#i cannot believe cas and i have been doing this for ten years and we have never had a dual promo

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 112

Swan Song

“Swan Song”

Plot Description: with the apocalypse looming in a showdown between good and evil, Sam and Dean realize they are out of options

Can we take a moment to appreciate that there’s an episode called Swan Song a THIRD of the way through the series. I know the lore is that this was supposed to be the series finale, but like…….there’s TEN MORE SEASONS

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: would I survive writing? Or drinking beer? I think so…yeah.

Dean speaking for ever shorter older sibling calling Sam overgrown. Thank you, Dean

God…maybe I was wrong about surviving the first five minutes because I’m dying rn just watching it

Omg…I can’t with them. Sam’s trying to make Dean promise not to try to bring him back if they actually get Lucifer back in the cage in Sam’s body

How DARE they make me laugh by making Cas lie in the worst and fakest way but because Sam asked him to

Hold on, how do you drink FOUR GALLONS of demon blood and not have to pee EVEN A LITTLE immediately after. I’m asking the real questions here

Cool cool cool, now Lucifer’s got the keys to his cage. Good job, boys

No Dean, not with the tears. I can’t handle it

No. I’m sorry. You don’t get to just tell Sam that he felt out of place in his own family when it was your fault and your dad’s that he felt that way in the first place

That’s so unfair to Sam that he’s been yanked around by demons his whole life

Oh…sure. Literally rip them apart. Why not??

The Chuck interludes are so jarring. Everything is going to shit in real-time, but his prose is so peaceful.

Imagine if you could just call god on your cellphone and reach him on his landline…that would be fuckin wild

But like…WHY DO YOU have to do this??? Oh cool. *I* am asking the same questions Lucifer is. Awesome

So…my brain? Can’t turn off the part that wants to compare this to last year’s Todobros showdown. It’s um…it’s certainly something. It doesn’t totally match up nicely(/not really at all except that it’s two brothers fighting because of an overbearing yet somehow absentee father. Their sentiments get muddled)

I didn’t realize “Hey, Assbutt!” was this close to happening…RIP for now to both Michael and Castiel

Bobby, no. The colt doesn’t work on the devil…you just got yourself fucking killed

This is extremely hard to watch (Lucifer beating the shit out of Dean in Sam’s body)

Oh…this montage of all the times they shared in the impala that give Sam the strength to fight off Lucifer for even a minute. It’s just long enough to open the cage back up.

Bye, Adam. Sorry Sam and Dean left you down there for the rest of the series

Cas got his angel mojo back. Dean asking if Cas is god…there are thoughts I cannot grasp

Aw and Bobby’s back

Chuck writing about how hard it is to end a story and how fans will always bitch about loose ends. AMAZING

This would have been a very powerful and really touching but so sad series finale.

“Nothing ever really ends, does it?” Is the truest statement about this show to ever be said, and I can’t believe it’s IN the show

Mmmmmm, and now our first look at soulless Sammy

“Been On My Mind…”: I mean…Dean does go to Lisa’s at the end as he promised Sam he’d do

[keikakudori]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄

independent aizen sousuke & ichimaru gin. as told by cas and lucifer. joined together ten years and more. 

two for one deal.

[sortasirius]

“Carry On” and...Yikes.

Well clowns, looks like the clown calls were coming from inside the house this entire time.

I so desperately wish I wasn’t writing this right now.  I so wish that I could be writing something better, something joyful, something happy about this fifteen year journey with these characters.  It seems as though the show had other ideas, so in we go.

So...the dog was cool.  Also interesting that Dean was back to his breakup/grieving coping mechanisms: not making his bed, messy room, beer all over the place, Sam making breakfast, etc.

So I guess I better just start off with how...off this episode felt in regards to Dean specifically. Idk why he suddenly wanted a dog and Sam had no real interest in one, since the opposite has been true for, idk, fifteen years, but whatever, I was willing to let it go.

I thought the pie thing was a sweet scene, it was funny and nice and a good button on Dean’s pie thing.

Weird to, you know, bring up Cas and not mention his tragic ass deal and why he got got, but whatever.

I cannot physically believe that this MOTW aspect was, quite literally, so much of the plot.  Like...we figured that it was going to be an aspect, but for it to be SO MUCH?  Bruh.  I am such a fucking fool lmfao.

Again, cool to see Cas’ coat in the back.  Too bad it wasn’t addressed.

Jenny.  Bitch.  Come on.  Of ALL the villains in the FIFTEEN YEARS of Supernatural.  Jenny.  Who was in....one....episode.  Ok.

I mean that line about the high school thing was funny, I did laugh at that moment.  Fuck I love Dean Winchester.

I cannot believe I specced so much about the barn scene.  Are y’all telling me that “The Night We Met” is being claimed by......Sam and Dean.  Fuck off.

I mean, I thought Dean was going to die, and the scene actually did play out pretty similarly to how I thought.  It was probably the most powerful moment in the episode.  I am very glad that it was Dean’s choice, his choice and his peace to let go. 

“Let me look at you.  There he is.  I am so proud of you, Sam.”

I do love this, I love this because Dean is able to look at his work, the man that he raised, and tell him these things.  He was Sam’s parent, he raised Sam into the man he is today, and he should be damn proud of that.

I do love this most of scene, I really do, I love my boys, these brothers so damn much, and at least, at the very least, I have this scene of them.

Forehead touch was weird, I’m just gonna say it.

I feel like most of this episode was montages lol.  I mean I always hate sad Sam but at this point I still fully felt like we were going to get closure and we just...didn’t.

The Austin number was a cool detail, I liked that bc I picked up on it right away (since, you know, my phone is a 512 number lmao).

What a lackluster goodbye to the Bunker.  I had no clue that was going to be the last time we saw it ever.

FUCK AT LEAST I GOT MY DAMN HEAVEN BAR.

The scene with Bobby was nice, it was good to see him.  We did get our remade Heaven, that’s also nice to know.

“It ain’t just Heaven, Dean.  It’s the Heaven you deserve.”

He does deserve this.  An open Heaven, the people he loves, finally some peace, he deserves that, and I am glad that he got it.

Our second Cas mention.  Great.  Thanks guys.

I mean thanks Jim and Jensen for the microexpressions I guess lmao.

So I am supposed to believe.  That Dean.  Whose entire arc has been speaking his truth, specifically speaking his truth to Cas.  Where he has been stopped twice before this season.  Is going to just drive around in circles for forty years until Sam gets there?  Yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me, dawg.

And Sam gets married and has a kid that he names Dean, and the unspecified dark haired woman in the back of the ten minute montage is supposed to be enough for me to buy that it’s Eileen?  Bruh.

Also it’s BACK TO BACK MONTAGES???  WITH TWO VERSIONS OF CARRY ON WAYWARD SON?

Sam’s age makeup????  Hello????  AT FIRST THEY DIDN’T EVEN AGE HIM THEY JUST PUT HIM IN A WIG?????

That cover of Wayward Son did slap but was it enough?  No.

Even that bridge moment didn’t hit right because Sam didn’t cross it?  He was just suddenly there.

It just fucking sucks.  It sucks that their reunion doesn’t land right because they...didn’t do anything when they were apart.  Sam had his kid sure but Dean literally just drove around.  No mention of Cas or of Eileen.  Nothing.  So the last moment of this show I love feels tainted and hollow and just wrong.

It sucks.  I’m not going to lie.  But the worst thing about it?  Is that it doesn’t make any sense.  I have not spent two years of my life picking apart the writing rooms in Supernatural, lauding this current team for what they’ve accomplished for it to end like this.  I know many of you will regard me as a complete tinhat freak right now, but this, to me, does not feel like an episode that Andrew Dabb wrote.  Hell, it doesn’t feel like an episode of Supernatural.

None of the arcs were completed: Dean didn’t get to speak his truth to Cas, Sam never got to become the leader, the legacy hunter he was meant to.  We don’t see them with Cas or Eileen, we don’t even hear about them.

Listen, there’s a lot that...simply doesn’t add up to me.  First of all, the episode was SHORT, and most of it was montages. They had four montages AND the episode was only 38 minutes.  The series finale of the show was shorter than any other episode and had four multiple minute montages.  Okay.  Make it make sense.  Newsflash: it doesn’t, there is simply no way I can believe that there weren’t massive cuts and reworks done to this episode on an executive level.

I know there are people who will tell me that the writers are just bad and I need to accept that they gave me a shitty ending, but after all this time with this story, especially with Dabb’s arc, he just...doesn’t do shit like this.  His arcs are always complete, always tied up well, always have a button.  But this mess?  This confusing episode that left everything hanging with a cover of Wayward Son hanging in the air?  It just doesn’t add up to me.

This wasn’t the story they were telling, this hasn’t been the story they were telling all season, and I stand by that.

So, I sure do wish I could give you a better post. I wish that we had gotten something better.  I still, after everything, love this show, and will still be here in the morning.

Thanks guys.  Love y’all.

[shirophantomvox]

Leorio, Hisoka, Illumi, and Chrollo Head Canons #2

What’s up y’all! Thank you so much to the people who have given me feedback about what posts you all would like to see! This post will be about the “Adult Trio” and Leorio about how they would help their significant other with a subject in college. This one is a good suggestion! I’m going to incorporate fluff in this, as I am a sucker for fluff. I hope you all enjoy this! I most certainly do. This post is about 2687 words but don't worry, it's worth the read! These head canons came from my mind its a coincidence that some of these pictures match the thoughts. Portentous (old English) means wonderful or marvelous (in modern English) FYI: I am thinking about creating a discord server for both Voltron and Hunter x Hunter fans. I don’t know how to use the fancy perks of discord yet, so if you know how to and can help me out, send me a message! Alright, let’s get to it! Obviously these images are from Pinterest.

Discord Server for Voltron and HxH fans!

Leorio

“Mr. Leorio”, as we all know, is a sharp guy. He dresses in a suit, carries a suitcase, and wants to be a doctor. This man knows everything about academics, especially math and science. He will need to know these subjects to be a successful medical doctor.

Leorio received an A- in Calculus II and a B+ in Organic Chemistry. He was the only one that passed with flying colors while everyone else barely made it. He didn’t gloat in their faces but as soon as he got into the hallway he jumped for joy.

He was extremely happy about his progress and counted the days until graduation even though that was in 5 years. Wow! Don’t we love graduate school?!

He deserved the high grades because he spent countless nights studying missing parties, football games, and being with you just to make sure he was on the right track to graduating on time.

As we all know, Leorio wanted to pursue this career because he witnessed his best friend dying in front of him powerless to save him. The care for his friend would have been too expensive. Obtaining his degree was in honor of his friend; he’d save countless children, women, and men who’d all thank him for his hard work.

Leorio didn’t socialize much, but he did find himself hanging around a group of classmates that were a part of a co-ed fraternity that provided information on scholarship money for graduate school and job opportunities. This is where he met you. You didn’t want to be a doctor but instead wanted to be a computer scientist and decided to volunteer for this fraternity job fair.

As he rejoiced, his smile faded when he saw you walking down the hallway; tears falling from your face not caring who stared at you. He quickly walked up to you, put his arm around your back, and gave you a soft hug.

“What’s the matter,” he asks.

You were failing Calculus, a class you’ve been taking since the 12th grade but for some reason, you couldn’t pass it. Everyone else had A’s and B’s, while you had a D. D’s aren't accaetable in college; most make you retake the class.

“Don’t worry. I’ve just passed my midterm. I can help you study. You’ll pass; trust me.”

Later on that evening, he kept his promise but gave it a unique twist. He kept the lights off and lit 4 Yankee-sized candles in the room that smelled like Lavender. In the background, he had piano jazz playing on his speaker. You felt confused for a moment. You and Leorio weren’t necessarily dating but you both flirted with each other here and there. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he felt comfortable talking to you.

“Um...what’s the music for?”

“It helps me concentrate. Believe it or not, it helps my brain flow. You like it don’t you?”

“No, actually I don’t.” Truth be told you loved it but you wanted to pull his strings a little. He looked up with a confused look.

“Ok. I’ll turn it off.”

“I'm kidding! It’s great!”

Whenever he cannot solve a Calculus question, he reviews similar problems from Algebra II. He applies this knowledge to your problem.

“Perform the indicated function evaluations for f(x)=3−5x−2x^2 . I’ll solve the first part for an example: f(6+t) simply means you will exchange “x” for 6+t. It will look like f(6+t)=3-5(6+t)-2(6+t)^2=-49 . You’d distribute -5 and -2 to the numbers inside of the brackets in which they are next to.”

Wow, that was easy! Wait, not he must think you’re stupid.

“You must think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

“Of course not! It took me a while to understand it too. You’ll apply the same knowledge for the rest.”

After what seemed like 4 hours (which was 2), you finally finished your homework! It was probably wrong but at least you made it past the 1st question! As you blew out the candles and turned on your LED lights instead, you see Leorio sleeping on your couch. Something about his soft face made you smile and place your hand over your heart.

“My little doctor,” you whispered to yourself.

“Well, come give this doctor some company then. I’m freezing over here!”

The throw blanket was large enough for you both. Snuggling on the couch was a great end to a stressful day.

Chrollo

To everyone else Chrollo was “Boss” or “Boss Man” but to you, he was Chrollo. Big C was known for his love for poetry and language.

He read poetry any chance he had at lunch and even dinner. It had gotten so bad that you had to tell him for the millionth time “No books at the table!”

Given his past, he always read at least 2 hours a day or one book a week. Reading is what got him through the day.

He was staying in your dorm for the day to relax because he had taken and passed his midterms to. The young thief thought about hiding in the closet but he didn’t because he sensed that you’d be tense because of midterms.

As you walked through the door, you looked angry, so angry that you could punch a wall. He immediately rose to his feet, threw his arms straight out in front of him, and motioned for you to stop. You just stared at him blankly.

“Come here,” he said like you, on cue, melted in his arms. He was warm and the deepness of his cooing voice vibrated against your neck. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m failing this stupid Shakespeare class!”

“Really?”

“Yes and if I don’t pass this midterm I’m going to fail the class for the 3rd time. I want to drop out! Who needs this scam anyway?!”

Chrollo held you a bit longer until you were ready to sit down and get to business. You pulled out your college’s book about Shakespeare plays and how he used Old English. Chrollo was the perfect man for the job! He’s read Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet several times!

Chrollo read a few stanzas and explained them. He then had you read some on your own and explain them...still you can’t.

He notices the problem immediately. He catches you snuggling comfortably against his toned arm, nearly falling asleep.

Chrollo laid at the very corner of the couch as you lay horizontally placing your head against his chest. You were comfortable but you weren’t able to focus. He notices this and slightly demands that you go sit at the table. When it came to academics, he was serious.

For as long as he had been reading, he has an arsenal of vocabulary words ready to be of use. He created flashcards for you and had you flip them over for nearly an hour. You start to memorize the words!

But you’re not done yet.

“Say the word ‘portentous’.”

“Por-ten-trious…?”

“No. Por-ten-tas.”

“Tias…?”

He moved his chair next to you, just an inch away from your face. He cups your mouth and moves it as he speaks again. This wasn’t a hard clutch, it was soft and he wasn’t irritated but he could sense that you were becoming irritated.

“Por-ten-tas,” he said again.

Instead of letting your cheeks go, his eyes diverted to your lips. They were moist and plump, ready to be met by his.

“Your lips are gorgeous. Kisseth me quite quaint.”

Oh no. Look at the monster you’ve created.

Chrollo created a reward system. Whenever he did things right as a child, he was rewarded with money and jewels. For every word you pronounced and defined correctly, he kissed you once. For each word you got correct in a row, he’d kiss you twice.

Soon enough he had kissed you so much that you couldn’t see straight!

The kisses worked because you passed your midterm! Each kiss placed a stain in your brain that made you remember the definition and how to pronounce it.

You and Chrollo celebrated by drinking champagne and listened to him read Sonnet 23 and 57.

Hisoka

As unusual as it seems, Hisoka is gifted when it comes to Chemistry specifically. That is why you two work well together...there is some chemistry going on between you two.

His hair down and his glasses were his alter ego, it was something that made him act completely different than what you were used to.

When you all were freshmen, he would skip class, attend parties, and would be hungover almost every week but once he was called into the Dean’s office, he changed.

You slightly missed that edgy side of him, but you enjoyed having a serious beau.

Hisoka is a social butterfly and is the life of the conversation and you loved him for it but sometimes it was awkward.

While he was chatting away about Calcium (Ca) and Iron (Fe), you stood there nodding like an idiot. You had NO IDEA about what he was talking about and that is why you were going to drop your chemistry class.

“I saw an imbecile put aluminum foil in the microwave and it burst into flames. How did they not know that Microwaves are the radio waves falling under frequency around 2500 megahertz? Any metallic object detected by radio waves inside the microwave acts as a reflector of radio waves.”

You shove his arm hard. He was acting arrogant in front of his friends. You were used to this but it got on your nerves. You made mistakes, everyone does!...even those that almost burn down the entire dorm room.

You two leave the party and head to his dorm room. Once you were settled, you released a can of anger and threw it all over your boyfriend.

“Hisoka? You just humiliated me.”

“Oh? No one knows that I was talking about you, my dear.”

“Don’t ‘my dear’ me! I asked for your help and you’re ignoring me. I don’t appreciate that. I didn’t ignore you when you sprained your ankle, did I?”

“No, you didn’t, dear. I supposed I have a few hours to kill. What do you need help with?”

Hisoka’s way of studying was much different from other students. He exercises like crazy before he opens his textbook.

He listens to EDM instrumentals while on the treadmill and when he lifts weights. You weren’t standing there like a trophy, he made you lift too.

“Being healthy will help your brain flow more easily. Lift this dumbbell as heavy as you can.”

He ran a mile on the track upstairs. Sweat dripped from his face like he had been standing outside in the rain.

By the time you returned to his dorm, you were beyond tired. You laid your head on his pillow but just as you closed your eyes, he pulled you up on your feet.”

“Not on my watch,” he tutted. “It’s chemistry time.”

You were having trouble memorizing Chemical Formulas and this by far was the most difficult concept you had come across.

To make you stay awake, he turned on a bright LED light and faced it towards the table. The bright light nearly made your head fall off from the pain it reflected in your eyes.

Hisoka grabbed his book and began to write down the major chemicals on the periodic table and their charges.

“Pay attention to the following abbreviations and charges: Calcium is Ca, Chloride is Cl+2, Carbide is C+2, and Carbon Dioxide is CO+2. Read these over and I’ll test you again.”

He did just that but you still weren’t understanding. You were ready to give up.

Stupid scam. Why do I need a piece of paper to determine what I can do? You thought to yourself. Well, it’s obvious. If you can’t do the work now, what makes you think you can do it at a job? Harsh, I know.

“Let me try this,” He said. He carried you to his bedroom and gently placed you on it. He took off his shirt and removed his glasses. “Aluminum has a charge of +3 and Oxygen has -2. If there were three of me and two of my clones disappeared, how many of me are left?”

“Just you, right? One”

“Correct! Excellent.”

Wow, everything started making sense once he took his shirt off.

From then, he just inserted himself into the equation and then it started to make sense! He apologized for running his mouth earlier and promised to keep any more secrets between you two. The night ended with you sleeping in his bed wrapped in a cotton blanket just cuddling and that was it. And bam! You slept as sound.

Illumi

Dating the “hot” quiet history buff was a flex of its own. Sure Illumi didn’t talk to anyone besides you, but it didn’t matter. People swooned if he looked in their direction.

History was a popular major during your era. People were not like their grandparents; they wanted to learn about other cultures besides their own. Illumi’s specialty was in world history and civilizations. The class was very interesting to you but there was so much information, you could barely process it.

Illumi often wrote his essays in one day proofread and all! He often charged people to look their essays over.

One time he made $500 in one year!

Glancing at your transcripts, he notices that you have a C- and offers to help.

“Why are you looking through my stuff?”

Hey, he’s your boyfriend! But still, he should ask.

“Sorry. It was up on the screen,” he said, throwing his hands in the air.

You began to blush in embarrassment. The hottest smartest man in the building now knew that you were failing one of the easiest classes on campus.

Placing his thumb under your chin, he lifted your head to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I can help you.”

“How? I am so behind! I zoned out after chapter 2!”

“We’ll watch a movie.”

“Oh, God! Not one from PBS is it?!”

“Yes. How else are you supposed to learn?”

He turns on the movie and allows you to lay your head on his shoulder but not too much. He is aware of your tricks and he wants you to pay attention.

Every 15 minutes, he pauses the movie and asks you checkpoint questions. If you got them wrong, you had to stand up with your underclothes on (t-shirt and shorts) in the cool room for 10 minutes. If you got the questions right, he allows you to lay more comfortably. You were already in your underclothes but you were under the blanket.

He made you write down key definitions and the embarrassment of each section.

After the movie, he blindfolds you and reads out a term. Surprisingly, you got them all correct!

As a reward for your past midterm, he takes you to dinner at a restaurant where he slips a promise ring on your finger containing your birthstone.

[cafedanslanuit]

Legend

♡   —   personal favourites

☆   —   fan favourites

♠   —   nsfw

♫   —   includes songs

Headcanons

RFA + Saeran - Dirty Dancing  ♫ ♡

RFA + Saeran - MC wants to have her own business

RFA - MC is ten years older than them ♡

RFA - What goes through their mind when they’re cuddling? ☆

RFA + Vanderwood - Having a rebellious kid ♡

RFA - MC can’t sleep unless with them

RFA - A bubbly MC makes self-deprecating jokes as a coping mechanism ♡

RFA - MC that is bubbly, confident and never afraid to stand up for someone

Yoosung dragging MC back to bed because it’s raining

RFA + V - MC blasts music when she’s upset ♫

RFA + V + Saeran - MC with a passion for anime and drawing

RFA + V + Saeran - MC with a major in fashion

RFA + Saeran - Quarantine edition ♡

RFA + V + Saeran + Obey Me! brothers on a trip to the beach ♡ ☆

RFA - MC with a hand fetish

MC has Jumin trying commoner food

Zen + Jumin + Saeyoung - MC is selfconscious about being chubby and they make her feel better  ♠ ♡

Jumin comforts MC about a guy who is texting her constantly and making her upset

RFA reacts to a MC that is called Elizabeth

RFA + V + Saeran - As Les Misérables songs  ♫ ♡

Saeyoung messes with Yoosung’s phone to help him out

Saeyoung x MC - MC makes her own music

Latina!MC and Jumin get stuck with MC’s latino parents during quarantine ♡

RFA + Saeran - MC gets her wisdom teeth out ♡ ☆

RFA + V + Saeran - MC has a bad coping mechanism of punching her thighs (tw!)

Domestic Texts Series: Zen & MC || Saeran & MC ♡

RFA - MC is obsessed with Elizabeth the 3rd

RFA + V + Saeran with a MC that likes going to protests

RFA - MC grew up in really bad poverty

RFA + V + Saeran - They find out MC is only eighteen after everything that happened during their routes ☆

RFA - How do they calm MC when she’s anxious?

RFA - MC has dyslexia

RFA - MC with chronic pain

Royal AUs with Jumin, Zen and Yoosung

Love Language Event with Yoosung, Zen, Jumin, Saeyoung, Saeran and V

Happy New Year Event with Saeyoung, Saeran, Zen, V and Yoosung

Thirst Asks [+18]

[All Asks]

[Jumin] [Jihyun] [Yoosung]

Fanfiction

Mystic Messenger as failed love stories  ♡

reminiscing about the characters and your failed love stories in an alternate universe

You get me ♡

What happens when you’ve finally found your prince charming, but he doesn’t seem to fit in your life anymore?

Bet you can’t leave me

Mystic Messenger Week 2020. “The first time she threatened to leave me, I felt like I was dying.”

Who are you?

Drabble prompt - Zen always sought recognition for his work. Lately, he’s been using other resource to achieve his goals.

Dance with me

Latina!MC tries to teach Zen to dance bachata.

Jealousy [Kinktober 2020 - Day 2] ♠

When Zen agreed to be MC's plus one at a fancy party, he never expected she would lock them both inside a bathroom in a fit of jealousy. The hunger in her eyes could only indicate she was about to remind him who he was with.

