#I grew up listening to survivors' story but I didn’t trust my memories to be good enough
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Me: I want to work on my own X-Men au...
Me: *read and study intensely about Poland and Romania's history during WWII, polish jews and romani people's treatment by Nazis, how Auschwitz worked and the life of the people here...*
#anab#assigned nerd at birth#I need my Magneto's backstory to be as historically accurate as possible#I grew up listening to survivors' stories but I didn't trust my memories to be goid enough material#I grew up listening to survivors' story but I didn’t trust my memories to be good enough#i love learning
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Watching the Supernatural finale hours after almost dying is, well. Different.
I cannot stress this enough: MAJOR triggers for frank discussion of a recent suicide attempt (no, not because SPN ended). Steer clear if this might hit too close to home. I'm no longer at risk, this happened a while ago and is over, and my care manager is aware.
Right, and spoilers for the series finale.
_____ _____ _____
I'm old enough to have been a fan of SPN since 2005. And considering the fact that childhood abuse had me suicidal at around age 12, probably earlier, it's safe to say that I have never watched the show without that constant battle going on in the background, unrelated.
When Dean said he was tired, that he was done, I got it. When Sam asked in that abandoned chapel what the upside was to him being alive, or when he confided in his brother in a hotel hallway that he had always felt unclean somehow, I could relate. There was more to the show than that, of course -- the love, the loyalty, the humor -- but the struggle was another point of connection.
As both the show and I grew long in the tooth, and my life circumstances were progressive getting worse (as they sometimes do when you carry untreated trauma), I used SPN and the fandom as a comfort. And increasingly, living to see how the Winchester story ends became one of those grappling hooks you latch on to when you look for reasons to keep going just a little longer.
Naturally, that didn't (and couldn't) arm me against the waves of acute, hope-obliterating, soul-sucking despair that can routinely crash on your head when you're dealing with poverty, chronic physical illness and disability -- and in a harsh country, too -- as well as being severely post traumatic and dissociative. Saving me was never the show's job, nor should it have been. I used it as much as I could, though.
The more I felt like I had to die, the more I tried. Dying hardly ever comes naturally, not even when you feel like there's no other way. Painfully isolated and increasingly bedridden, I watched convention panels and smiled so hard my face hurt. Other times I cried. And I made online friends, often through the fandom, who made life less empty. Who loved and laughed and cried with me from afar. It's hard to overstate the effect that can have when you're trapped in a body that's pretty much your cage, with a mind that's wounded and struggling.
I kept fighting. But I also kept finding myself, over and over again, faced with the reality that most people who are deeply traumatized, certainly those who are also severely dissociative, get to know early on: the world excels at letting many of us know that there's no place for us. Fighting hard to survive with about 10% of what I need to live, I sometimes find it hard not to listen to that toxic message that many survivors and disabled folks hear and feel coming at them over and over: you're too broken to justify the cost and effort of keeping you alive.
It's been an especially hard couple of years in that sense. And as the finale was months, then weeks, then days away, I kept telling myself to wait. Wait for that. Decide later. "Deciding later" is a survival technique I've been using for decades now whenever I get actively suicidal. It's not a bad one.
So that very last Thursday evening (or very late night, where I live) came around. And it so happens that I was at the very end of my rope. Again, for unrelated reasons to the show ending, obviously. And I couldn't go on.
The finale was hours away, and off I went on that same journey. Wait. Wait just long enough to see how it ends. It's been 15 years. You've survived so far, and that bit of closure, at least, is within reach. Just fucking wait to watch that last episode; see how they go before you do. Let that be the one last kind thing you do for yourself.
I kept telling myself that even as I numbly went through my final checklist.
I know it hurts so much. I know this damn body is tortured beyond what you can stand, I know we've been told it's about to get even worse. And hours more of this seem like an eternity. Watching anything seems impossible. I know the PTSD is intolerable, I know you can't sleep, you live in constant fear and rage and exhaustion; I know you're alone in this.
I know you live in a place that has made its peace with people like you dying of Covid, and finds it a small price to pay for refusing to wear masks. I know how that makes you feel, to be told that your life is worth that little because you're disabled. I know 9 months of what amounts to house arrest, while living alone, have made everything so much worse. I know you just want to go.
But wait to watch how it ends. And decide later. You can go later. You can.
And I almost made it. I mean, I'm obviously still here, so I eventually survived. But I tried not to. I couldn't wait.
Sometimes, when you get to the lowest low point, when you are in all-encompassing agony, when your circumstances leave no room for hope even though you desperately want to live -- and I do, I so want to live -- no show, no fandom, no unfinished story can keep you from taking that step over the edge. Many times it can, but there are places where nothing has any meaning. Thursday night became one of those. Watching the finale was a faded notion in the background of all that agony, and then it was nothing at all.
I only managed to write one goodbye letter. Hard to be as organized as you imagined you would be, hard not to leave unforgivable loose ends. I have no memory of what the letter said, and I can't look at it, not yet. It's tucked away now, just out of view.
And then I went about doing the only thing that I felt could be done.
I didn't get to go away. Both because I couldn't stand the torment of the only method I had handy, though I sure gave it my best efforts -- two more minutes would have sealed the deal -- and because I was fucking afraid to die. All the way through, until I gave up and stopped what I was doing.
Fear of dying when you're your own executioner is an odd thing. Your body wants out of this plan you've made for you both. It responds like you'd expect when someone's life in under threat. It makes you have to run to the bathroom over and over, it makes your heart hammer in your chest and your ears ring.
There was no crying. Not at that point. I don't think there was crying when I gave up and accepted that I was staying alive, either. But I can't remember.
I don't know what I did during the few hours after that. The physical consequences of what I did were gone within half an hour or so -- being so ill, I knew not to try something that would land me in the ER during COVID, should I not complete the plan. I'd also be on my own there, and most likely dissociated to such a degree that I wouldn't be able to move or speak. That's not something I ever wanted to experience again, and a fucking horrible starting point if I survived.
Anyway, I was okay physically soon enough, which is not how it usually goes. I just remember being fuzzy and distant and alone. There was no one to call, and I also thought about how it would feel to get a call like that. I considered a crisis hotline, but didn't have the energy to explain my messy, complicated circumstances. I probably just lay there.
A few hours later, I was present enough to watch the finale. Still don't know how. Dissociation has it occasional advantages, one of which is being disconnected from certain things when it's all too much. And so I watched the final episode in bed, with the aftermath of that suicide attempt still all around me.
I watched Dean die the way he did. I watched Sam die. I watched them both being given the pained, tearful reassurance that it was okay to go. Watched them being held, watched those two strong, kindhearted, emotional, loyal men crying as they breathed their last. Dean's death, especially, broke my heart. He so clearly did not want to die. Was afraid, more than ever before.
I did cry then. I sobbed. I could cry for them. Hell, I could cry for that dog, wandering with Sam through the empty halls of the bunker. I cried as that dog looked up, with all that trust and love, at the only human he had left. I cried for Sam, sitting drained and aching in the dark library. Saying "I know, me too" on the unmade bed in Dean's cold, empty room.
Before that, back in the barn, I watched Dean not want to go. Sam begging him not to go, then forcing himself to tell his older brother what he needed, what he begged to hear. That he wasn't abandoning the one person he had spent his life looking out for. That Sam would survive him going, now that he had to go.
I never saved the world, and there's nothing heroic about me. But so much of what went on around those characters' deaths echoed what I had felt hours earlier, what I still was feeling. It gave me a safe way to cry for that, too.
I will always be grateful to the show for that small mercy. And grateful to Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, whom I've never met and never will, and have given such phenomenal performances here that they reached through all that distance, to unknowingly touch an ache that I could not cry for. They'll never know that. I imagine there are so many people like me who feel the same gratefulness, too, for their own similar moments of human connection.
The show is over now, and I try not to be sad about that, and I'm sure I will be. It would be sadder if I didn't feel a loss. Meanwhile, life doesn't stall just because you tried to stop your own. It's around two weeks later now, bright and loud outside my window in a world that's not safe for me to go out in, and I am lying in bed in a half-lit room trying to manage my pain. I didn't die. I'm still here.
I can't pretend I'm glad that I am, but I also know that I'm not ready to go yet. I'm just not. I have no good reason for that; sometimes you're just too afraid to die. And so I can't see myself trying to go away again any time soon. My health might take care of that for me anyway, but otherwise, looks like I'm stuck on this ride.
I'm very grateful that I've had SPN and its people for so long through this battle, to give me and the rest of the fandom so much more than meets the eye. And I'm grateful for that last, good cry, too.
Well, not the last cry, for sure. There's always rewatch #475783.
