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ruby-whistler · 3 years

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(quicksandblock) hi! I just left you a giant wall-of-text response on your Dream post, and though I think it came across well enough, I just want to state my lack of hostile intent over here as well lol. I know stuff like this that people feel strongly about can get very tense so I just wanted to make doubly certain you know I'm not trying to pick a fight or anything. it kind of sucks that I feel like I need to clarify that but that's fandom culture for you sometimes :P

also, I would love to talk to you about Dream characterization. I think I disagree with you on a lot of different points and I love his character, so I'm very interested in understanding your perspective!

hey, hello! found a c!dream enthusiast/enjoyer, that’s cool, hi! :]

[copied part i put in front of each reply, hence different capitalization]

Alright, so first as a quick disclaimer, I’m going to put a summary of the original post’s points, just to ensure that we’re on the same page;

The post does say:

- don’t dehumanize c!Dream because it continuously hurts people who relate to and/or sympathize with him, also dehumanization in general is an inherently wrong mindset

- don’t attack people who sympathize with him because he’s a victim of abuse besides other things

The post never says:

- you cannot hate c!Dream and not sympathizing with him is wrong

- the things c!Dream has done are to any degree excused

- don’t dehumanize c!Dream because he’s a good person

- people who dehumanize c!Dream are real life abuse apologists

If you read the post and didn’t get these points from it, i advise you to reread it as I made pretty much all of these abundantly clear.

[end of disclaimer]

i never said anyone could infringe on his human rights! i… literally never said that! i said “they ignore” when characters do it, but that was a run-on sentence, i get how that might’ve been easily misunderstood. but yes, he’s a fictional character, i’d never said people could actually hurt him or anything in that sense.

the thing is, i still find them saying they enjoy it… wrong? the people yelling in tommy’s chat for c!dream to hurt him more were freaking victim blaming pricks, and if what they did was the widespread fandom opinion it would be hurting actual people with trauma. i ask people to look at the c!dream situation with the same severity, because it’s actually happening and it’s highly disturbing, not just from principle, but because of what it leads to within the community.

sorry for comparing his situation to c!tommy, but narratively i believe the prison arc is a deliberate parallel to exile, and comparing his situation to someone they’ve not dehumanized seems to be the only way to knock sense into some people.

i am happy you don’t seem to be one of the people who dehumanize him. you’re not the target audience of this post - neither are abuse victims who project onto him. i know people who c!tommy reminds of their abuser (because of personality traits), or even c!quackity, that’s fine. they’re totally free to hate their respective character, of course, without being,, actually right about them. that being said, majority of this fandom is dehumanizing c!dream and being mad at people sympathizing with him “on behalf of the abuse victims”, not actual victims themselves, and by doing this they are unknowingly hurting other people rather than helping anything, and spreading misinformation as well as making a lot of fans in general uncomfortable. i believe this is something that needs to change in the community.

hating him is fine, but group-based dehumanization in my mind is not. if you go on twitter and search “c!dream” and see 100 people saying they wish the abuse victim you project onto is hurt more (this is not a twitter thing, c!dream tag is the same thing, a majority of the crit is untagged but it,, doesn’t really matter because even tagged hate riles up more people) that freaking sucks and is something that the community needs to work on, not shoved under the rug and pretend it wasn’t there because some people tag it.

“the abuse victims who are hurt by people saying they should be sympathetic towards Dream are in fact just as hurt as the abuse victims who relate to Dream and are hurt by people saying his evil.”

this is not wrong. it’s right actually, but i’m not talking about this fandom calling him evil/unable to be sympathized with/irredeemable. i mean, that’s hurtful dehumanization as well, but this community doesn’t “say he’s evil” it “says he deserves to keep being horribly abused and/or die”.

and… i wasn’t talking about/saying abuse victims should sympathize with him either? i’ve said like five times that people can hate him as much as they want, but dehumanization is another thing. it’s the majority of this community (this post wasn’t targeting abuse victims in the slightest) taking away his positive human qualities, hence believing he doesn’t deserve human rights, and turning him into some sort of punching bag or personification of evil, which i find deeply disturbing since he’s being related to by abuse victims, and also blatantly incorrect to the character.

so, you’d be right, if the situation was what you described. it… really isn’t. the dream smp fanbase isn’t populated by abuse victims in any corner. it’s two small groups, one of them hurt (undeservingly) by a few and the other one hurt (no more or less undeservingly) by a majority of the fandom without anyone batting an eye.

and this post isn’t even about abuse victims in the first place; it’s about dehumanization. while its impact plays a big role in why i wrote this, things like these being widespread in the fandom makes so many people uncomfortable or pressured not to sympathize with a recently made sympathetic character that they might (but could not) relate to. relating to him myself, i might not have a say in this, but my compassion in general made me switch over to the c!dream sympathetic people, not anyone in the community or projection.

the results i relayed here weren’t the only results of the survery. people mentioned pandora’s vault as their reasons for being dream apologists,, over and over and over again. a lot of them mentioned the fandom response specifically.

it’s making the fandom not only unsafe to a small group of traumatized people, but also fans in general, who are equally as important to feel comfortable. hell, the reason dream apologists are such a tight-knit community that accepts little to no outside feedback is because of the hatred that is endlessly nurtured outside, that makes people feel anxious or not safe just for sympathizing with a victim of abuse.

i myself find this a problem that people should attempt to change beyond using crit tags more. feel free to not agree with that, but a lot of affected people do.

i agree the disc finale was actually cathartic! well, that’s a lie, i used to hate c!dream’s guts before that but that was the very instance where i saw a person behind the mask and went “oh, this is a whole mess isn’t it”, but it was,, cathartic to a lot of other people that didn’t use to have intense empathy to inanimate objects as children djskdjsk (i was a weird kid and still am, don’t mind that)

do you know what is cathartic? when a dog terribly bites a child, gets kicked away and gets put in a cage. do you know what isn’t cathartic? …that dog getting repeatedly beaten, starved and abused while trapped in said cage. even in fiction, and i say that as someone who was terribly bitten by a dog.

i don’t mind fictional characters suffering - frick, angst is my jam, i’ll write a character dying over and over again and have fun, but people justify that or make fun of people who don’t by saying openly that they enjoy it,, because he’s done bad things.

here comes the double standard. the exile arc wasn’t cathartic just because tommy burnt down a house, because hell, that wasn’t fair retribution. same goes for dream.