A plan gone wrong [Mysme Angst Week - Day 1]

You convinced Zen to stage a fake coffee date in order to give Jumin, your fiancé, a wake up call about how much he had been ignoring you lately. However, things don't go as planned.

i could buy you anything but i cannot buy you  ♠ ♡

[kinktober 2021 - day fifteen: body worship] Zen had always had the need to be in control for a lot of years. (...) His guard may not be up as much as it did back then, but to this day Zen still takes a second look at any situation he’s in. He can’t let anything drive him away from his acting career so he always has to give his best and not take anything for granted.

You get me  ♡

What happens when you’ve finally found your prince charming, but he doesn’t seem to fit in your life anymore?

I always wanted to marry rich

Jumin Han stood with his hand holding the doorknob, not believing what he had just heard. There was no way this was happening. Not days before his wedding. Not only that, days before he married who he thought was the love of his life. The one who he thought he could trust, the one that didn’t ask for anything but his love and attention.

Home

You are staying at Jaehee’s after Jumin did something that made you really angry. While staying there, you start feeling sick and end up at the hospital. What you first thought was nothing to worry about, quickly turns into a nightmare that could change your relationship.

Sweet Creature  ♫ ♡

Jumin gets stuck in another country away from his wife due to the pandemic. He’s been having trouble falling asleep, so MC decides to tell him a bedtime story. A simple request ends up making Jumin open up about a small insecurity he had over his wife and his best friend.

If I could tell him  ♫

Request: “can i request a jumin fic where MC has a crush on jumin but is very shy and so ends up talking with the other members more and then jumin confronts her about it and she accidentally confesses/he confesses.”

Animal I Have Become  ♫

500 followers event. “So what if you can see the darkest side of me? No one will ever change this animal I have become. Help me believe it’s not the real me.”

Young God ♫  ♠

500 followers event. “He says: “Oh, baby girl, don’t get cut on my edges. I’m the king of everything, you know my tongue is a weapon. There’s a line on the clock that’s separating your thighs, if you wanna go to Heaven you should fuck me tonight.”

Crowded Room  ♫ ♡ ☆

500 followers event. “Baby, it’s just me and you, just us two, even in a crowded room, baby it’s just me and you” - [SMAU Epilogue]

Dear Jumin ♡ ☆

What if after all the events that happened during Jumin’s route, he didn’t fall in love with MC?

A new life

When MC gets into a car accident, Jumin ends up with her medical records. He never thought he would find out about what happened to his wife six years ago.

You see me in my room, wish you were here right now [Kinktober 2020 - Day 12] ♠ ☆

Jumin Han clicks on a pop-up ad and gets stuck into a cam girl website. As he waits for someone to come to his penthouse and fix his laptop, he can't help but notice a young woman giggling as she read through he comment section. From that moment on, he's hooked. And he can't wait to see more of her.

Sometimes I think about Elizabeth [Mysme Angst Week - Day 3]

Jumin tries to deal with the grief of losing Elizabeth the 3rd.

A late night conversation

A late night conversation with Jumin takes another turn into a much better scenario. [Fix-it fic for Jumin's DLC. Set on Episode 3]

Seven Minutes in Heaven - Holidays Edition  ♠

You’re home for the holidays and your friends invite you to a party. After a couple of drinks, one of them proposes playing seven minutes in heaven and makes everyone at the party leave an item of theirs in a small basket. When it’s finally your turn, you walk over and inspect the items before choosing the one that will decide your fate for the night.

A day off

For @/mysme-rbb event! You convince Jumin to take a small trip to the theme park. Taking into consideration it was the first time either of you had stepped foot in a place like that, it went exactly like expected.

you know i’m just a flight away (if you wanted you could take a private plane) ♠ ♡ ☆

[kinktober 2021 - day five: sex tape] Knowing Jumin is about to leave on yet another work trip, you suggest recording something for him to see while away. A little souvenir so he doesn't miss you too much- but now he's not sure he wants to leave at all.

Superstar  ♫

500 followers event. “Before I met you, I pushed them all away / Soon as I kissed you, I wanted you to stay.”

What you always wanted

Mystic Messenger Week 2020. As MC’s anniversary with Saeyoung is approaching, she asks her friends of the RFA for advice on what present is the best one. After several recommendations, she decides on what she should give him. Her only hope is that he’ll be happy with her choice.

The Ghost Of You   ♡   [ Vietnamese translation ]

A love story between a man with a mysterious job and a nurse during the Second World War. “And all the things that you never ever told me and all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me. Never coming home, never coming home.”

Loving You ☆

Drabble Prompt. “I am profoundly enchanted by the flowing complexity in you.” - John Keats

Discoveries [Kinktober 2020 - Day 27] ♠

After you find a transparent light blue dildo hidden in Saeyoung's room, the question hangs in the air. Why not trying it out together?

Lost on you [Mysme Angst Week - Day 2]

A discussion about how to handle Saeran's recovery turns into the worst fight Saeyoung and MC have ever had. Both of them bring back past memories that should have never been talked about, in a desperate try to prove their point, not noticing how much they're tearing their relationship apart.

Just like him [Mysme Angst Week - Day 7]

No one teaches you how to grief. Sometimes you just do whatever it helps the pain go away.

give me the stars

For @/gureishi’s event. A small piece to celebrate Saeyoung’s birthday. A late-night escapade for two young lovers.

Wildest Dreams  ♫ ♡

500 followers event. Slightly NSFW. “He says no one has to know what we do, his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room.”

Seven Minutes in Heaven - Holidays Edition ♠

You’re home for the holidays and your friends invite you to a party. After a couple of drinks, one of them proposes playing seven minutes in heaven and makes everyone at the party leave an item of theirs in a small basket. When it’s finally your turn, you walk over and inspect the items before choosing the one that will decide your fate for the night.

Beautiful  ♡

Jihyun has a couple of burn scars on his torso after the fire that took his mother’s life. You make sure you know he loves every part of him.

Wait for me

When the pandemic starts, MC gets stuck in another country, away from Saeran who was just starting his recovery. She tries to work a system with him so they can feel close even when they’re kilometres apart.

How ♫

500 followers event. “I’m asking for your help, I am going through hell, afraid nothing can save me but the sound of your voice.”

Vanilla ♠ ♡ ☆

NSFW. Saeran’s favourite place was between MC’s legs.

Apricity

Drabble Prompt. He never understood the reason behind this change (...). All he knew was that when winter came, he would start feeling tired out of nowhere and he would lose his appetite.

Gardening

Drabble Prompt. In which Saeyoung and MC break one of Saeran’s pot and they try to cover it up before he gets home.

All I’ve Ever Known  ♡ ☆

Drabble Prompt. Saeran has some doubts before his wedding. Thankfully, you’re there to send all his worries away.

Not to be able to love

Drabble Prompt. He wants to love her, he does. But when you’ve been through that much, it gets hard to love and not need.

Four Seasons (15 chapters)  ♠ ♡

Saeran’s After Ending. Saeran has finally found MC and is ectasic to finally be able to enjoy the good ending his tumultous life has reached. But with Saeyoung still missing and Mint Eye around, his happiness may have to wait a little more. Was love really capable to win against his inner demons or will he have to learn to fight for himself?

In another life [Mysme Angst Week - Day 4]

When MC knows her time is coming, she promises Saeran she will do whatever it takes to find him in another life. The only mistake was that she didn't expect to find him like that.

Our time

Saeran is saying his goodbyes but this time, you decide not to let him go. || Fix-it fic for Saeran's After Ending

even in the dark

For @/gureishi’s event. A small piece to celebrate Saeran’s birthday. Some days are better than others. But the people who love us stay through it all.

[aboutanancientenquiry]

Babylonian and Greek sources on the fall of Babylon to the Persians- a text of R. J. van der Spek

“ As we pointed out in the introduction, the Persian conquest inaugurated an important new episode in the history of Babylonia. It is impossible for us to know how the average Babylonian felt about this event. Many will have expected business as usual, but the practices of their own imperial past (deportation of conquered people and imposition of heavy tributes) did not set a comfortable precedent. What we can do is study a number of scholarly texts and observe the political situation. It is clear that many people were prepared to resist. If we believe the Nabonidus Chronicle from Babylon (but see the discussion by Caroline Waerzeggers in ch. 5 and below n. 9), the Babylonian army tried to resist the invasion in the battle of Opis in October 539 b.c.e., but was defeated. It was only after this defeat that the cities of Sippar and Babylon could be taken without battle on 10 and 12 October and that Cyrus, on 9 November, could enter in person. The fact that there was no battle for these cities does not mean that the people welcomed the conqueror. After the defeat they had no choice. According to Herodotus (1.190–191), the Babylonians feared Cyrus very much and prepared for siege.2 Cyrus took the city by a stratagem (diverting the Euphrates) rather than through fighting. Herodotus adds the well-known detail that the people in the center did not notice its capture, due to the size of the city and the fact that a festival was going on, a detail that we find again in Xenophon, Cyropaedia 7.5, and in Dan 5. The chronicle declares that Cyrus ordered peace and the continuation of the cult, but it was of course an imposed peace, a pax Cyriaca. That at least not all Babylonians were happy about Persian rule is further demonstrated by many revolts, two in the first years of Darius I, two in 484 b.c.e. under Xerxes, the latter with horrible effects for the local clergy, as was demonstrated by Waerzeggers.3

Apart from resistance there were certainly all kinds of cooperation or acceptance. A hotly debated question is whether or not the clergy of Babylon was fed up with Nabonidus, because he would have promoted the moon god Sîn (to what extent is also debated) and neglected the New Year’s festival for ten years, and so welcomed Cyrus as a restorer of order. The main issue in this is how we have to value our main sources: the Cyrus Cylinder, the Verse Account, and the Nabonidus Chronicle, all this in combination with Greek and Biblical evidence. 

Let us first of all get rid of a concept of “the” Babylonian clergy. We have no evidence that the Babylonian temple officials were uniformly opposed to or in favor of anyone. It may well be that certain parts of the clergy were indeed critical of Nabonidus. His neglect of the Akītu (New Year) festival was apparently a point of discussion at least, as is also demonstrated by many other chronicles that pay attention to this festival (see below). The Verse Account is another exemplum of criticism.4 It is much too easy to dispose of this document as a piece of propaganda ordained by the new king. It is a satirical literary document that involves in-depth knowledge of cuneiform documents like the royal inscriptions of Nabonidus, the Enūma Anu Enlil texts, and other literary texts.5 This cannot have been conceived by any Persian official; it must have come from learned circles. The former temple officials from the time of Nabonidus were not dismissed at the accession of Cyrus. We know that the high officials Zēria (šatammu, “chief temple administrator”) and Rēmūt (zazakku, “chief secretary”) stayed in office and hailed Cyrus, if we follow Waerzeggers’s reconstruction of this part of the Verse Account (5.8–28).6 Nevertheless, we have no reason to assume that Zēria and Rēmūt had not been loyal to Nabonidus. In any case, they surrendered and somehow came to terms with the new regime.

The same holds true for the Cyrus Cylinder. 7 This document is more likely to have been produced at Persian instigation as can be surmised from the openly propagandistic tone, specific expressions as “King of Anšan” and the genealogy of Cyrus. But also this document cannot have been written without the help of Babylonian scholars and scribes (although the scribe of this document seems to have been second rank in view of his many errors and mediocre Akkadian). These scholars, as Waerzeggers elsewhere observes, expressed their hopes that Cyrus would take his duties as king of Babylon and protector of the temple cult more seriously than his predecessor. These hopes, however, were soon destroyed. Cyrus (or his son Cambyses) only once took part in the New Year festival (if at all) and Babylonia became one of the many provinces of the Persian Empire.8

The Nabonidus Chronicle (ABC 7)9 is a different story. It has long been accepted (by me, among others) that this chronicle dates to the years immediately after the Persian conquest. Most scholars treat this as an example of the Babylonian chronicle genre, which is characterized by a detached treatment of historical facts, which I do too. Others consider it to be a part of pro-Cyrus propaganda, a point of view I reject. Caroline Waerzeggers (ch. 5 herein) gives a lengthy status quaestionis. She now offers a very intriguing new view of the chronicle: it is neither contemporary, nor a typical chronicle, nor a piece of propaganda. It is rather a document from the Hellenistic period (probably the period of Berossus), in which the scribe comes to terms with the Achaemenid Empire, and in particular the founder of that empire, as a response to Greek views on Cyrus. It is written in “an intertextual web” in “dialogue” with other Babylonian and Greek writers. It emerged in the circle of scholars who wrote astronomical diaries and chronicles (see BCHP), and were acquainted, like Berossus, with Greek historiographers such as Herodotus, Xenophon, and Ctesias. Although the document is not dated, the script points to the Hellenistic period, as do the circumstances of the recovery of the tablet as part of the late Achaemenid / early Hellenistic Esagil archive. The Esagil archive contained many copied / reworked / composed epics and chronicles of the past when Babylonian kings such as Nebuchadnezzar I and Nabopolassar successfully fought against foreign kings (cf. also ch. 4 by De Breucker). Hence, the Nabonidus Chronicle is not a reliable recording of facts from the recent past, nor is it a propaganda text, but a historiographical view on the Persian conquest of Babylon for a Hellenistic readership. All this is certainly a startling new approach. Waerzeggers rightly observes that the script and some of the points discussed suggest composition or redaction in the early Hellenistic period. The points discussed, such as the death of queens, point to a Hellenistic rather than early Persian interest. The Nabonidus Chronicle may have interacted with Herodotus’s account of the death of Cyrus’s wife Cassandane (2.1). The sequence of Cyrus’ conquests from Media, via Lydia to Babylonia, which it shares with Herodotus, may be intentional as a response to Herodotus (cf. Waerzeggers, n. 79), although it may also be accidental as it simply was the order of the campaigns.

Nevertheless, I have a somewhat different view as regards the nature of this text. Even if I accept that the document was written in the Hellenistic period (of which I am not certain: the queens do get attention in chronicles, as Waerzeggers admits, the particular mention of Nabonidus’s mother is not strange in view of her prominent place in history and in inscriptions of Nabonidus, while other parallels are simply due to the fact that they reflect historical reality), I do not accept that it is a completely new composition of this period. Waerzeggers assumes that the author’s sources were the Cyrus Cylinder, the royal inscriptions of Nabonidus, the “Royal Chronicle” (which is not a chronicle, but a pro-Nabonidus propaganda text),10 and perhaps  the Verse Account, all of which were available to these scholars. This may be true, but that does not account for the numerous specific dates for events, which do not exist in these texts for his entire reign. So I believe that it is a necessary assumption that there was some “proto-Nabonidus Chronicle.” In addition, though the script may be Hellenistic or at least Late Babylonian, as may be assumed from the way the plural sign MEŠ is written, certain signs are certainly not Hellenistic such as the use of ša instead of šá in ABC 7: 2.2 and 21 in the expression DINGIR.MEŠ ša GN, “the gods of GN,” which we also encounter in the Babylonian Chronicle ABC 1: 3.1, 2 and 29, dated to the reign of Darius (I). This chronicle ends with the accession year of king Šamaš-šuma-ukīn (669 b.c.e.). It was written in the twenty-second year of Darius, and it expressly said that it was “the first section,” suggesting that it was followed by a second section, and perhaps even third section, that may have continued into the early Persian period, as Waerzeggers admits. It also explains why Cyrus could be described as “king of Parsu.”

In my discussion of the chronicles with the help of a “ladder” of characteristics classifying historiographical texts in the widest sense, I have argued that chronicles deviate from true historiography in the fullest sense as they are “not narrative; there is no story, no plot, no introduction or conclusion, nor is there any attempt to explain, to find causes and effects, to see relations between recorded events.”11 According to Waerzeggers “none of this applies to the Nabonidus Chronicle. It narrates, it values, it compares, it explains and it argues. Its format may be that of a chronicle, but it breaks free of the limitations of the genre.” This I can hardly follow. It may be a matter of taste, but I still find this a dull enumeration of facts, year-by-year; to call this “narrative” implies a very wide definition of storytelling. I agree, of course, that objectivity does not exist: the selection of the recorded facts is the choice of the author who shapes the information, and the concerns of the Hellenistic period will have shaped the choices, and I agree that omission of facts colors the information. I still maintain that the text gives no value judgments, nor arguments, nor explanations. We do not find any judgments such as “the king brought evil to the land,” nor is any cause given: there are no words such as “because” or “consequently.” Commentators of chronicles  often mistakenly assume that sentences are meaningfully connected, but usually this is not the case. Every new sentence may be regarded as new information with no relation to the preceding sentence. Explicit mention of the anger of a god or king, as frequently used in royal inscriptions, is missing. Though I admit that the chronicle has an interest in comparing Nabonidus with Cyrus, I see no value judgments. Thus the text, even if Hellenistic in final redaction, sticks to the genre of the chronicle by abstaining from value judgments. The reader may make his or her own judgment. It is true that it is reported that the Akītu festival did not take place, but this derived easily from the fact that the king was in Tayma. No value judgment is given that the king was in Tayma. A king on campaign can also be positively evaluated, especially as he had organized the government well in Babylon and had the šešgallu (high priest) oversee the ritual “properly” (kī šalmu12) as far as was possible in absence of the king. When Nabonidus returned, the Akītu festival in its entirety was conducted “properly,” that is, according to the rules (kī šalmu, 3.).

The repetitious recording of the absence of the Akītu festival indeed demonstrates the interest of chroniclers, as this topic is recorded in many other chronicles, such as the Akītu Chronicle (ABC 16), the Esarhaddon Chronicle (ABC 14), the Šamaš-šuma-ukīn Chronicle (ABC 15) and the Religious Chronicle (ABC 17). ABC 7 thus stands in a firm chronicle tradition. Our author may have seen the Ehulhul Cylinder of Nabonidus, but he probably did not use this source for naming Cyrus king of Anšan (KUR An-šá-an, 2.1 and 4), as it was written KUR An-za-an (I 27) there. The chronicler may have seen a copy of the Cyrus Cylinder, but he did not take his information from that document concerning Nabonidus’s removal of the gods of Marad, Kish, and Hursagkalamma, with the note that the gods of Borsippa, Cuthah and Sippar were not deported (3.8–12). Cyrus reports that he brought back the statues of the gods of Aššur, Susa, Akkad, Eshnunna, Zamban, Me-Turnu, Der, and Gutium (30–32) and refers to the gods that were removed by Nabonidus only as “the gods of Sumer and Akkad,” with a value judgment indeed (“to the anger of the gods,” 33), an addition that is conspicuously missing in the Nabonidus Chronicle. There is no reason to assume that the chronicler valued the removal of the gods to Babylon as bad. As was observed by Beaulieu and myself, the removal may be regarded a pious deed, as it defends the statues against the attacks of the enemy, and in so doing the king hoped to acquire the support of these gods.13 If the chronicler used the Cyrus Cylinder and the Verse Account and wanted to depict Nabonidus in dark colors, he would certainly mention the latter’s preference for Sîn, which is not the case.14 

Another point of interest is the report on the death of two important women, the death of the mother of Nabonidus (2.13–15) and the wife of Cyrus (3.22–24). The fact that these women get so much attention may indeed be due to Hellenistic influence, as Waerzeggers observes. We see this interest in many Greek inscriptions and in the Ezida inscription of Antiochus I, mentioning his wife Stratonice. On the other hand, as Waerzeggers admits, deaths of queens were mentioned earlier in chronicles, and especially the death of the mother of Nabonidus, who even had set up a stela in her own name15, must have had impact. So indeed, Hellenistic zeitgeist may well be present, but again difficult to prove. And again I can detect no value judgement. Both queens are appropriately mourned. One might even argue that Cyrus imitates Nabonidus in this. Everything still fits in with the interest of chronicle composers, which lies in the interpretation of omens. Thus the issues of the chronicles concur with the issues of the omens: accessions and deaths of kings (and queens), battles, plagues, and some cultic events as the Akītu festival. All this we have in the Nabonidus Chronicle. The method is that of the authors of the astronomical diaries (possibly the same persons) who recorded the “events” in the sky. They also made their choices what to record and what not, but what they recorded, be it lunar eclipses or movements of planets in the sky, is reliable. This also explains the use of archaic geographical terms in chronicles, such as Elam, Umman-manda, Hanî, Hatti, Subartu, Amurru. It is used because of their occurrence in omens, and it makes these designations timeless. That it is not negative is exemplified by the fact that, e.g., the Umman-manda come to the aid of Nabopolassar (ABC 3:59 and 65) and Ugbaru is the governor of Gutium and the Gutians protect the temple (ABC 7:16–18). Even though it is not historiography in the fullest sense, the related facts are reliable.16 Thus, it is very difficult to glean opinions about the Persian Empire from this chronicle. About Cyrus and Nabonidus both negative and positive notations are made. Cyrus proclaims peace to the Babylonians (3.18–20) and the rituals in the temple are not disturbed (3.16–18), but before he had slaughtered the people of Akkad (3.13), and later he made his son, dressed in Elamite robes, king of Babylon, which may have disturbed the chronicler, although he does not say so. The “proto-chronicler” may have cherished the same hopes as the author of the Cyrus Cylinder and the Verse Account, that Cyrus would respect Babylon’s traditions. The same will have been the attitude of early Hellenistic Babylonian scholars. Babylonians in the Persian period were soon disappointed. Alexander made similar promises as Cyrus (and much earlier, Sargon II),17 but here again the Babylonians were probably not satisfied, though they could see more promising measures. Alexander intended Babylon as his new capital (the Persians never did that) and at least tried to rebuild the temple tower. He had the army level the ground at the tower complex at his return in 323 b.c.e. Antiochus I again made an effort (BCHP 6) and he apparently ordered restorations of Ezida and Esagil and in 268 b.c.e. buried the last known royal cylinder in the foundations of Ezida to commemorate this.18 Alexander, however, did not provide the necessary resources; private donations of Babylonians had to finance it.19 Babylonia was for a time the core of the Seleucid Empire, but Babylon suffered much from the war for the hegemony over Asia between Seleucus and Antigonus in the years 311 to 308 b.c.e. (Diadochi Chronicle, BCHP 3) and the city finally was degraded to a second rank position after the founding of Seleucia. This was still in Babylonia, and it marked Babylonia as a more important province than Persis, the former center of empire, but it was not good for the prominence of the old city. In addition, Syria, with Antioch on the Orontes, gradually turned into the main center of the empire. 

What remains is the interesting and important observation that the chronicle might have been produced, or rather adapted, in a later period than is usually assumed, just as the book of Jeremiah was once adapted (Jer 36:32). The same is true, for instance, for the Akitu ritual text.20 The first editor, Thureau-Dangin,21 postulated that the document probably dates to the Hellenistic period, and Zimmern22 argued already in 1922 that this document might well be a free conceptualization of the New year festival ritual for the priesthood of the Esagil temple in Babylon in the Seleucid-Parthian period, a point of view all too often ignored in later studies of the Babylonian Akitu ritual. It is interesting to note the important role of the šešgallu in this ritual, which is also at issue in the Nabonidus chronicle (see above).

Another point that may point to a late date for the Nabonidus chronicle is the number of details in the description of some entries, as the chronicles of the Hellenistic period become increasingly more detailed. The same is true for the historical sections of the Astronomical Diaries. This may reflect a growing interest in history per se. The interactions with Herodotus, the Dynastic Prophecy, and Berossus are certainly worth considering, but we must at the same time be wary of reading too much of our own concerns into these texts. Actually, texts like the Dynastic Prophecy are more suitable for learning about views on Persian kingship. In this document Nabonidus is valued negatively (2.16: “He will plot evil against Akkad”), while Cyrus is valued positively (2.24: “During his reign Akkad [will live] in security”23). How the author thought of the Macedonians is more difficult to establish due to serious lacunae in the tablet. The least one can say is that it is an exhortation to the new rulers to respect old rights of tax exemptions (zakûtu) for ancient religious centers in Babylonia, a time honored theme indeed.

As has been pointed out by Waerzeggers,24 the conquest of Babylon by Cyrus inaugurated a period in which Babylon would never again be a leading city and central to the empire. The people, especially Babylonian scholars and scribes, had to deal with this. They had a few things to go on. In whatever kind of foreign rule, the best thing one could hope for (apart from recovering independence) is recognition of privileged status, including tax exemption, respect for Marduk as supreme god (at least for Babylonia, but possibly more), respect for religious practices, especially the New Year Festival, and at least some special status as preferential center of power and interest. Waerzeggers also demonstrated that not much came of this and that disappointment was the result. 