#spoilers#supernatural finale#triggering stuff#surviving#Suicide#supernatural 15x20#supernatural#15x20 spoilers#ptsd#cptsd#trauma
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Temperance (27/?)
Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland
Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.
Chapter Summary: Everything has changed since Nathaniel and Lucia arrived, and Liss struggles to find her place.
First Chapter
Previous Chapter
[AO3 LINK]
Denerim, 9:31 Dragon
There was nothing Liss wanted less than to be sitting in Queen Anora’s council chamber, listening to Arl Eamon complain about and question any and every decision Anora made. Was it not past time that he headed back to Redcliffe where he could firmly plant his head up his own arse without bothering anyone else. He certainly had a lot to prove for someone already in such a position of power. Papa had always told her that truly powerful people had little to prove. It was why King Maric had been so beloved, an example her father had apparently strived to follow. She wished he’d been there now, to tell the puffy Arl to watch how he speaks to the Queen of Ferelden. It was all she could do to keep herself from saying as much.
The lack of sleep the night before had not helped her irritation. Nightmares had tormented her all night and sleep eluded her. Of course, now that it was the middle of the morning, and she was surrounded by a dozen important people, she could hardly keep her eyes open. There was a gentle jab to her side, jolting her to alertness and she snapped her head in the direction of the touch.
Alistair quirked an eyebrow and flashed a mischievous smile at her before mouthing “You’re welcome,” and turning his attention back to Anora.
“Lady Cousland, what do you think of Anora’s unflinching support for the Grey Wardens, even in light of their callous abandonment of the people of Amaranthine?” A smug smile formed on his lips, barely visible beneath his beard.
Liss snorted in disbelief. “I trust Queen Anora’s decision, my lord, and I find it interesting that you were such a staunch ally of the Warden-Commander just months ago.”
“The Arling of Amaranthine is under the protection of an Arlessa, a mage, who cares little for its people.”
“I am certain she cares much more for the people of Amaranthine than it’s previous leadership,” Liss replied politely, letting all of the bitterness seep into her smile, “Some of us do not have the luxury of forgetting about Rendon Howe so soon.”
Arl Eamon chuckled humorlessly. “And now the Warden-Commander conspires with his son. Are you so certain you wish to defend her now?”
Liss’ fists tightened in her lap. It wasn’t like that. Nate was not like his father. He hadn’t even chosen the Wardens voluntarily. Eamon’s accusation was completely unfair and she opened her mouth to defend him, but Alistair spoke first.
“I’m sorry, but I missed the part where any of this is relevant,” he snapped, throwing a stack of papers on the table, and Liss released the breath she’d been holding, “All of the reports from different sources , including the Captain of the Guard in Amaranthine, several minor Banns, all of the Grey Wardens present, oh, and some civilians who fled Amaranthine prior to the siege say the same thing: The city was beyond saving. I’m curious to hear your argument as to why needless loss of the few Wardens we have left would have been a better solution.”
The room fell silent as Eamon appeared to search for anything to say in response, but settled upon an exasperated sigh.
“I have spoken with the Warden-Commander about the situation in Amaranthine, and I am confident that her decision was sound,” Anora announced, voice like a bell that rang through the muffled conversation of the council members, “I believe that it is in the best interest of both Amaranthine and Ferelden for the arling to remain under the protection of the Grey Wardens.”
Anora turned to meet Alistair’s gaze, nodding faintly. “With one condition,” she continued, “The Wardens are charged with rebuilding the City of Amaranthine, returning survivors to their homes, and making what reparations are possible.”
“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” Alistair answered with a confident nod.
Anora turned to Arl Eamon, smiling gently as she spoke. “I understand and appreciate your concerns, Eamon, but my support for the Wardens still stands.”
“Understood, Your Majesty.”
“If there are no further matters to discuss, then we are adjourned.” The Queen paused for a few moments, and when nothing else was mentioned, she left the hall, followed soon after by the other council members. Liss remained in her chair, staring blankly at the surface of the table before her, the shuffling and footsteps receding into the distance and the echoes of the debate still ringing in her head. Her heart still pounded at the memory, and she flopped her head down on the table.
The sound of movement beside her and the warmth of a body next to her on the bench startled her, and she shot her head up to see Alistair smiling at her. The smile did nothing to mask the exhaustion in his eyes, nor his concern.
“Hey,” he said sheepishly, looking everywhere in the room except her face.
“Hey,” she answered, unable to prevent an amused smile from crawling across her face, “Looks like you want to have another awkward conversation. I love those.”
“Only the best conversations feel like pulling teeth, don’t you know?” He laughed quietly and sighed. “I just wanted to check on you… actually.”
“Why? Do I look that rough?” She was only half-joking.
“You look like you didn’t get any more sleep than I did.”
“I probably didn’t,” she admitted, but noticed the guilt that washed over Alistair’s face, and continued. “Don’t worry, Ali. It wasn’t on your account or anything. Just normal old nightmares.”
“Right. Good.” Alistair nodded, but his brows were still pressed together. “Er, not good that you have nightmares, just good that it wasn’t because of… what happened between us, and the whole… thing last night.”
“We talked about what happened, remember? It’s behind us.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, “Unfortunately, it’s not behind Lucia.”
“Oh, right.” She tilted her head and frowned. “I’m sure she despises me.”
To her surprise, a small grin quirked up at the corner of his mouth and he shook his head. “Luce isn’t like that.”
Liss perked up. “Yeah?”
“Don’t get me wrong, she’s angry and hurt, but she was angry and hurt when she left.” Alistair shook his leg to the point that it rattled the table, “I think she blames herself more than anything.”
“So you don’t think she’ll be setting me on fire any time soon?”
“No,” Alistair laughed, “Me, maybe, but not you.”
“Do you think you two will…” she trailed off, realizing that the question was intrusive.
“Work it out,” Alistair asked, as if reading her mind. When she nodded he took a deep breath and continued. “If you had asked me earlier, I would have said I didn’t know, but she’s here now, and… I believe in her. We want the same thing. I guess we’ll just have to figure out how to get there together”
“That’s wonderful,” Liss remarked, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder
They sat in comfortable silence for several moments before Alistair spoke again. “I am sorry about what Eamon said.”
“Don’t be. He’s full of hot air, mostly. He is making wild accusations to find any sort of solid ground to stand on. I trust the Grey Wardens.”
“Even with a Howe among our ranks?” Alistair’s question was sincere as could be, and Liss felt horrible for the inappropriate laughter that bubbled up from her throat as a response.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Especially with a Howe among your ranks,” Liss answered, and Alistair furrowed his brows, “That Warden that arrived with Lucia last night…”
“That’s him,” Alistair asked, recoiling a bit and blinking at her, “The one you embraced .”
“Yes.” Liss’ face grew hot as she watched him tie divergent shreds of information together, realizing that which she already knew.
“The son of a traitor?” Alistair gasped in feigned surprise, and then clicked his tongue, “The scandal, Lady Elissa. Can’t you see me? I’m scandalized.”
“Stop it,” Liss laughed through her embarrassment, jabbing Alistair with an elbow. “It’s not like that.”
“Huh, that’s funny because I seem to recall a conversation on the road the other day.” He tapped his chin with his finger. “Something about it being hard to move on from someone special? Not really being you without that person? Is that ringing any bells?”
Cut it out, Alistair.”
“You love him.”
Liss did not respond, just narrowed her eyes and glared at him. Her heart pounded against her chest as if it intended to burst out and run away. She shouldn’t have been so affected by Alistair’s teasing. It was nothing she did not already know, nothing Fergus hadn’t already teased her about. Still, to hear it all out loud, to know that Nate was in the same city, made it more potent.
“Fine, fine,” Alistair remarked, throwing his hands up in surrender, “I’ll leave you be.”
“Thank you,” she answered curtly.
“I just hope you’re going to do something about it.” His tone was gentle, compassionate, and he was no longer teasing her. “I’m probably the worst person to give advice on things like this, but it just seems like it’s too important to ignore.”
“Thank yo—” she began, but paused as she glimpsed a figure at the far end of the room near the door. Her arms were crossed, observing, and as she noticed Liss’ attention on her, a small, confusing smile twitched at her lips.
“What’s wrong,” Alistair said, and then turned to look in the direction Liss was looking. “Oh. Hi love.” He hopped up quickly, nearly stumbling over the chair and rushed to the woman eagerly. There was no dread or apprehension on his face that Liss could see, and Lucia’s whole face brightened at his attention, the smile she’d offered Liss widening on her face, eyes sparkling. She was beautiful enough on her own, but the way she looked at Alistair made her even more so. Alistair turned and waved to Liss, and he was beaming. She returned the wave and he disappeared down the hallway with Lucia. Good for him. She was so relieved she hadn’t cost him the love of his life with her erratic behavior.
