugo Jay - Tape Two LP (Coastal Haze) Hysteric - In The Moonlight 12'' (Violette Szabo) Jack Patterson - Snapping The Golden Thread CS (Archive) Kiwi - Mountains Of Dew 12'' (Disco Halal) Lauren Tosswill - My Home In The Year 12'' (Enmossed) Low Jack - Riddims du Lieu-dit LP (Editions Gravats) Mateis e. aqir - Geography of Nowhere 12'' (Jungle Gym) Mind Safari - The Dream Manipulator CS (Jacktone) Modified Man - Modifications꞉ Set 2 LP (Albert’s Favourites) Mrs Dink - The Norma Meetings EP (Run On Recordings) NN* - Cave Of The Birdbath King CS (Self-Released) Opal Beau - Open Window CS (Altered States) Overloper - Aposynthesis 12'' (Pater Noster) Piotr Połoz - Shameful Hatred CDr (Mik.Musik.!.) PSYCHOPOP - The Devil's Drums and the Angelic Electronics CS (HIT+RUN) Raquin - Ariclone CS (Janushoved) Ssaliva - WYIN 12'' (Collapsing Market) Somaticae - Planètes De Glace CS (ABRecords) VA - HU-MR96 3x12'' (MISTRESS Recordings) VA - Metallurgic 12'' (Metallurgic) VA - NOWHERE01 (Something Happening Somewhere) VA - One Instrument Volume 01 LP (One Instrument)