In their scholarly literature, scribes tried to find comfort in the past, just as Greek intellectuals did in the Roman Empire.25 They liked to write chronicles about kings who defeated foreign enemies. They stressed the importance of the god Marduk and collected and commented upon documents that promoted his status as supreme god, especially since the days of Nebuchadnezzar I (cf. ch. 3 by Nielsen). The importance of the god is also indicated by the fact that Marduk may use foreign countries to punish Babylonia temporarily. Marduk is depicted as the god who called upon Elam to punish Babylon and who even willingly left Babylon, finally to be returned by Nebuchadnezzar I. It is part of the motif of “divine abandonment,” described at length by Morton Cogan,26 and also well-known from the Hebrew Bible, where God uses Assyrian and Babylonian kings to punish Israel and Judah and even allows Jerusalem and its temple to be destroyed and the treasures to be taken to Babylon. Such a motif we find back in the Cyrus Cylinder and the Verse Account, where the foreign king Cyrus reinstalls Marduk as supreme deity. The startling reality of 539  b.c.e. is that now a king of Elam is chosen by Marduk as restorer of the godly order. Though Cyrus is not called king of Elam in so many words, it does not alter this fact. He is called King of Anšan, which had been a major city of Elam for millennia. Cyrus might well be of Elamite extraction, as his name is probably Elamite.27 So, in 539 b.c.e., he was actually the king of Elam. As in Nebuchadnezzar I’s days, Elam was an instrument in the hands of Marduk, but different: “the relationship with Persian rule could be expressed as a positive or a negative depending how the tradition was utilized,” as Nielsen (ch. 3 herein) rightly observed. As pointed out above, a geographical name like “Elam” need not in itself have negative connotations, though readers might read it in them.

Another point is kingship. The above interpretation of Cyrus is a new coming-to-terms with Achaemenid kingship. It was a way of accepting the new situation. Although Cyrus was a foreign king, he was also accepted as king of Babylon. Many kings are called “king of Babylon” in their official royal titles, and the Persian kings figure in the king lists, just as do their Macedonian successors (see ch. 4 herein by De Breucker). At the same time we see that kingship in itself lost importance in the Babylonian literature. Religious offices and scribal tradition gradually became more important next to and perhaps even instead of kingship. This can be derived from the list of sages and kings, where sages became as important as kings in the early Seleucid period.28 We see it also in the more important role of the priesthood, or at least the šešgallu (or: ahu rabû, “high priest,” lit. “big brother” = “highest colleague”). In the Nabonidus Chronicle (ABC 7 ii 8) as well as in the Religious Chronicle (ABC 17 ii 5) it is this officer who takes care that the ritual goes on kī šalmu, “properly.” 

We also see that the šatammu, the head of the temple administration, gradually becomes the most important local official, a situation most clearly apparent in the Seleucid period when Babylon was governed by the šatammu and the kiništu (“temple council,” related to Hebrew knesseth) of Babylon, a situation not much different from the rule of Jerusalem by the high priest and the Sanhedrin.29 In addition, there was a governor (pāhatu or šaknu), just as there was a governor (peḥāh) in Jerusalem. From the time of Antiochus IV, this person was the head of the Greek community in Babylon. The supremacy of Babylon in Babylonia ended, so that in Uruk Anu could rise to the position of major deity with a new temple (in this book discussed by De Breucker, ch. 4). The new political situation had a deep impact on political and religious thought in Babylonia, but it led to very diverse reactions.”

From the paper of R. J. van der Spek  Coming to terms with the Persian Empire: some concluding remarks and responses, in  Political Memory in and after the Persian Empire,  by Jason M. Silverman (Editor), Caroline Waerzeggers (Editor),  SBL Press; Illustrated edition (4 Dec. 2015)

Source with the entirety of the paper https://research.vu.nl/ws/portalfiles/portal/1378318/Coming+to+Terms+Silverman-Waerzeggers+Political+Memory+Persian+Empirech18.pdf

Robartus Johannes (Bert) van der Spek is a Dutch ancient historian, specializing in the Seleucid Empire. He was a full professor in Ancient Studies at VU University Amsterdam from 1993 to his retirement in 2014, and is currently working on the Babylonian Chronicles of the Hellenistic Age (source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bert_van_der_Spek ) 

[randomingoftherandomness]

Secrets I Have Held In My Heart

A/N: Modern!AU, Soulmate!AU, Soul Mark!AU, Angst, OT3.

This is quite honestly one of the longest things I’ve ever done in one sitting. I am exhausted. My prose and tenses are probably everywhere and I am so sorry for it. Enjoy x

(Edit 20/1/2021) It has recently come to my attention that lies and slander have been spread about my character amongst persons in this OT3 community. They are malicious lies made with the intent to cast a shadow over my credibility and my good standing in this community. I only ask that you come talk to me first before you believe the horrible things that have been levelled about me.

Please take care of yourselves x

--

Booker smiles placidly when he catches Joe's eye from across the room and let's the pretenses drop the moment he ducks out into hallway, finding a spot of quiet from all the music and chatter of celebration in the living room. He really should be happy but as it is with heartbreaks, happiness is something you can only fake until it feels real.

He opens the door when the doorbell rings and kisses the cheeks of the latecomers in greeting. They awkwardly avoid his eye with shifty smiles as they shuffle past him. Booker doesn't blame them. It's an awkward fucking situation all around.

Joe's warm and happy laughter carries through the air, and Booker just feels his heart twist in his chest. The sight of his head of curls bobbing along in the joy of whatever joke one of their friends was making while his arm was slung intimately low around Nicky's waist was unbearable. Booker has enough self-respect in him to recognise it as jealousy.

He has been in love with his best friend for almost as long as he has known him. It had been ridiculously easy for them; Joe had no soul marks and neither had Booker, so it was the most natural thing to move in together after they'd both hit 33 and when Booker decided to offer his fine art restorer skills up to go freelance, they make plans to spend the rest of their lives together. It made sense and they were happy. Booker had had no intentions of ever letting Joe know how he had truly felt and that was the mistake.

It isn't that he dislikes Nicky. 

The man was beyond perfect and Booker could have never hoped to compare. From the briefest of familiarities, he knows that Nicky was a former theology student who left the seminary and is now deep in his work with a local NGO, well on his way to maybe working for the UN some day. He volunteers at a local shelter, helps at his church's soup kitchen, is handsome and funny, is a fucking Saint personified and looks great next to Joe when Booker looks like a twice drowned rat on his best day. It isn't that he hates the man. It's just that, well, Nicky isn't him.

Booker knew something had changed then. Joe had never looked at him the way he had when his and Nicky's eyes first met. And he knows Joe like he knows his own mind and there won't be any one as trusting or as kind. If he tells him he loves him, Joe would stay and he'd be Booker's, but that's not how love works and so he waits until the day they're both on the sofa watching a game and Joe turns to him to say, "Nicky's my soulmate."

Just like that. And because he could never hurt Joe, he smiles, nodding. "I figured he was. Congratulations man. That's amazing!"

There had been an indescribable look that crossed Joe's face when he said that but he hadn't lingered on it for too long. Joe's soul mark was on his left forearm set in stark, bold lines; a scimitar and a longsword threaded together with roses and thorns. Pretty cool and Booker made sure to tell him so.

That had been three months ago. Three months of waiting for the other shoe to drop, the inevitable moment when Joe says he's gonna move out and into Nicky's unit. For the second it hits his best friend that there really wasn't a place for someone like him in this equation. Two months of sitting around until he wraps up his current contract with the museum in the city and the curator takes him aside to ask him if he would be interested in working for a private collector in Turkey. Two years to work on a team of freelancers. Two years on the other side of the continent. Booker said yes with no hesitation.

"Hey, you good?"

Booker knocks his bottle of beer to Copley's. He is one of the newer persons to join their friend group but it feels like they've know each other for a very long time. His warm smile anchors Booker to the here and now and he is stupidly grateful for his presence. The man was steadfast and calm, and it made sense to Booker that he'd be the only one he told about his leaving. "Yeah. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

He'd snuck a duffle bag of his things out to Copley's house the day before and then two suitcases when Joe was over at Nicky's last night. Right before the party to celebrate Joe's birthday, he had brought his carry on out to Copley's car. His name was still on the lease and he has left instructions to help pay for his part of the rent until the end of the year if Joe would like to continue staying here. Copley will help ship the rest of his things after a month. All that's left to do is leave.

Joe had been looking forward to introducing Nicky to his family and friends, and this party was perfect for it. Booker feels bereft at the thought that this could be the last time he sees him in a long while and he cranes his neck to spy him in the center of the room, accepting a kiss from Nicky as the birthday cake is brought out from the kitchen. He holds that image of Joe, smiling from ear to ear and hopes he won't hate him too much for leaving without saying goodbye.

"Let's go."

--

His Turkish is passable at best but he gets by well enough. The rest of the restoration team were up and coming names mixed with pioneers in the field and despite the lingering heart ache, Booker finds himself pleasantly settled and happy with the work he gets to do. Everyone seems to be equally as excited as he is to be working on their employer's personal collection of paintings and sculptures, in addition to the rare books that Booker has never seen outside of museums and archives.

It's good work and it keeps him busy. It stops him from thinking about Joe too much.

Booker had found thirteen missed calls and twenty texts and ten voicemails when he lands. He hesitates only for a moment before deleting everything that wasn't from Copley or his work.

As if sensing he was being summoned by thought, his phone rings as he basks in the afternoon sunshine whilst reading a book on his off day, Copley's name flashes on his screen.

"You still alive, then?"

"Alive and kicking," Copley says over the line with a laugh. "I swear, Joe is going to eviscerate me one of these days."

Booker shakes his head, marking his page and setting his book aside. The sunlight feels good on his skin and he takes a deep lungful of air. "He won't. He's way too nice."

"You didn't see him glare when I packed the last of your things into the boxes. They're shipped, by the way. Should reach you in a week tops."

"Thanks. I owe you big time."

"Oh, you owe me more than big time. When I come over to visit, I want you pulling out all the stops for me. I want the five star experience, Mr Booker. No expense spared," Copley chuckles.

"Alright, alright," Booker laughs. "I'm sure I can rustle something up. Just let me know when, alright?"

Copley hums and they fall into a comfortable pause. "How are you? Really. Don't lie."

He tightens his grip on his phone, swallowing tightly. "I miss him every day but that's not new. I think I'll keep missing him for a while yet."

"That's normal. I'm not surprised. I think he misses you too, you know?"

"He has Nicky now. He doesn't need me. I'm... I'm just his best friend with a stupid crush that had made plans to spend the rest of my life with him. I don't fit in it any more and he deserves more than I could ever give him," He swallow tightly, licking his lips. "Copley, he'll be okay."

"But will you?"

Booker doesn't have an answer to that. When his things arrive a week and a half later, he accepts it and begins to unpack his books. He's grateful to have his familiar favourites and is eager to fill his shelves when he spots the edges of an envelope peeking out of a battered copy of Neruda. It was a letter and it was addressed to him, though the handwriting is unfamiliar to him.

Dear Sebastien, it starts and this clues him in that this person isn't someone who knows him well. No one outside of his employers and colleagues call him Sebastien.

I hope you don't mind. I'll be slipping this along with the books. I really do hope it finds you well. I don't have your number and judging by the way Joe seems to not receive a reply from you, you might have changed it. I would ask it from Copley but I do not know him well enough and you deserve someone you can speak to without any awkwardness. I write this letter because I want to know you better. It occurred to me that we have never exchanged more than a handful of words whenever we meet and it was always about Joe. I found myself curious about you even if it feels like I know you from all that Joe talks about you. He still talks about you. Even if it is in confusion as to why you left us. I don't write to judge you. I just want to be your friend. If you are amenable, please send your reply to me care of the address on the back of this paper. I hope that you do. I won't tell Joe if you don't want me to.

Sincerely, Nicky.

Booker flips the paper and sees that it's for the church he'd half-remembered being the one that Joe had mentioned off-handedly once. He rereads the words, thrown by the whole thing. He tucks it into his pocket, pushing it to the back of his mind as he focuses on unpacking his life. But the shape of it digs against his skin and he cannot help unfolding it every few minutes to read it all over again.

Each word was carefully pressed and written with intent. He finds his thumb brushing over the looping Joe, but it is the careful He still talks about you that decides things for him.

Scratching his chest absently, he tears out an empty page from his notebook as writes, If we're going to be friends, you'd better call me Booker.

--

The seasons change and his correspondence with Nicky grows from a weekly letter to every few days, to Booker posting a letter only to receive a reply for the one he sent two days ago when he arrives back in his flat. Booker takes to sending a box of baklava over an overnight service and Nicky sends him a handwritten recipe for his Nonna's tomato soup when Booker off-handedly mentions a sniffle.

Eventually it gets easier to talk about Joe and Booker tells Nicky on what he likes and what he doesn't, how to best care for him; he's allergic to a certain brand of detergent, he always forgets his scarf in the depths of winter so always stuff one in his coat pocket, he loves it when you caress his hair, he doesn't support any team in football but he loves watching a game and he always chooses the team that starts on the right side of the pitch, ask his mother for her recipe for lamb stew and make that for him when he's having a busy week.

Nicky never seems to be bothered by him telling him all these things and in turn, Booker learns that Nicky cannot function before his first cup of coffee, that he misses the quiet of his life in the seminary but he is glad he can do more as he is, that he has a few kids that he works with that he is hoping will get into gifted programmes that can help them excel in academia, that if he hadn't done the almost priest route, he would have been a doctor or a medic.

It was ridiculously effortless to be friends with Nicky and he finds himself actually looking forward to his letters and random bits and bobs in the mail. Sometimes Nicky sends Booker Joe’s sketches and he keeps them up on his bedside, keeping them in sight as he falls asleep at night. Other times there’s a picture or two, taken by Nicky, of Joe. Joe on the corner of the sofa, curled up and dozing, Joe eyes crinkling as he laughs at something. Joe with those ridiculous sunglasses they bought on a whim over a very wet Welsh afternoon.

As the first chill of the season sets in, Booker asks about Joe.

He's fine. Missing you. We're heading to his family's beach house. He said you both used to go together?

Booker finds that he can smile a little easier when the memories come or when it is brought up that Joe misses him. It still tastes a little bittersweet but he can be happy about how he had the chance to experience these things with Joe. Even if he hadn't been the one to keep having them. 

Yes. He writes, But you both can do this together now. Make sure you pack extra blankets for yourself. I'm sure you know that he hogs them.

Nicky replies with a box of Marks and Spencer Welsh Cakes which Booker thanks with an assortment of Turkish Delights. 

Their correspondence slows as the weather cools further. Copley, when he tells him about what’s happening over Skype, merely asks him if it i a good idea to be even putting himself in the same sphere as Joe and Nicky when he had moved across the continent just to get away from the heartbreak. 

“I don’t see how it couldn’t be,” Booker says over the sizzling of the butter as he makes the cheese toasties that Joe used to love for breakfasts. He scratches at his chest, eyes watching the way the cheese oozes off its side.

“Mate, I don’t think you’re far removed enough to actually know how catastrophic this could be.”

“O ye, of little faith,” Booker huffs, flipping the toastie. “At some point I would like to be able to exist in the same city as him without melting into a puddle of heartbreak. If being friends with his soulmate helps get me there, I’m all for it.”

“You are a masochist, Mr Booker.”

Booker laughs even as he burns his finger on the pan.

He works harder than ever, learning and improving his own techniques under the tutelage of his colleagues and can appreciate the opportunity. There's already talks of him going to New York after the New Year's to accompany some of the artifacts that are being lent out for display. Booker is climbing the stairs up to his building, head down, free hand rubbing at his chest and reading through the latest methods of restoration on his phone when he bumps into a person rushing down. 

“Oh, sorry--”

“Booker.”

Joe’s eyes are big and wide when their gazes meet. Booker blinks, breathes in deep before looking behind him to see Nicky watching them from his landing, exhaling shakily as he whispers, deep and with feeling, “What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

--

Nicky nurses his cup of tea from his lean against the window and deftly avoids the inquiring glare Booker keeps sending his way from the safety of the kitchen. Joe, on the other hand, is carefully prowling the space of his studio flat he has made home, obviously cataloguing the way his books sit on the shelf and the way he has kept the space marginally clean-ish, how there are pictures and sketches tacked to the wall behind the dining table, the clear signs of a life he has built here.

“Let me get this straight, you picked up Nicky’s mail from the church, saw my handwriting, and decided to come all the way to Turkey. Just to see me,” Booker says, gesturing at their backpacks leaning against his door. “Again, let me ask, why?”

“Why?” Joe laughs, throat clicking when the sound comes out rough and raw. “You ask me why I would fly out to Turkey in the middle of the holiday season just to see my best friend who left me without telling me he got a job in Turkey and was going to leave without even so much as a goodbye, and you are asking me why I would come all the way out here just to chase you down? Are you perhaps short of a marble!”

“And what was I supposed to do! Linger around you when I was dying every single time I looked at you and knew I wasn’t your soulmate? We were going to spend our lives together, Joe! I loved you!”

Booker slaps his hand over his mouth and turns away, focusing on his breathing. “You love me?” Joe says softly in the stillness of the flat.

“I did. I do and I’m sorry,” He sighs, feeling his chest shake with his trembling breath. He presses the heel of his hand to his sternum. “I do. And it’s okay, Joe. I know you don’t love me in that way. It’s okay. I just need some time away to figure out how to love you like you need me to.”

“And what do you know about what I need from you?”

Booker feels Joe come close and allows himself to be turned around to be face to face with him. “Do you know I love you too?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles wetly, rubbing his nose with the back a hand. “I’m your best friend.”

Nicky choose this moment to speak. “Booker, look at him and listen. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you in our letters. “

There’s an insistence in Nicky’s gaze that galvanises Booker to turn to Joe and meet his eyes head on. “I love you, Book. I always did. I still do. Even after the bullshit you’ve put me through.”

“But Nicky--” “Nicky’s my soulmate and I love him too.” Joe smiles, eyes gone liquor soft when Nicky returns his fond look. “But I’ve loved you for the longest time, Book. I still want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The itch on his chest starts to burn.

“And you’re alright with this?” Booker breathlessly asks Nicky, taking a step back. “This- This whole Love, Actually thing is a situation you’re okay with?”

“Yes,” Nicky says, standing to cross the distance between them. Joe reaches for him then, tenderly touching him by the elbow while Nicky slides a hand to his cheeks and Booker feels immediately overwhelmed. He parts his mouth to speak when he doubles over dropping to his knees when the fire spreading over the skin on his chest sends him to his knees gasping for air. 

Joe keeps a hold on him while Nicky looks him over with clear worry. “Fuck!” Booker groans, trying to arch away. Clawing at his shirt, he tears at it until the buttons plink on the floor as they fall. For a moment, he does not register the dark lines that spread over his sternum. Running shaking fingers over his raw skin, Booker barely holds back the awed gasp at the scimitar and longsword twined together with thorns and roses. 

“Well,” Nicky laughs softly, cupping him by the side of the head, sweeping him into a gentle kiss. In that second that their lips touch, Booker feels his heartbeat skip a notch. “I guess this answers things, doesn’t it?”

-- Epilogue --

“That’s the last of the boxes.”

Joe kicks the door shut behind him, dropping the bags in his hands to the floor, ignoring the evil eye sent his way by Nicky who had warned them against scuffing up the hardwood floors. Booker throws himself onto the sofa with a sigh and Joe, grinning like a maniac, does a running start before launching himself onto Booker. 

“Oof!” And then after a beat and a wiggle. “Joe, you’re suffocating me and I can feel your dick against my ass.”

They’ve finally moved into their first home together. It had taken a bit more effort after Turkey to keep their fledgling relationship going but all’s well, ends well and Booker is back with them after finishing up his contract with glowing recommendations and growing his contact list. Joe was ridiculously proud and he knows Nicky feels the same too. 

They’ll need to work hard over the next two days to spruce the place up in time for their housewarming. Their friends and families will be here and Joe cannot wait to show off his loves. Wrapping his arms around Nicky and pulling him along back to the sofa where Booker is, he basks in the happy warmth of feeling whole with his heart in one piece.

[hoboal87]

Elastic Heart Chapter Fifteen (Fin)

Title: Elastic Heart - Stay

Characters: Y/N Y/L/N, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Cordelia Y/L/N, OFC’s

Pairing(s): Sam x Reader, Reader x OMC

Summary: In the aftermath of the final Trial, Dean reaches out to Y/N. Dean is willing to do whatever it takes to save Sam, but is he going to push Y/N too far?

Word Count: 13.4k(!)

Warnings: Angst, Bits of Fluff, Character Injury, Major Character Death, Time Jump, Implied Smut.

A/N: Series is mostly canon compliant, taking place during season 8/9. For the purposes of this fic Sam was born in '84 instead of '83.

A/N 2: Here it is, the final chapter! I have to thank my wonderful, awesome beta @deanwinchesterswitch! Kym, you are the best, thank you so much for making this fic the best possible version of itself. I will definitely miss our RIDICULOUSLY long notes and comments. I literally cannot say thank you enough for putting up with my crazy brain-dumps and last minute changes. 

Elastic Heart Masterlist

Read Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen: Stay

Y/N POV

I take a deep breath as I pull out my phone and set the timer, setting the test next to two others. Stupid, I chastise myself, putting yourself in this position again. I lean against the counter before sliding down onto the floor, still being mindful of my arm. I stare blankly at the wall and let my mind wander. We were careless, so caught up in the moment, nothing else seemed to matter at the time. What were the odds of this happening again? The thought hadn’t even entered my brain until after Crowley’s attack. It’s been over a week, and I can still hear his words as clear as the day he said them. Sam didn’t come back to you, choosing girl after girl. Would you like to know the real cause of your parent’s accident? You are the ultimate bargaining chips. He must’ve known; it would explain his taunts about having Cordy call him ‘father.’ The buzzing of my phone pulls me out of my thoughts, I expect to see the timer, but it’s Dean’s name popping up on the caller ID. I reject the call without a second thought; he and Sam are the last people I want to talk to right now.

I haven’t even had the chance to put my phone back down before it starts vibrating again. A glance tells me it’s Dean calling again. “It’s 7 am, Dean,” I grumble, staring down at my phone. Whatever is causing him to reach out after nearly three months of complete silence must be important, at least to him. I hesitate briefly before rejecting the call.

I check the timer, two minutes. Crowley’s voice is in my head, and I’m back to that night again. Your precious Y/N is running out of time, Sam. As soon as we moved in, I was going to reach out to Sam, tell him I was ready for him to be a part of mine and Cordy’s lives. We still had our issues to work through, but Cordy had expressed more than once that she was ready to know him, and at the time, I started to forgive him. Sam repeatedly called after Crowley had left me, but Crowley’s words were all too fresh in my mind.

I peer into my room to see Cordy sleeping soundly in my bed. She’s afraid to leave me at night, something that I can’t blame her for. As I watch her sleep, my mind drifts back to the morning after Crowley’s attack.

I was trying to keep myself calm as I read through Sam’s multiple apology-ridden messages. I didn’t care that he was sorry; it couldn’t make up for the fact he and Dean had left us so utterly vulnerable to their enemies. I watched from the living room window as Cordy walked back over; I didn’t know how to explain my injury to her and how much of the truth I could tell her without further traumatizing her. I couldn’t lie my way out of it, but demons were not something I knew how to explain to a ten-year-old. Tears welled in Cordy’s eyes the minute she caught sight of me; she could see through my forced smile, she ran to me and wrapped her arms tight around my waist.

“Hey.” I tried to soothe her, using my good arm to rub a hand down her back. “It’s okay, I’m okay,” I half lied. “Couple of months, and I’ll be good as new.”

Cordy’s grip briefly loosened when I moved us onto the couch, I couldn’t pick her up like I wanted to, but I wasn’t going to stop her from crawling into my lap and burying her head into my shoulder. I let her weep against me; through her sobs, I heard a muffled ‘mom.’

It had been weeks since she’d called out for mom or dad when she was scared. By the time we had moved, her nightmares about the accident had become fewer and farther in between. Cordy had taken to climbing into my bed and letting me lull her back to sleep whenever one had woken her up.

“I know,” I whispered, trying to keep my tears at bay. “I miss them too.”

Cordy pulled away, her face blotchy, eyes blood-shot, and shook her head. “You’re my mom, Y/N,” she mumbled. “I do-don’t wanna lo-lose you too.” Cordy splutters through her tears. “You-you’re all I– I have le-left.”