Warm sunlight cut through the chill of early afternoon, the first signs that spring would soon arrive, as Liss made her way through the busy Market District. She hadn’t spoken with Bria since she left for Highever, and she thought her friend would enjoy hearing everything that had transpired since. Not to mention, Liss could stand to vent to an unbiased, uninvolved party, and Bri was the perfect person.
She pushed open the heavy wooden door entered the smithy, and closed the door behind her. As she turned to look in the direction of the counter, she froze, an uncertain statue at the sight of Nate standing there, laughing as he spoke. He pulled a small envelope from his coat and slid it across the table to Bri, who picked it up, read the writing on the front, and nodded solemnly before sticking it into one of the pockets on her apron. It was then that she looked up and her eyes locked with Liss, a perfectly white grin taking over her whole face.
Appearing to be confused by her smile, Nate frowned and then brought his eyes up so that he saw Liss as well. He flinched and straightened his posture, clearing his throat and raking a hand through his hair. Good. It seemed that it wasn’t just she who was having a difficult time remembering that they were in the same place now. It had been many years since butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach, but Maker if they weren’t there now. Thankfully the forge was hot, and gave her an excuse to be sweating.
“Good afternoon, Lady Elissa,” Bri piped up cheerfully, cutting through the tension that hung heavy in the room, “It has been too many days since that pretty face of yours graced my shop.”
“Afternoon Bri,” Liss replied, prying her eyes away from Nate, who was incredibly distracting with that smirk of his. What reason did he have to be smirking anyway?
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Bri leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter.
“Nothing, really. Just came by to catch up.” Liss paused and glanced at Nate. “But if you are busy…”
“I am on my way out,” Nate said, voice soft and low as he met her gaze, “I do not wish to deter your conversation, my lady.”
Liss fought the urge to groan and sigh audibly. How completely sincere and formal of him. “Thank you, Warden,” she replied pointedly and Nate chuckled as he walked past her and out of the shop.
When Liss turned to face Bria once again, the woman eyed her knowingly, smiling like a mabari that had just chewed up someone’s boots and wasn’t even sorry. Liss offered her a scowl. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? “
“Either you have slept with that man, or you need to,” Bria remarked, completely unabashed.
“W-what,” Liss spluttered, completely taken aback by the observation, “Why would you think that?”
“I could have cut the tension with a dull blade,” Bria teased, picking up a dagger from the counter and pretending to slice the air with it.
“Just the last time I was here, you were prodding me to pursue Alistair.” Liss squinted her eyes. “Have you no shame?”
“Not a drop,” Bria teased and burst out into laughter.
“Great. Good to know,” Liss spat dryly. “I will have you know that I was right about Alistair.”
“In what way?” Bria took the dagger she’d been holding, and approached the forge.
“We had a… moment on our trip to Highever. We shouldn’t have. The woman he loves has returned, and now there is a big mess.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Liss crossed her arms and frowned. She continued on, attempting to imitate Bria, “‘In Antiva when we love someone, we tell them so.’ Remind me not to take your advice ever again.”
“My apologies, my dear,” Bria said with a laugh.
“We’re not friends anymore.”
“Yes we are.”
“Of course we are,” Liss sighed and laughed. “I am just frustrated.”
Bria opened her mouth to speak, but Liss interrupted, knowing exactly what she intended to say.
“Not that kind of frustrated, Bri,” she said,” I have no intention of sleeping with anyone any time soon.”
“Such a shame.”
“I know. I am a disappointment.” Liss laughed, and moved away from the counter. “Well, I should probably stop distracting you from your work.”
“You are always a welcome distraction, my friend.” Bria smiled again and Liss waved, and headed out of the smithy.
The air outside seemed much colder after standing in the warmth of Bria’s shop. Wind smacked against her face, prickling her lungs as she inhaled. At least she wasn’t sweating anymore. She jumped as she turned to her left and found Nate leaning against smithy’s exterior, arms crossed. He stared out into the center of the market, somber expression on his face as he watched a man lift a small boy up onto his shoulders. A beautiful young woman looped her arm through the man’s and stared up lovingly at the boy.
“They remind me of my parents,” Liss stated as she moved to stand beside him,. “Fergus and Oriana, too.”
Nate glanced at her and then closed his eyes. “I thought the same, actually. I was just remembering the night when Father first brought me to Highever.”
“I was hiding under your bed,” she added, warmth bubbling in her chest as she recalled the memory.
“I worried at first that you were some sort of hideous beast,” he explained, laughter punctuating his words, “It turned out that you were just a girl, with these giant brown eyes, and the loveliest smile I’d ever seen. After that, I thought it was impossible for you to be frightening.”
Liss’ heart fluttered at each word. “Boy did I have you fooled.”
“That… is an understatement,” he laughed again, “Anyway, I remember that your father came looking for you. You swore me to silence, and then crawled back under the bed. When your father showed up, I was so scared of getting you into trouble. All I could think about was how my father handled disobedience.”
“Nate…”
“Your father was nothing like mine. He made a game out of it, and scooped you out from under the bed to carry you to your room.” He shifted his weight and looked back out at the family they’d been watching. “Before that moment, I spent my days thinking that I was flawed, that I was just a horrible son. Your family made me realize that maybe I was not the problem.”
“They loved you,” Liss said softly, tears welling in her eyes, “My parents thought the world of you. I think they’d want you to know that.”
She looked up at Nate, and swore she saw a tear roll down his cheek. He looked down at the space between them, at their fingertips that almost touched, and took her hand in his. He brought his eyes back up to hers, as if to ask if the gesture was welcome. She gave him a reassuring smile, and laced her fingers through his, squeezing tightly.
“I loved them too,” Nate admitted, voice raw with emotion, “When I say that I am sorry for what Father did, it is for more reasons than one.”
“I know, and I am sorry that I was so unreceptive to it yesterday. Of course you are hurt by all of this too.”
“It’s alright. Really.”
They stood, hand in hand, and watched the market, until Liss could take the silence no longer. “I didn’t know you knew Bria.”
“I didn’t until today,” he replied with a shrug, “We have a mutual friend. She’s going to deliver a letter for me.”
“Huh,” Liss huffed before she could stop herself, releasing his hand.
He blinked a few times and tilted his head. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she replied, biting into her words, “It’s just… you do know how to write.”
Nate’s breath hitched audibly in his throat and he frowned, eyebrows furrowing deeply on his forehead. “About that… listen, I—“
Immediately guilty she interrupted him with a laugh and, “It was a joke, Nate. You don’t have to—“
Before she could finish he had moved to stand directly in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Damn it. He knew better. Of course he did.
“You and I both know that wasn’t a joke,” he asserted, voice still soft despite its edge. He was so forward and certain. A strand of black hair fell down into his face as he spoke
Instinctively, she reached up and tucked the hair back behind his ear, cursing herself although she made no effort to keep her fingertips from lingering against his cheek. “And you and I both know that this is not a conversation we should have in the middle of a crowded market.”
“Right. I…” Nate trailed off, gaze shifting between her eyes and her lips and she should not have wanted him to kiss her so badly, considering the context, but she did. There was little else she wanted more. He sighed and pulled away from her, too soon, releasing her shoulders and scratching the back of his head. “You are right, of course.”
“I want to hear what you have to say, though.” She placed a hand on his arm to get his attention, and then tilted her head in the direction of the castle. When Nate smiled and nodded, she looped her arm through his. “Lead the way.”
The silence between them as they walked to the castle was unbearable, and Liss found herself scrambling for anything to talk about.
“When will you be leaving Denerim,” Liss settled on asking.
“Soon,” Nate sighed, eyes remaining locked in front of him, “ A day or so most likely, though it really depends on what Lucia decides. There are so few Wardens left, we’re all needed to help in restoring the region. I’ve made personal promises to Amaranthine City, to see it repaired. “
“You will be delighted to know that is exactly what Queen Anora charged the Wardens to do in our meeting this morning.” Liss laughed. “Arl Eamon wishes the Warden-Commander to be stripped of her title as Arlessa.”
“Ridiculous. Lucia did everything she could,” Nate protested, “Amaranthine was lost.”
“That is what Alistair explained,” Liss reassured him, “Your name was mentioned. The Wardens are now conspiring with the son of the traitorous Rendon Howe.”
Nate groaned and rolled his eyes. “The Wardens gave me a chance to do better than my father. They are my family now, and my loyalty lies with them.”