there is a difference between enjoying dark media (something i do frequently and is something i like doing) and open dehumanization and often normalized harassment of people who don’t do the same or condemn that. that is something that in my mind shouldn’t be a mainstream thing in the community.

to be fair, people saying an abuse victim no longer being hurt is “bad writing” or “insensitive” as i’ve seen people say would probably piss me off, but i’m,, not going to harass them. maybe a passive-aggressive vague-post if enough big accounts do it, but i think that’s justified. feel free to disagree - i still respect abuse victims who wouldn’t like that, but people who just don’t want the writers to humanize a character they’ve dehumanized will probably grind my gears.

this community,, isn’t working like this. i wrote this because people are repeatedly being hurt by the community or feel bad in it because of widespread opinions and dehumanization of a character that is as of late written to be sympathetic to the audience. that’s not a disagreement, the people who are actually sympathetic are a minority in the fandom, which would be fine with me, if they weren’t constantly invalidated, triggered and harassed as a direct result of the dehumanization discussed in this post.

besides the fact that the principle of dehumanization applied to c!dream is wrong - and if people find themselves doing that, it’s good for them to find a way to realize that, such as this post, because projection =/= dehumanization, and this post is targeting one, not the other - this is why i wrote this post. i still believe my points are valid and important for this fandom to consider.

you know, we could talk about the characterization right now - but after this i’m going onto a two month long hiatus for the sole purpose of studying the character. i’m not joking, this is what i’m dedicating my summer to. since i’m also closing my asks because of this, i can write this down and @ you when i’m done? :D i’d love to talk about him but i’m going to have so much more evidence after this, so maybe we can put this off for a while if you don’t mind! of course feel free to continue the dehumanization debate in a string of reblogs since it’s pretty much a different debate entirely.

( @zrenia @caketexturepack just tagging some people who responded to your response and might be interested in the continuation of the debate - also curious anon i saw your two asks i was just busy djsjdks please don’t spam about people who replied to me, i have a bad memory but i write this stuff down, actually )

#my asks #discourse #tw dehumanization #tw abuse #tw torture #tw animal abuse #long post

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lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean · 3 years

Text

La Pomme ~ Chapter 14

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

As annoyed as she'd been about Cas leaving against her better judgement, it felt good to be back on the road again. What she'd done yesterday, running away and searching for her family, had felt simultaneously necessary and awful the entire time she was doing it; like her nerves were sliding up against a cheese grater the wrong way. Worse than her standard feelings of unease. Being back in the car with Sam and Dean, finally headed once again toward Jack on their rescue mission, gave her a sense of peace and a strange kind of pain relief from the prior day's grating.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now a threesome, Sam, Dean, and George had set sail again on their mission to find Jack. Everyone in the car--including George, surprisingly--seemed comfortable with Dean's music filling the silence for the first few hours.

That being said, at the moment there was a throng of angry butterflies swooping through her abdomen. Cas and Sam had said they trusted her, by which she was flattered, but she felt immeasurably guilty. Should they trust her? Sure, she knew she was leading them the right way to find Jack, but was she supposed to be leading them at all? For all she knew, she had disrupted their destined timeline and was causing all kinds of unknowable consequences that would come back to bite them all in the ass eventually. She was starting to wonder whether her intentions were purely altruistic or if she was really just being selfish.

They had a short way left to go when they stopped for a quick, light gas station lunch and Dean decided to get some shut eye. He denied it, but Sam was almost positive he needed to sleep off all the crap he'd been consuming. When they got back in the car, Dean laid down in the back, Sam drove, and George sat in the passenger's seat.

It was her first time in the passenger's seat of Baby and she was strangely giddy about it. Her eyes roamed over every inch of the infamous car, taking in the surreal experience. Sam's arm adjusting on the steering wheel caught her attention and her head snapped sideways to look at him. A memory of a dream she'd had years ago filled her sight and the Sam sitting next to her was 10 years younger, with shorter hair and a baby face, but he had the same expression on it. It was a strange kind of worried uncertainty, like he was trying to figure out a riddle he already knew the answer to.

The vision felt so real and before she could stop herself she blurted, "Sam?"

He turned to look at her quickly and in a blink he was back to the older, bearded version she was used to. She could tell she had startled him out of his thoughts. Quickly she covered, "Uh, can I ask you something?" He nodded with a quiet noise of permission and she asked, "What you and Cas said earlier… about 'trusting' me? Uh… were you serious about that?"

"Yeah?" He wondered why she seemed so stupefied.

"Well," George had to take a moment to figure out how to articulately ask her question, "Why? I mean what makes you believe you should?" The look on Sam's face made her chuckle, letting out a nervous breath she'd been holding; she quickly clarified, "Don't get me wrong, you definitely should trust me and I'm honored, truly. But, I'm a mysterious woman who showed up in the bunker one day with no provable explanation and now is claiming to have inside information about the location of your missing adult-son-angel-human? I should be a walking red flag to a Winchester. Like, at least as a safety precaution, you shouldn't trust me until you know me, right?"

"I know you--er, enough," Came falling out before he could stop himself. Quickly he stumbled to add, "I mean, I feel like I know you enough to know you aren't lying to me…? Anymore, I mean," He added upon remembering she'd lied about her origins when they first met. He didn't think that counted, exactly; he would have done the same thing in her situation.

"But… why? What makes you feel that way?" George pressed. She still didn't understand. What made him so quick to trust her?

Sam was quiet for a while, turning a pale shade of green, before answering, "Same reason I was able to find you at the hotel, I guess?" He glanced at her with a serious expression and could tell by her gulp that she knew exactly what he was talking about. The pull; she felt it too. He exhaled deeply and reminded her, "Good instincts?"

Staring at him curiously, she imitated him, "Yea… that must be it."

The air around them felt strangely electrified as they both sat in silence. They were each fighting their own internal struggles about what it all meant. She wanted to ask him what he meant, ask him what this feeling was and if he was feeling the same thing. He wanted to know what she knew about his dream. As Dean let out a sharp snore, they both debated whether it was the right time or place.

"Do you trust me?" He asked her suddenly and it surprised her.

"Uhhhh, yea? I mean…" She paused, seriously considering it for the first time, then nodded definitively, "Yes."

"Why?" He pressed with a smile.

