#finale what finale

[destielwarmsthecocklesofmyheart]

clicked on the article ONLY to see if they included spn

glad they did

i dont really agree with the Lisa and Ben part but everything else is damn right

burns me up

[lavenderleahy]

These were the top results of my last two polls. I really enjoyed reading everyone's tags and strong opinions. Many people in the tags seemed to think that people only voted for season 15 because the last two episodes were bad, so I excluded them just in case. The finale doesn't exist anyway right? 😅😅

Reblog for a bigger sample size and tell me your thoughts in the tags!!

[kindlythevoid]

Imagine, if you will, if in the battle of Camlann, Arthur hits Mordred’s blade away.

Imagine that Mordred hits Arthur somewhere else, say, in the thigh.

A piece breaks off, but Arthur has time. Merlin gets him to the Lake and they say they cannot stop it, only delay it. But he has time. Lots of time. Time to get to know Merlin again, time to legalize magic, time to spend with Guinevere. And he does. 

He gets weaker over the years: they forbid him very quickly from anything more strenuous than light training with his knights after he has a stroke during a tournament. But he gets time and they’re able to calm him when he gets restless. Him and Guinevere have children. Three: two boys and a girl. 

Melora is first, nearly nine months after Camlann. She has the eyes of her father and Morgana’s hair, but she’s all Gwen on the inside. Arthur roars after her as she shrieks through the great halls, calling after Merlin to help her slay the fearsome dragon chasing her. 

Next is Finnr, who is a spitting image of Arthur and Guinevere quietly thanks God that she gets this picture of him even after he’s gone. Gaius says he isn’t sure whether he’s more like Igraine or Gwen. Arthur beams and follows Finnr as he tugs at his arm to go visit the town because a new book is out and he wants to read it to Mildred (or Millie, as he calls her at such a young age). 

Thomas is last, as the years go on and Arthur flags in his strength and begins to come to terms with the fact that he may not have much more time left. Thomas looks exactly like Guinevere, and reminds them of brave Elyan. Arthur can’t do much, but he listens intently to all of his stories and does what’s he can to be around. Melora and Finnr whisper tales of Arthur of old, and of the gossip they’ve heard over the years on why he’s slowing down when Mother and Uncle Merlin can still keep up. 

Soon Arthur is confined to his room, much like his father before him, and he grows anxious because of this. Gwen and Merlin and Leon and Percival all assure him in their own way that he is nothing like his father and he has done all he can. They have family meals in the parents’ room now, instead of the dining hall, and despite how pale and weak their father has gotten, he is still fair and kind with his children and listens to their stories. 

One day, he summons Melora and Finnr and sits them down and explains. He tells them that Finnr may be his first son, but Melora is his firstborn, and he wants to ask her if she would like to become Queen of Camelot. She thinks about it. And pulls Finnr away and discusses with him. And approaches their father with a new proposal. When Melora comes of age, she will be Queen, and when Finnr comes of age, he will be King. And should Melora or Finnr get married, they will decide who shall stay and who shall go then, if they go at all. Arthur mulls it over, but already a smile is breaking out and he pulls them close and whispers how proud he is of them and how much he loves them. 

Later that night, Uncle Merlin calls them down to his own chambers and weaves a long tale fraught with danger and loneliness and heartache. It is the tale of Morgana Pendragon, their aunt who was killed before they were born. Melora and Finnr sneak into Thomas’s room and they each make a promise to never betray one another, to always be siblings. 

Thomas is five when Arthur is finally confined to his bed. Melora is ten and Finnr is nine. In one of his lower points, Arthur asks them quietly if he’s been a good father. They are confused: how hasn't he been? And they ask Mother and she tells the story of a very lonely prince with an angry, sad king trying his best as a father but failing nonetheless. Melora and Finnr haven’t ran to their parent’s room in years, but they do that night, and make sure that Arthur is safe and secure between the people who love him. 