“I am glad you found somewhere to belong again.” Though Liss would not tell him as much, she was envious.
“So am I,” Nate said with a decisive nod of the head.
Liss chest tightened and her pulse jumped as they reached the castle’s courtyard, anticipation for a discussion with Nathaniel that was nine years overdue building inside her. Would he apologize for not writing? Give her some completely understandable reason why he ignored her letters? Perhaps he would finally tell her he loved her. Maybe they’d kiss. Maybe they’d do more than kiss. She’d certainly be open to the idea. After all, Bria hadn’t been wrong. Liss was just too proud to admit that it was something she wanted.
She shook her head, hoping to regain her hold over her own thoughts, which had completely run away from her. She only hoped that she was not blushing. Nate opened one of the doors for her, smiling as she entered into the warmth of the castle walls.
“Warden Nathaniel,” a young woman’s voice called from across the hall as Nate entered behind her, allowing the door to swing closed.
“Yes?”
“Her Majesty wishes to speak with you, ser.”
Damn it. To his credit, Nate looked just as frustrated as Liss felt.
“Did Queen Anora say what she wished to speak with me about?”
“Amaranthine, ser.” The woman looked between Nate and Liss and added. “She is in her study as soon as you are ready.”
“Thank you,” he said politely, and the servant walked away.
Nate moved to stand squarely in front of Liss reaching out to take both of her hands in his. His eyes burned with everything he wanted to say. Everything she wanted to hear.
“Later,” he stated, “I promise.” GIving her hands a final squeeze, he released them and headed toward the stairs that led to Anora’s study. Liss had never been more annoyed by the queen, a thought she’d be happy to keep to herself.
Determined not to waste her time counting the minutes that passed by until Nate was free to talk, Liss headed to her quarters. As the excitement of the morning and afternoon wore off, her tired, sleep-deprived body ached for rest, and she could think of no better way to bide her time than to give her body what it needed.
She flopped down face first onto the large bed she’d called her own for the past few months, not even bothering to remove her shoes, or climb under the coverlet. Of all the times she would have expected thoughts to overwhelm her, to prod her awake, it would have been at this moment, and yet they didn’t. Sleep embraced her warmly, and she was grateful.
She awoke later to a knock at the door, completely disoriented, and unsure how long she’d even been sleeping. Still, she knew the knock had to be Nate, returning to continue their conversation from the market. She stood, smoothed her hair to make sure she did not look entirely disheveled, and rushed to open the door.
She was greeted by dark hair and a set of pale blue eyes— the wrong dark hair and blue eyes— and it took her what felt like an eternity to address the woman that stood before her.
“Warden...Commander?” She rubbed her eyes and blinked to make certain she had seen correctly. No. It was definitely still Lucia.
“Sorry if I disturbed you,” Lucia said, her voice quite low, with a subtle rasp at the edges of her words. It was not what she’d expected the Hero of Ferelden to sound like. “I was wondering if we could talk.”
“You aren’t disturbing me,” Liss replied, opening the door wider so that Lucia could step inside, “And yes. Of course.”
She motioned for the other woman to sit down in one of the reading chairs that sat in the corner of the room. She did so and Liss followed suit, sitting down hesitantly in the chair next to her. It was oppressively quiet for much longer than Liss would have preferred as Lucia wrang her hands and stared off at nothing.
“I wanted to apologize for everything,” the woman finally spoke, her piercing eyes shooting directly through Liss, who was too intimidated to even attempt to tell her that she hated being called by her full name. “I can’t imagine you intended to get caught in the middle of all of this.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Liss argued, laughing humorlessly as she did so, “I am a big girl, and I made my own horrible decisions. Besides, I don’t feel caught in the middle of anything.”
“You don’t?”
“Not even a little,” Liss explained, “Alistair loves you so much. I couldn’t compete, even if I wanted to, and I don’t. What happened between us was a thoughtless, impulsive, example of coping gone wrong. He is my friend, and I prefer to keep him that way.”
“That is… good to hear,” Lucia remarked with a soft smile, “I hated the thought that you might be uncomfortable.”
“You have to be one of the most forgiving people in Thedas.”
“I don’t much care for the options left to me if I chose not to forgive Alistair, or you,” the woman explained, a soft smile twitching on her lips, “Nathaniel tells me that I have a right to be angry, and so I am letting myself be angry, but I refuse to hold a grudge. I am not so innocent in all of this, anyway. For what it’s worth, I am glad you were there for Alistair when I wasn’t.”
“Seriously?”
“I felt so guilty for leaving him alone. I am glad that was not the case.”
“You are welcome… I think.”
There was a long heavy pause, and Liss wondered if Lucia was at just as much of a loss for words as she was. Just when she thought she could bear it no longer, Lucia spoke again.
“Nathaniel speaks highly of you.”
“He better,” Liss quipped, and smiled at the woman next to her. To her surprise, Lucia laughed, seeming to appreciate the joke.
“Anyway.” Lucia pushed up from her chair, so that she was standing, “I should probably get back to preparing for the return to Amaranthine. We have a city to rebuild. Thank you for speaking with me.”
“Thank you for the same.”
The Warden-Commander nodded, and turned to leave the room, and Liss called after her urgently. “Wait.”
Spinning around abruptly, Lucia looked at Liss from beneath furrowed brows. “Something the matter?”
“It is my understanding that there are only a handful of Wardens in Ferelden?”
“There are seven,” Lucia replied with a bitter laugh, “Including myself and Alistair. Why?
“I want to join.”
Lucia returned to sit in the chair where she’d been before, eyes burning into Liss’ face. “Becoming a Grey Warden is not something to take lightly. Once you join, there is no turning back.”
“When I was a child, Duncan visited Highever on a number of occasions looking for recruits. I always asked him and my father if I could join some day. They always answered with some variation of what you just said. It didn’t change my mind.
“I wasn’t able to go with Duncan, even when I was old enough that I could have. For all my parents valued my independence, they still coddled me, expected me to be a lady who just happened to know how to fight. My life has changed. My role doesn’t matter anymore. This is my chance.”
Lucia drew in a shaky breath, clearly weighing the decision internally. “Very well,” she finally said, “It would be an honor to have you among our ranks.”
#dragon age#dragon age origins#dragon age awakening#nathaniel howe#nathaniel howe x cousland#cousland#tempereance update#my writing
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You can survive, you can endure
The following is not a happy tale.It is not written with the intent to garner pity, sympathy or retaliation for the parties involved. This is a story about child abuse both the psychological and physical variety. This is not a story of revenge, malice or spite. I do not forgive the parties involved, but I bear no ill will. There is love to be sure, as you always love your family, regardless of how mad or crazy they may drive you. I forgive many things in my life. But I will never forgive the overlook, ignorance and at times allowance of my abuse and in later years the callous disregard when I finally began to voice what happened.
This is a story of healing; acceptance, coping and even enduring . I am a survivor of physical and psychological abuse, and to some that statement may seem or come off strong. But that is the phrase I will use: Despite everything, I survived, endured and am healing. There is zero doubt in my mind when my family learns of this they will refute or attempt to explain this in their own way. This is not about them. For the first genuine time in my life, this is about my healing. Not them. They had their chances countless years, and failed me. My siblings, if they remember, probably never will admit these things happened.
So, here I am. 33 years old finally telling a story that should not have needed to be told. There were so many things that could have been done to stop this story from ever needing to be told. But as I said, in order to fully heal I tell this story as it is: true and direct. I must stress under no circumstances must my mother be considered the villain. She DID raise 3 children through 2 very difficult marriages and endured abuse that is never my place to speak of. But she did enable horrible abuse from the age of 8 to 16: the psychological horrors of my father notwithstanding. That I do not forgive because he never has felt remorse or allowed me to talk about it in depth.The reading subject from here on will be graphic. The end of this tale will I hope shed some light and show my true goal for telling this tale.
The earliest memory I have is Kieth, my biological father and my mother again getting into a screaming and physical fight. My mother had a trailer on my grandparents property because that monster was an abusive, horrible person and my grandfather was truly the one person who scared him more than anything.I would have been about 3-4 at the time. I was smart enough to know something very bad was happening and didn't hesitate, i ran crying to my grandparents house on top of the hill, scared to death I wouldn’t make it in time to get help, but I did. He never could hold down a job.
The next few years saw us move from apartment to apartment to just hide. By this point my brother and sister had been born. When I got old enough to understand better, I found out he violated restraining orders left and right but they never did catch or hold him for very long. There nights I remember consoling my baby sister and little brother trying to keep the noise out because he would find us again. Screaming and banging on the doors and windows for hours. Police would come, he’d flee before they got there. This cycle would repeat more than I ever cared to admit.