I choked back a sob; she’s right; we only have each other. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t count on Sam to be there if something ever did happen to me. Cordy already lost one set of parents; I didn’t want to think about her losing Sam or me.

The vibration of my phone causes me to jump as it brings me back to the present. I sigh as I look down at the phone, rejecting the call. “Take the hint, Dean,” I mutter to myself. I check the timer, thirty seconds. I reach for the first test and vaguely remember an x-ray technician asking me if there was any possibility of me being pregnant. At the time, I didn’t even think about it; my night with Sam was the furthest thing on my mind.

I mindlessly chew away at my fingernails as the phone vibrates again, and I silently plead for it to stop. Relief floods through me when it does; maybe it’s finally gotten through to Dean that I don’t want to speak to him. The timer chirps and I grab the test off the counter and cover the results box with my hands. I close my eyes for a brief moment, praying that somehow I’m wrong. I take a shuddering breath as I slowly open my eyes, letting them land on the word ‘pregnant.’

Dean’s name briefly fills the screen again before I reject the call, setting my phone down on the tile. Surely he’ll get the message that I am intentionally not answering. I pull the second test off of the counter, pregnant. I don’t bother with the third. Even if somehow it was negative, the two positive pregnancy tests can’t both be wrong. I choke back a sob as I run through all of my options in my head. I can’t believe this is happening again. What am I going to tell Cordy? What about Sam? We weren’t in a good place when he left—that stupid fight.

The loud buzzing doesn’t just annoy me this time; it makes me want to pick up my phone and throw it against the wall. I grab my phone off the floor, and for a brief moment, I think of smashing into hundreds of pieces. I shake the thought out of my head before contemplating whether I should answer the call, my thumb hovering between the red and green circles.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you, Dean,” I say before ending the call, not giving him the chance to respond. I look back down at the test again, praying, willing it to change. I know it won’t, it was the first time I had sex in months, and of course, it’s with Sam fucking Winchester who had to go and get me pregnant. “Perfect vessel for Winchester children,” I mumble and let out a dry laugh. I wonder if the angels knew about this one, I chuckle to try to keep myself from crying, but the tears fall anyway, and my laughter quickly devolves into sobbing. Pregnant. Again. My phone chirps, 6 missed calls - Dean Winchester.

“Fuck,” I mutter as his name pops up again. I push the bathroom door closed, not wanting to wake Cordy. I clear my throat and wipe the tears away, taking a long and calming breath before accepting the call. “What do you want, Dean?”

“Y/N, don’t hang up, please, just–” Dean sighs, “I know you’re pissed, and you have every right, but–”

“Pissed is the understatement of the year.”

“Y/N–”

“The fucking King of Hell showed up on my doorstep. Came into my home and threatened the lives of both my daughter and me.” I hiss while trying to keep my voice down. “You know, I actually believed Sam when he said that Cas would show up if I prayed to him. Do you wanna know how many times I prayed for him to help? He did nothing, showing up hours later, giving some bullshit excuse about us not being in ‘real’ danger.”

“I–”

“What’s your excuse, Dean? Are you calling to apologize? You think that’ll make it all better? I don’t want your apology.” I can hear him huffing in anger on the other end. “Have a nice life, Dean.”

“Wait just a goddamn minute, Y/N,” he snaps before letting out a loud sigh and softening his voice. “I– I’m sorry. You have to believe that we didn’t know. If we even thought there was a chance of Crowley... we wouldn’t have let it happen. Sammy and I would’ve shown you how to protect yourself. Y/N, Sam has more guilt about Crowley than you’ll ever know. We didn’t think he knew about you or Cordy.”

“He said he’d been watching me for weeks,” I say, memories of that night playing in my head. “Weeks, Dean.”

“You would have been safe if you had stayed in Weldon,” Dean grumbles.

“The phone works both ways, Dean,” I murmur, trying to lessen my own guilt about leaving. “If you or Sam had bothered to keep in touch, you’d have known that we were planning to move.”

“Bullshit, Y/N,” Dean growls. “You stopped responding to Sam’s messages the day we left Weldon. You didn’t want to accept his apology, and at the time, as much as it broke him, he understood. You had no intention of telling us that you were moving. You can spout out crap about us not reaching out to you, Y/N, but you said it yourself, the phone works both ways.”

I let Dean’s words sink in. I’d threatened Sam with taking Cordy far away from him, but that wasn’t what the move was about; Cordy and I needed a change. I was able to leave so much of my baggage behind. I didn’t have to lie anymore; I didn’t have to carry the shame that my parents had made me feel for years.

“You asked for space, for time, and we were– are trying to respect that. You asked us to leave Weldon, and we did. I practically had to drag Sam outta there. He didn’t wanna leave you again, but I got his ass in the car, and we left. And all I heard from Weldon to Lebanon was how he wanted to tell you how sorry he was and that he was afraid that you would feel abandoned by him. It killed him to leave you and Cordy; you two are the only family we have left, and then you moved away without a single word. If you’d told us that you were planning on leaving Weldon, we would’ve found a way to protect you and Cordy. If you weren’t ready to be around Sam, we could’ve sent another hunter to protect you and Cordy.”

“We shouldn’t need protection, Dean. For ten years, we didn’t need protection. But the moment Sam steps back into my life, suddenly Cordy and I are targets for your enemies,” I let my eyes fall back on to the test in my hands. “I have to protect my family, Dean, and if that means Sam can’t be a part of our lives, then so be it. I refuse to live in constant fear that something like that could happen again. I’m not going to be some damsel in distress. I told Cas; Cordy and I are not bargaining chips.”

“The Crowley who attacked you doesn't exist anymore, Y/N. He's no longer the King of Hell; he's nothing more than a regular human. Crowley can't hurt you or Cordy ever again.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that’s true, Dean.”

“It is, Y/N.” Dean sighs, “Cas told us he warded your house. Wherever you are, you and Cordy are safe. I give you my word.”

“Your word isn’t the one I want, Dean. You’re not the reason Crowley came after us; Sam is. All of it was about him and me.”

“You don’t think that I care–?”

“I know you do, Dean,” I sigh, “but you’re on the phone with me instead of Sam. You’re the one playing peace-keeper. Sam should be the one telling me all of these things, not you. If Sam wants me to forgive him and think about letting him back into mine and Cordy’s life, then I need to hear it from him.”

Dean is silent on the other line, and through the static of the phone, I can hear a muffled voice coming through a speaker. A deep breath cuts through the silence before he speaks again.

“Sam’s– Sammy’s hurt, Y/N,” Dean’s voice hitches as if he’s trying to keep himself calm. “It’s– it’s bad.” Suddenly, all the background noises I’ve been hearing make sense. “He was doing okay for a couple of days, but then he took a turn for the worse. Sam’s…” Dean trails off briefly, and I fear that I already know what his next words will be. “You should be here, Y/N, you and Cordy. Sam needs his girls by his side.”

I smile briefly at Dean’s words before my heart falls into my stomach. There’s something he isn’t telling me, and every breath I try to take becomes more difficult. I grip the test tighter in my hands, and I try to let go of all of my anger that had been residing in me since the night we fought. I regret the last words spoken between us, fueled by rage and fear; we don’t need you; I should’ve taken the words back.

“Where are you?”

“Linwood Memorial Hospital in Randolf, New York.” Dean doesn’t hesitate.

“New York? You’re not in Kansas? I thought–”

“Randolf, New York,” Dean reiterates, “Linwood Memorial Hospital.”

I tell Dean that I will have to get a flight to him, and he insists on giving me a scammed credit card to pay for it. A part of me almost doesn’t want to take it, but after seeing how much such a last-minute flight would cost, I accept it.

I call the school as soon as I hang up with Dean, explaining that Cordy will be out for at least the rest of the week. The receptionist seems to understand, reminding me to reach out to her teachers for lessons and homework.

I step into my closet, grabbing two bags, and begin packing my belongings as quietly as I can. I set my bag down at the top of the stairs before repeating the process in Cordy’s room. I place Cordy’s bag next to my own before glancing back into my room. Cordy’s still sleeping, arms tightly gripping her teddy bear. I don't want to wake her, not yet, so I gently close my bedroom door before making my way downstairs. When I open the front door, there’s nothing but the sounds of nature greeting me. A few of the houses are bathed in an orange light where the sun is just barely peeking over rooftops. I step out onto the dewy grass, setting the bags down. I relish in the quiet of the neighborhood for a moment and let myself get lost in thought.

“Y/N,” a low voice says as their hand lands on my arm.

“Jesus!” I yelp, balling my fist and ready to throw a punch. I turn quickly to see my neighbor, Jason, standing behind me.

“Whoa! Sorry,” Jason puts his hands up in surrender, and I unclench my fist. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Someone oughta put a bell on you,” I laugh slightly. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”

“I called your name a couple of times,” he shrugs. “I guess you were off somewhere else?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I nod.

“Here, let me help you,” Jason picks up the two bags. “Looks like you’re makin’ a break for it.”

“I guess you could say that,” I shrug and walk towards my car, Jason matching my steps. “Thanks.”

“Don’t tell me we’ve scared you outta the neighborhood already?” Jason chuckles. “Is it Old Lady Nelson?” I try to speak, but he playfully cuts me off. “She’s a witch, you know.”

“Is she?” I raise an eyebrow and pop the trunk. “What kind of witch? Do I need to keep a bucket of water on hand?”

“No, more like the fortune-telling kind,” he grins, slowing his steps, before stopping at the trunk. “She paid me a visit the other day and said I would meet someone.”

“Oh?” I ask as he sets the two bags down, and he nods his head. Suddenly, I’m painfully aware that he’s flirting and that I may be unintentionally encouraging it.

“She said that she would have a-” Jason’s blue eyes dart around me, “a robin’s nest in her yard. Oh!” He dramatically yells as I close the trunk. ”Will you look at that?” He points to the robin’s nest and winks. I shake my head; we both know it was there long before I moved in. “So whaddya say, Y/N? Can I take you out for dinner sometime?”

“Cut right to the chase, don’t you?” I tease him. “Listen, Jason, I think you’re really nice, but–”

“But,” Jason sighs and frowns slightly, “you’re not interested?”

“I’m– I–” I don’t know how to describe my relationship with Sam. He isn’t my boyfriend, but he’s more than just the father of my daughter. “I’m with someone, Cordy’s dad. We’re going to be visiting him for the next couple of days.”

“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry,” Jason runs his hands through his short hair and gives me an embarrassed smile. “Cynthia told me you were single and has been pushing for me to ask you out. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have–”

“We have a complicated relationship,” I laugh weakly. “‘Sides you deserve someone who doesn’t have a mountain of baggage.”

“Well, if Mr. Complicated doesn’t wise up, he better be prepared to put up a fight for you,” he teases, and a slight tinge of pink fills his cheeks. “I don’t give up easily, and baggage doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re sweet,” I reach for his arm and gently squeeze it, “but you hardly know me. For all you know, I could be some stage five clinger psychopath or– or an assassin.”

“Then we’ll be two peas in a pod,” Jason smirks, stepping closer to me and brushing a stray hair away from my face. For a moment, I lean into his touch, but I stop myself.

“I have to go,” I exclaim and run back into the house, slamming the door behind me.

I scold myself as I pace my living room. Sam’s in some hospital, and you’re outside flirting with the neighbor? The clock on the wall catches my attention, 8 am, we have to leave soon.

“Y/N?” Cordy’s scratchy voice pulls me out of my thoughts; she looks to be on the verge of tears. “I woke up, and you weren’t there.”

“Oh, kid, I’m sorry.” I close the gap between us and let her settle against me. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve had a busy morning. You and me, we’re going on a trip.”

“Really?” Cordy’s face lights up, “what kind of a trip?”

“We’re gonna visit Sam,” Cordy’s smile grows; this is something she’s wanted for the last month. “He’s sick,” I explain, and Cordy’s smile fades.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

“I hope so, kid. But I don’t know, that’s why we’re gonna go see him.”

*********************************************

When we arrive in Randolf, it’s almost 9 pm. Cordy and I are exhausted, unused to this kind of travel. It makes me wonder how Sam and Dean live in the Impala for hours and sometimes days on end. The hospital’s visiting hours will be over by now, so I send a message to Dean, letting him know that we are staying at a hotel for the night. He tells me that he has already added us to Sam's visitor list and that he would be under the name Dougherty. I crawl into the large bed, Cordy’s already sleeping soundly, and let my mind wander.

Sam is going to make it out of this, isn’t he? Will he be happy when I tell him about the baby? Will he come back to Lawrence with us when all of this is over? Will he walk away from Dean for the three of us? Will Dean let him?

It’s still early when a turning in my stomach makes me bolt towards the bathroom, emptying my stomach into the porcelain bowl.

“Y/N?” Cordy calls from outside the bathroom, and before I can muster out an answer, I feel the bile rising in my throat again. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“Go back to bed, Cordy,” I say more harshly than I mean to. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

When I open the bathroom door, Cordy is still standing there, tears filling her eyes. “Are you mad at me?” She asks as a tear slips out.

“Oh, kid, I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I crouch down and meet her eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you sick too?” Cordy sniffles.

“No,” I shake my head. “I’m– I’m gonna have a baby.”

Guilt overwhelms me as I pull into the hospital’s parking lot; I need Sam to know that I still love him, that all the words exchanged weren’t how I truly felt. Ten years of thinking he had run away, and the anger that exploded from us both drove my words. I know, deep down, that Sam wouldn’t have left if he’d known the truth. We were scared kids and didn’t know how not to believe the words of our parents. I know that if either one of us could go back, we would.

Even though Cas changed her memories, Cordy’s body tenses as we step into the hospital. She grips my hand tightly as we walk to the main desk and check-in. I ask for Sam Dougherty’s room, pulling out my ID and handing it to the receptionist. She smiles warmly as she hands over the visitor passes she printed for us.

“I need to ask you something, Cordy,” I say as I kneel to place the badge on the front of her shirt. “When we get up to Sam’s room, do you want to see him?” She fidgets at the mention of being in a hospital room. “You don’t have to; it’s your decision.”

“I don’t know,” she answers sheepishly. “If you want me to-”

“No, kid. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. It’s okay if you don’t,” I squeeze her arm. “I know we’ve talked about you getting to know Sam as your dad, but you’ve only met him a couple of times. If you’re not ready to see him, I’m not going to force you.”

“Is he gonna look scary?” She murmurs, looking down at the floor.

I don’t know how to answer the question. Dean said he was hurt badly. If Sam wasn’t going to get better from this, I don’t know if I want her one of her only memories of him to be attached to machines, bruised, and broken. If she’s only going to have one real memory of Sam, let it be of the day that he visited her after the accident.

“How ‘bout,” I offer, “I go and see him first, by myself. And if I think he looks too scary, I’ll tell you.”

“Sammy isn’t gonna be mad?” Cordy looks up to meet my eyes.

“No, of course not,” I say firmly, “he wouldn’t want you to be afraid.” She nods and grabs my hand as we head up to Sam’s room.

I leave Cordy just outside Sam’s room. She looks around for a moment before I hand over my tablet and headphones, letting her drown out the noises of the hospital. I hesitate to leave her, and when a nurse volunteers to sit with her, I graciously accept. I place a kiss on her forehead, whispering one four three in her ear before heading into Sam’s room. I peer into the open door of the room. Sam’s long frame fills the bed. He looks emaciated; his face bruised, eyes and cheeks sunken in, and skin stretched taut over his bones.

Dean’s at his side, hunched over; I can see his mouth moving but can’t make out anything he’s saying. I wipe the forming tears away, knocking softly on the door. Dean jumps slightly at the sound, and a look of relief washes over his face when he sees me.

“Y/N,” Dean frowns when he catches sight of me, his eyes immediately fall on my broken arm. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he wraps his arms around me. “Cas said he tried to heal–”

“What happened, Dean?” I pull away from him, focusing my attention on Sam. “How did he get this bad?”

“Did Cas tell you what we were trying to do?”

“Said something about closing Hell Gates,” I can’t take my eyes off of Sam’s body. Dean leads me to a chair, letting me sit down before moving to the opposite side of the bed. He grabs a second chair, pulling it around so that he’s sitting next to me.

“Yeah. What we didn’t know when Sam started them is that to complete the Trials, Sam would have to die.” Dean looks back over to Sam. “I couldn’t let that happen. I tried to convince him to stop, Y/N, but he wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t stop,” Dean seems to be reassuring himself just as much as me. “The only reason he’s probably still alive right now is that he collapsed before he could finish it.”

“Where’s Cas? Can’t he do something?” I ask, hopefully. “He can heal Sam, can’t he?”

“Sam’s been too damaged for months for Cas to do anything,” Dean sighs. “Tried to help a while back, and even then, he couldn’t do anything. I haven’t let that stop me, Y/N,” Dean offers a sad smile. “I’ve tried praying, but Cas won’t answer.”

“What about another angel?” I’m desperate, taking Sam’s lifeless hand in my own. “Cas can’t be the only one who can help.”

“The thing about angels, Y/N, is most of ‘em are dicks.” Dean lets out a pained laugh. “And they’re not exactly fans of Sam and me. Most won’t help even if they can.”

“You have to do something, Dean,” I plead. “You can’t let him die. You said you’d watch out for him. He can’t die, not now; I need him. Me and Cordy, we need him.”

“Y/N.”

“You’re friends with a freaking angel, you know the King of Hell, but you can’t do anything to save Sam? You’re not trying hard enough, Dean.” I direct all of the guilt I’m feeling at Dean; a part of me knows it’s not fair to him, but I can’t help it. “All this will be for nothing if he’s gone. You tried to stop him and now look at him,” I direct my attention back to Sam.

Dean silently takes my verbal lashing, his emerald eyes filling with tears.

“Screw you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Sam is my brother, and we’ve been through more shit together than you will ever know.” I can hear the pain in Dean’s voice, but he remains calm and quiet, and I notice him discreetly wiping a tear away. “I’ve watched him die too many times already, and I wasn’t gonna let it happen again. I couldn’t let another Winchester grow up without a parent; me and Sam, we practically raised ourselves. Cordy deserves to have both of her parents raising her.”

“Dean–”

“You don’t know how messed up Sam got, Y/N!” Dean’s face reddens, and his voice starts to rise. “He was about to die, and he didn’t even care! If you’d heard what he said in that church– He thinks that you and Cordy are better off without him; that you can just replace him. He’s not replaceable, Y/N. I was trying to talk him off a ledge, and you wanna know the worst part? I’m the reason he got so messed up. I was the one that was supposed to be doing the Trials, not Sam. I could’ve finished them, and he could’ve finally gotten out. I had to save my brother; I will always do whatever it takes to save him. You can put the blame on me for how he is now, but don’t act like you wouldn’t have at least tried to stop him if you were there.”

“Dean,” I can barely speak, “I’m sorry. I just–”

“D’you know what he’s wanted since we were kids?” Dean doesn’t wait for me to respond and focuses back on Sam. “A normal life. He never wanted to be a hunter, follow in dad’s footsteps; he wanted to be his own person. I’m the one who dragged his ass away from Stanford, I’m the reason he wasn’t there when Jessica was murdered, and I know that deep down, a part of him will never be able to forgive me for it. Sam had his chance at normal, but he gave it up for me. If I hadn’t pulled him into that hunt, he probably wouldn’t have come back. He’d be living some apple-pie life with you or Jessica; married, a couple of kids running around, a dog, house with a white picket fence.”

“I don’t have a white picket fence,” I say softly, garnering a small chuckle from Dean. “But, I want all that with him. I want him around, to be a father to Cordy and- and...” I stop myself from saying any more, reluctant to tell him about this baby as well. If I tell him and Sam doesn’t make it through this, I can’t have Dean as a looming presence in Cordy and this baby’s life, reminding all of us of something we can never have. “Before Crowley, I was ready to find a way to make it work with Sam. After Crowley left, I was so scared, Dean, so angry. I still am, but I want us to move past all that. Cordy’s ready to know her dad.”

“Cordy knows?” Dean asks, his eyes going wide at my confession, “I thought you were– You said you didn’t want to tell her, that you wanted to wait until she was ready?” Dean’s brow furrows, and I can hear the anger in his voice. I had insisted to both brothers that Cordy wasn’t ready to know the truth, but now, only a few months later, she was suddenly ready?

“I was,” I focus my attention back on Sam, and I can feel the daggers Dean is staring into me. “That morning, after you left? That box of photos was still out,” I explain. I could tell he thought that I’d lied to him that night. “I’d meant to put them away, but after everything that happened, I was exhausted and pretty much passed out on the couch. When I woke up, Cordy was going through it and started asking questions. She was putting everything together before I could even come up with an excuse. The kid’s too smart for her own good,” I chuckle, and Dean relaxes slightly. “It was rough; Cordy was angry and confused, but she’s adjusting, we both are. She’s been getting used to the idea, and for the last month, she’s been asking me about getting to know Sam.”

“I’ll find a way to get him back to the both of you,” Dean promises, reaching out to give my hand a firm squeeze. “I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Dean and I sit in silence for a few minutes before a doctor joins us. He explains the extent of Sam’s injuries: massive internal burns, oxygen deprivation, the coma is Sam’s last resort of self-preservation.

“He’s dying,” Dean mutters.

“If he continues on this trajectory, I’m afraid so. The machines may be able to keep him alive, but with injuries such as these–”

“There isn’t anything you can do?” I question the doctor.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s in God’s hands now,” the doctor smiles at me sympathetically.

“God’s hands?” Dean huffs, and his face hardens. “You’re a medical professional, and you’re telling us that my brother’s life is in God’s hands? What, is that supposed to be some sort of– of comfort?”

“Dean,” I sigh, “he’s just saying–”

“No, Y/N,” Dean snaps at me. He immediately gives me an apologetic smile before standing up to meet the doctor at the edge of the bed. “God has nothing to do with this equation. If I wanted to leave it up to God, I wouldn’t have brought him here in the first place. Do your job, save my brother.”

The doctor doesn’t flinch at Dean’s verbal assault, taking it as gracefully as one can. He apologizes again before leaving us alone. Dean refuses to sit back down, pacing around the room and muttering under his breath. I focus back on Sam, squeezing his hand tighter, praying for some kind of response to show that he’s still there, fighting his way back to Cordy and me.

“You have to fight, Sam,” I lean in and whisper. “I didn’t mean what I said that night; I was angry and scared. We do need you. You can’t leave Cordy and me, not like this.”

The room is silent, save for the heart monitor beeping steadily and my sniffling. Dean has stopped pacing, and when I look up, he’s staring at Sam and me, waiting as much as I am for some kind of sign that Sam isn’t giving up. I wipe my tears away and take a long, calming breath before speaking.

“Cordy’s outside,” I say as I leave my seat. “I’m– I’m gonna talk to her, see if she wants to see Sam.”

Dean nods slightly, and as I walk by him, he pulls me into a hug, “I’ll find a way to fix this, Y/N,” he reassures me. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get him better again.”

When I get back to Cordy, she is intensely focused on the tablet in her hands. I take another long inhale, hoping that I can hide the evidence of my tears. I playfully tug at her headphones, pulling her attention away from the tablet, and I see she’s watching a video from a channel called Ghostfacers.

“Learn anything interesting?” I ask as I take the seat next to her.

“Nah,” she shrugs and turns off the tablet, “those guys are weirdos.”

I laugh as she puts the tablet back into my bag. I try to figure out the best way to breach the subject of Sam to Cordy.

“How’s Sammy?” Cordy asks as if she can read my mind, and I give her a tight-lipped smile.

“He’s– He’s not doing okay.” I try to think of a way to explain his condition to her, something that will make sense. “You know how sometimes when you’re sick, you just want to sleep?” Cordy nods. “Well, right now, Sam is really sick, so he’s gonna stay asleep until he’s better.”

“How long is Sammy gonna sleep?” Cordy questions innocently. “Are we gonna stay until he wakes up?”

“I– I don’t know, kid,” I tell her honestly. “It could be days, weeks, or,” I struggle with the next words, “Sam may never wake up.”

Cordy seems to understand what I’m saying, and I’m thankful that I don’t have to say the words, ‘Sam’s dying.’ I don’t push her to respond, letting her think over whatever she may want to say next. I keep my own conflicted feelings at bay; half wants to take her back to Lawrence and never talk about this ever again; the other half wants her to go in and see him so that at least she can get a proper goodbye.