Arthur knows he is dying. He’s spent the last month in bed, but this week he knows is his last and he’s been calling people in all week, thanking them quietly and spending time with his loved ones. Guinevere lies on his chest and listens to his ragged breathing, even as his arm wraps around her in an attempt to keep her next to him. The last day he calls in Merlin, alone, even though he’s always been there.

He thanks him for the time he’s given Arthur. Thanks him for saving his life, in more ways than just with magic. They reminisce about old times and Arthur can see the tears Merlin is trying so hard not to cry. And then, softly, Arthur apologizes to him. Tells him that he is sorry for his behavior in his past, sorry for the insults, sorry that he had to do it on his own for so long, sorry that he’s leaving him. And Merlin can’t help but cry, but he’s laughing, too, because of course the clot pole would find a reason to apologize when he’s the one that’s dying. And Arthur tells him that he’ll never be alone, even if Arthur is dead. He has family here. Merlin switches with Guinevere. 

But there isn’t much left to say. They’ve said it before, alone at night in their room. They’ve said it a thousand times in a million different ways over the last near eleven years. It’s more than they could have hoped for and less than they ever wanted. She reassures him that Merlin is welcome and that she’ll take care of the children and Camelot. They whisper how much they love each other when she leans her forehead against his. And they smile. 

The children are last. Thomas doesn’t understand yet, won’t until his daddy’s already moved on, but he’s content to babble stories and play with the blankets on the bed as Melora and Finnr try to be brave and not cry. Arthur tells them that he’s proud of them, that he will always be proud of them, just as he will always love them, to never doubt that. He pulls them close and hugs them as Melora cries into his shoulder. 

He may be dying, but he is content, and he hopes that they will be too, in time. 

Guinevere wakes up around midnight to hear Arthur whisper I love you into her hair before breathing his last. She cries as she hugs his body before sending for Merlin. 

[zacharyleigh316]

the ghost of you is burned in every tape I mix

Suptober Prompt: Day 9 - Vintage | the ghost of you is burned in every tape I mix | Word Count: 2.3K | Teen and Up | Read here (or below cut)

Feelings were never Dean's strong suit-much to his brother's chagrin, he's sure. But some things are just too painful, too fresh. And some things...just don't stay dead.

Me, posting in the year of our lord and savior 2022? A true surprise, I know, I mean, seriously who would’ve thunk? But alas, the cryptid (or hermit, whichever suits your fancy) emerges at long last with a little treat for Suptober 2022. I can’t do every prompt, unfortunately, because y’know ‘life’ but, if all goes accordingly, I’ll have some more to post throughout the month, opposed to my first, and only, submission last year. Anyway, I hope you enjoy ‘the ghost of you’, which, technically, shouldn’t exist since I swore to myself I’d never write anything post the latter half of s15...so you’re welcome. And I’m sorry (lol)

“Jesus, Dean, it’s like a cassette graveyard in here.” 

Sam fixed the box in his lap with a glare, the sound of plastic on plastic making Dean’s chest ache. He refused to even look over at Sam, didn’t dare turn his head in that direction, couldn’t bare to watch him sift through the collection of mix tapes, jaw clenched and knuckles white on Baby’s steering wheel. 

“Do you even listen to these anymore?” Sam asked, pulling one from the box. “I mean, this one looks like it hasn’t seen the light of day in years.” 

Dean said nothing, but swallowed harshly at the wave of emotion building up. Sam looked over, a series of emotions flickering across his face, too perceptive for his own good. 

“Dean-“

“They’re vintage.” He managed, finally, cutting off whatever Sam was about to say. 

He didn’t want to hear it.

“It’s part of my aesthetic. Can’t just ‘get rid of them’, Sammy. Who do you take me for?” He lied, chancing a look over at his brother.

Dean flashed Sam a grin; deflecting to humor was what he did best. He could tell Sam didn’t buy it, not for a second—they knew each other too well for that—but it didn’t stop Dean from putting on that thinly veiled mask anyway. 

Fake it till you make it, right? 

Sam huffed, and rolled his eyes, clearly tired of Dean’s bullshit, but too smart to dig any further. Dean reckoned Sam was right; knowing him, he was probably seconds away from clamming up at any mention of…feelings. 