The greatest shock of my life was the age of 4-5 was I’m not sure if he did it out of love or fear, but Kieth saved my life: albeit he caused what happened next to occur. They fought yet again and i left with him to go to a nearby gas station for...I’m not even sure what to be honest. He got angry again as we were heading back to the car and he opened the door..and i knew nothing but pain. Somehow he had opened it hard and fast enough that he had busted my head open. He took me to the hospital and the one thing I know I remembered was him holding a towel on the wound as i lay in the front seat. There was a look of worry. I will never know if it was for me or if he was scared for himself. I would like to think there might have been SOMETHING akin to a shred of honesty. I don’t know. I never will.
I had to of been about 6 or so when finally my mother left us with our grandparents and she fled to hide in california.I didnt know at the time, and I dont know what she told my grandparents, but she later admitted to me in my late 20’s Kieth tried to sell me off to a child sex ring for money. She knew her children were in severe danger, and my grandfather was the one person on earth he was scared of. My life was calm….until she returned with her new husband when i was 7-8. His name was Tom. And Tom would begin the longest streak of abuse no child should ever have to endure.
There was shouting here and there but normal family things. The first true horror began in 3rd grade. I was in the bathroom with my brother brushing our teeth and I don’t know what conversation led him to coming in and getting angry to be honest. Maybe I said something, I don’t know, but whatever it was did not justify what happened next. I was spun around, grabbed by my upper arms, lifted and put firmly against the wall. He had this look of a very angry animal on him...it wouldn't be the first time I ever see “The look” Anger, fury and rage filled him. He told me to knock my shit off and hurry up or i was gonna make everyone late for school. I was...shocked. I didn't tell my mother. But I did tell a teacher. I thought surely it’s gonna help. How utterly wrong and stupid I was. I was picked up and told not to say a word. We went straight to my grandparents house. I couldn't comprehend why I was in trouble until my family rounded on me. How dare I make up a story to hurt him. This was a man who loved you as his own and this is how you repay him? My family was very authoritarian so arguing back or talking in defense was completely shunned. I knew if I said anything it would get it worse. So I sat there dumbfounded and in silence. For the next hour I was berated, talked down to and said what a bad child I had been. And finally the words that burned into my brain. “His heart is like a sheet of paper. You took it and bundled it up and crumpled it. It’ll smooth out as he heals, but there will always be wrinkles.” We went home afterwards and when my mother left, he took a belt and beat me. Spanking me hard, and how dare I embarrassed him like that and if I told anyone about this punishment it would be worse. Small things happened here and there but nothing noteworthy until we moved to south carolina and ohio. The spankings got progressively worse to the point I had bruises and learned to accept the pain.
Ohio I dont remember much except for one incident. It was the day I had a school play. He gave me a black eye for I dont even know what reason. My mother put makeup on it to cover it up and told me not to say anything. I never did until now. That was the first time I never spoke out when I should have...maybe I could have stopped it before things got much worse. I was a fool. We moved into a trailer in a new area and my brother and I had to help him make a driveway and clear the land because they had no spare money. A barely teenader working like an adult. I let that go but not what happened next. The spankings kept getting worse, but I guess he thought he’d do worse. He didnt like how thin i had helped make the limestone roadway and told me so. I must have said something to voice how miserable I was. He grabbed a shovel and with the flat side hit me on one side near my chest. The pain was unbearable. I was knocked on my back and while i was down he stomped the other side of my chest. Kneeling down he got as close as he could while I was frozen scared and hurt. He said I made him miserable and I deserved this as I needed to be more of a man. If I told anyone, Hed do worse.I never did and hid the pain well. To this day, my ribs ache if touched wrong. Somehow I held onto hope that maybe finally if my mother saw me miserable and he didn't notice I could stop this pain from ever happening again. Weeks passed and she worked long days while yet again he could never really find solid long term work. I had no chances to do so, and I was growing depressed but never showed it. Finally he hit me as hard as he could in the back of the head when I turned away from him. I made it to my bedroom and laid down. Crying. And at last my mother returned and she must have heard me and walked into my room and said “Josh What’s wrong?” I looked at her almost beggingly and said” My head hurts.” I didnt elaborate. She got angry because she had worked a very long shift and told me if i had a headache go get some medicine out of the cabinet and deal with it. As she left I finally stopped crying staring as an acceptance grew in me. She was NEVER going to help me. She was never going to listen unless she saw it herself. That’s when I realized I could never trust her to tell her any of the bad things that were happening. I suffered in silence for another year. During that time more beatings, more hopelessness and in general a life of what i felt was true genuine fear and hopelessness. I had no clue what was going to happen next. It would get worse.
The older I get, like some, the harder it is to pinpoint exact dates but the tragedy of these next two incidents occurred during my fourth and fifth grade years While seemingly unimportant to some these two singular events will stay with me forever. To set up the story, my brother had messed up our closet door, naturally we shared a room and all the joy of privacy i got. I was desperately trying to fix it because I didn't want HIM to hear. I had finally succeeded and was about to collapse with joy...until my idiot brother pushed it back inwards and laughed and i let out a yell….HE heard because of course he did. He came in, didn't ask for an explanation, saw what happened and hit me. Then proceeded to stomp and destroy a cherished toy that was my world. Now everyone needs to understand, i was a very introverted child. I didn't make friends easily and had few. I loved to play by myself and had wonderful fantastic imaginary adventures. His reasoning for doing this act was simplistic in his words “You wreck my stuff I wreck yours.” I didn't realize the nightmare wasn’t over yet.
My mother picked us up from school two days later and genuinely looked upset. She explained he burned everything. I got there and went out back and sure enough, the charred remains of a large bonfire were still smoking. He went after all my stuff first. My brother barely had anything touched and my sister, thankfully, was spared the majority. Of course my mother as always did nothing but say she was sorry it happened.
Thanks mom. I can always count on you to make me feel better. A shame you chose misery over your child. As always.
The second event was the court ordeal. Long story short because this one wasn't so traumatic as it was, what I believe, caused a wedge between myself and my brother because we were forced to change schools.They spanked me at school and my mother was outraged. I believe solely because she believed punishment should be handled at home, which I find insanely hypocritical at this point. The paddle they used stung yes, but it did not hurt as much as what step-douche did to me on a weekly basis. I wish she cared enough to go to war with him as she did when she took the school to court and sued. We had to switch schools but honestly.the true problem was what happened before.
See the punishment for what i did ASIDE from that was a day of suspension or sit in a small closet like room all day. No supervision and total isolation. My mother, of course, was not there when we spoke to the principal…step-douche was.He flat out told me if I picked suspension I would regret it. Happy birthday to me, cause thats right, my punishment was carried out on my birthday. Total isolation. And once again no one helped me. Honestly how I never acted out is baffling to me.
That night when I got home and everyone was asleep, i got out of bed around midnight and went to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could find. I sat down and rocked and i wanted more than anything to end the life of the person who was causing me pain and inflicting hell on me. I’m not sure why, to this day, I never acted. Eventually about 4 am after sitting there and reflecting I went back to bed. Im not sure why I didnt. I’m glad it passed but I will never know what stopped me that night.
All of this before I was 12 years old and it still wasnt over yet. 6th grade we finally moved back to Florida. Nothing really changed. Except now we enter middle school…
I wish aspergers had been more readily diagnosed and doctors didn't just slap an ADHD label on everything. I was teased, bullied and picked on. I had no sense of humor and couldn't understand things like sarcasm or jokes. Life at home was hard...life at school was hard. My family never listened to anything if it disrupted the status quo. I felt genuinely alone and isolated. Now this wouldn't be a happy story unless I added in a life altering event that actually changed things. It was ironically during a shop class and once again I was being bullied, but for the absolute first time...I retaliated. A detention and oddly...the guy and I actually became friends...I didn't know it at the time. But between being hurt by others and the punishments at home for the weirdest infractions...i came dangerously close to considering suicide. In fact the day this next event happened I had already started planning how I wanted to end it all. The kid who bullied me in shop came up and struck up a conversation about Pokemon and we to this day share a friendship. I told him last year finally, he’s the reason I'm still here. If he had not come up and given me that one act of kindness I wouldn't be here.
I was still bullied all through 10th grade but had friends here and there.It made it tolerable. Junior year is where I hit my lowest and to this day my family does not know what happened.
3 football players ganged up and raped me in a locker room after school. This had nothing to do with my sexuality because at the time I hadn't given it any thought yet. Because my mother always said, “Don't ever do anything to embarrass your grandparents” ad religiously restated this, I decided to be quiet on the whole thing. The sole saving grace being i wasn't too traumatized by this experience as a whole. I did not consent this is true, but it was at the time I was beginning to think about it and maybe that’s why they did what they did. I thought I could trust one of them, and told them, apparently I was mistaken.