Understanding his point, she rolled her eyes, "That's--"

Cutting her off, Sam admitted with a smile, "OK, maybe it's a little different, but… you trust me because I remind you of someone who you know to be trustworthy, right?" She nodded slowly and he shrugged, "It's kind of the same thing for me."

George's eyebrows furrowed at him, starting to get concerned that she already did understand what he meant. Still, she asked, "Oh-kay, but... the person you remind me of is Sam Winchester… and you just so happen to be Sam Winchester, soooo-"

"OK, I don't know exactly how to explain it without sounding crazy, but I feel a connection to you," He finally admitted. Each word scratched and clawed resistantly on their way out of his mouth while he squirmed in his seat.

"A connection? To me?" She was surprised. And not. He affirmed with a quick nod and she began to fidget nervously. What did he mean? Did she already know? Is it what she's been feeling, too? He couldn't possibly feel the same connection she felt, surely; what she felt was easily explainable by her having been a fan of the show. But then what 'connection' was he talking about?

Trying to gather her thoughts she blurted, "Why?"

Sam gripped the steering wheel tightly and admitted, "OK, uh, about ten years ago I had this... dream." His eyes were glued to the road, so he didn't notice George suddenly stiffen tightly, whipping around to look at him. She instantly remembered her memory flash from earlier and a strange tingling sensation in her gut told her she knew exactly what dream Sam was referring to. She knew this feeling had nothing to do with the show.

Of course she'd had lots of dreams about him, and countless other fictional or otherwise unobtainable people before, but the dream that sprang to mind had been… different. It had saved her life.

"A dream?" she croaked, sweat forming on her cool skin. Was it her or was it suddenly sweltering in the car? She was desperate to take off her hoodie, but felt like this was the wrong time to be stripping.

"It was right after Dean had died--and, at the time, I thought he was gone for good. I was trying to fix it but it was taking a long time. Things got pretty dark. And then one night I…" He hesitated for a moment and then said quickly, "I had a dream. In it I met a woman in a bar and she… well, she was trustworthy. She helped me... find the light again," He finished vaguely with a wistful, if slightly embarrassed smile.

George felt as though the world around her were still moving but everything about her was in suspended animation; her body, her thoughts, her functions, like someone hit pause on her.

The night she'd had The Dream™, she'd been left at the altar by her would-be-high school sweetheart, who ran off with her best friend, the maid of honor. The heartache had felt unbearable and she happened to have had access to some serious pain pills. In her grief, she assumed they, coupled with a few bottles of tequila, would be enough to end her pain. But instead she'd had an indescribably intense dream about a man who made her feel ridiculous about throwing her life away over a dipwad like Greg. And--purely coincidentally, she'd always assumed--the man from her dream had been Sam Winchester.

While her dream had been incredibly significant to her, it's not something she'd even thought about until this moment. Why would she? It was just her pill and booze induced dream haze, randomly manifesting a hot, loving, perfect person to help her see that life was worth living. Of course, she had always known it wasn't real, that she hadn't actually dreamt about the real Sam Winchester.

Obviously, that's ridiculous! Because, he's not re- She paused her thoughts when the man in question's anxious throat clearing snapped her back to the moment. Blinking finally, she looked at him closely and noticed that he was avoiding looking at her. He was white as a sheet and his jaw was clenched so tight, she felt sympathy pain in her teeth. A burning sensation in her lungs reminded her that she couldn't remember when she'd last breathed in.

With a quick, deliberate inhale she asked, "And I... remind you of this woman?"

The serious tone of her voice made Sam finally turn to look at her. Her expression told him his instincts were right but he couldn't believe it. The two of them stared at each other in shock for longer than was safe to be driving. Neither knew what to say.

The car swerved slightly when Sam was startled by a loud, screeching 80s guitar solo suddenly emanating from the backseat.

"Jesus!" George yelped, jumping out of her skin.

Dean rolled over and sat up with a grumble, "Close. Jimi Hendrix." He held his noisy phone up and dismissed the alarm, "Did I miss any stimulating conversation?" Sam and George both looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes before simultaneously mumbling vague denials. Dean was attune to their odd behavior but when he noticed a road sign for The Trees of Enigma, he opted to ask instead, "Where are we?"

"Oh, uh--'bout 20 miles from False Klamath. What's the plan?" Sam instantly switched to work mode when he realized they were getting close.

Dean raised an annoyed eyebrow, "Are we already that close? Didn't we talk about stopping at the last town for a motel first?"

"Er--uh, oh--right," Sam groaned and his eyes rolled back into his head in embarrassment. He was furious with himself; Dean had mentioned that plan at their last stop but Sam hadn't exactly been giving his brother his full attention.

"What?" George asked curiously. "When was this conversation?"

"At the gas station," Dean said matter of factly, watching as she narrowed her eyes at him. "It was just before we left. I wasn't hiding it from you; I mentioned it when you were walking back to the car. Remember, you got distracted trying to fish out that M&M that went down your top," He chuckled in amusement, looking to share the joke with Sam but finding him looking oddly guilty instead.

"Oh, yeah," She responded slowly. Looking down and pulling her top away from her chest, she muttered, "Did I ever get that out?" Dean snorted and then watched Sam glance over as she hooked a finger down her top to go fishing again, realizing why his brother had missed the motel plan in the first place.

"George, it's not--it's not like that--" Dean began but stopped short, not knowing what to say to comfort her.

When George's head suddenly popped up again, Sam jumped, his head jerking toward the road and Dean stifled a laugh.

Looking back at him, she asked, "Ok, but why would we stop at a motel when we're this close? It's the middle of the day, the place is still open." Looking back and forth between them, she saw their expressions slowly turn guilty and she realized. With a mildly offended huff, she stated matter of factly, "Oh, you were going to leave me at the motel while the two of you went to go look for Jack alone. Got it." Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned to look out the window. Dean and Sam shared a guilty, 'oh, shit' expression.

"It's just that..." Sam tried to pick up where his brother left off, wanting to explain, but he froze too. He couldn't stop kicking himself for being distracted by her--er, their conversation. He should have been paying closer attention and now they faced nothing but bad options. Options that put her life in more danger. "...Well, it's just-"

"Oh, calm down," She cut him off softly with a small eye roll, looking back at them. She sneered like a spoiled teenager, "It's fine; I'm fragile and weak and have no monster fighting skills to speak of. I'm a baby sans trench coat. It would be too dangerous and irresponsible to let me come with you, so you had a plan. I get it. Liking it is another story, but I get it. At least now I know how Jack feels," She lobbed, giving Sam an annoyed smirk, to which his head hung slightly. With a deep calming breath, she explained in a more poised tone, "I'm not upset, I'm just frustrated that there's nothing I can do about it; I know how fucking pig headed the two of you are when you're right."