Sam shifted his attention back to the box of cassettes, the movement drawing Dean’s own eyes down to the tape still in Sam’s hand, which in turn made the older Winchester’s breath catch. Feeling the hot sting of unwanted tears well up, Dean quickly looked away, and glued his focus back onto the road, an endless inky black river of asphalt that stretched on for miles, absorbing Baby’s headlights as she urged forward. Much to Dean’s chagrin, it didn’t provide any of its usual comfort—quite the opposite, in fact.

“Anyway, vintage isn’t the word I’d use, Dean.” Sam added after a while, breaking the silence. “I’m just saying, you could stand to lose some of these.”

“And I’m just saying you could mind your own damn business.” 

Sam sighed, “Dean,” and Dean rolled his eyes, hating how exasperated his name on his brother’s tongue sounded.

“Not in the mood, Sammy.” he warned, through gritted teeth. Too close.

“Do you even remember what’s on most of these?”

“I’m serious, Sam, drop it.” Dean snapped, body tensed and wired, looking for a fight. 

“What happened to the you of a few minutes ago, the version of my annoying little brother who wasn’t this nosy? Who knew when to stop poking the bear? Can I get him back?”

“I wouldn’t have to poke the bear, Dean, if you just talked to me, and answered me-“ Dean opened his mouth, “-without being a smart ass.” Sam quickly added, effectively shutting whatever smart ass remark Dean was about to make, up. 

“I haven’t even seen you listen to most of these.”

Because they’re too painful, he didn’t say.

“They’re basically clutter, at this point.”

But they’re not, they could never be, his mind screamed.

“I get it.” 

No you don’t, you can’t, Sammy, and his heart broke all over again.

“Being sentimental over the past, or whatever, but this just makes you a hoarder Dean. Sometimes it’s better to just let things go.” 

But can’t you see, that isn’t an option for me, because it’s the only thing I’ve got left of-

Dean made a sound that had Sam looking over from the passenger seat in concern, a sound neither of them knew Dean was capable of making, and Sam dropped the tape back into the box. 

“Um, okay, alright, we’ll just…I mean, I’ll just…” Sam trailed off, and swallowed thickly, placing the lid back on the box, and the box back into the glove compartment. 

“Right.” He muttered awkwardly, almost missing the broken, whispered ‘thanks’ that came from Dean. 

That alone was surprising enough for Sam to shut up for the remainder of the trip back to the bunker. 

Dean pulled the Impala up to the entrance and shifted her into park, but kept the engine running, making no move to get out. Sam furrowed his brows in worry, feeling that there was a lot unsaid between them, but undid his seatbelt and scrambled out of the car.

“Are you coming?” He asked, despite knowing fully well that Dean wasn’t. 

“Nah, you go ahead.”

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, Sammy. ‘S’all good. Just gonna go out for a drive.” 

Sam hesitated, standing just outside the passenger side door, before nodding and heading off into the bunker without another word. Dean let out the breath he was holding, and put the Impala into drive, pulling her back out, and away from the bunker entrance just as quickly as they had previously arrived. 

He didn’t drive for long, unable to stand the silence just as much as he hated the noise. He loved his brother, but it wasn’t who he really wanted beside him on the bench seat. He loved his brother, but it wasn’t the same. 

Dean stopped the car upon a nondescript field, empty aside from acres of tall grass. He figured it was as good a place as any to have a moment to himself, where he intended to let out all the pent up emotion that had been steadily brewing since Sam brought out that box full of tapes. 

Before he could stew any longer, or second guess himself, Dean leaned over and retrieved that very same box from the glove compartment. It didn’t take long for him to find the one he was looking for, the white plastic yellowed, and the sharpie faded, with age, but he knew what it said. How could he forget? He remembered the day he gave it to Castiel, after the many grueling hours he had spent painstakingly adding each song; all the things he could never find the words to say, so he put them into a mixtape instead, just as his dad had done for his mom all those years ago. How Cas tried to give it back, and how Dean had refused, picking it up off the edge of the table where the angel had placed it, oh so gently, as if giving it up was the last thing he wanted to do, and returned it with a gruff, “it’s a gift, you keep those”.