There are other things of course, the usual stuff teenagers go through, but the final absolute straw that broke the camel's back was I refused to feed animals my brother and sister wanted. I finally after 17 years told my mother no. I wasn't caring for animals that they should be taking care of and I was tired of everyone else shoving responsibility on me. They had some stupid sporting events after school they were doing. And I was finally sick of it. Its shocking on one level that something so ridiculously mundane as pet care made me finally snap. We argued and I moved out. I couldnt take it anymore. My grandparents, finally, took me in.
Now some of you are probably wondering: why I would I write this down? Is it pity? No I don't want pity. Im now 33 and I have a wonderful, if not always easy, Life I wouldn't trade for anything. There are some updates. The 3 who assaulted me in high school I have forgiven. One is dead and if there is justice he got what he deserved. Another apologized and he actually meant it. He begged for forgiveness and has done good with his life. I bear him no ill will. We all do stupid things, but if we actually are repentant and try to do good, i can honestly forgive. The last has a wife and kids so I won't ruin their life because of my pain and he knows that. He's never apologized but he does worry occasionally if I'm ever going to spill the beans. I have but I haven't named him.
As for my family....Im not sure if I can heal right. They dont want to listen to me. “You’re 33 years old, Grow up and get over it.” “Stop causing drama” “It happened so long ago, what do you want us to do about it?” That last one actually DOES stick with me. I think at the core I want some compassion. I want them to feel bad. My mother isnt an evil woman, there were many good times, but they are completely overshadowed and eclipsed by so much negativity, I cant say she was a good mother. She has never once listened to me and if she reads this I’m going to tell her the same thing I finally worked up the courage to tell my grandmother: “This is not about you. This is about me trying to heal, trying after decades to heal so I CAN move on. For the first time in my life this is entirely about me.” My family remains to this day the greatest source of my stress because they genuinely believe, because they refuse to listen to me and not dismiss what I say, they loved me and supported me financially growing up. You may have, but you failed at making sure your child and grandchild was happy. That I was safe and felt loved and supported. You failed as my guardians and maybe that’s why I’m still trying to heal because you all will never thing you did wrong.
So we come full circle. When I started writing this I borderline thought it would be longer. But it’s ok, it was hard getting through just to this 8th page. And there are other things I can't talk about and probably will never be able to go into because I don't want to deal with being ridiculed and teased as an adult about some aspects. I’ve come to terms with those issues and people who matter know about hidden parts of me.
This wasn't intended to shame, although there is a sliver that hopes maybe if they read this they will feel something, this is about sharing a story. I’m not the only one out there to have a bad childhood. Many do, but it takes courage to talk about it. That’s the point of all of this. Talk to someone. It may take years, but seize the courage and get it out. Dont let it sit there because you have to “tough it out.” That's a bullshit answer older generations have said because they don't want to deal with issues like mental health. And yes it is hard to finish writing this as I just told a friend while I write. But before I finish I have some people who deserve to be named specifically for making my life better. And they deserve to be known by name because of the profound impact they have had. This is only people from my childhood.
Fred Eirman. You saved my life in middle school and I have never forgotten it.
David Coburn. My uncle. You were the only one who listened at times. And indulged my likes and hobbies.
Harry Webber. My second cousin. The only person in my family who cared enough when I was at my lowest points to be there for me. While the rest of my family hated you for stupid, pointless reasons.
This isn't a story seeking pity. This is a story that I want to say the following words if it affected you and you also had similar experiences of abuse. I offer the following words and please take them to heart:
You can survive. You can Endure. You can recover.
Reblog and share and even comment. Get this around so MAYBE it can help someone.
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Johnny found himself at an all too familiar cliff; that was where he'd spent one too many nights peering over the edge. Years prior he had wondered if what awaited him after the plunge was better than he'd dreamt about that one night. He had learned since then that it wasn't a dream, and he supposed that's what kept him from taking his life as often back then. What was the point when he'd return?
After a few moments of staring out his windshield, Nny exited the car and ballooned an ice umbrella from his fingertips. The magic in his powers had worn off. Much like the magic in being immortal had worn off as well. Not the literal, supernatural magic that made these things possible. He was referring to the feeling of childlike wonder at being able to live forever and sprout snowflake from his hands.
He didn't have anyone in particular who was out to kill him. His only threat was the one he posed to himself. Even then, there wasn't any drive to harm himself- when he had urges he had to remember the people he'd leave behind if he went through with it.
Just three days were hell for survivors.
Really, his life was perfect now. He had family and friends. He had a job and a house that felt like home. He had someone who finally, truly loved him- who would never hurt him or leave him.
So why did he feel so empty?
He continued walking towards the edge of the cliff, untouched by the rain falling from the sky.
Was it because none of the money he made was actually hard-earned? He hacked for a living. This was... stolen. It was basically like using monopoly money to purchase everything and it- it felt fraudulent.
He felt fraudulent. He was a complete fraud.
What did he have? Who was he?
His husband was an artist- one of the best if not the best. He could create things and put them right onto the paper or tablet. His stories were comprehensive and could take someone away from reality. He was a fucking demigod- he had fire powers- he was beautiful. He was a creator- a god- in every sense of the word.
His brother was on his way to becoming a rock star. He got himself a record deal and was probably hard at work on his first album right this moment. He had a great singing voice that Nny could easily listen to for hours and never grow tired of. He had a future full of prosperity and excitement. He'd go on tours with his family and play to crowds of varying sizes.
His sister was a queen- an actual queen- royalty. She was a mother to many. When she wasn't showering everyone else around her with love and affection, she was kicking ass and being a leader of an entire planet. She had ice powers that were graceful and beautiful. Her motions were fluid; she was made to have the gift of ice and snow within her. On top of all that, she was a fucking doctor- and an incredible one at that. He couldn't imagine how many people she had helped in all her years of medical practice.
His son was the chancellor to a galactic alliance. He spent his days hard at work with relations, research, and recovery. He was the reason that so much good had come about since being put in a place of power. He was attempting to correct years of shitty leadership due to his false father.
His niece was the admiral of that same alliance. She was a natural engineer and skilled with a multitude of things. Much like her uncle, she was a jack of trades and could do about anything. Her combat skills were impressive. She was fiercely independent and capable of defending herself and her mates whenever they needed her. She was headstrong and in all ways a Phoenix.
He could go on about any number of his acquaintances and family.
He was surrounded by greatness.
Yet, he was nothing.
He could feel the tickle in the back of his throat. The familiar near-sting in his nose. Nny had exhausted his tears. He was tired of crying all the time- of feeling sorry for himself- of being pathetic.
He glared into the ground until he felt the ice forming under him evaporate. He hadn't even realized his umbrella had already faded away and the rain was pelting his head.
"Lost in my head and I can't leave."
He continued his steady trek over to the edge of the cliff and stared down at the city below. "Watching the rain falling away, away from me."
He wrapped his coat closer to his body slowly and solemnly started to approach the guardrail. "Days grow cold as I grow old. Watching my life through a window."
The man climbed over the protective barrier and sat down on the cold, wet metal. "So I sit, watching the rain. And I can't leave."
Nny lifted a hand to weakly make a flurry shoot from his fingertips, but there wasn't any feeling in it and the black dust faded with the rain. "I want to feel something."
"I want to feel air that I can breathe." Nny looked skyward as he created two more, slightly more powerful gusts of black snow and ice.
He threw his hands down frustrated at being unable to think of something that was his. Something that didn't already exist- something unique. Not stupid wind wisps. "I'm tired of being nothing."
"I'm tired because I don't want to be make believe." He frowned, thinking over his own incompetence. His own failures and shortcomings. His absolute worthlessness.
Did people look up to him? What was it they saw his as? Brave? And strong? He wasn't any of those things. What on Earth did anyone see in him?
He arose from his perch on the guardrail and steps back over it to safety. His thoughts were too blurry at the moment to trust himself on a literal ledge.
"It happened again; I freed myself from words never said."
Those words being that he was special. Or valuable. Or needed. Even if those very things were true and shown to him through other means. He was too deep in his own head at the moment.
"This road with no end and there's no help, ooh."
He stared out at the road behind his car- the one back to people who could easily make him realize his worth and show him how loved he was.
But really love was something different from true worth. He could be told he was adored and loved and cherished, but why?
God, those words echoed through his head since he was subjected to them. The condescending tone. The obvious entitlement in his voice. The confidence in knowing he was right and no one could tell him otherwise.