"Even worse when we're wrong," Dean added empathetically after a beat and Sam nodded apologetically.

George snorted in agreement and sighed, "Alright, well your offensively infantilizing, yet totally justified plan to forcefully protect me has failed, so now what?"

Dean rubbed his eyes, letting out some thoughtful grumbles and trying to clear the sleep fog from his brain, "Uhm, well we just gotta keep driving to the next town, find a safe place for you there and then double back; start looking for Jack."

As Dean spoke, George allowed herself to focus on her instincts and there was suddenly a fire alarm going off in her head. There was a sense of urgency she couldn't shake. Jack was in trouble.

Looking directly at Sam, George begged, "The nearest town is nearly 20 miles away! We have to find Jack, now. We're this close and I don't think we have time to waste. I've got a bad feeling," Either because they were getting closer to where she believed Jack to be or because she was finally paying attention to something other than Sam, she could sense how much danger the kid was in. But Dean was shaking his head dismissively, not listening beyond her request to stop. She tried offering sweetly, "We can at least stop since it's right here and you guys can take ten minutes to ask around and see if they've seen him? Do your little detective cosplay, strictly recon--I'm not sure if I'm using that term right but it sounds cool, so just go with it. I will stay in the car! Please!"

Dean looked like he was considering it but quickly shook his head, "George, I don't think that's a good idea; you'd be completely vulnerable and we can't be distracted worrying about you when we're trying to find Jack." He then squinted at her, offended. "And it's not cosplay. We're hunters, not LARPers."

"OK, I've seen you LARP and I know for a FACT you fucking love it, Mr. Braveheart!" Dean gave her a shocked glare, forgetting again that she knew more about their lives than a woman he'd met mere days ago normally would. She continued before he could respond, "And seriously, you guys I have a really bad feeling," She held her abdomen for emphasis, "Jack's in trouble! Please, I'll stay in the car with all the doors locked and one of your big giant knives. I'll be OK! I stabbed you didn't I?!" George reminded Dean, though she knew she was grasping at straws now.

Dean's eyes narrowed, "OK, first of all, you sliced me a little an-"

"Enough! Dean's right, we're not risking your life, Georgia. It's too dangerous," Sam's tone was startlingly definitive and both she and Dean were a bit stunned. Now that he realized who she was--who she had to be--there was no fucking way Sam was putting her in anymore danger. He'd made enough lapses in judgment since she'd showed up, any number of which could have already gotten her killed. He was done taking risks with her life.

As they saw the 'coming up' sign for "The Trees of Enigma", he pushed his foot down, speeding up just enough to make his point.

"Sam, please listen to me! Jack is here and he's in danger! What about protecting him?!" Both Sam and Dean shared an uneasy look; she could see they were torn she just didn't know how to convince them. Desperately, she reasoned, "I will be fine in the car! I promise! I'm from the future, God damnit! Don't you think I would know if I'd died on an old episode of Supernatural?!"

"I can't take that chance," Sam replied sternly, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Dean and she shared a confused expression and George huffed.

When they spotted the giant Johnny Appleseed statue around the bend, her stomach dropped. She could tell by the look on Sam's face there was no use and she began to panic, pleading with him. He was resolute about continuing, but as they were coming up on the turn in for the parking lot, he suddenly felt the steering wheel pulling against him. The whole car started thumping hard on the left hand driver's side. It took them a second to realize they'd gotten a flat tire and Sam knew he had no choice but to pull off the mountain highway and into the tourist spot's parking lot.

As he safely maneuvered the car into a distant parking spot and shut Baby off, George couldn't help but thank her lucky stars.

"Motherfucker," Sam landed a punch on the steering wheel.

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't you take this out on her!" Dean shouted angrily. "A car is only as good as its driver."

"Oh, you know what?! Yo--" Sam began but he was cut off by George's impatience.

"It doesn't matter, stop fighting!" Her tone was authoritative. "We're here and we aren't going anywhere anytime soon. So, why don't you boys go be hunters while I put the spare on the car? I'll be preoccupied with the car, it'll give you a chance to gather some intel on Jack, and by the time you come out you'll be able to take me to a motel--Not like that, Dean." She cut him off when she saw a smart ass expression burst onto his face at her words.

"You can change a tire?" He asked skeptically instead.

"Yes, Dean, I can change a tire. Ya know, women can also vote and take birth control now, too!"

"No, I know women can, I'm asking: can you?"

She shoved him gently and opened her car door, ordering, "just get out and show me where the spare is!" When she exited, a grateful shiver ran through her at the piercingly crisp Oregon climate. She was thankful for the relief from her earlier panic sweating.

Sam and Dean both exchanged identical "I-don't-like-this" looks before getting out of the car after her and popping the trunk. Dean lifted the trunk and then grabbed the false bottom that held some of their weaponry, exposing the spare and equipment underneath.

"OK, here's the jack and the lug wrench," he handed her the two tools and then reached back in for the tire. "Lemme pull the spare out for you."

"Stop wasting time, I can pull a tire out of a trunk."

"No, really, it's probably going to take one person just to hold the weapons up." Sam gently nudged her out of the way and leaned in to grab the spare while Dean held up the armory. Sam set it down next to the flat and then shoved the jack into position underneath the car with ease.

"Hey, knock it off. I told you I can change a tire," She grabbed Sam's wrist and tugged him back from the car, gently shoving him and Dean toward the visitor center and gift shop. "Now go! Go find out what you can about Jack. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back." Sam and Dean exchanged nervous looks, hesitating. "I'll be fine. Go. Bring me back some salt-water taffy!" She joked, trying to distract them.

"Wait," Dean walked back over and flipped back down the weapons shelf in the trunk and pulled a 17" bowing knife from some hidden pocket. Holding it out to her hilt first, he said, "The biggest knife we have. Don't hurt yourself."

"Jesus," She gulped. "OK. That's… big." She took it from his outstretched hand, nodding apprehensively, trying to psych herself up should she need to use it.

"I get that a lot." As Dean winked, George let out a small laugh and brandished the sheathed knife at him, faux menacingly.