Dean’s hands shook as he put it in, and stopped, just short of pressing play. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering whatever little resolve he had left, and jabbed the button, the intro to Zepp’s Ramble On coming through Baby’s speakers. 

The second he heard Plant’s voice, the air inside the Impala suddenly became stifling, thick enough to choke on your own breath. Dean stumbled out of the driver seat, knees and palms hitting the ground as he dry heaved into the grass. Bile burned the back of throat, and tears spilled steadily from his eyes, blurring his vision. A mangled gasp wrung itself up and out his mouth as he cried, his fingers digging into the soil for purchase, and the dampness soaking into his jeans went ignored. 

No matter how hard Dean tamped down the hurt, the pain of watching the one person, your person, die in front of you, knowing this time was real, this time was it, it was always still there. It never left. Because Cas was gone, lost to the Empty, and Dean was left behind with only the ghost of a memory, and some ‘vintage’ cassette tapes.

Tapes that he hadn’t listened to, not since he made the damn things, not since it happened. Where Castiel confessed his love, something Dean didn’t even think was possible—not for them, certainly not for him—and then fucked off to wherever with Billie and the Empty because it was his true happiness or whatever.

Whose true happiness was making this big speech about how the (supposed) love of your life changed you so irrevocably, and being okay with dying without reciprocation?

“Stupid.” Dean croaked, body shaking. “You were so fucking stupid, Cas.” 

He looked skyward, face streaked with tears, and screamed up at the heavens. “Fuck you, man. Seriously, Cas, fuck you!” 

He didn’t know where Cas was, where the Empty was, or if he could even hear him.

“What about my happiness, huh? Did you really think I’d ever be happy if you-“ he swallowed, “-if you weren’t here? After everything? After…what I said in purgatory? 

“C’mon, man, you know me better than that. Probably better than anyone. Even Sam. So why-“ his voice cracked.

Dean could feel the exact moment his heart split in two, opening like a fissure, a weeping wound reopened, just as fresh as it was the day it was created. 

“Why’d you leave? Why’d you leave me, Cas I-“ he dropped his voice, and whispered the last part, like a secret spoken only to the wind. “-I need you.” 

Dean closed his eyes at the new onslaught of tears, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of shit he was feeling.

“Fuck man, I need you, so friggin much, it hurts.” 

How years ago in days of old…

When magic filled the air…

“You gotta know that right? Even if I didn’t say it? If I couldn’t say it?” He pleaded, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

'Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor…

I met a girl so fair…

“Fuck, Cas, I don’t even know if you can hear this, wherever you are, but please…come back.” He pulled his hands away, and blinked his blurry eyes back up to the sky.

Come back home, to me, he didn’t say, but it was heavily implied.

But Gollum, and the evil one…

Crept up and slipped away with her…

“I was so angry, at first. You just fucked off, just like that, man, after telling me about the deal, and then saying you love me…who does that shit? I didn’t-I didn’t get to process shit, Cas, didn’t even get to tell you…and then I blink and you’re gone.”

*I guess I keep on rambling…*

“You know I sat on that floor for hours after it happened? Wouldn’t even answer my phone. Sam kept calling and I couldn’t even be bothered to care, because I just lost you. It hurts so freaking much, Cas, you gotta know. You gotta know how I feel.”

Doodoo doodoo doodoo doodoo doodoo…

I gotta keep searching for my baby…

Dean looked around, the meadow still just as quiet and still as it had been when he first arrived. He was still just as alone as he was when he first arrived.

(Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby)…

I gotta keep-a-searchin' for my baby…

“Yup. Figures.” He muttered, wiping the tears off his face. “Don’t even know why I thought that would work.” 

(My, my, my, my, my, my, my baby)…

Yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah 

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah…

“Fuck,” he laughed, the sound both bitter and hysterical, “what am I even doing? This was stupid…I feel like crap.” 