“Can I see him?” Cordy asks after a few moments of silence. “Would that be okay?”

“If that’s what you want, kid,” I grab her hand in mine and gently squeeze it before walking us back towards Sam’s room.

Dean’s still pacing the floor when I walk in; Cordy stays behind me, gripping my hand tightly. I try to move forward, but she pulls back against me, stopping at the doorway. Dean peers around me before closing the gap between us and crouches down to meet Cordy at her eye-level.

“Hey, Princess, do you remember me?” Dean asks sweetly.

Cordy smiles and nods, “Y/N says you’re my uncle.”

“That’s right,” Dean’s eyes shine with pride. “I’m Sammy’s big brother. Do you know what big brothers do?” he asks, and Cordy shakes her head. “We protect our little brothers. We don’t let anything happen to them.”

“Can I talk to him?” She looks between Dean and me. “Is that okay?”

“Sure, kid,” I smile weakly.

Cordy lets go of my hand and makes her way to the empty chair by Sam’s side. Dean gives my arm a reassuring squeeze as I walk by, and I sit in the chair that he previously occupied. Cordy doesn’t say anything at first, seemingly studying Sam silently, she wasn’t one to normally shy away from a conversation, but this is a new experience for her.

“Why don’t you tell Sam about school?” I suggest, knowing that once she starts talking, it’ll be hard to get her to stop.

Cordy nods before explaining in unbelievable detail about her teachers and classmates. She tells him all about our new house and how she decorated her room because she’s not a little kid anymore, which causes a small laugh from both Dean and me. She speaks non-stop for what seems like hours, telling Sam everything he would ever need to know to become integrated into our lives.

“Definitely Sam’s kid,” Dean jokes from the edge of the bed, listening just as intently as Sam would. Cordy doesn’t pay any attention and goes right back to chattering.

After a few minutes, Dean gets up and gestures for me to join him outside the room. He tells me he has a plan, that it could be our only hope to save Sam, and gently orders me not to let anyone else into the room until he gets back. I want to pry for more details, but it must be a long-shot or something dangerous if Dean’s not giving them.

When I walk back into the room, Cordy is telling Sam how she hopes that he will be awake for her birthday, and my heart breaks. Unless Dean can pull off some miracle, Sam won’t recover from this; his body is far too damaged.

When Dean returns a half-hour later, a bruise is blossoming on his cheek as if he’s been in a fight, and a large man follows closely behind him. Something about him is unsettling, and Cordy stops speaking when she sees him, leaving her seat to move into my lap.

“Y/N, I think you should take Cordy outside,” Dean suggests, and the man eyes the two of us.

For a moment, I want to protest, but Dean hardens his face, and it seems that he’s as wary of this stranger as I am.

“Okay,” I nod, getting out of the chair and grabbing Cordy by the hand. She tugs against me and takes a few steps towards the head of the bed. She leans over so much that only her toes are touching the ground and does her best to hug Sam and places a kiss on his cheek. If I had any less control over myself, I’d be a sobbing mess at the sight—damn hormones.

I give Cordy a small smile when she turns around and returns her hand to mine. I settle her back into the same seat before returning to Sam’s room.

“Dean? What’s going on? Who is this?”

“My name is Ezekiel,” the man faces me, “I am not here to harm you or your daughter, Y/N.”

“How do you–”

“Angel,” Dean answers before I can finish asking my question. “He’s here to help, right?” Ezekiel nods. “Even cut-off from Heaven, you can still heal him, can’t you?”

“Your brother is very weak.”

“No, no,” Dean growls, “I saved your life, and you said you could help. That was our deal: I fight, you save.”

“Please,” I say, stepping closer to Ezekiel. “You can’t do anything?”

“There are no good ways, I’m afraid.”

“Then what are some of the bad ones?” Dean says. “He’s dying, let’s hear ‘em, good or bad.”

Ezekiel explains that he can help from the inside. I watch as Dean contemplates what Ezekiel says, looking to me for some kind of relief. I shake my head, and I tell him I don’t understand.

“Possession,” Dean explains.

“It is your decision, Y/N, and yours, Dean,” Ezekiel sits down.

“No, it’s not,” Dean murmurs. “It’s Sam’s. He’d never say yes to being some angel’s meatsuit.”

“I understand, but without my help, your brother will die.”

Dean turns his attention to Sam and sighs, “do it.”

“Dean,” I pull him towards me. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

“He can fix Sam, Y/N!” Dean argues. “This is the only solution I can think of that doesn’t involve something worse.”

“Worse than you letting some angel possess him?” I question in disbelief. “I know you want to help him, Dean. But this isn’t the way, tell me you don’t know that.”

“What, you want to leave it in God's hands? Just wait and see if maybe he comes out of this? Those Trials– The person completing them is meant to die; it’s supposed to be the ultimate sacrifice. I say Sam’s sacrificed enough in his life. He deserves to live, Y/N.”

“I don’t want him gone either, Dean, but this should be his choice, not yours or mine. You know him better than anyone. Do you think this is how he’d want you to save him? He wouldn’t want this, Dean. I don’t want this.”

“You told me to fix him, that you want to keep him in your life, Y/N. That’s what I’m doing.”

“I know, but–” I turn my gaze to Ezekiel and then back to Sam. “This isn’t right, Dean. You know it isn’t.”

Dean shrugs me off of him and steps closer to Ezekiel, and they begin talking in hushed tones. My eyes land on Sam, and for a moment, I consider what Dean is saying, thinking that it may be the only way to keep Sam in my and Cordy’s lives. I watch Ezekiel; his voice is too low for me to make out any exact words. There’s something he’s not telling us. Ezekiel repeats his offer.

“He’d never say yes to you,” Dean murmurs.

“But he would say yes to you or Y/N,” Ezekiel offers, his eyes land between us. "If you want me to help Sam, we must act quickly." Despite his words, there is no urgency in Ezekiel's voice, no emotion. "Your brother doesn't have much time."

"No," I murmur, shaking my head when Dean faces me. "You're not going to use me to manipulate Sam. There's gotta be another way, Dean."

“There's not, Y/N," Dean sighs. "You heard the doctor; there's nothing more they can do."

"That's not what he said, Dean," I argue, even though from what we were told, there was little chance of Sam recovering. I have to hope that somehow he can get better. "People wake up from comas every day. There are new therapies–"

"They will not work, Y/N," Ezekiel states matter-of-factly. "The damage done to Sam's body cannot be healed by mere mortals. Sam will die unless you allow me to help."

"If I’m going to consider this, you show me, prove to me how bad he is," Dean's desperate; we both are. Ezekiel moves, placing one hand on Sam and the other on Dean, and both men go still for a few moments. I stand there, unable to do anything but watch as the heart monitor beeps become further apart.

"What're you doing, Sam?" Dean says barely above a whisper. He turns to face me again, and I can see the fear and panic playing on his face. He turns back to Ezekiel. "Go in as me to convince him."

"Dean!"

“Tell him I gotta plan, that he has to trust me," Dean ignores me and instructs Ezekiel. "And– and that he has a kid that needs him."

I can’t take it anymore, and I don’t want to be anymore complicit in Dean letting Ezekiel possess Sam than I already am. Dean and Ezekiel are too caught up in their conversation to notice me walking towards Sam. If Dean wants Ezekiel to save Sam, he's not going to use us to do it.

I lean forward and whisper in his ear, “I’m sorry.” I squeeze Sam’s lifeless hand and place a kiss on his forehead. "One four three."

I don’t say anything else to Dean or Ezekiel and reluctantly leave the room. I try to keep myself calm when I get back to Cordy, giving her a pained smile that I hope she doesn't see through. She doesn’t question me when I take her hand in mine and begin walking us towards the elevators. I know I’ll have to explain why we’re leaving at some point, but I can’t do it now, not when I can hardly wrap my brain around it.

We’re halfway down the hall when I hear Dean calling after me, I do my best to ignore it, but it becomes more difficult when Cordy points it out as if somehow I don’t hear him. Dean's voice continues to follow, and I can see Cordy giving me a questioning look out of the corner of my eye.

“Y/N!” Dean’s hand lands on my shoulder, only moments after we reach the elevator bay. “Don’t leave, please, I’m begging you,” he pleads. “It’s the only way.”

"You're not doing this in front of Cordy, Dean," I scold him before turning my attention to Cordy. "Go take a seat over there, please," I gesture to a row of empty chairs.

"But, Y/N–" Cordy tries to protest.

"Now, Cordy." She pouts, and once she is far enough away that she can no longer hear us, Dean tries to start in again, but I beat him to it. "How fucking dare you. You think I'm gonna let you use Cordy and me to trick Sam into letting some,” I lower my voice as a staff worker walks by, “angel possess him?”

"I’m doing this for you, for Cordy.”

“You’re doing this for you, Dean,” I argue back. “You don’t even know this guy. He could be lying to you. How do you know he’s not going to just–” I can feel myself getting worked up and take a deep breath. “I might not know anything about angels, but you can’t tell me that Ezekiel doesn’t seem to be a little off?”

“So, what, you just– just want to let him die? You're ready to just give up on him?” Dean’s face grows red, and his forehead crinkles.

“Stop it, Dean,” I snap. “I want him back too, but this isn’t the way.” I take a deep breath. “I'm not okay with this, Dean, and you know Sam wouldn't be either."

“What about Cordy, everything you've told me? You want her to grow up without her dad?”

“Screw you, Dean.” I bite back, the palm of my hand connecting with his cheek. “Cordy is my kid and the most important person in my world. I won’t let you guilt me into thinking you're doing this for her.”

“We’re outta options, Y/N. What else do you want me to do? I can’t– I won’t walk away when there’s a chance to save him. Sam’ll–”

“Sam will never forgive you, Dean.”

“He might be pissed at me for the rest of his life, but at least he’ll be alive, Y/N.”

"I can't stop you, Dean. But if you go through with it: making Sam's choice for him, then you're making mine too." I call out for Cordy, and she joins me by my side again. "Say goodbye to Dean," I instruct her gently, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Don't do this," Dean whispers, and I shake my head, twisting slightly to press the button on the wall. I can't stay, not when I have two other people to think about. "Please."

Cordy hesitantly places her arms around Dean and mumbles goodbye to him. When she steps back, I lay my hands on her shoulder and pull her closer to me so that she can't see the tears slipping from my eyes.

"Goodbye, Dean," I say as I hear the doors ding open and turn around to step into the elevator. Dean's emerald eyes are filled with tears as I face him a final time. "I hope you make the right choice," I whisper as the doors close.

As we exit the hospital, Cordy questions why we’re leaving, and I struggle to find an answer. We'll be back on a plane to Lawrence tomorrow, and I do everything I can to evade her questions about Sam, eventually settling on Sam may never wake up.

We are walking into the house when a backfiring car sends me over the edge. Cordy helplessly watches as I’m thrust back into my memories of the night of the werewolf attack; its amber eyes staring me down, its claws swiping at me, how I had to lie to everyone about what happened, how I still have to. Sam never leaving my side until we were pulled apart by my parents.

My whole world is crashing down around me, and all I want is Sam. I want to feel his arms around me again, telling me that everything will be okay. I want to sink my body into his, taking solace in his comforting embrace, and let myself get lost in him. I want him to be with us forever, having the family he’s wanted since I told him I was pregnant all those years ago.

My Sam may be gone forever, and the only thing I can do is pray that Dean made the right decision.

Three Years Later

“Cordelia Mary!” I yell from the bottom of the stairs. “Your butt better be down here in five minutes.”

“Mo-om!” I hear her door opening, and she steps onto the landing. “That’s not enough time–”

“Too bad, kid,” I huff. “I mean it, Cordy, five minutes, or I'm taking your phone away.” A grumbled okay comes from the top of the stairs. I head back towards the kitchen, blue and green orbs watching me as I walk back in. “What’re we gonna do about her, Sammy?” I laugh as I bend down and scoop him up in my arms. “No ideas, huh?”

"You yell at sissy." He giggles when I nuzzle into his neck and blow raspberries on his chubby cheeks. “Sissy in t’ouble?"

"No, baby. Sissy isn't in trouble," I sit him down in his chair and run my fingers through his chestnut locks. Sammy’s eyes widen, and a smile forms when he looks behind me.

Large hands wrapping around my waist cause me to jump back and let out a yelp. I turn around to a cheeky grin; he’s obviously very proud of himself.

“You jerk,” I swat at his chest, trying to retain my serious demeanor, which becomes harder to do as Sammy’s laughter fills the kitchen. Warm, comforting arms pull me closer to him. I let my hands settle on the back of his neck, curling my fingers in his hair. He leans down to place a tender kiss on my lips, letting his two-day scruff scratch against my lips. “I don’t know why I put up with you sometimes.” I roll my eyes playfully at him.

“You say that, but,” his lips move to the shell of my ear, “we both know exactly why you put up with me.” He pulls back and gives me a wink. His hand leaves my waist and delicately takes my left hand into his kissing the diamond ring still settling on my finger. “‘Sides, you love me, and you know it.”

“Love?” I scoff, trying to hide my smile. “I don’t know if I would say that. Not if you insist on sneaking up on me all the time.”

“Sammy saw me, didn’t you?” I turn in his embrace, letting my back settle against his chest, and his arms stay tight around me. Sammy giggles and shakes his head. “Traitor,” he whispers.

I curl my hands around his arms; it has taken us so long to get here, something I never thought would happen. The watch on his wrist alerts me to the time, and I gently pull away from him, making my way back towards the stairs.

“Cordy! I’m serious!” I yell up the stairs, “You’d better be down here in two minutes!”

"Do you want me to talk to her?” he asks as I walk back into the kitchen. He’s sitting down next to Sammy, cutting fruit into halves as Sammy tries shoveling the food into his mouth. “See what the problem is?"

"She's a teenager; that's the problem," I laugh, taking a seat at the table. “Didn’t think you’d be here three years ago, did you?”

“What do you mean?” His eyebrow furrows in confusion.

“Raising a teenager and a toddler with someone who works ridiculous hours and has serious abandonment issues,” I keep my tone light, but he knows the insecurity behind my words.

“Y/N,” Jason reaches for my hand and gently squeezes it. “I told you a long time ago, I don’t give up that easily. If I didn’t think I could handle it, I wouldn’t have pursued you for as long as I did,” he says with a chuckle. “I love you, Y/N; Cordy and Sammy, they may not be mine, but I’ll never treat them any different than if they were. I’m never gonna walk away from you or them.”

Cordy is downstairs just as I’m about to call out for her again. She chatters away as she eats her breakfast, only to be interrupted by Sammy’s need to chime in. She placates her little brother, and we all listen intently as he struggles to connect one thought to another.

“C’mon, kid,” I stand up from the table, “it’s our turn to carpool; go get Ava.”

She quickly gets out of her chair and places a kiss on Sammy’s cheek. She lets Jason pull her in for a quick hug before grabbing her backpack and making for the front door. I lean down and place a kiss on his lips before doing the same with Sammy. By the time I’m outside, Cordy and Ava are both in the back seat, deep in conversation.

I drop the girls off at school and make my way back home, ready to sleep for hours and thankful that I have the next two days off. Jason plans his schedule around mine so that one of us can be home with Cordy and Sammy more often than not. On a day like today, when I’m coming off a twelve-hour shift from the hospital, he’ll leave late in the morning and come back in the early afternoon. I find it comforting to know that I will never have to worry about him not returning from a job.

Jason and Sammy are sitting on the living room floor when I walk through the door, watching some kids show that I can’t quite place. I laugh to myself when I notice that Jason seems to be just as invested as Sammy. I take the opportunity to sneak up on him, and Jason nearly jumps to his feet when my hands land on his back. Sammy lets out a loud, high-pitched squeal and claps his chubby hands together, laughing as Jason chuckles.

“Consider that your payback,” I giggle as he turns around, wrapping my arms around his neck, and he lands a playful swat on my ass.

"You'll pay for that later," he teases before leaning forward to press a kiss on my lips.

I sit with them for as long as I can before exhaustion starts to overpower my will to stay awake—damn midnight shifts.

I make my way upstairs and crawl into the comfort of my bed, allowing sleep to finally take me. The bed dips and the warmth of a body where there was once cold causes me to stir, and I roll over, opening my eyes to meet Jason’s blue ones. I smile sleepily as he presses his lips on my forehead and tells me that he’s put Sammy down for his nap. I pull his face downward, allowing him to kiss me properly. Jason holds me close, pulling me flush against him, letting me take comfort in his warm embrace until I’m asleep again.

“Mama.” Sammy’s small voice wakes me, and I open my eyes to see him reach for the edge of the bed, his curls matted on one side. “Wake up, mama!”

“Hey, baby,” I coo, trying to shake the hoarseness away. I swing my legs over the bed and reach for Sammy, pulling him into my lap. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Good nap, mama,” he repeats.

“Are you ready for a snack?” I ask as I stand up, letting Sammy settle on my hip.

“Hung’y, mama,” Sammy happily nods as we make our way downstairs.

I set Sammy down in his pack n’ play and pour some Puffs into a bowl, letting his loud crunching and noisy toys fill the kitchen as I fix us something to eat. As I’m setting the plates down, I hear a knock on the front door.

“Ugh, every time,” I complain, taking a small piece of apple and placing it in my mouth. “I’ll be back in just a minute, okay?”

“‘Kay, mama,” Sammy says as he picks up another puff.

Another rapping comes from the door, this one louder than the last, probably some salesperson, I murmur. When I open the door, all I see at first is a broad, tall body covered by a blue plaid shirt, and as I let my eyes travel up, I meet a pair of eyes that I never thought I’d see again.

“Sam.”

“Y/N/N.”

My heart races at the sound of my name on his lips, but I can’t move; the last time I saw Sam, Dean was about to let an angel possess him. What if this wasn’t Sam? What if this was Ezekiel? I eye him suspiciously. Should I call Cas?

“It’s me, Y/N/N,” Sam says as if he can read my mind.

“No.” I shake my head and attempt to close the door. “I don’t know who or what you are, but you stay away from my family and me.”

“Y/N/N, baby, it’s me." Sam gently steps forward and stops the door. "We met Thanksgiving 2002,” he offers. “I saved you from a werewolf, you clung to me the whole night, and I started falling for you right then. I had to convince my dad to let me stay, I told him it was for school, but it’s ‘cause I wanted to stay close to you. The first time you said ‘I love you’ was Valentine’s Day; we went to The Tavern, and you were concerned about the prices. The day you told me you were pregnant– it was one of the happiest days of my life, even though I was scared shitless. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you again at Joe’s. I wanted to tell you right then and there how much I missed you; how sorry I was–”

“You’re rambling,” I murmur, reaching out and pressing my palm to his cheek, and he leans into my touch. Sam wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tightly as if he’s afraid to let me go.

“What– what’re you doing here? How–?” I mumble into his chest.

“Cas,” Sam takes a deep breath. I let him hold on to me while I try to keep myself calm. “Told us you were in Lawrence; I can’t tell you how pissed Dean–” I pull away slightly, and Sam shakes his head. “Quick search gave me your address,” he gives me an embarrassed smile that quickly fades. Sam’s embrace around me loosens, and I step back to scan his face. The dark circles under his eyes hint at the fact that it’s probably been days since he last slept. “I guess I should have called first?” Sam lets out a laugh that seems to be hiding pained thoughts.

“It’s not that,” I shake my head. “I– I can’t believe you’re here. I didn’t think–”

Sam takes my hand in his rubbing it gently, and gives me a small smile. His brow furrows, and his smile quickly fades as his eyes travel down toward our connected hands.

“You’re married,” Sam states, brushing his thumb over the ring on my finger. “Of course you are." He lets go and shakes his head, seemingly in disbelief. “I’ll just– I’ll go. I don’t–”

“Wait, Sam,” I stop him. “Come in, please,” I insist. Sam nods his head warily, and I step aside so that he can walk in. I can hardly form a coherent thought as he walks into my house. He doesn’t make it far in before stopping, reaching out to touch a photo hanging on the wall. Even without a clear view, I know it’s of Cordy, taken only a few weeks ago on the first day of school. The smile that forms on Sam’s face is instant, and I can see his eyes beginning to water.

“Corie, she’s– she’s beautiful, Y/N/N,” he says, eyes never leaving the frame.

I join him in front of the photo, and I watch as he studies it intensely. "Let's talk," I whisper as I move away from the wall and towards the kitchen. My eyes immediately fall on Sammy when I walk back in, who’s keeping himself busy with one of his many toys, smiling at the random noises coming from him. I turn around when I can no longer feel Sam’s presence behind me, and I see him staring blankly at Sammy through the mesh material.

“You– you had a baby,” Sam murmurs, taking his eyes off the toddler and gives me a sad smile. “I’m happy for you, Y/N/N,” Sam’s words are hollow. “I'm sure Corie’s a great big sister."

“She tries,” I laugh slightly, “maybe Dean could–”

“Dean’s dead.” Sam cuts me off, his bluntness taking me by surprise. “He sacrificed himself so that we could be together– our family could be together,” Sam’s jaw clenches slightly, and his face reddens. “But I come back here, and you’re married, and have another kid–”

“Sam,” I move towards him. I know how it must look—that shortly after we last saw each other, I found someone else; that I replaced him. “I need to tell you–”

“No, Y/N/N, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Voice laced with anger, Sam stiffens before taking a few steps back. “It’s been three years,” He turns around and heads back towards the front of the house. "I couldn’t expect you to wait around forever, could I?”

“Sam–!” I try to get his attention before he leaves, but he ignores me. I grab Sammy and chase him down as best I can with a toddler in my arms.

“I just– I want to be in Corie’s life, Y/N/N,” Sam says as he reaches for the door. “I want to know my daughter, and I want her to know me. I’m out of the life. Without Dean, I can’t do it; I’m not a hunter anymore. Talk it over with your husband; I’ll do whatever you want, Y/N/N, please, just don’t keep Corie away from me.”

“Sam, wait, please–” He’s halfway across the lawn when I stop him, my free hand landing on his shoulder. Sam stills but doesn’t turn around. I walk around him so that I’m standing in front of him. Sam’s eyes are bloodshot, tears flowing freely from them as he stares at the ground. “Stay.”

“I can’t,” Sam looks up to meet my gaze. “I can’t stay and not be with you, Y/N/N. You and Corie– You’re a real family now,” his eyes briefly land on Sammy again, who’s tugging at the necklace Sam gave me. “I’m not going to stand in your way. You and your husband–”

“Stop, Sam,” I plead, reaching up to wipe his tear-stained cheeks. “I’m so sorry about Dean.”

“We didn’t have any other choice,” Sam murmurs, leaning into my touch as I tuck back some of his fallen hair behind his ear. “Dean, he– he made me promise to come to find you, get our family back. Said that he wanted us to be together, made Cas tell me where you were. I-I didn’t think...” Sam shakes his head and his voice trembles. “I-I wanna stay nearby so that I can stay close to Corie.”

“Mama, look!” Sammy points to Jason’s truck as it pulls into the driveway and tries to squirm out of my hold. “Daddy!” By the time Sammy is down, Jason is already heading towards us. Sammy is wobbly on his feet as he makes for Jason, who lifts him into his arms, causing a giggle to leave Sammy.

“Hey, babe,” Jason places a light kiss on my lips and lets his free hand around settle on my waist. “Who’s this?”

“Jason, this is Sam,” I say cautiously. Jason’s brows raise in surprise as he seemingly puts it together. Sam doesn’t move, only narrowing his eyes on Jason. “Sam, this is Jason.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Jason offers his hand to Sam, and I know he’s trying to play nice. Sam doesn’t move, giving him a tight-lipped smile and a nod. Jason closes his hand and brings it back to his side. “I’m gonna take him inside,” Jason gestures to Sammy, breaking the growing tension between the three of us. “I can hear this one’s stomach growling,” he jokes. “You hungry, buddy?”

Sammy nods his head excitedly, and Jason lets him down onto the grass. Sammy is tugging at his arm, guiding Jason back towards the house.

“It was nice meeting you, Sam,” Jason says after taking a few steps away from us. Sam doesn’t respond again, only giving another nod.

Jason disappears back inside the house, leaving Sam and me alone on the lawn. I don’t know how to tell him everything that I need to.

“He’s cute,” Sam says half-heartedly, and I lift my brow in confusion, “The kid. I guess your husband is too. How long have you been together?”