Sam took a step towards her and pointed his hands at her in prayer position, "Hey, the second you get the spare on, you get in that car, lock all the doors, and watch for us, OK? Don't leave the car for any reason. Promise?" Now he was pleading with her.

"What if I have to pee?" She joked half-heartedly, starting to feel nervous and selfishly not wanting him to go.

"You could always try using that empty Pepsi bottle you had your eye on the other day," Sam cracked a small smile.

"Don't. Don't do that." Dean interjected in a serious tone. "Let's go, Sammy," Dean had to pull Sam away with a rough tug and the brothers headed for the gift shop while George checked that the jack was in place and began wrenching it up.

When she finally finished changing the tire about an hour later, she was sweating again and even more grateful for the nice, cool outside air. She lowered the car to the ground, then picked up the jack and lug wrench, placing them in the trunk. When she turned around to grab the flat, a beautiful woman with long dark brown hair was standing practically where George had just been standing herself.

"Jesus!" George startled upon seeing her, reeling backwards into the trunk a little.

"No, I'm Duma. Are you with the Winchesters?" She got right to the point. George suddenly felt all the hairs on her arms stand on end; this woman definitely seemed familiar, but was she a demon or an angel? Or something else? George couldn't remember. She noticed that Duma was standing between her and the knife, which she'd stupidly left on the ground on the other side of the discarded tire.

Shit.

"The who?" George played dumb, trying to figure out what to do. The boys would be back any minute right? Duma was starting to give her a funny look, like she was studying her.

"What…" Duma paused, squinting her eyes and looking her slowly up and down, "what are you?"

"Excuse me?" George replied, a little dumbstruck--not to mention offended--by the question. She slowly placed her hand casually on the lip of the open trunk. She tried to dart her eyes down imperceptibly to where her hand was, searching for any weapons she might be able to grab. Duma started to slowly step closer to her, seemingly not noticing George's fingers moving toward the 3" tactical blade strapped just within reach.

"What are you?" Duma reached for her and George whipped the knife out of its holster, slicing it at her and causing her to jump back.

The little tourist shop was surprisingly busy. As Officers Page and Plant waited patiently to speak with the manager they'd asked for going on 20 minutes ago, Dean watched Sam closely.

"Not in the mood," George said, swiping at her again and taking a confident step forward as Duma retreated. "Now back off." George didn't notice the nameless angel minion that had appeared behind her and never saw the cosmic knockout coming.

-----

Finally Sam noticed and raised a perturbed eyebrow, "What?"

Dean smiled knowingly and shook his head, "Nothing."

"Good, then keep your eyes to yourself," Sam sneered at him. He was reeling from his last conversation with George. Despite his earlier convincing, he was now nearly positive she was the woman from his dream and it wasn't anything he wanted to discuss with Dean. Though, he felt like his brother could see the scarlet letter on his chest and it was putting him on edge.

Just then an aged, grey haired black man appeared at the counter and waved them over. He was tall with a little more weight around the middle than the rest of him and just the slightest hint of wrinkles along the sides of his face, denoting that the wide, friendly smile he was giving them was a typical look for him.

Dean chuckled and muttered, "Ooh, smitten Sammy is salty," as they walked up to the counter and flashed their badges at the man. Sam narrowed his eyes, biting back his response to focus on the job at hand.

"Can I help you, Officers?" The wrinkle-faced man asked, eyes scanning the police badges curiously.

"We're looking for a missing person," Dean stated as Sam held up his phone with a picture of Jack for the man to see. "There's a chance he's in some real danger. Have you seen him?"

The man looked carefully at the photo and then shook his head apologetically, "No sir, I don't believe I have. But there's a separate shack for our walking tour tickets. Molly's been out there working the window all day. If he came through she'll know."

"Thank you, how do we--?" Sam asked quickly, putting his phone away.

"Just go back out the way you came, follow the wooden fence along to the left, and you'll see a path for the walking tour," The man pointed the way with a renewed, jovial smile and they thanked him.

Exiting out the door, the brothers followed the man's directions until they found the walking tour shack. Behind the plexiglass window was an older woman they could only describe as a redneck hippie. What they could see of her outfit was jean overalls and a cotton tie-dye shirt. She had the tanned leathery skin of a woman who spent her life either working in or enjoying the outdoors, her bleach blonde hair was hair sprayed to heaven, had dark black roots, and her teeth were a muddy shade of smoker yellow. On the tip of her nose sat a pair of small, round, purple tinted glasses attached to a beaded chain around her neck and her overalls were covered in an eccentric mishmash of flair that included the NRA and the Grateful Dead.

Dean gave a charming smile and began, "Officers Page and Plant. Molly, I presume?"

"Hello Gentlemen," She greeted happily with a wide, appreciative smile, removing her glasses from her nose and laying them against her chest. When they lifted up their badges she raised a brow, "Oh, 'Officers,' I see."

"Everyday of my life. How can I be of service?" She was sizing them both up carefully, appraising them.

"We're looking for someone," Dean repeated as Sam held the phone up for Molly to see. "Have it on good authority he might have gone through here. Any chance you've seen him?"

Molly reached up and grabbed her glasses again. Slipping them on quickly, she leaned closer to the glass and inspected the photo.

"Hard to say," She started, squinting her eyes a bit. "But there was a baby faced young man that came through with his sister a little bit ago. Could be the same guy, but my eyes just ain't what they used ta be."

"How long ago?" Dean asked seriously.

"Maybe an hour?"

"How did he seem?"

"Quiet and moody," Molly shrugged, "typical for your average young boy dragged here by their family. Didn't think much of it, honestly."

"What did his sister look like?"

"Shorter than him, but just as pale. Long brown hair, brown eyes I think? I'd say mid-twenties. She looked about as thrilled to be here as he did."

"Did they buy tickets?" Sam asked quickly.

"Sure did," Molly nodded. "Paid cash, asked for the fastest route to the wilderness trail." She picked up a map sitting in the display case in front of her, then grabbed a pen and drew out directions quickly, as though she'd done it a thousand times before. Handing the map through the small cutout in her window, she stated, "These are the directions I gave them."

"Thank you very much for your assistance, Molly," Sam said sincerely, grabbing the map and taking a few steps back, ready to head toward Jack.