He got up, wincing at his popping knees, and turned back to the Impala, just as Plant’s vocals started to fade. 

I can't find my bluebird…

Cas was gone, his brain supplied helpfully.

As if he didn’t already know.

I can't find my bluebird…

His bluebird was lost to the Empty forever, that much was clear.

Dean let the song finish, using the last few seconds to collect himself, fists clenched down at his sides. He couldn’t help but think how wrong Sam was; he didn’t feel any better after letting his emotions take over. Hell, he just had a chick flick moment with himself, and he still felt like ass. 

He unfurled his hands when the next song on the tape rolled over, crescent shaped marks from his nails tattooed on the skin of his palms. He welcomed the pain, reminded him he wasn’t completely numb, yet, after everything. 

A small breeze made its way through the meadow, faintly rustling the grass, and sending shivers down Dean’s spine. Thinking nothing of it, he sniffed, and reached out to pat Baby’s roof, deciding now was a good as time as any to start heading back to the bunker; it would just get colder as the night went on.

Just then the tape stopped abruptly, and Dean cursed, but just as he reached in to take it out, the radio popped and crackled to life, rapidly scanning through static. He furrowed his brows in confusion, only to stumble backwards in surprise when Baby’s lights started to flicker.

“What the-“

The flutter of wings behind him effectively cut him off, and Dean’s eyes widened, heart skipping a beat. He whipped himself around, and let out a sob of relief at the angel standing there, his angel standing there, trench coat and all. 

“Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

He didn’t even care how it was possible, not yet, not when Castiel was right there. Dean ran toward him, and wrapped Cas in the biggest embrace, starting to sob proper when Dean felt Cas hug back. And, in a complete turn of events, Dean found he was done waiting.

He pulled away, just enough to see Cas’ face, before joining their lips together. Cas made a pleased sound, and pulled Dean closer, Dean letting himself melt into Castiel like it’s where he belonged.

”I know. I heard you, Dean, I heard you.” Cas whispered breathlessly against Dean’s lips. 

“I’m home.”

[subtextnatural]

Actually they opened a small cozy diner where Dean cooks and he uses the vegetables from their garden Cas so lovingly tends to. The diner's decor is cowboy themed obviously, with classic rock playing (with some variety added by music Cas chose), and hunters often come by - mostly for the company, but also because they can always get a free meal when the money's tight. The place is open every day except on game nights, when Sam, Eileen, Claire, and according to rumors, God himself visits to have some quality family time together.

[vendettasfanfictioning]

Saw a post on here about someone talking about a post on here that the entire spn finale was actually fake because the crew popped up at the end, and that the fourth-wall-break to thank the fans was actually in-universe J2 (the actors) and not Sam and Dean (the main characters). I have no fucking clue how to compress everything I just wrote but I want y'all to know that that is the hill I am dying on. THAT is my truth.

[gaytedlasso]

Can't believe they aired a 40 minute destiel makeout scene exactly 2 years ago

[endusviolence]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[a-flickering-soul]

OTC BIRTH CONTROL APPROVED BY THE FDA

[diabloku]

What if... ☁️

Molly is there too guys....

I wish Molly will be his friend and one day they'll connect the dots about his Angel being her Anthony

[lavenderleahy]

"dean always said he wanted to go down swinging"

yeah in SEASON THREE. when he was DEPRESSED. and knew he was going to DIE and go to HELL in less than a year.

[tariah23]

The manga industry, especially JUMP, needs to hurry up and do away with weekly scheduling for mangaka. There needs to better regulations put into place for their health and safety because this is pitiful. Two weeks - monthly updates should’ve already been the standard for the manga industry at this point. These money grabbers will only continue to put the lives of these artists at stake for the sake of capitalism unless some serious changes are implemented.

[notherpuppet]

“Just because you see a smile, don’t think you know what’s going on underneath.”

[ceeejus]

break in the case

[clown-owo]

been replaying the Portal series I think this is where its heading

[pathetic-gamer]

(this is basically the gist of his voicelines, right?)