“Jason isn’t– we’re not married,” I finally get the chance to correct him. “He proposed a couple of weeks ago.”

“Is he good to you?” Sam takes a step closer to me. “He treats you and Corie right? Because if he’s not–”

“He’s been good for us, all of us. Stepped into a role when he could’ve run the other direction,” I laugh slightly.

I can see that Sam has more questions, but my front yard’s public nature makes it difficult. Realizing that Cordy will be home in a couple of hours, I suggest going somewhere more private, promising to answer all of his questions. Sam agrees, and I run back into the house to redress and tell Jason that Sam and I need to discuss everything alone. Jason hesitates, but he reluctantly agrees that it would be for the best. I leave him and Sammy with a kiss, promising to be back in a few hours.

"Dean said that you came to the hospital." Sam sits down across from me at the diner, nodding politely at the waitress as she drops off our two coffees.

"I had to," I murmur, bringing the ceramic cup to my lips and taking a sip. "I'm sorry that I didn't stay. I wanted to, but something about Ezekiel and what Dean wanted him to do, it didn't feel right."

"It's okay," Sam assures me and reaches across the table to take my hand in his. "Ezekiel, he– he wasn’t who he said he was, he lied to Dean from the start, didn’t even tell him his real name, Gadreel. When Dean became suspicious, Gadreel– he locked me away inside my mind, and used my body to kill innocent people,” Sam tears his gaze away from mine and brings his hand back into his lap. “It’s good that you left. You and Corie, you– you wouldn’t have been safe if you stayed.”

Sam spends the better part of the next hour filling me in on everything that happened since we’d last seen each other. I don’t know how to tell Sam about Sammy, and for a brief moment, I consider letting him think that Sammy isn’t his, but quickly decide against it. Sam's face lights up when I tell him, and tears fill his eyes as I pull out my phone to show him the trove of photos of Sammy and Cordy. If Sam was truly out, then I had to give him the chance to be a part of our lives, didn’t I? Cordy and Sammy deserve the chance to know Sam, the Sam I fell in love with.

It’s late by the time I return, and I do everything I can to act as if everything is normal. Cordy, Sammy, and Jason are curled up on the couch, watching a movie, and I greet them quickly before heading upstairs. Cordy calls out for me to join them, causing Jason to turn around and take in my appearance. I tell her I’ll be back down after a shower, and I see Jason getting up out of the corner of my eye.

I don’t realize that Jason is behind me until I hear the door closing only moments after walking into my room.

"I think we should talk," He murmurs, closing the gap between us. I fiddle with the ring on my finger and move towards the bed, taking a seat on the edge. "About us, the kids; about Sam," I nod, and my eyes stay fixated on the ring on my finger. “Whatever happened today, just- just don’t lie, Y/N, please, no matter how difficult the truth is.”

“Okay,” I nod again, and Jason places a kiss on my temple.

“You told me that Sam disappeared,” Jason moves down so that our eyes can meet. “Did you know that he was going to show up here today?”

The topic of Sam was a difficult one for me to breach with Jason. He’s never pushed me for more information than what I am willing to give him. When we first started dating, Sammy was only a few months old. I had finally come to terms with the fact that Sam was most likely dead or worse. Radio silence from Dean seemingly confirmed my suspicions, and I allowed myself to move on, to fall in love again. My feelings for Sam never disappeared, they stayed deep inside me, and when I saw him again, they all came rushing to the surface.

"No," I answer honestly. "The last time I saw Sam, he was in a coma. His brother and I couldn’t agree on what to do. Dean wanted to use,” I hesitate, “extreme measures, I had just found out I was pregnant with Sammy, and I couldn’t–” I don’t know how to explain it to Jason; how I seemingly took Cordy and ran away. I try to find something that resembles the truth. “He was dying, I wanted him to get better, but I couldn’t watch him become an empty shell of himself. Dean had medical power of attorney, and I had no chance of winning any contestation. Legally, Sam’s not Cordy’s dad; there was nothing I could do. Cordy and I said goodbye, and we left. I thought he died since we didn’t hear from either of them again.”

Jason listens carefully and takes a deep breath before speaking again. Whatever it is, I can tell it's going to be difficult. “Did anything happen while you were with him?"

I’m caught off-guard by the question, and guilt begins to fill every inch of my body. I look away from Jason and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair is mussed, and my lips are still swollen; it couldn’t be any more obvious what happened. Jason is studying me when I face him again, and tears fill my eyes. I don’t want to admit what Sam and I did less than two hours ago.

“Jason, please," I beg, my shame taking over. “I can’t.”

"Please, Y/N," he demands softly, and a choked sob leaves me. “Did you kiss him?” I nod my head and Jason tenses. I glance up and see a mixture of anger and sadness at my confession, which only makes me cry harder.

“Did you–” Jason struggles to get the words out, and I fear I know exactly what his next question will be. “Did you sleep with him?”

"I'm sorry!" I cry, and Jason moves away from me at my confession. He paces the floor in front of me, face growing redder by the second, his jaw clenches, and I see him ball his fists. “I didn’t– I wasn’t– It just happened.”

"It just happened?" Jason stops in his tracks, questioning me in disbelief. "You don't accidentally sleep with someone who isn't your fiancé, Y/N!"

“I- I know,” I sob, barely able to choke out the words. “It all hap-happened so fast," I try to explain myself. “One minute we were talking and the next Sam was kissing me and then…”

"I don't need the details, Y/N," Jason snaps. "Just tell me, why?"

"I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I needed closure; we've never been able to give each other a proper goodbye."

"And sleeping with him got you that?!" He asks in a hushed yell. If the kids weren't downstairs, we'd be in a screaming match right now. "A proper goodbye? So does that mean Sam's leaving? That he’s going to give you and Cordy and Sammy up? Disappear from our lives forever?"

"I-I don't know," I say between sniffs.

Jason storms out of the room, leaving me alone with my guilt. Jason had been there for Sammy’s birth, holding my hand the entire time. He stepped into the role of step-father when he could’ve walked away. Jason is the only father Sammy has ever known; Cordy took longer to warm up to him, still holding out hope that Sam would be a part of our lives again one day. Jason and I discussed him adopting both Cordy and Sammy after we were married, but now that Sam is back, I’m questioning everything.

When Jason returns half an hour later, he’s calmer than before, but I can still see the anger written on his face. He didn’t deserve what Sam and I did to him, and I wouldn’t blame him for leaving me—us. I watch closely as he walks over to the bed and sits down next to me.

“Are you still in love with Sam?” Jason hesitantly asks and takes my hand in his, his thumb grazing over the ring. “Do you want to be with him?”

“He’s Cordy and Sammy’s dad; a part of me will always love him.”

“That’s not what I asked, Y/N,” Jason gently grabs my chin and turns my face towards him. “Are you in love with Sam?” He asks more pointedly.

“I– I don’t know,” I murmur.

“Y/N,” he sighs, “I love you, and if you tell me this won’t ever happen again, I am ready to find a way for us to work through it. But you have to decide what you want, who you want: Sam, or me.”

I let his words sink in, wondering if the situations were reversed if I would be able to do the same. I can’t tell him something like that will never happen again because I don’t know if I can ever trust myself to not fall back into Sam’s arms. Sam was all I ever wanted for ten years, but I had to put my feelings for him aside so that I could focus on Cordy and Sammy; I have to do what’s best for them.

“I’m going to stay at my house tonight.” Jason’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Think about what I’ve said.” He leans down and places a kiss on my forehead.

“Jason,” I reach for his hand, “I never meant to hurt you.”

He smiles sadly, then leaves. I hear him say goodbye to Cordy and Sammy. The silence that follows when the front door closes breaks my heart. A few minutes later, Cordy carries Sammy into my room, and they both crawl into my bed. She’s old enough to understand that something happened between Jason and me. I don’t know if I should tell her of Sam’s return and decide against it. I’m not ready to answer the questions that will inevitably follow. The three of us fall asleep together; Sammy sandwiched between Cordy and me.

When I wake up the next morning, I know what I want. I know who I want. He was the last thing to cross my mind before I fell asleep and the first thing I thought of when I woke up.

I reach for my phone and send him a message asking him to come over as soon as possible. He replies quickly, telling me he will be over shortly. I put the phone down and turn to wake Cordy and Sammy. She grumbles, but I give her a little nudge and ask her to wait downstairs. Cordy sends me a questioning look through her sleepy features, but she complies when I tell her it’s important.

Cordy’s still half-asleep on the couch when I make my way down, Sammy propped on my hip, also unable to keep his eyes open. My whole body is shaking with nerves as I impatiently wait for him to arrive.

Three light raps on the door have me on my feet in seconds, racing towards the future with the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. I swing the door open, letting him step into the house, and he wraps his arms around Sammy and me, holding onto us as tight as he can. I relax into his embrace and breathe in his familiar scent.

As I pull away, I let my eyes fall on his familiar features. I run my free hand through his hair, and a smile appears on his lips. He leans down to press a gentle yet eager kiss on my lips. His rough, calloused fingers tenderly brush against Sammy’s face, and tears fill his eyes as he takes in the little boy’s features. I hand Sammy over to him and notice how small the toddler looks wrapped in his arms. He closes his eyes in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, but when he opens them again, I see the kaleidoscope of blues and greens that I had fallen in love with all those years ago.

“Cordy,” I call into the living room, “come here, please.”

I can hear the padding of Cordy’s feet as she mumbles about it being too early to be up. When she turns the corner, Cordy’s eyes widen, and a broad smile spreads across her face. She runs towards us, ready to jump into his arms.

"Dad!"

A/N 3: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it! I did not intend on this chapter on being as long as it is, but, sometimes you can't stop yourself from writing!

Did you love it? Hate it? Please give a reblog or send an ask and let me know what you think of this final chapter!

Elastic Heart Tags @manawhaat   @that-one-gay-girl @awesomesusiebstuff​ @mrswhozeewhatsis @ilovetaquitosmmmm @suckmyapplejacks​ @traceyaudette​ 

Forever Tags: @akshi8278​

[jensengirl83]

Thank You For Loving Me

Dean x reader

Word count-2587

Warnings-tooth rotting fluff, a tiny bit of angst.

Summary- Dean and the reader have been together for a long time and Dean tries to come up with an idea to show her just how he feels about her. Flashbacks in bold italics.

A/N- I was feeling all sappy tonight so this is what came out of it. Inspired by the song Thank You For Loving Me- Bon Jovi

Home at last. This has been a long and tiring week. The hunt just went all kinds of wrong, taking much longer than it was supposed to. Worst of all, I did not have my girl by my side. These months hunting without her have been hard. I still had Sammy, but not looking in the rear-view mirror to see that smile, eyes shining bright, all for me, has been torture. My life has been turned upside down since the day we met, but in the best way. That day at Bobby’s will forever be one of my favorite days.

Sam and I were beat to hell, dragging ass back to Bobby’s to patch ourselves up and recuperate. We were walking up the steps of his porch when I heard it, her voice, something about it making me stop in my tracks. That had never happened to me before. I had to see the owner of the voice that had my heart racing before I even seen her. I was in a hurry to get inside, not noticing the door was opening. My body slamming hard into something, knocking me on my ass.

“I’m so sorry! I was not paying attention to where I was going! Are you ok?” I look up to see a woman, small framed, eyes big as saucers. Apparently, we had both hit the ground.

“Well, I see you have met Y/n.” Bobby says looking down at us.

“You must be Dean. Bobby said you and your brother were going to be stopping by.” There it was. The smile that had me hooked from the word go. All she had to do was smile and I would forever be putty in her hands.

“Yeah, sorry, here let me help you.” I extend my hand to help her up. The moment we touch, it was electricity running through my veins. I am fairly sure she felt it too by the look on her face.

“Thank you, Dean.”

We have been inseparable since that day. Sam says it is like we are soulmates. I had never believed in that sort of thing, but after meeting her, I am not so sure it doesn’t exist. I put Baby in park and turn off the ignition, more than ready to get inside and see her. I have been gone six days. That is six too many. I am sure Sam is glad to be back to Eileen. If you would have told me and Sam ten years ago that we would both have women at home waiting on us, we would have laughed at you, but that is exactly how it is now. I am so happy that he has Eileen. He deserves to be happy, and Y/n has someone here with her when I cannot be.

“Something smells good in here!” I say turning the corner into the kitchen.

“Dean! You’re home!” That smile, yep, still turns me to putty even seven years later.

“I am home sweetheart.” Her arms are around my waist, head on my chest. I lean to press a kiss to her hair. Her scent washing over me, comforting me on even my worst days.

“I missed you Mr. Winchester.” I squeeze her to me just a little tighter.

“I missed you too, Mrs. Winchester.” She giggles like that is the best thing in the world. It really is. We have been married a little over a year now. Cas the one who officiated, not really being able to go to the courthouse for a marriage license, since I am, technically dead. I do not need a piece of paper to tell me we are married. I figure it’s pretty real considering we were married by an angel.

“Smells like our girls have been busy in here.” Sam says grabbing Eileen to wrap her in a hug.

“It isn’t much. Spaghetti and garlic bread.” Eileen says rolling her eyes at me and Sam.

“Yeah, but when you have been eating road food for a week, spaghetti sounds amazing.” We all laugh, knowing how true my statement is.

“Alright boys, sit down and I will make you a plate.” Y/n says turning towards the stove.

“No, how about you girls sit down. Me and Sammy will serve you ladies dinner tonight.”

“I can put noodles on a plate Dean.” How can someone be so cute rolling their eyes?

“I know you can darling, but you cooked, and you don’t need to be on your feet that much. Let me take care of you for a change huh?” She gives me a stern look but the sigh that leaves her lets me know she is giving in.

“Fine Winchester, you can take care of me.” She places a kiss on the bottom of my chin. The small action making my heart swell. The girls sit at the table while me and Sammy dish the food on our plates. I will never get enough of this. Sam and I, here together with the women we love. I never thought I would enjoy the domestic things. I know I wouldn’t if they weren’t with her.

“Spaghetti and garlic bread for my ladies.” I sit her plate in front of her, kneeling to place my hand on her swollen belly. How did I ever get this lucky? A beautiful woman who loves me unconditionally, even though everything I have put her through over the years, still here by my side giving me even more than I deserve.

“Thank you, baby.” I close my eyes, resting my head in her lap as her fingers pass through my hair, placing gentle kisses to her belly. I cannot wait to meet our daughter, hold her in my arms, watch her grow. I stand to sit down beside her before my emotions get the best of me.

“How have you been feeling Y/n. You don’t have long to go now.” Sam asks sitting down next to Eileen, smile on his face. He is just as excited for our little bundle.

“Tired and swollen.” She is laughing but I know it is true. I don’t know how she does it

“I can’t imagine, but it has to be worth it.” Eileen is saying, but my mind drifts back to the day she told me the best news I have ever received.

We have only been married a few months, going well all things considered. The monsters have been ramping it up and we are all exhausted, poor Y/n seeming to take the brunt. She is constantly tired, not feeling well, and can barely hold anything down. Me and Sammy have been on a hunt a few days now, leaving her at the bunker to rest. Luckily, Eileen and Sam’s relationship getting stronger, she is now there to keep an eye on Y/n. She had an appointment to see a doctor today, hoping to figure out why the stress is making her so sick. Me and Sammy will be making it home tonight, not wanting to waste time and money on a hotel. I also need to get home and find out if Y/n is ok. We are only an hour out, so I decide to call and let her know we will be home soon.

“Hey Dean.” Her voice is weak like she has been crying. I stiffen up, Sam noticing, patting me on the shoulder to settle me back down.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? Are you ok? What did the doctor say?” My mind is reeling. It had to be bad if she has been crying. What the hell am I going to do if it is something horrible?

“I’m fine Dean. When will you be home?” She is not fine. I wish she would just tell me.

“You don’t sound fine Y/n, and we will be there in less than an hour. Now, tell me what’s going on.”  I hear her sigh over the phone.

“We will talk when you make it home. I love you.”

“I love you sweetheart. I’ll be home soon.” I move to end the call when I hear her speak again.

“And Dean….”

“Yeah Y/n” I am trying to keep my voice even, but I am scared as hell.

“Don’t drive too fast ok?” She knows me better than I know myself.

“Promise.” This is going to be the longest hour ever. My mind is all over the place. Sammy keeps telling to wait and see what she has to say, but I am imagining the worst. Of course, I find and marry the love of my life and something bad is going to happen to take her away. Even though I promised, my foot is on the pedal. I have to get home.

“Y/n?!” I am yelling for her the minute I swing open the door. I am running down the stairs, heading for the library, that is usually where she is when she knows I am on my way back. I turn the corner to see Eileen, no sight of Y/n. Before I can ask, Eileen points towards the hall.

“Bedroom” That is all she has to say, and I am sprinting down the hallway. I reach our bedroom door, out of breath, and worried what I am going to find out. I open the door to find her sitting on our bed, something in her hand. I am across the room with her in my arms faster than I knew was possible for me to move.

“Baby please tell me what is going on? You have been crying sweetheart. Just tell me, whatever it is we will figure out how to fix it.” Tears our starting to stain my cheeks. The thought of not having her here with me more than I can take. She smiles, resting her hand on my cheek, brushing the tears away with her thumb. She hands me an envelope, not saying a word, a smile still on her face. How the hell can she be smiling right now?

“Sweetheart?” She laughs at the look of confusion on my face.

“Open it Dean.” She nods her head to encourage me. I take a deep breath to prepare myself for whatever is inside, ripping it open, I pull out a weird black and white picture. I stare at it for a minute, not quite registering what I am looking at. Then I am floored, I have seen these before, an ultrasound.

“Really Y/n? I am going to be a Dad?” The words barely passing through my lips for the lump in my throat. How can you already love something so much that you didn’t even know you wanted in the first place? I had thought about it, but never seriously, it was always something I never thought possible for me. Now, there is nothing I want more, a baby, with the woman who has made the happiest man on Earth right now.

“Yes Dean, you are going to be a Dad.” We are both crying now, wrapped in each other arms. Relief that my girl is ok, and pure joy knowing we are going to be parents.

“Dean? You ok babe?” I am pulled from walk down memory lane, her voice bringing me back to reality.

“I’m good sweetheart, promise.” I lean to kiss her forehead. I want to show her how much I love her, but there are not enough words. She turns back to talk to Sam and Eileen, and I take my chance to sneak out. I will never be able to fully express my feelings for her, but I have to try and do something. I head down the hallway to our room, racking my brain for an idea. I enter our room, she has her candles burning, just the soft glow filling the room. She has always loved her candles, and if she loves them, then so do I. Her music is still playing softly from her Bluetooth speaker I bought her, the flowers I brought her next to it. I look around the room and take it all in. The idea hitting me, it’s not much, but she has always told me it’s the thought that counts. I shut the door and move to put my plan into action. I will not have long before she notices I am missing. I am just finishing up when I hear her voice calling for me. I run to hide behind the door, wanting to surprise her.

“Dean are you in here?” She gasps as she opens the door. The candles spread around the room, flower petals on floor in a trail leading to the bed, more scattered on the mattress. I walk up behind her, place my chin on her head, and my arms around her waist to rest on her belly.

“Surprise sweetheart.” I whisper, her turning her head to look at me. If I thought she was beautiful before, she is absolutely breath taking right now. Her soft features accented by the light of the candles, her smile, not only lighting up the room, but my life. My whole world is in this very room, and I would be content to never pass through the doorway again.

“Dance with me…” I whisper, turning her around in my arms. The opening notes of the song I picked filling the room.

“Always.” Her voice the most beautiful sound in the world to me. I wrap my arms around her and pull her to my chest, swaying my body to begin slowly moving us in a circle. I rest my head on hers, as I start so sing low but loud enough for her to hear.

“It’s hard for me to say the things I want to say sometimes. There’s no one here but you and me and that broken old streetlight. Lock the doors, we’ll leave the world outside. All I’ve got to give to you are these five words when I thank you for loving me. For being my eyes when I couldn’t see. For parting my lips when I couldn’t breathe. Thank you for loving me.” She sighs, relaxing in my arms as I move us around the room. I lift her chin to place a soft and gentle kiss to her lips, trying to put the love I feel for her into every movement I make. I smile as we break apart, placing my forehead to hers, continuing to sing.

“You pick me up when I fall down. You ring the bell before they count me out. If I were drowning you would part the sea and risk your life to rescue me. When I couldn’t fly you gave me wings. You parted my lips when I couldn’t breathe. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for loving me.” I keep our bodies swaying as the song ends, not wanting to let her go. I never want to leave this moment, her body against mine, her smell engulfing my senses, our love radiating between us. This is the closest to perfect that I have ever felt. I never thought that I would ever have this kind of happiness, and now that I have it, I will protect and defend it until my last breath.

“I love you Dean. Thank you for loving me too.” Her hands reach up to cup my face, placing a kiss to my nose. “Take me to bed?”

“Anything for you sweetheart.” We spend the rest of the night showing the other how we feel in every way possible.

 Tags: @flamencodiva​ @sorenmarie87​ @foxyjwls007​ @waywardbeanie​ @emoryhemsworth​ @voltage-my2dlove​ @hardcoresupernatural​ @marvelouslysherlockedhunter​

[holyhellpod]

This is an outtake from an upcoming episode. I didn’t want to include it in the episode but I also didn’t want to cut it completely, so here you go! Transcript under the cut.

CW: wincesties, suicide

oh god, I just got lost in the sauce. The amount of times I zone out while writing these scripts and just go off in my own little fairy tale world of like, “What if this show ended at season 5?” Sam in the pit, Cas and Bobby dead, and Dean living his closeted hetero life with Lisa. I know I said that it should’ve and we should retroactively cancel it, but I’m so glad it didn’t. We got an extra ten whole years of Cas content. No other show or movie franchise could possibly compare, because they don’t have Cas. Don’t get me started on the Castiel-to-Bucky Barnes pipeline, because I surfed that shit and came back worse for it. If the show ended in season 5, we never would’ve had the twelve year long love story that endured a widower arc, and a divorce arc, and a make up arc, and coming out at the end of all that. My god, remembering that Cas literally said — he literally said — he said it. He said that he loves Dean. He said that. On national television. He said it. I’m crying writing this. He admitted it. With his own words and his own tears. It’s been almost six months and I still cannot believe it. We fought for so long to have this. I remember being in the trenches with my fellow deancasnaturalgirls in 2011 when Balthazar literally said “the one in the dirty trenchcoat who’s in love with you”, and all those years of stanning them and writing bad fanfiction and making edits and just vibing in a hostile environment, in which the wincesties told us to kill ourselves and the writers gaslit us into thinking we were crazy. BUT WE KNEW THE TRUTH. WE KNEW THEY WERE IN LOVE. And every time a script leaks, like “Tombstone” and others did today, yes I’m still riding that high right now, it just shows how badly the writers did and the directors didn’t want this story to be told. If you thought I could go even one episode without losing my goddamn gourd over Dean and Cas, you have been listening to the wrong podcast. But you know what? I’m fucking valid. This show finally validated me. Ten years of knowing the truth, of reading between the lines, of having hope that it would somehow be textual until I just gave that shit up and jumped ship at the end of season 8. Watching seasons 5 6 7 and 8 going, just kiss, just kiss him, kiss him right now, you love each other, just say you love each other, friends don’t let friends die virgins, oh he’s not a virgin anymore, oh he died anyway, and now he’s back, and now you’re looking at him like Lot’s Wife even though neither of you are pure, you both lost your way in hell, but what’s forged in fire comes back as strong as steel, and you love him, and he loves you, and that’s the simple, ugly truth you can’t get hide from no matter how much stuff you pile on top of it. If it ended in season 5, we would never have gotten the confession. And we fucking earned that confession. We deserved that confession for 15 years of hate crimes and microaggressions and bigotry in every form. That was ours. I’m not kidding when I say this was as big a victory to me as marriage equality being legalised in Australia in 2017, and honestly? It’s had more of an impact on my day to day life. I don’t stan the Liberal Party and I don’t read every op-ed Malcolm Turnbull writes, but I do spend hours every day, most of the day in fact, thinking about Dean driving down the road with Jack and Sam in the backseat and Cas in the front seat with his hand on Dean’s thigh. Honestly, if Marriage Equality hadn’t gone canon but Destiel still did, I’d be okay with that. Am I joking? Figure it out yourselves. Actually, I’m glad the creators haven’t mentioned a single fucking thing about Destiel in the wake of the finale, because at least they’re not holding it over our heads like Malcolm Turnbull is still. Oh, really? You gave us this thing we really wanted and have been campaigning for and writing petitions about and raising money for and talking about for years and years and years, out of the goodness of your hearts? Thank you, really, thank you for doing this out of the blue with no prompting from us, and without calling us sick and twisted and crazy and desperate and criminals and siccing all your homophobic religious zealot followers on us, because you would never do that. No, you just want the fans and the homosexuals to be happy. Fuck Malcolm Turnbull and fuck Dabb and Singer. The least they can do for us is shut the fuck up about it. 