"No problem, Officer," Molly said with a sweet smile, then turned to Dean and said, "Listen, I have a granddaughter you'd be perfect for." Dean raised an intrigued eyebrow, a charming smile appearing on his face as Molly reached up above the plexiglass and yanked a photo down from the shelf. Holding it out for Dean to see, she suggested, "Maybe the two of us can figure out a way to get her away from her no good, crank dealing boyfriend, eh?"

Initially interested, Dean moved closer to the photo and then wrenched back quickly, "Molly… Uh… how old is--"

"Sheila. She'll be 17 in October. Ain't she a beauty?" Molly grinned proudly. Dean and Sam both tried to hold back grimaces.

"Oh, of course, I understand," Molly nodded quickly and grabbed up a pen and another map, scribbling a note and handing it through the plexiglass. "Here's her SnapChat. She's always looking for new friends!"

"Well, she certainly takes after her grandmother, doesn't she?" Was all Dean could think to say. Luckily Molly was clearly flattered and he added quickly, "But, uh, we're on official police business right now, so I can't real--"

Dean, masking his horror like a pro, took the glossy, folded piece of evidence and nodded, "Thanks, Molly. You've been a real help."

"Anything for you, Officer!" She called after them as he took a few steps to catch up with Sam and the two of them began heading down the trail.

After tossing Dean's map in the first trash can they could find out of eye-shot of Molly, they followed Sam's map for about a mile along the trail before coming to a split. The two of them looked first left then right. The left path went straight around the mountain, the right path wound up the mountain in a zigzag pattern.

Sam checked the map again, "OK, she directed them this way," he pointed toward the left.

"Hold on," Dean said, having turned around. He was now facing about 90 degrees to the left of the left path. "You see this?" Sam turned to look and saw a line in the surrounding ground ivy that looked like a man made path. It clearly wasn't as used as the other two and it wasn't on the map.

"What about it? Molly sai-"

"Look," Dean instructed, pointing into the forest. As Sam scanned the area Dean was pointing at, Dean started slowly following the small, easily missable path. He followed him, still not seeing anything of interest, and they walked about 40 feet before Sam finally noticed a patch of dark green that looked decidedly unnatural against the normal foliage.

As they got closer it became clear that what they were seeing was a dark green nylon winter coat. The coat was attached to a body that was crumpled on its side, as though tossed into the vegetation in a hasty effort to hide it. Drawing their weapons, they approached carefully. Dean got there first, finding a small, fair skinned, brown haired woman.

"Jack's 'sister'?" Dean asked bending down to place two fingers on the young woman's neck, though she was very clearly dead.

"That's Tilly!" Sam said sharply, finally catching up.

"You mean, it was Tilly," Dean looked at him curiously.

Sam grimaced and explained, "Another refugee. She's been training with us. I thought she was on a Wraith hunt with Steiner and Green."

"So, what's she doing here?" Dean asked, standing up straight again.

"And why did Jack come with her? They hardly know each other." The two of them quickly swept the immediate area for any clues but found nothing more. Moving her body farther out of sight for the time being, they then continued cautiously forward along the path.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic series #spn fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x original character #sam winchester x original female character

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mittensmorgul · 4 years

Note

I don't mean to 'dog pile' but your recent discussions on s9 has brought up one of my few real peevs on the show. I recognize that the show has declared that without his Grace, Cas is human. I don't like it, but I understand that to be the case. But it doesn't make any sense? In s6 Cas says to Crowley, "I'm an angel you ass, I don't have a soul." And yet without his Grace he apparently has one? I go with it because that's what the show has declared even if i don't think it makes sense. Oh well!

Disclaimer for everyone who is not li-izumi and is reading this feeling sort of vaguely confused… I got this message yesterday, and had a very limited time to reply before having to run out and Adult™, but I sent a bunch of links to past things I’d written, which can all be found in my tags:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/tagged/angels%20and%20souls/chrono

and

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/tagged/on%20the%20nature%20of%20angel%20grace/chrono

there’s some overlap between those two tags, but almost everything i’ve ever written about the subject is in there… I say “almost” because tumblr refuses to organize tags out beyond, I believe, the 5th tag, so if I rambled in the tags and then stuck the grace tags on at the end, it won’t filter into these searches… sorry… I did, however, put all the contents I had in these tags as of December 2018 into this ao3 post, which might be easier to read through, or might be more difficult to read through, and doesn’t include anything I’ve written after 12/2018…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019936

There’s also my tag for “Cas vs Humanity,” where I talk about all of this from another direction:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/tagged/you%20learned%20it%20from%20the%20goats/chrono

And for further reference, this is regarding the long back and forth I had with zerbe yesterday, here:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/190817337615/i-was-rewatching-s9-and-i-reached-the-ep-where-cas

I was originally gonna reply to this privately, but I think I did a fair job summing up my core thoughts on this in just a few paragraphs, so I’m posting it here as a sort of tl;dr for everything linked above… :’D

OKAY, NOW ON TO THE ACTUAL REPLY!

***

I don’t know if everything from that post back and forth with zerbe answered your question or just gave you more… or if any of those links I through at you in the chatbubbles yesterday helped…

But one more thing, which I’m not sure was included in any of those linked posts or not, but is something I know I’ve talked about in the past, including as recently as 14.19 when Jack was turning humans into angels, is the commonalities between angelic grace and human souls.

My theory since s4, since we first met Anna, has been that there is a core to the being of an angel that encompasses their “personalities,” for lack of a better word, and their thoughts and memories… and that this kernel of being is the “identity” of an angel separate from the “power pack” of the grace that encompasses their “mojo.”

The fact that Anna still could hear angel radio and was eventually able to access her memories of having been an angel even though she’d cut out her grace and literally been born as a human, with a human soul, was all the proof I personally needed that despite everything else they are, angels do have a nascent or primordial seed of a human soul within themselves that they can literally choose to nurture or not. And Cas, by his choices, has been nurturing that part of himself since s4.

And when Cas had the “power pack” portion of his grace cut out by Metatron, he wasn’t left “soulless,” in comparison to every other example we have of a soulless person on the entire run of the series. He was perhaps even MORE overwhelmed by his own human feelings than at any other time in his history on the show. His personality, memories, his preferences and emotional engagement with life, and the essential core of his identity wasn’t extracted when his grace was. So what was left? The show seems to be actively begging us to consider this, especially when Metatron stated directly that he believed he’d left Cas with the equivalent of a human soul in 8.23.