People are tools, Johnny...
We all use each other in one way or another. Comfort, sex, money, affluence... I just don't see the need to disguise it in words of "love."
He clapped his hands over his ears as if that would have stopped the noises and the thoughts and the chaos inside.
"Lost and lonely...Strangers know me better than I know myself." He caught a glimpse of himself in a puddle. He resented the person looking back at him. So anxious and cowardice. All talk and no action. A hypocrite.
"So I sit, watching the rain and here I'll stay."
"I want to feel something!"
He stomped into the puddle and a patchwork of blue-black ice spread out from under his boot. However, it was frail and shattered. He glared again.
Johnny whipped himself around and continued screaming out. More ice spread out and around him, jagged, uneven red ice sprouting in angry pieces.
"I want to feel air that I can breathe!"
He glared at the pathetic ice spikes, making more form because his emotions were so conflicted and confusing. The entire thing cracked and fell apart underneath him.
He breathed out realizing that he needed to calm just a little bit if he wanted to do this one DAMN THING RIGHT.
But of course, it didn't work.
"I'm tired of being nothing!"
With this, the ice gave a little more and from the spikes form something solid and recognizable and from that, something steadily arose from the broken ice.
"I'm tired because I don't want to be make believe!!!"
Nny lifted his hand skyward- he made this new structure as high as he could handle. Around him the ice formed a solid ground, a patterned base is enough to make him feel just a tiny bit of satisfaction. But it wasn't enough. The thing falls again.
He continued to dance around, his hands worked hard to create something out of all his nothing. If he was his husband or his sister or hell even his daughter, then he would have done a better job creativity wise. He didn't have a single artistic cell in his body. That had been stolen from him.
"All we are is guilty hearts in a sea of memories," he paced and rubbed his shoulders in a mockery of self-comforting.
"Time goes by and people cry, but I don't feel anything."
He was powerless in everything. He wanted to be helpful. To somehow use his powers- his immortality for good. To contribute rather than stay at the sidelines- oblivious to the plight that so many others were subjected to. In a way, he felt almost responsible for any catastrophe. He always felt there was something he could have done different- to help. But no, he was a waste.
He repeated this again and grew more angry and emotional- contrary to his words. Slowly around him, the base started to rise with new structures that were waiting to be built up.
Nny ran to them with his palms up, fingers clenched as if he was physically lifting the ice up and molding it.
"I want to feel something!!!"
He jumped around, shooting magic here and there as he started to make something that seemed meaningful. Not just an imitation of a rose or some other functional device.
He spun in a slow circle as a covering of glass spread around him. Walls of decorative ice melded together as he smiled hopefully.
Maybe he finally had a breakthrough.
"I want to feel air that I can breathe!!!"
The things around him continued to grow and mount. How exciting! His own creations! His own little place! His work!
"I'm tired of being nothing!!!"
He jumped onto a growing tree-like structure holding onto a branch with one fist, blinded by the influx of power and confidence. The entire thing glowed brightly with purple- his happy color.
"I'm tired cause I don't wanna be-"
He lept off the branch as it grew and onto the bottom of a slope that was steadily being created from under him.
His smile was fit to burst as he raised his arms to shoulder level, his heart practically singing from the feeling of making and doing and being!
"I wanna feel something!!"
He saw a blue moon slowly come to light ahead and he was so amazed! He made that?!
He laughed and continued his climb upwards, practically running with joy.
"I wanna feel air that I can breathe!!!"
And for those moments he does! He felt his own air graze his cheeks as he continued to ascend to the highest peaks. He forgot this feeling ever existed. Of seeing something you worked so hard finally being revealed.
"I'm tired of being nothing!!!!"
And he was finally done with it! He wasn't 'nothing' anymore! His existence wasn't a stray mark on a masterpiece! He was the author of his own story! He was in control! His arm physically reaches out in front of him- a gust of ice and snow blowing in front of him.
"I'm tired cause I don't wanna be-"
His stomach dropped when he realized he had reached the top and- it was just a roof. It was... a roof like any of the other houses down there. Nothing spectacular. And his outstretched hand touched nothing but glass. What?
He looked around. Down at the three different sized trees. A snowman sat somewhere between that and the... house. All of the snow was settled at the bottom. Above and around him was nothing but glass.
A snowglobe. He made a fucking snowglobe.
"... Make believe."
His smile dropped steadily and his hand curled into his chest as he wrapped his coat tighter around him and dropped onto the roof, looking up at the moon with a pained expression.
He would have cried, but he was too exhausted. He just tucked his knees to his chest and buried his face in the sleeves of his jacket.
He tried to calm himself before he would return to the nameless city.
Where in a world of aliens, inventors, and creators he was nothing but make believe.
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06&26 please! I will never pass an opportunity to read something from you :)
It has taken me days longer than it should and it was supposed to be short, but here it is, finally. Thank you so much for your patience, I hope it holds up.
Prompt #06&26 - Wings and Protection from this list
Inspired by this fantastic fic (seriously, it’s so much better than mine, go read it).
Love Tibbins xx
How I Met Your Brother
Cassat with Sam on the hood of the impala, watching Jack throw stonesinto the lake, twisting his wrist low to send them skipping over thewater like Sam had shown him. Dean was asleep on the picnic blanketto their right, one elbow sticking out from under his head, kneestucked up slightly. He’d probably be stiff when he awoke, and cold;the sun was beginning its slow descent towards the horizon andalthough the temperature hadn’t dropped dramatically yet, the windhad picked up from slight breeze to more constant chill. Not that Casfelt it beyond his intrinsic knowledge of what the temperature was,but Sam and Jack had already put on their jackets. Still, they alllet him sleep. He needed the rest and Cas could always heal his acheswhen he woke.
Thislunch outside had been a great idea of Dean’s, getting them all outof the bunker for some sunshine and quality time, something whichnone of them had been able to appreciate lately, particularly Sam. Hehad taken the loss of the Apocalypse World survivors hard, and theambiguity of Jack’s current state harder still, so seeing him smileand joke and gently poke Dean with a long branch until thestill-sleeping hunter batted at the offending weapon and rolled ontohis side, making Jack hold his hands over his mouth to try and stopthe laughter from waking the angry bear.
“I’mreal glad we did this, Cas,” Sam said quietly, watching thebranches of a willow tree where they trailed lazy patterns in thewater, “I don’t know how he knew that this was what I neededbut…” he gestured at the beautiful scene around them, thebeginnings of spring making itself known; flowers beginning to emergefrom the earth, greenery budding on branches, the sound of demandingchicks hassling their poor parents for food.
“Areyou surprised?” Cas asked, a smile in his voice, “He knows youbetter than anyone, as you know him.”
“Ithought I did,” Sam replied, a shadow crossing his face, “Ithought I knew what he needed, but when he- last time he neededsomething I just couldn’t figure it out. I let him be Agent Pageand I gave him beer at breakfast and I tried to take him to a stripclub. I felt like a kid, like I was trying to cheer him up in thestupid little ways that kids do. I didn’t know how to fix theproblem so I just tried masking it with stuff he liked. It didn’twork.”
“I’msure he appreciated the effort nonetheless,” Cas saiddiplomatically, “as you appreciate his efforts in cleaning up thebunker and doing your laundry and suggesting this. Isn’t it thesame? It doesn’t fix the problem, but it helps.”
Samsighed, a long, deep sigh that seemed to come from his very core, hiseyes fixed on Jack’s next stone that was too heavy to make a goodskipping stone and the corner of his mouth twitched up as it hit thewater with a disappointing plop. Jack wasn’t deterred though,searching through the pebbles on the very edge of the shoreline,muddying the water by stirring up the sand. Cas saw worry in Sam’shazel eyes, even through the stress and pain of loss there was aconstant, gnawing worry. Cas knew it, he felt it too.
“Whatdoes fix the problem?” Samasked him suddenly, “We’ve still got so much going on; I need tobe there for Jack, for everyone that’s left, for Dean, but I don’tknow how. I can’t even go into the library anymore. I stood outsideit for twenty minutes this morning, but I couldn’t go in, couldn’teven look. I just kept seeing Maggie-”
Heburied his face in his hands then. Not crying, like would be expectedof someone in this position and in this much raw pain, probablyforcing the tears down because of the boy skipping stones only yardsaway. Keeping up appearances, a lifelong habit.
“Ifailed them, Cas,” he mumbled through his fingers, “I failed allof them.”
“Whatcould you have done differently?”
“Something.”