But really, that victory was because of the people who kept watching. Like I said, I jumped ship before season 9, but there were an extra 7 seasons that I wasn’t around for. The people who kept the faith going until season 15 are the true heroes, and it’s because of you that we have this win. So hats off, really, you fucking legends, you made this happen, and I salute you. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 10, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

A poll today by the Associated Press (AP) and the National Opinion Research Center (NORC) shows that President Joe Biden’s administration is gaining positive traction. Sixty-three percent of Americans approve of how he is handling his job as president. Seventy-one percent approve of how he is handling the coronavirus pandemic; 62% percent approve of how he is handling health care. Fifty-seven percent approve of how he is handling the economy; 54% approve of how he is handling foreign affairs.

Fifty-four percent of Americans think the country is going in the right direction. This is the highest number since 2017, but it is split by party: 84% of Democrats like the country’s direction, while only 20% of Republicans do.

Biden’s weak spots are in immigration, where 43% approve and 54% disapprove, and gun policy, where 48% approve and 49% disapprove.

And yet, Biden’s people have been working to address the influx of migrant children; White House Secretary Jen Psaki noted last week that “At the end of March, there were more than 5,000 children in Customs and Border Protection Patrol stations. Today, that number is approximately 600…. The amount of time children spend in CBP facilities is down by 75 percent — from 131 hours at the end of March to under 30 hours now.”

The administration has backed that short-term work with a long-term initiative. Last week, Vice President Kamala Harris met virtually with Mexican President Andrés Manuel López Obrador, the leader of the left of center populist nationalist coalition party MORENA, to talk about finding ways to promote economic development to address the root causes prompting the flight of refugees from Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador and southern Mexico. They also talked about working together to protect human rights and dismantle the criminal networks that smuggle migrants. She will travel to Guatemala and Mexico in June, where she will meet with their leaders.

Disapproval of Biden’s gun policies might well reflect a desire for a stronger stance. In April, a Morning Consult/Politico poll showed that 64% of registered voters supported stricter gun control laws. We have had an average of ten mass shootings a week in 2021, 194 in all. (A mass shooting is one in which four people are killed or wounded.)

This week, Biden will be meeting with bipartisan groups of leaders, including Representative Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) and Senator Mitch McConnell (R-KY), to begin to hammer out an infrastructure measure based on his American Jobs Plan. He will also meet with Senators John Barrasso (R-WY), Roy Blunt (R-MO), Mike Crapo (R-ID), Pat Toomey (R-PA), Roger Wicker (R-MS), and Shelley Moore Capito (R-WV), who have proposed their own $568 billion proposal without corporate tax hikes.

As the good news from the administration is starting to filter into the media, bad news from the Trump wing of the Republican Party is also starting to get traction. On Saturday, we learned that at retreats in March and April, staff for the National Republican Congressional Committee refused to tell lawmakers how badly Trump is polling in core battleground districts, where 54% see Biden favorably while only 41% still favor Trump. Vice President Kamala Harris, the $1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan, and the $2.3 trillion American Jobs Plan are all more popular in those districts than the former president.

Indeed, it is more than a little odd that party leaders are bending over backward to tie their party to a former president who, after all, never broke 50% favorability ratings—the first time in polling history that had happened—and who lost both the White House and Congress.

Another set of data from Catalist, a voter database company in Washington, D.C., shows that the 2020 election was the most diverse ever, with Latino and Asian voters turning out in bigger numbers than ever before. Black voting increased substantially, while Asian-American and Pacific Islander voters had a decisive increase in turnout. The electorate was 72% white, down 2% from 2016 and 5% from 2008. Thirty-nine percent of Biden-Harris voters were people of color (61% were white); only 15% of Trump-Pence voters were POC (85% were white).

This demographic trend is behind the new voter suppression bills in Republican states. But the racial breakdown of the 2020 vote is not the only problem for the current Republican Party. The biggest turnout gains in 2020 were among young voters, 18 to 40 years old, who now make up 31% of voters, while those over 55 have dropped to only 44% of the electorate. Younger voters skew heavily toward the Democrats. Also notable was that women break heavily toward Democrats by a 10 point gap—79% of women of color support Democrats; 58% of white women voted for Biden-Harris—and women make up 54% of the electorate overall.

News out of the private “recount” in Arizona by Cyber Ninjas, a company without experience in election recounts and whose owner has already gone on record as believing that rigged voting machines in Arizona cost Trump victory, continues to be embarrassing as well. Although the Maricopa County Board of Supervisors, which has a Republican majority, said the count was fair and opposed a recount, sixteen Republicans in the state senate voted to give the ballots for Maricopa County, which includes Phoenix, to the company for a private recount. The count has been plagued by conspiracy theories—one observer claimed they are examining the ballots for signs of bamboo in the paper to show that tens of thousands of ballots were flown in from Asia—and it turned out that one of the people recounting the ballots had been at the January 6 riot at the Capitol. Now the “recount” is running so far behind it appears it won’t be done until August, rather than May 14 as the company promised.

State senator Paul Boyer, who voted for the “audit,” told New York Times reporter Michael Wines: “It makes us look like idiots…. Looking back, I didn’t think it would be this ridiculous. It’s embarrassing to be a state senator at this point.”

And then, this morning, the Washington Post dropped a long, investigative story by reporters Emma Brown, Aaron C. Davis, Jon Swaine, and Josh Dawsey revealing that the arguments former president Trump has grabbed to “prove” the election was stolen from him were part of a long conspiracy theory hatched in 2018 by Russell J. Ramsland, Jr., “a Republican businessman who has sold everything from Tex-Mex food in London to a wellness technology that beams light into the human bloodstream.” The story follows how Ramsland’s theories, which were debunked as “bat-s**t insane” by White House lawyers, got pumped into the media by Representative Louie Gohmert (R-TX) and Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani, among others, and how Trump came to embrace them.

While Republican leaders are still standing behind those theories, and the former president, opponents of the party’s direction are pushing back not just against Trump but also against those leaders supporting him. Representative Adam Kinzinger (R-IL) tweeted this morning: “A few days before Jan 6, our GOP members had a conference call. I told Kevin [McCarthy] that his words and our party’s actions would lead to violence on January 6th. Kevin dismissively responded with ‘ok Adam, operator next question.’ And we got violence.”

Representative Liz Cheney (R-WY) has narrated a video distributed by the Republican Accountability Project recalling the violence of January 6, blaming Trump for spreading lies about the election, and reminding viewers that more than 60 lawsuits disproved his claims that the election was stolen. The video says “we are the party of Lincoln. We are not the party of QAnon” (showing an image of Jacob Chansley, the so-called “QAnon Shaman,” who wore a horned headdress during the Capitol insurrection) “or white supremacy” (showing an image of Fox News Channel personality Tucker Carlson). “We cannot embrace insurrection” (showing a picture of Georgia Republican Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene). “President Trump provoked an attack on the United States Capitol which resulted in five people dying. That is a person who does not have a role as a leader of our party going forward.” The video features an image of McCarthy standing with Trump. Cheney made it clear she was not about to shut up.

This afternoon, McCarthy released a statement calling for Cheney’s ouster as conference chair, featuring the line: “[u]nlike the left, we embrace free thought and debate.” (References to George Orwell, who famously wrote about how fascists used language to rewrite history, were all over Twitter.) McCarthy and other Trump loyalists have suggested that Cheney needs to go because she keeps talking about the past, but Allan Smith of NBC News points out that Trump himself seems to be the one who cannot stop talking about the past.

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[ao3gingerswag]

Learning

Prompt Submission by modernurbanfantasy:

I would love some sort of future situation (if/when) Dean, Cas and Sam when they are back at the inn around how smart Sam is. Like we know how smart Sam is (and I think Dean probably does as well) and he wants to get Sam some education (in the church or in some local school) but that is obviously v difficult. So he is all sad thinking about what he would need to do to get Sam into a school and is trying to hide it from Case and then like idk Bobby or something is able to help get Sam some sort of deal with the local school bc they see how smart and talented he is. Idk just an idea. 

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR THE OUTSIDE

To: Pastor Murphy

My name is Sam and I am 10 years old. I saw your pamflet on the phisics of momentem posted on the church bulitin borde. I liked it a lot. I am writing to you becase I think you made a mistake tho. You cubed the largest side of the triangel when I think you meant to square it. If you square it it solves the problem you were talking about. I tride to go in to tell you but the man at the door said no I cant come in becase theres no church today and only the students can go in. And I dont go to the college. I tride to say I need to see you becase you made a mistake and tride to show him but he said i dont know what your talking about. So I am writing this note and leaving it here on the borde for you.

Thank you.

-Sam

Dear Sam,

In all the years I have posted my articles on the church bulletin, I have not once received a response from the local population. I have always continued to post them regardless, just in case anyone is reading them. I was so happy to discover that my efforts have not entirely been in vain.

I have received several letters from my colleagues since the publication of my paper pointing out my error, but none have been so polite as yours. Did you know, none of my own students caught the mistake you so kindly made me aware of? Authority is the bane of progress, I often think, as it seems since I took my position none but the few others in similar positions dare to question whatever I say.

Sam, I am delighted that Whitecreek is blessed with a child as inquisitive and bright as you. It is not often that I meet ten year olds who are interested in physics, much less those who can follow my published papers. If you like physics, I would be happy to meet with you and your parents this coming Sunday to discuss the subject and the possibility of furthering your education.

I am leaving this note with the guard you spoke to last week, and have asked him to give you this letter if he sees you again. If you have another letter for me, you can leave it with him and he will pass it along. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Pastor Murphy,

The Whitecreek College of Natural Sciences

Hello Pastor Murphy,

Sorry I didnt come to the church Sunday I didnt get your letter until now. I dont live in whitecreek we only come once a month to get suplies. I live at the inn outside of whitecreek they call it the willow inn becase it is near a willow tree. Maybe you have heard of it maybe not if you dont travel.

I like everything not just phisics I like biolagy and astranomy and math and I like reading and I like learning and I like looking at bugs and plants and things in the woods. My dad didnt like it when i read tho becase he didnt know how and he said do you think your better than me. I said no but he still got mad at me. But I dont live with him anymore.

I really like learning a lot. I would like to meet you and talk about phisics and other things but I dont have parents I just have Dean and Cas. They run the inn and I help them. They said I can meet with you but Cas said to tell you that we have no money for school becase he said maybe you think I’m rich becase I can read and write but we are not rich. I learned to read by myself becase I like it. So I cant go to school and cant further my educatin like you said but I would still like to meet with you please if you want to.

Do you have any books I could look at? I like books but no one has any books. Cas has a book and he let me read it but I read it like a hundred times now and memerized it. If you have any books I could look at I would be very gratful and I would not mess them up I would be very careful. But if you dont have books or dont want me to look at them thats ok i understand i would still like to meet you please. I have a lot of questins. Like is the moon hot or cold. And lots of other things. I used to ask my dad but he yelled at me and sometimes he hit me i think especially when he didnt understand the questin.

It is better now becase Dean was always nice to me and listened to my questins and Cas I dont know him so well yet but he is nicer than dad and he hasnt gotten mad at me for asking questins yet. He says you are very smart Sam and it is good to ask questins which is nice. But even tho Dean and Cas let me ask questins alot they sometimes know the answer but usually they dont. They say you know more than me Sam. I think I do know more than them but only becase they dont know how to read I think everyone could learn everything if they just knew how to read. Thats how i learn things.

Please let me know if you still want to meet with me even tho I didnt see your letter in time. The guard said you are not here today becase you are at a lectchure about math in a diffrent city that is so exciting maybe you can tell me about it when you come back. I will be here again in four weeks I will come and maybe I can see you or maybe there will be another letter eether way thank you I am so happy.

-Sam

To: Sam, ten years old. Willow Inn, outside of Whitecreek.

Dear Sam,

I was truly overjoyed to receive your most recent correspondence. I had worried that I had scared you off or that your interest in science had faded. Clearly, these were merely the fears of an old man, who has become a bit too paranoid in his old age. I have in fact heard of the Willow Inn, and in fact I have stayed at it a few times when traveling that direction for a conference or a lecture. It has been a few years since I last had the pleasure of receiving their hospitality, but I had thought it was run by only a man and his son, who was about 13 at the time. Has the inn changed hands, since I was last there? Or has my faulty memory yet again betrayed my years?

In any case, I have sent a courier with this letter to the inn, in order to avoid missing you yet again when you again make your way into town. Sam, I am absolutely still interested in meeting you, regardless of your financial situation. Your literacy and thirst for knowledge is made all the more impressive by your lack of formal education. I will happily share all the resources I have with you, if you would like to learn. The college’s library has many books on all of the subjects you have expressed interest in. We have collections on physics, biology, astronomy, math, and several thousand others. All of these can be made available to you, and if you are as careful as you promise you will be, you can borrow almost any of them and take them home with you for the month. I would be happy to meet with you and discuss your readings when you make your regular trip to town, and could suggest which books you may want to start with, and which to continue with once you have studied those.

I am sorry that you have had difficulty in the past when you have tried to express your curiosity. Unfortunately there are many in the world who don’t care for knowledge, and resent those of us who seek it. I am glad to hear that you are now living with people who are more understanding of your interests, ignorant though they might be of them. I must say that I am struck by your optimism regarding the natural learning capabilities of the general population. I strongly agree with your statement, which I have quoted here because it means so much to me: “I think everyone could learn everything if they just knew how to read.” This is an opinion which I have always agreed with, and have been trying to convince many of my colleagues of for most of my long career. I am glad we are of the same mind in this area.

In answer to your question: Unfortunately, no one knows for sure if the moon is hot or cold. The prevailing theory currently is that it is cold. The reasoning here is that we are fairly certain it is made of stone, and stone is cold unless otherwise heated. In the absence of an internal heat source, we assume the moon is likely cold to the touch. However, we cannot know this for sure without knowing exactly what it is made of and how this material would be affected by the heat of our sun at its current level of exposure. Perhaps when you grow up, you will be able to figure this out for us.

I look forward to hearing your other questions when we meet, and I of course will be happy to share what I learned at my conference with you. If I am correctly understanding your schedule, I believe you will be in town again two Wednesdays from when this letter should reach you. I will be at the church from dawn to dusk on that day. The guard will know to let you and your family into the building, and we can discuss the possibility of further meetings then. Please give my best to your family, and I wish you the best until then.

Pastor Murphy,

The Whitecreek College of Natural Sciences

Hello Pastor Murphy,

I asked the man to wait for a minit so I can write a letter back and he said he would but I cant take forever he said so I wont. I am so excited to meet you in two weeks I am going to write all of my questins down. I am so excited to see your books I am so excited to learn. Cas said we can all come meet you together and then they will go do shoping and I can stay if thats ok or Dean can stay with me if you want. That is so intresting about the moon i didnt think about that thank you for explaneing. I will be so careful with your books if you let me take them home and I will read anything you say I should I will be good and learn fast and you will be happy you let me learn I promise I will be good and you will not regrat it. Thank you I am so excited sorry this is mesy and there are stains I am crying a lot. I would wait to write later but the man wants me to hurry up. I used to dig in the trash to find anything with words on it to read and Dean would let the man at the church do bad things to him so he could bring me pamflets sometimes. I said dont do that but he did anyway and I was always so happy to get them even tho I said dont do that. Which I felt bad about but I still read the pamflets. Anyway if you let me take lots of books home I will learn everything and I will read to Dean and Cas so they can lean too and I will be very happy. I am so excited thank you I will see you in two weeks.

p.s. i forgot to say. Cas’s dad died and now he runs the inn with Dean who is my friend.

-Sam

To: Sam Winchester, ten years old, of brown hair and brown eyes. Willow Inn, outside of Whitecreek.

Dear Sam,

I have sent the courier along once again with this letter. The suggested coursework I promised you is enclosed. I also again wanted to express how wonderful it was to meet you and your family, and how excited I am to have such a bright young man under my tutelage. Your questions were delightful, and I can only hope that I have answered them to your satisfaction.

Please do reiterate to your friend Dean that it was lovely to meet him as well, and that he will always be welcome in my church regardless of the content of his past.

I look forward to seeing you all again in person next month, and wish you the best until that time comes.

Pastor Murphy,

The Whitecreek College of Natural Sciences

Hello Pastor Murphy,

Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love,

Sam :)

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Thanksgiving, 10 Years later

Dean doesn’t die, and 10 years down the road, plans a Thanksgiving to beat all Thanksgivings.

He wakes up with a gasp when his alarm goes off, and the radio starts to play the song that still haunts his nightmares. 

Sam Winchester fumbles as he slams the alarm off, and looks around at the room around him, rubbing his eyes. 

No terrible motel room wallpaper. 

No funky smell.

No Dean lacing up his boots with a “rise and shine, Sammy!” 

But it’s not the bunker, either, which…

Makes sense. 

Sam’s been married for eight years, and while the bunker still works for storage and a place to stay if a hunt goes too late, it’s not ideal for his wife and son. 

Eileen pokes her head into the room, signing quickly. “You okay? You look freaked out.”

He nods, rubbing his eyes again, signing back as he talks. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just- bad dream. Dreamed Dean died.” 

Eileen gives him a sympathetic look, walking over to sit on the bed and kiss him tenderly. “Dean’s fine,” she tells him, singing slowly so he gets every word. “He’s been planning this big Thanksgiving for months. We’re going to his house tonight. Sleeping over for the big day.” 

Sam takes a breath and gathers his wife in his arms, holding her tightly. 

“It’s okay, Sam,” she says out loud. “Everything’s okay.” She signs again. “I’m here. Nate is downstairs, having breakfast.” 

Nathan, their five-year-old son. Energetic and funny; smart and intuitive. Looks a whole lot like his mom. 

Sam grins and holds her tighter. 

***** 

Dean wakes with a start, rubbing his eyes hard and shaking out his head quickly. The bedroom is still dark, and he realized that everyone has let him sleep in today.

Which is ridiculous, because they’ve got one more sleep to Thanksgiving, and there’s tons to do. 

He slides out of bed and hobbles to the bathroom. He gets stiff now that he’s officially getting older. All those old hunting injuries have really caught up with him, but he still does okay, keeping up with a nine-year-old daughter and four-year-old son pretty damn well. 

To say nothing of his spry, tiny wife.

Oh yeah. And the Angel that lives in the guestroom. 

He takes a leak, brushes his teeth and cleans up, grabbing his robe on the way out of the bedroom and down the stairs. 

When he turns the corner to the kitchen, it’s to find everyone already eating breakfast. 

“How come nobody woke me up?” he asks, dropping kisses on both the kids’ heads. 

“Because you needed rest,” Castiel explains, as he hands him a cup of coffee. “You’ve been working on this Thanksgiving event around the clock. You were tired.” 

“As usual, your angel is right,” Miranda tells him, pecking Dean on the lips. “You needed sleep. You’re too stressed.” 

Dean rolls his eyes a little as he sips his coffee, and then winks at Ramona, the nine-year-old eating her cereal at the kitchen island. 

She giggles into her bowlm and Dean grins widely. 

“What’s the schedule for today?” Dean asks, looking at the chalkboard hanging up next to the fridge. “We got Sam and Eileen and Nate comin’ in tonight. And today, we make all the pies for tomorrow.” 

“We only need three,” Miranda reminds him. 

“Four,” Dean corrects her. 

“Jody is bringing a pie, we do not need five pies,” Miranda says. 

Dean huffs. “The five of us, Sam, Eileen and Nate, Donna, Jody and Claire. That’s eleven people. We definitely need six pies.” 

“When did we get to six?” Castiel asks, confused. 

“Just now,” Dean tells them. “We’re doin’ pumpkin, sweet potato, pecan, apple, and - Babe-” he turns Miranda. “Your best-ever strawberry rhubarb?” 

“I cannot believe I’m going to say yes to this,” Miranda huffs. 

“I like pie!” Jamie says happily as he eats oatmeal, his chubby four-year-old fingers gripping his spoon. “I like pie a lot. I eat a whole pie.” 

Dean grins proudly and turns to Miranda. “Nice to know I’ll never need a paternity test.” 

“For that little jab, you can sleep in Castiel’s room tonight, you,” Miranda tells him jokingly. 

The kids giggles and Dean shakes his head. 

“Okay, okay,” he tells them. “Enough with the yucks. Finish your breakfast and then it’s time to get ready for school.” 

Jamie lights up. “We’re gonna make hand turkeys at preschool today! I don’t know what that means but I’m excited!” 

“It means they’re gonna turn your hand into a turkey and then carve it up and serve it to the rest of the class,” Ramona tells him. 

Jamie gasps, eyes wide and shocked. “Whoa. Coooool.” 

“I don’t think that’s correct,” Castiel says warily. “It seems unlikely. Humans generally avoid cannibalism.” 

“What’s Cadibadism?” Jamie asks curiously. 

“Cannibalism, Dude,” Dean tells him. “It’s when a human eats other people.” 

Jamie thinks about that for a moment. “Like this?” he asks, leaning in and biting his sister on the arm. 

She yelps and smacks him with a stop. “No! Bad!” 

“Jamie,” Miranda scolds. “No biting!” 

“I assume there’s more seasoning in cannibalism,” Castiel says thoughtfully. 

Miranda sighs heavily. “They are definitely your children.” 

***** 

Sam pulls the car up to Dean’s house and sighs, relieved to be done with the long drive from Chicago to Kansas. Ten hours in the car with a five-year-old is tough, but doable with a few stretch and potty breaks. 

Eileen smiles at him. “Ready?” 

He nods and takes a breath, signing. “Ready.” He glances back at the little boy in the backseat, looking at his picture books. “What do you says, Nate? Ready?” 

“One more page,” Nate tells him without looking up. 

Sam sighs heavily and signs to Eileen. “He’s got one more page.” 

She snorts and turns around in her seat, signing to their son. “Save the rest for later. We need to go inside.” 

Nate huffs and nods, signing back. “Okay, Mom.” 

It’s not long before the three of them are heading up the front steps of the house with their bags and before Sam can ring the bell, the door swings open, revealing his older brother, looking excited to see them. 

“Hey! There they are!” Dean booms, reaching down to scoop up Nate and toss him into the air, much to the little boy’s excitement. 

“Hi, Uncle Dean,” Nate says. 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean grins. “Good drive?” 

“I peed in Cedar Rapids, Iowa!” Nate brags. 

“That’s awesome,” Dean tells him, nodding in approval before setting him down. “Jamie’s in the living room, go say hi.” He turns back and hugs Eileen, before pulling back and signing clumsily. “Good to see you.” 

She beams at him and kisses his cheek. “Thanks Dean,” she signs back. “You, too.” 

“Miranda’s in the office if you wanna go say hey.” 

Eileen grins as she steps further into the house, and it’s finally Sam’s turn. 

“There he is,” Dean says proudly. “Professor Winchester. How’s it goin, college boy?” 

Sam rolls his eyes and they hug tightly, Dean patting him on the back. 

“You look good, Dean,” Sam tells him. “Like the kids are actually letting you sleep for five minutes.” 

“Things are good,” Dean confirms. “Kids are doing great. Miranda’s awesome. Cas is good.” 

“That’s great,” Sam grins. “Still enjoying being a stay-at-home dad?” 

“It’s still awesome,” Dean confirms as they walk through the house and into the kitchen, where Dean grabs them a couple of beers. 

Five pies sit on the kitchen island, cooling off, and Sam has to shake his head. “We don’t need this much pie.” 

“Bite your tongue,” Dean snaps. “We always need this much pie.” 

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asks. 

“He needed a break,” Dean tells him as they take a seat. “Been a lot of chaos around here with my planning and the kids being...well...kids. So he’s takin’ the night off from us.” 

They crack their beers open, both of them taking a sip. 