Cas had no wings, no “mojo,” but he had his entire personality, all his memories, everything that comprised his fundamental identity… but no grace.

The show has contrasted this by demonstrating the other way an angel can inhabit and then leave a human vessel– as that glowing cloud of grace– that incorporates all these “personality traits” and memories, etc. into the grace cloud. So clearly, that portion of an angel’s grace is somehow not the same thing as the “mojo” portion.

That leaves us to question what exactly Cas was at that point, and because of all of his other actions and choices during that time, the only reasonable conclusion I could personally arrive at was that yes, that was the equivalent of a human soul.

I mentioned Jack converting human souls into angels in 14.19, because before when I’d mentioned my theory of grace as stated above, folks countered or dismissed my theory because it apparently didn’t work in the other direction, of the potential for a human soul to have this “mojo power pack” grafted on to it, to make a human into an angel. But this is exactly what Jack did, so I feel even more content with my personal theory about what angel grace actually is, and how it functions, and how at the very center of every angel is this kernel of potential to nurture their very own human soul.

OH! And after going back and writing the long intro into this post and considering how the heck to actually tag this thing, I feel it’s important to also mention that 6.20, where Cas delivered that “I don’t have a soul” line, was written by Ben Edlund, who also wrote 5.14, wherein under the influence of Famine, Cas developed a craving for burgers that, in episode, he deflected HARD and blamed his sudden craving for red meat on Jimmy, on his vessel… but I always ALWAYS have read the fact he turned away, broke eye contact with Dean when he made that statement, as a direct deflection, as him deliberately handwaving the fact that Cas himself was “becoming more and more human” during s5, culminating with the near-complete loss of his powers by the time he wakes up in the hospital in 5.21 and could no longer deny the fact that he’d lost his angelic powers.

And for those who require Authorial Intent as proof of things like this, that’s essentially what Edlund said he was attempting to prove with that line.

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/159579521875/i-always-reserve-in-castiels-overall-makeup-the

“I always reserve in Castiel’s overall makeup the fact that there is an aspect of him that is purely flesh and purely human, which can function as it did in an episode before as a real Achilles’ heel, when he started to eat meat, because he just loved red meat. He couldn’t stop himself.”— Ben Edlund (May 6, 2011) in Supernatural’s “Cliffhanger Is Deeply Involved With Castiel’s Fate” (via justanotheridijiton)

I wrote in far more detail on that episode, and what it implied about Cas himself, right here:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/159772440305/514-same-cas-same-lizbob-was-laughing-at-me

I hope that covers it, but if not, please feel free to poke at it some more :’D

#spn 6.20 #spn 5.14 #spn 14.19 #on the nature of angel grace #angels and souls #you learned it from the goats #actual quote i just used elsewhere: Damn Ben Edlund #li izumi

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romericasecretsanta · 5 years

Text

a marvelous night for a moondance

Read on FFnet here! This is for the awesome @aph-american-sin can-sin, who I don’t think I can tag in a submission? Merry Christmas have some Romerica!!

[Soundtrack: Moon Dance/Moondance]

—

a marvelous night for a moondance

Lovino had been turned back in the 16th century at the young age of 23. His sire had been an affable Spanish man, appearing to be in his mid-30s, who Lovino had met before and hadn’t thought to be threatened by until it was too late. He’d awoken from a bloodfever haze six days later, and immediately known what he’d become and what it meant for him.

Being turned so young had been both a blessing and a curse. No wife or children yet, but he’d had a bright future ahead of him that now had turned dim, moonlit instead of sunlit. Being forever young — he didn’t think it was vanity to say he was very attractive, which in some ways made his life easier. He never had any difficulty luring prey. On the other hand, it made him more memorable. He was never able to stay in one place for more than a few years. He’d also never had any difficulty finding work as a stone mason or dock worker, frozen in the prime of his life, a strong and healthy young man, albeit one who kept weird hours. But he would never look old enough for more respectable work, at least not in Italy, where tradition permeated the very stone of the buildings, and seemed to linger in the very air that Lovino didn’t breathe. So, in the early 20th century, he left Rome for New York City.

By that time, Feliciano was long dead.

America was different; it had its own unique mix of new customs and Old World traditions. Lovino had always been a fast learner, so he had little trouble adjusting. Especially among the vampires, there was a set of guidelines for interaction to help prevent disputes over territory or prey. Their kind tended to be fairly solitary anyway.

Which was why it threw Lovino for a bit of a loop when he wandered into a secluded part of Central Park one night and spotted another vampire (they were always immediately recognizable to each other). He was even more surprised when, rather than the traditional solemn nod, the other vamp gave him an enthusiastic wave.

Taken aback, Lovino stopped and gaped a little, which was apparently all the invitation the stranger needed to approach him.

“Hey what’s up haven’t seen you around before my name’s Alfred you can call me Al!”

All one sentence. Spoken without pausing for breath, obviously, but also without even the slightest acknowledgement that there should be pauses between sentences, dammit.

“How old are you?” Lovino demanded instead of introducing himself, which was terribly rude, but the other vamp had started it.

“Uh in like human years or vampire years?”

Oh he had to be recently turned. “Both.”

“Okay, well, I was 19 when I got turnt, haha, but it was back in 1986 soooo I guess I’m 51? Gettin’ up there!”

“Excuse me?”

“What, why, how old are you?”

Lovino felt what little blood he had left from his last meal a few days ago rush to his face in an attempted blush. “What kind of a rude question is that!”

“You asked me first! Hey, are you Italian? You sound kinda Italian.”

Lovino tried to collect himself. “My name is Lovino Vargas, I'm several hundred years old, and yes, I’m originally from Rome.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, causing a fresh wave of resentful blood to course through Lovino’s withered veins. “Oh, one of those old types. Y'all are such sticklers.”

“How is it you’ve been turned for 30 years but your sire or somebody hasn’t taught you any manners?”

“Ha! He tried but I told him noooo thank you, following rules is the opposite of why I got you to turn me into a vampire so you can leave me alone with that nonsense. He was old and British, so you know, if you’ve ever met a British vampire? They are every stereotype you could possibly think of.”

Which, there was a lot to unpack there. But the first thing that came out of Lovino’s mouth, for some reason, was, “Like in the original Dark Shadows TV series.” Incredibly embarrassing, but for some reason this made Alfred light up.