“I had this weird dream,” Sam says, trying to smile at his brother. “I-it was so strange. So real. I just- I didn’t know what to make of it.” 

Dean nods slowly, looking at his beer. ‘Yeah, I had one of those too. Lemme guess: I die on a routine vamp hunt?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says slowly. “If we both had it, what do you think it means?” 

“No idea,” Dean admits. “Somethin’ maybe to ask Cas when he gets back. Maybe he can ping Jack. See if there’s somethin’ up.” 

Sam nods, still feeling worried. “I don’t wanna get dragged back in.” 

“Me neither,” Dean tells him quietly. “But I guess we’ll see.” 

“I guess,” Sam agrees. He huffs out a soft breath and glances at the pies, doing a double take. “Did-did you convince Miranda to make a strawberry rhubarb pie for your demented Thanksgiving plans?” 

“Damn right I did,” Dean grins proudly. “That woman can make a summer pie like nobody’s business.” 

“I can’t believe she married you.” 

Dean laughs. “Me, neither, man.”

[kalyan-gullapalli]

Post # 149

To err is human...

For the past few days, I have been watching a 8-part, one-hour-each, docu-series called The Test: A New Era for Australia's Team on Amazon Prime Video. I just finished it and am bursting to share my thoughts on it. But a little bit of background first.

24th March, 2018, was a day of infamy in the annals of Australian cricketing history!

On this day, in Cape Town, South Africa, on Day 4 of the 3rd Test between visitors Australia and home team South Africa, Cameron Bancroft, a rookie Australian was caught tampering with the condition of the ball with a yellow sandpaper. He then tried to hide the sandpaper in his underwear. Jeez! What was he thinking? Did he not know that there are at least 50 cameras on the cricket ground these days? No one can scratch his back without being caught on one of the cameras.

Steve Smith, considered the greatest test batsman after Sir Don Bradman, because of his stratospheric batting average in tests, was the captain of that Australian side. Dashing opening batsman, David Warner, was the vice-captain. Apparently, Warner was the mastermind of this incident. Steve Smith supposedly knew what was happening, but chose to look the other way. Basically, the Australian team cheated on the cricket ground! And got caught!

The backlash was swift and severe. Though the ICC penalties were light - Bancroft was fined 75% of his match fees and Smith was banned for just one match, Cricket Australia, the national board for cricket in Australia, came down really harsh. They conducted an investigation of their own. Following public admission of guilt from all three players, Australia's Prime Minister at that time, Malcolm Turnbull, phoned Cricket Australia's chairman directly to express his disappointment and concern, stating that strongest action be taken. Smith, Warner and Bancroft were banned from playing all forms of cricket for 12 months. They were flown back midway from the series and replacements flown in immediately. They lost their IPL contracts that year. Product endorsement contracts were cancelled. Darren Lehmann, though not a guilty party, stepped down as coach of the Australian team.

Australia was rocked like never before. Warner, Smith and Bancroft had shamed the proud, cocky nation. Ex-players shook their heads in disgust and expressed their anguish, in public, on international TV. Someone said that this was the biggest scandal since the underarm ball of the Chappell brothers.

There was a huge debate whether the 12 months ban was too harsh. Personally, I didn't think so. I think they deserved every month of the ban. But public opinion was split. Harsha Bhogle said, "I honestly do not believe any other country would have handed its captain and lead player a one-year ban for attempted ball-tampering." ICC saw how steep Cricket Australia's penalties were and made their punishments steeper!

For a while, Smith, Warner and Bancroft mulled taking legal action against CA, but then decided against it. They decided to wait out their ban, straighten themselves in their own heads and hope to come back to the sport again.

The Australian cricket team, arguably the best in the world, was depleted. Their two best batsmen were not available for selection. The rest of the team was scared of its shadow. Morale was low. There were questions about "culture". Australia and Australians were always competitive. They pioneered sledging & other psychological games and called them "getting under the skin of competition." Now somebody crossed the line and the nation had lost respect!

Tim Paine (who?) was made captain and Justin Langer was made coach. Their job - to rebuild a team and regain the lost respect in the eyes of their fans - the Australian people.

I honestly thought Smith, Warner and Bancroft were finished. I didn't think they would ever come back to play for Australia. And I thought Australia was finished as a team to reckon with, for a long long time.

Smith, Warner and Bancroft did come back and play for Australia again. Warner and Smith were the champions of Australia's dream run till the semis in the World Cup 2019. Smith was the player of the tournament when Australia successfully regained the Ashes later that year. In a year and half, Australian cricket was back on its feet. They are not invincible yet, but they are no pushovers either.

And that to me is an exciting story. It is a story of comebacks. It is the story of the triumph of human spirit. It is the story of a few individuals, a team and a nation, owning up to their mistakes, accepting responsibility, bearing the consequences of their actions and making sterling comebacks. And earning back respect!

The Test - A New Era for Australia's Team is that story. It is a behind-the-scene, real time account, of the way the team regrouped under Coach Langer. Like me, you will wonder how a camera (more than one actually) got into the Australian dressing room and followed each and every player's each and every move or action, reaction, emotion, for 18 months? The answer is - this docu-series was authorised, sponsored and produced by Cricket Australia. I wonder how the players and support staff felt about the constant scrutiny. I guess they didn't have too much of a choice.

The 8-part series takes us through the 18-month journey that the young Australian team took, first without Smith and Warner, through the series against Pakistan in Dubai, then against India at home, then against India again in India, their World Cup campaign, with Smith and Warner back in the team (Bancroft too) and finally the Ashes series.

Coach Justin Langer demonstrates why he, along with Haydos (Matthew Hayden), was the best opening bat in the world in his time. With his usual grit and perseverance, he lays down the process of becoming world class again. This mantra keeps repeating again and again throughout the series.

1. Focus on the next ball!

2. Trust the process to deliver the result.

3. Let not temporary setbacks waver your faith on the process.

4. Keep the noise out of the equation.

It was fascinating to see how individuals responded to the process. Usman Khwaja bats for hours and hours in the scorching heat of Dubai to save the test against Pakistan. Nathan Lyon becomes a powerful weapon in the Aussie bowling arsenal with his frequent fifers. Pat Cummins emerges as the leader of the fast bowling pack. Tim Paine (who again?) begins to come on his own and shapes up into an amazing captain. To my mind, he becomes the first Australian captain I like (not just respect) - a nice guy! That's definitely a first for an Australian captain. Over time, Aaron Finch emerges as the ODI and T20 captain. Then Smith-Warner-Bancroft are back. The series shows how they integrated back into the team, their dream world cup campaign till the disastrous semis against England and their phenomenal 2-2 Ashes result.

The journey wasn't smooth, nor was it easy. The series shows candid dressing room conversations, post match meetings, strategy discussions, coaching staff meetings, some selection discussions and so on.

One particularly touching scene was the post match team meeting the day after they lost to England by 1 wicket - the one where Ben Stokes plays and plays and plays, probably the best innings ever, okay, maybe one of the best innings ever - to prevent Aussies the series win. The match was Aussies, till Ben Stokes decided he didn't want to lose yet. Morale in the Aussie camp was low. Coach Langer swallows his own disappointment and holds the meeting to discuss what went wrong and how to do things differently next time. That one was tough to watch. My heart went out for Tim Paine and his team.

It was cool to see some greats of Aussie cricket come into the camp and assist Coach Langer and his staff. Ricky Ponting was Assistant Coach for the World Cup campaign and Steve Waugh joined the team for the Ashes tour. Their interactions with the players and comments and expressions during key moments during the match, caught real time, are fascinating.

But to me, the one person I will watch the series for - again - is Steve Smith. The docu-series begins with Steve Smith being disgraced, deservingly, for his involvement in the scandal. There is a scene where Smith is being escorted by a team of about ten odd security people in the airport - the narrator says, like a common criminal. Of course, we have all seen Smith cry on national and international TV in his oft-repeat-telecast press conference admitting his guilt. I cannot imagine what this man must have gone through. It could have crushed him. Infact, there is a scene where he says he almost decided to hang his boots. But he didn't. He came back.

In the World Cup in England, everywhere he went, he was booed and heckled. There is a scene where Justin Langer is caught making a remark about the booing crowd, "These guys behave as if they have not made a single mistake in their lives." Maybe they have, maybe it is just Karmic justice. The Aussie crowds have been bigger assholes in the past. But this is not about the crowd. This is about Smith. He played out of his skin. He was never the greatest ODI batsman. But he was the pillar of the Aussie batting during that campaign. His was the prize wicket. The match was not over till he was out. He was one of the key players who were instrumental in Australia going to the semis, second on the league table, just below India. And for a team rocking just about an year back, that was not bad. Of course, the semi finals against England was forgettable.

Then came the Ashes in England. More intense booing. Everytime he came in to bat, tens of thousands welcomed him with booes. But that Ashes series, Smith was para-normal. He says, he was in a bubble. He says, the levels of concentration he achieved were super-human. The results show. Two hundreds on his return test, one each in both innings, a double hundred in the fourth test, 774 in a five test series in which he didn't play in one of the tests because of an injury, 300 plus more runs than the second best batter in the series (Ben Stokes, another Superman) and 400 plus runs more than the second best Aussie batter (Marcus Labuschagne).

What will forever be etched in my heart's mind is - When Steve Smith got out for 25 odd runs in the rain-shortened last test (his last innings of the Ashes) and started his walk back to the dressing room, the erstwhile hostile English crowd at The Oval stood on its feet and applauded its adversary all the way back to the pavilion. Steve Smith lifted his bat, acknowledged the ovation, went into the dressing room, acknowledged the pats-on-his-back from his team mates and sat in a corner of the dressing room, a satisfied smile on his lips. It was redemption. He had earned back his lost respect. The world had acknowledged him to be the best again. I could feel that moment for him.

The story of the comebacks of Smith, Warner, Bancroft and Australia is an extraordinary story, but in no way unique. Australia themselves have gone through a similar rebuilding phase in the 1980s post the World Series Cup turmoil. South Africa came back stronger after the Hansie Cronje scandal. India became a world beating side under Saurav Ganguly after the match fixing scandals of 2000. There are other such instances.

What caught my imagination is the story of the indomitable human spirit. A human being can be down in the dumps one day, and comeback the next. Nothing is permanently gone. Lost wealth can be regained, lost respect can be re-earned, the mistakes can be pardoned if they are owned and accepted. Life doesn't judge. Life offers second chances, third chances, multiple chances. Infact, every moment of life is an opportunity - to scale new heights or comeback from behind!

[klbmsw]

Today Americans were roiled by an article in The Atlantic,

Today Americans were roiled by an article in The Atlantic, detailing the method by which the Trump campaign is planning to steal the 2020 election. The article was slated for The Atlantic’s November issue, but the editor decided to release it early because of its importance.The article’s author, Barton Gellman, explains that Trump will not accept losing the 2020 election. If he cannot win it, he plans to steal it. We already know he is trying to suppress voting and his hand-picked Postmaster General is working to hinder the delivery of mail-in ballots. Now Trump’s teams are recruiting 50,000 volunteers in 15 states to challenge voters at polling places; this will, of course, intimidate Democrats and likely keep them from showing up.But if those plans don’t manage to depress the Democratic vote enough to let him declare victory, he intends to insist on calling a winner in the election on November 3. His legal teams will challenge later mail-in ballots, which tend to swing Democratic, on the grounds that they are fraudulent, and they will try to silence local election officials by attacking them as agents of antifa or George Soros. The president and his team will continue to insist that the Democrats are refusing to honor the results of the election.Gellman warns that the Trump team is already exploring a way to work around the vote counts in battleground states. Rather than appointing Democratic electors chosen by voters, a state legislature could conclude that the vote was tainted and appoint a Republican slate instead. A Trump legal advisor who spoke to Trump explained they would insist they were protecting the will of the people from those who were trying to rig an election. “The state legislatures will say, ‘All right, we’ve been given this constitutional power. We don’t think the results of our own state are accurate, so here’s our slate of electors that we think properly reflect the results of our state,’ ” the adviser explained. The election would then go to Congress, where there would be two sets of electoral votes to fight over… and things would devolve from there.They would likely end up at the Supreme Court, to which Trump this morning said he was in a hurry to confirm a new justice so there would be a solid majority to rule in his favor on the election results. “I think this will end up in the Supreme Court and I think it’s very important that we have nine justices, and I think the system’s going to go very quickly,” he said. "Having a 4-4 situation is not a good situation."Amidst the flurry of concern over The Atlantic piece, a reporter this afternoon asked Trump if he would commit to a peaceful transfer of power if he loses the election. "Well, we’re going to have to see what happens," Trump said. "You know that I’ve been complaining very strongly about the ballots and the ballots are a disaster." He went on to say: "Get rid of the ballots and you’ll have a very — we’ll have a very peaceful — there won’t be a transfer frankly, there’ll be a continuation."In response to this shocking rejection of the basic principles of our government, Adam Schiff (D-CA), chair of the House Intelligence Committee, tweeted, “This is how democracy dies.” He said: “This is a moment that I would say to any republican of good conscience working in the administration, it is time for you to resign.” But only one Republican, Mitt Romney (R-UT,) condemned Trump’s comments as “both unthinkable and unacceptable.”On Facebook, veteran journalist Dan Rather wrote of living through the Depression, World War Two, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert Kennedy, Watergate, and 9-11, then said: “This is a moment of reckoning unlike any I have seen in my lifetime…. What Donald Trump said today are the words of a dictator. To telegraph that he would consider becoming the first president in American history not to accept the peaceful transfer of power is not a throw-away line. It's not a joke. He doesn't joke. And it is not prospective. The words are already seeding a threat of violence and illegitimacy into our electoral process.”There is no doubt that Trump’s statement today was a watershed moment. Another watershed event is the fact that Republicans are not condemning it.But there are two significant tells in Trump’s statement. First of all, his signature act is to grab headlines away from stories he does not want us to read. Two new polls today put Biden up by ten points nationally. Fifty-eight percent of Americans do not approve of the way Trump is doing his job. Only 38% approve of how he is handling the coronavirus. Voters see Biden as more honest, intelligent, caring, and level-headed than Trump. They think Biden is a better leader.Trump’s headline grabs keep attention from Biden’s clear and detailed plans, first for combatting coronavirus and rebuilding the economy, and then for reordering the country. The Republicans didn’t bother to write a platform this year, simply saying they supported Trump, but Trump has not been able to articulate why he wants a second term.In contrast, Biden took his cue from Massachusetts Senator Elizabeth Warren and has released detailed and clear plans for a Biden presidency. Focusing on four areas, Biden has called for returning critical supply chains to America and rebuilding union jobs in manufacturing and technology; investing in infrastructure and clean energy; and supporting the long-ignored caregiving sector of the economy by increasing training and pay for those workers who care for children, elderly Americans, and people with disabilities. He has a detailed plan for leveling the playing field between Black and Brown people and whites, beginning by focusing on economic opportunity, but also addressing society's systemic racial biases. Biden’s plans get little attention so long as the media is focused on Trump.The president’s antics also overshadow the reality that many prominent Republicans are abandoning him. Yesterday, Arizona Senator John McCain’s widow Cindy endorsed Biden. “My husband John lived by a code: country first. We are Republicans, yes, but Americans foremost. There's only one candidate in this race who stands up for our values as a nation, and that is [Biden].” She added “Joe… is a good and honest man. He will lead us with dignity. He will be a commander in chief that the finest fighting force in the history of the world can depend on, because he knows what it is like to send a child off to fight."McCain is only the latest of many prominent Republicans to endorse Biden, and her endorsement stings. She could help Biden in the crucial state of Arizona, especially with women. "I'm hoping that I can encourage suburban women to take another look, women that are particularly on the fence and are unhappy with what’s going on right now but also are not sure they want to cross the line and vote for Joe. I hope they’ll take a look at what I believe and will move forward and come with me and join team Biden," McCain said.That McCain’s endorsement stung showed in Trump’s tweeted response: “I hardly know Cindy McCain other than having put her on a Committee at her husband’s request. Joe Biden was John McCain’s lapdog…. Never a fan of John. Cindy can have Sleepy Joe!”And, of course, Trump’s declaration has taken the focus off the Republican senators’ abrupt about-face on confirming a Supreme Court justice in an election year. The ploy laid bare their determination to cement their power at all costs, and it is not popular. Sixty-two percent of Americans, including 50% of Republicans, think the next president should name Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s replacement.The second tell in Trump’s statement is that Trump’s lawyers confirmed to Gellman that their strategy is to leverage their power in the system to steal the election. Surely, they would want to keep that plan quiet… unless they are hoping to convince voters that the game is so fully rigged there is no point in showing up to vote.Trump’s statement is abhorrent, and we must certainly be prepared for chaos surrounding this election. But never forget that Trump’s campaign, which-- according to our intelligence agencies-- is being helped by Russian disinformation, is keen on convincing Americans that our system doesn’t work, our democracy is over, and there is no point in participating in it. If you believe them, their disinformation is a self-fulfilling prophecy, despite the fact that a strong majority of Americans prefers Biden to Trump.Trump’s statement is abhorrent, indeed; but the future remains unwritten.

Heather Cox Richardson September 23, 2020 (Wednesday)

[writergamermom]

Promo and Live Blogging #6

Ship Your Own Adventure

by

Emblue_Sparks

 Mature

Chapter 1 Billie/Crowley; Chapter 2 Sam/Eileen; Chapter 3 Dean/Crowley; Chapter 4 Kevin/Aaron; Chapter 5 Claire/Kaia; Chapter 6 Sam/Gadreel; Chapter 7 Crowley/Mick Davis; Chapter 8 Dean/Benny; Chapter 9 Bobby+ Rufus; Chapter 10 Dean/Castiel

Liveblog

Man Emblue Sparks did their own art! How can I top this?

His beloved Imperium Innocentia never ceased to fill him with wonder, and yet as of late, he'd begun to feel a worrisome unease when visiting. The loyal ferrymen were paid handsomely to usher his precious souls from there to the shores of Elysium and Asphodel Meadows. Neither Castiel nor Gabriel had reported any bumps in the proverbial road, so that couldn't be the source. 

               To be honest I am rather confused.

The realm was fiercely protected by thousands of wardings and enchantments. His rambunctious rescues were all squeals and delight as their tender souls regained the sweet innocence lost, as was the realms purpose. However, when visiting recently, his grace sensed...not a presence really, but a watchfulness. As if some all seeing eye was casting itself upon it.

So a place in the Scottish highlands is the first circle of hell where all the unborn or unbaptized babies are? Wait Crowley has GRACE? So confused.

Perhaps she'd care for some tea..or Craig? No, no scotch wouldn't do, how would that appear? Lovely to make to your acquaintance. May I invite you into my home for strong spirits on a whim?

I mean I wouldn’t say no, but I am drunk so what are you going to do.

He'd longed to ask her why she felt so familiar. Why in her presence he felt they might have been from another time altogether. A far away memory tiptoed on the edges of recollection just out of his mind's reach. Crowley would spend untold hours in contemplation, opening his mind in hopes the memory in which he sought might emerge from its shy shell and present itself. Alas, to his disappointment, none had stepped forward to claim that missing piece of neurological real estate thus far.

Wow, this is some kind of poetry.  Okay there are some major spoilers so I won’t post any more for this chapter. But I want to read more. There are like layers here man.

Chapter Two Notes: Because I cannot abide the logic surrounding Eileen's absence in the finale. Every actor is entitled to their opinion, as are we, the fans. Though I disagree with Jared, I'll defend his right to express his thoughts. But seeing as how this is my interpretation of this pairing, I'm giving Sam and Eileen this ending I feel they deserved because this handling of the finale among other things had me livid.

               Ooops, I have not watched the last season. Oh well.

And yet for Sam, the fates had been so unkind. For as his son grew and garnered a beautiful life of his own, one he happily shared with none other than Castiel Fitzgerald, his memory of Eileen began to fade. Once Dean Jr had realized it was happening, he'd prayed.

               Dean Jr. and Castiel Fitzgerald are together and Sam is losing his memories.  Bittersweet!

"Dean is well, although he misses you. We're happy, he and I. Eileen as well. I've heard your son's prayers. He fears you'll forget her due to your memories' condition. You sustained many concussions throughout your life. She grows..blurry for you, does she not?"

               Yeah Sam got hit in the head a lot!

Without warning, Jody walks into his home.

"Saam?"

He turns his head, stunned. She shouldn't be even be driving anymore let alone-

"Yo!"

Anybody home?" Claire and Kaia both called out as they too enter.

               Aww I love these girls. Imagine Old Jody still kicking ass and filled with sass.

"Let's get this party started," Jody suggested, busting a bottle of Johnny Walker Black label from her oversized old lady purse.

               YES!

Chapter 3  It wasn't the first time he'd watched Dean Winchester sleep, nor would it be the last. But he'd paid close attention when overhearing the very true sentiment expressed, "It's just creepy." Since then he'd taken extra precautions not to make the seraph's mistake.

               So it’s Dean and someone not Cas.

Dean was as tenacious as any demon,

               It’s Crowley!

They'd had a deliciously rambunctious role in the proverbial hay with triplets earlier that evening.

               Yeah I knew they had an orgy!

He began slowly pulling his hand back, so slowly in fact, he hoped it would go unnoticed. However, before it left the warmth of Dean's skin, he felt Dean pointedly grab his hand. 

               Wow. Yeah. That’s the good stuff.

Chapter 4: You got the job?! Awesome! Well, I knew you would. You're an outstanding accountant," Kevin glowed at his best friend Aaron, whom he'd helped land a position at the same company he worked at.

               WOOT KEVIN! I love Kevin. And Aaron.  I can see it.

Kevin had found an outstanding job at "Write Your Own Story," a place kind of like Total Rekall, only no memory sorcery involved. His friend Claire and her wife Kaia had inherited a typewriter from a long lost uncle...Megatron or something like that. They discovered its magic and sought to use it for good but also a career. It was gaining steam, paid the bills, but barely out of the beta phase.

               Nice! I dig all of this.

Over the next few weeks business boomed with the coming holidays. People wanted to write those they loved beautiful dreams as gifts. And as Kevin discovered, it was all the ink.        

               I would love to give someone good dreams.

Get out. I can’t believe you would do something like this. And you used a sacred holiday too..ya know what? Nevermind, I'm late for service, make sure you're not here when I get back."

               Oh NO!

Chapter 5: "We all missed you and mourned you. Just because we'd just met didn't mean we hadn't looked forward to welcoming you into our little family," Jody declared to Kaia as they pulled out from the bunker and started their five hour journey plus change back to Souix Falls.

I have not watched season 15, did Kaia and Claire get a reunion? I think I remember hearing something about Jody and Kaia. How sweet if she got to bring her home.

"I'm not gonna intervene with you two beyond this, but hearing from Sam all these years about how Dean and Cas keep dancing around each other,

               Poor Sam

"It's really you…" the golden lightning in a bottle whispered before slamming into her, squeezing so hard her eyeballs almost popped out.

               Nice

Chapter 6 Sam's crushed on the martial arts instructor at the Men of Letters Academy for a year and finally finds an opportunity to do something about it.

               I don’t know what this is.

Sam Winchester had been working at the Letters Academy for all of one year as a Professor of Supernatural History and Lore. Dean had graduated ten years prior and was a field agent with a partner of the celestial variety, Castiel. Sam preferred employment on the educational side of operations and prepared his students well, heavily arming them with the knowledge of what was out there and how to effectively neutralize it, if necessary.

               Cool. I am down for this

The instructor had joined the academy's faculty the same time as Sam and to say he had a crush on the guy was putting it mildly. His name was Gadreel, and like Dean's partner,

               Man they would make a mightily tall couple.

"Heard Max Banes is working through the ranks of Tai Kwon Do pretty fast. Aces all the tests and assignments in my class. Seems pretty motivated.." Sam tossed out for conversation.

               Before Covid I was doing pretty well with Taekwondo. I have not kept up.

"Those are effective, until knocked out of your hand or your mag runs out. Come by sometime, I'll show you some stuff..if you want."

               Yeah Ill show you some stuff too. In my pants!

"Private lessons I see, Gadreel. I'd no idea they were on the table. Perhaps we can come to some..arrangement." Sam looked up to see Arthur Ketch standing in the doorway aiming a lascivious grin at Gadreel.

               EWWW. Can we say creepy

It had Sam considering the length of his wingspan.

               Wingspan… Sure