“Yeah! Not the weird movie remake, which I have strong opinions about.” Yeah, Lovino did, too. “Man, I knew you looked cool! Have you watched a lot of vampire stuff? Like What We Do in the Shadows?”

Lovino puffed up a bit. “Of course I have! I’ve seen and read every major and minor piece of vampire media made in the last 200 years. I find it very important to know what the current trends and misconceptions in human media are. You never know when they’ll actually catch on to something.”

Alfred squinted at him, which was ridiculous because they both had perfect night vision and the moon was full, besides. Lovino squinted back.

“That’s a whole lot of media…” Alfred said slowly, sounding exaggeratedly suspicious.

“Well, I have a lot of time on my hands,” was his dry response.

This actually made Alfred laugh. “And he jokes!”

Sometimes, Lovino would actually make jokes about garlic and being Italian when he got food at his favorite pizzeria at 2AM. No one was ever around to appreciate those jokes, though. And he wasn’t about to tell Alfred about it.

Alfred rocked back on his heels, delighted grin on his face. “Every single piece of media, huh? I call bullshit.”

“I have —” he started to protest, but Alfred flapped a hand at him.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you’ve done it, I’m saying I don’t think it was research. Anyone who watches the 2004 Van Helsing movie willingly is doing it because they’re really into that stuff.”

Direct hit. “Better than Twilight,” he muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. This just made the other vamp laugh again.

Wait.

“Hold on just a damn minute, did you say you deliberately got turned?!”

“Yeah, so I could fly!”

Lovino deliberately took a deep breath, turned around to collect himself, and immediately spun back around and shouted, “We can’t fly! Are you nuts?!”

“We can in Castlevania,” Alfred told him matter-of-factly.

Lovino stared at him. “Are you referring to the video game that came out in 1986? That Castlevania?” Then it hit him. “Oh my God, you are. You said you went out and got turned in 1986. Because of Castlevania?!” He was vaguely aware that he was practically screeching, but he was too riled up to care.

“Well yeah, the game was awesome!” Alfred said defensively.

At this point, Lovino devolved into cursing extravagantly in Italian.

Alfred seemed unfazed. “Man, you sound like my brother. Except he yelled at me in French instead of Italian.”

This brought him up short. “You have a brother?”

“Yeah! We’re twins!”

Like him and Feliciano.

“He’s…still alive?”

“Yeah! I always joke he’s waiting until he looks like the older brother before he lets me turn him. Well, now he looks more like my dad when we’re hanging out together.”

“You're in contact with him?”

Out of this entire strange interaction, this was what hit him. It was just so different from what he’d done. He’d been turned into a monster, someone who would never fit back into society. Rather than subject his twin to that, he’d run, and he’d watched from afar, and Feliciano had mourned him and then gotten older and fallen in love and lived happily and then died. And Lovino had never spoken to him that whole time.

This guy had deliberately gotten turned into an immortal, for a power they didn’t even have, after playing a goddamned video game from the 80s. But. He still talked to his brother.

Overwhelmed, Lovino started to take a step back. Alfred must have seen something in his face because suddenly he reached out to grab one of Lovino’s hands in his.

“Oh, but wow, I’ve been so rude!” he exclaimed in a faux-repentant voice. It made Lovino pause long enough, because yeah he had, that Alfred was able to also grab his other hand. “Do you wanna dance?”

Lovino was speechless yet again. “What?” he finally spluttered out. “What kind of manners did this asshole teach you, what the fuck.”

“You’re the one swearing,” Alfred said primly. “Anyway, I took some ballroom dances when I was in college in the 80s, I mean obviously I’m doing night school and online coursework now, but I had the dancing thing down pretty good, at least by college standards. So! Wanna dance?” He phrased it like a question but by the time he was finished speaking he’d already dragged Lovino into a basic waltz.

“You’re out of your mind,” Lovino told him dazedly, unconsciously following the steps as he stared up at this blond madman. “Castlevania.”

Alfred laughed and graced him with another smile — it was quite a nice smile, actually — but didn’t say anything for a minute. “You know,” he said quietly once they’d gotten into a rhythm, cutting over damp grass with light steps, “We always joke about it but I’m pretty sure Mattie’s going to stay human.” Another pause. “At least I have this time with him. I’m a little scared of what I’ll do after he…well. After.”

Lovino considered this with the seriousness it deserved. “Well. You keep living, I guess. Or not, as the case may be.”

Alfred blinked, surprised, and then snorted. “You really do have jokes.” He said it softly. It sounded almost fond.

They were still dancing, but Lovino started to notice the ground felt odd under his feet.

He looked down.

The grass glistened darkly in the moonlight, several yards below them. They crested near the tops of the trees, and Alfred spun him in a way that made the shining lights of the city around the park, just for a moment, look like stars whirling around them.

They were actually flying. The air under his feet was not quite solid; it had a strange sort of give to it but also an elasticity that seemed to push him back up every time he took a step. Lovino gasped, a breath he didn’t need, and then felt a laugh burst out of him in a way that hadn’t happened in at least a few decades.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he asked Alfred when he’d managed to contain himself to just a smile. It felt a bit flirtatious on his face, which his dance partner must have picked up on if the way he waggled his eyebrows was any indication.

“You bet! Are you feeling something in that cold, dead heart of yours?”

Lovino looked down and then up through his eyelashes, something he usually did for luring prey. This was more genuine.

“Maybe sometime we should…get a drink. Go dancing again.”

Alfred mock gasped. “Excuse me, I’m only 19 and it’s not legal for me to drink.”

Lovino felt himself snort. At the moment he didn’t care that it was inelegant.

As they started to descend, still slowly turning in circles, Alfred smiled. “I’d love to dance with you, though. If you think you can keep up with me.”

“How rude. You know, as your elder —”

They touched down back on the grass just in time to hear a sharp gasp, the kind that came from someone who actually used the air they took into their lungs.

A man stood on the edge of the clearing they were in, staring in amazement.

Alfred and Lovino looked at each other. Then, graciously, Alfred stood back and indicated he should go first.

Lovino grinned at his companion, feeling his teeth start to elongate.

For the first time in a long time, he felt the burning ember of hope deep inside of him — hope for the future, the centuries stretching out in front of him seemingly without end.

Because maybe he wouldn’t be alone.

With Alfred humming a Van Morrison song from behind him —

— he lunged.

#gifts #2018 #fics #fics 2018 #aph america sin #piratecat #submission

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