Cas’heart went out to the man. Sam had grown so much in the last fewyears; ever since Cas had returned from the Empty Sam had beendifferent, he had taken on the parental role in Jack’s life whileDean had kept his distance, trying his absolute best to make surethat Jack never felt the same loneliness that he had as a child. Caswould be forever grateful to Sam for fulfilling his promise to Kellywhen he himself couldn’t. Not that that was why Sam had done it, ofcourse, he was just kind.
“Doyou-” Sam began, then he dropped his hands from his face and shookhis head, expression closing in on itself, “never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing,it’s… it’s stupid.”
“Tellme anyway.”
Samshot him a look, cautious, like he was worried Cas wouldn’tunderstand.
“Doyou think maybe Dean was right? That we should’ve let him go whenhe asked us to? We lost over twenty hunters, Cas. Good people whodidn’t deserve to die. And Jack had to burn off who knows how muchof his soul to save us. Would it have been better to let Dean get inthat damn box?”
Caschewed on his bottom lip; his immediate reaction was no,of course they were better off for having Dean here, how could Sameven think otherwise? But he knew that would be unhelpful, it wasclear that Sam already hated himself for thinking it.
“Perhaps,”he said instead, “but could you have lived with yourself if youhad?”
“Liveswould have been saved,”
“Butnot you brother.”
“Itwas what he wanted,”
“So?”
Sam’slips quirked at that. “I know,” he said quietly, “as wrong asit is, even after everything Michael did, I would rather have Dean.”
“Metoo.”
Theyfell silent for a little while, watching asJack eventually grew bored of throwing pebbles and began inspectingthe insects that gathered around the roots of nearby plants.
“Iknow what it’s like to lose people under your command,” he saideventually, “to be the only one left and feel like you failed thembecause of that.”
Samlooked at him, pushing his hair back from his face and tucking itbehind his ear.
“Bummission?” He asked,
“Quitethe opposite. It was the most important mission of my life,” hepaused a moment, “I never did tell you the story of how I raisedDean from Hell, did I?”
Samstarted at that, twisting his torso around to face him, “No. I- youdidn’t.”
“Iwas desperate to prove myself,” Cas said with a sigh, “Anna hadfallen only a few decades before and I had taken her place asgarrison leader in all buttitle, our reputation hadtaken a hit because of Anna’s rebellion but there was littleopportunity for any significant victories to try and rectify that.Still, our garrison was the most disciplined, the most tenacious inpursuing a goal. We had never failed a mission for Heaven. At thetime, I thought that was why I was chosen, but now I’m not so sure,perhaps they thought I would be a good decoy, or maybe they werehoping to get rid of me because of my reputation as a rebel among thehigher-ups, though, of course, I wasn’t aware of that.” Histhroat tightened, as it always did when he thought of Naomi and theparts of himself that he had lost thanks to her… treatments. Hewondered if he would ever regain those memories, he wasn’t sure hewanted to. “Regardless, they placed me with fourteen other angels,the best of the best, leaders of their own garrisons, and they gaveme command. There were three other groups sent as well of a similarsize. An army. We hadn’t been needed in such numbers sinceLucifer’s fall. We seemed to be much harder to kill back then.”
Hesmiled wryly at Sam, who was watching him, rapt.
“Assoon as we got word that the Righteous Man had arrived in the Pit, wewere sent to retrieve him. And so we laid siege to the gates. Mygarrison were strong, we worked well together and they trusted me aswell as any angel trusts their superior. Implicitly, whether or notit’s wise.”
Heremembered it well. A lot of his memories of his time in Heaven hadgone fuzzy around the edges—probablythe result of his bouncing from angel to human and back again, theloss of his grace and its diminished power—butthat war… every detail was as sharp as the day it happened, likeeach moment had been painstakingly sketched onto glass, preservedforever.
Theywere the last of the groups to arrive at the gates, Castiel had hopedto use the distraction at the main point of entry to see if he couldfind another one but Hell had closed all other ways in and out, would have closed the main gates too if that action was reversible.So they threw themselves into the assault; demons and almost-demonsand hellhounds and twisted creatures that had once been human souls,tortured into madness and forgetting their human forms, all of themfell before his blade. But there were always more; perhaps some wereeven the same ones, they were still in Hell after all, torment waseternal here. He and the others pushed forwards, breaking through thegates after only a year of fighting, but that was barely the firsthurdle, on the other side, as expected, was a veritable wall ofdamned creatures, all intent of destroying them.
The bloodshed wasunending, angels didn’t tire and neither did demons, though whilethe latter revelled in the violence and chaos of it all, after adecade the angels began to flag. Hell was oppressive to their verybeings, everything that it was made of repelled them. The power ofsuch a place attacked more than just their physical forms, once pastthe threshold of the gates, they were bombardedwith the prayers. The walls of Hell kept them in usually, but oncethey were inside the bubble popped and the screams began. Thousandsupon thousands of them, praying to God, to His angels, to anyone whowas listening to help them, save them, stop the torment that theirhad brought upon themselves, either with a deal or a lifetime ofvice.
Some angels fled at the onslaught and Castiel couldn’t blamethem. Whether or not you believed the souls here deserved their fate,it was another thing entirely to hear it. Noneof his retreated though and Castiel redoubled his efforts to make anopening, using the screams as motivation. He couldn’t aid all ofthem, but there was one, one voice in the millions that he could helpsave. He tried to pick it out, to focus on it, but as he had no ideawhat Dean Winchester’s voice sounded like, it was impossible. Buthe did pick one voice, a young American male, and pretended that itwas the Righteous Man. He fought for that voice, even as Kevial wassurrounded and torn apart, his grace shredded and tossed aside withno hope of retrieval. It was the first loss of the battle and it washis, but he forcedhimself to press on. He had sent Kevial up to scout from above, totry and see if they were almost through; a reckless decision, theywould know they were through when they got there, and it had costKevial his life.
Hesent Lanariel back to the edge of the fighting to recuperate after ahellhound had badly rent one of her wings and there she was caught bya group of demons who dragged her, screaming, back into the Pit.
Sherejoined the battle twelveyears later, her eyes flickering with corrupted grace, and Castielcut her down himself.
Hetoo was beginning to weaken, his grace starting to compress under thepressures of this place, where everything was blood and sulphur andbile. In a way to combat this he changed his form to a more compactshape; his earthly vessel, James Novak, onlywith the dimensions skewed so he was larger than the average human.He kept his wings, of course, mostly for practicality’s sake butalso so that he would be recognisable as an angel in the way that theRighteous Man thought of them, if he was still human enough torecognise anything. It had been sixteenyears on this plane since Dean Winchester had died on Earth, no doubthe was being given special attention by Hell’s best torturer,Alastair, to break him, to break the first Seal, if he hadn’talready.
Perhapsit was that desperate thought that caused him to dash through a briefcrack in the defending forces the second it opened. Itwas pure luck that he had been right next to it, slicing through ahellhound to reveal it and his just acted. The openingclosed behind him just as quickly, and although he hadn’t gonecompletely unnoticed, the distraction at the gates proved too largefor more than a few creatures to peel off and attack, though once hehad dispatched them, he knew that he wouldn’t have long before thevery presence of his grace drew attention like a beacon.
“SoI fled into Hell. I abandoned my garrison, left them to face thehoards of demons without me. It shouldn’t matter, they were allcommanders, one of the others would have been capable of leading, butit felt like a betrayal. I knew when Hell sensed my presence, I knewit because I heard my garrison, my siblingscrying out for mercy as they were overwhelmed. Hell had been contentto keep us fighting at the gates eternally, it has enough creaturesto spare, but the moment it knew that one of us was inside it endedthe battle.”
Casfelt his face twisting as he remembered the voices in his head, greatwarriors, pleading for a quick death.
“Ithink they were hoping to draw me back out if they tortured theothers,” he continued, taking a deep breath and comfort in thedelicate scent of honeysuckle and lilac and damp earth thataccompanied it. “Dozens ofangels crying out for me specifically to help them. Someof them lasted for years.I could have followed theircries, I might have saved even some of them. Instead I turned away.”
“Oh,Cas,” Sam said, it wasn’t the beginning of a longer thought,merely the reminder that he was there and that he was listening. Cashad never told this story before. Neitherof the brothers had asked aboutit and Cas hadn’t wanted toreopen old wounds. Still, it felt right that he talk about it now, toSam.
Itwas not the Hell of Crowley’s reign that greeted him; stone halls,demons confined to meatsuits, ego and efficiency;the Hell of Azazel’s rule was a labyrinth. Or it may have been theopposite. There was so much empty space it felt like flying through ablack hole. Even the constantbackground hum of the angels backin Heaven had been cut off, only those screaming for mercy;he had never felt so alone.There was nothingto see butflashes of demonic energy,the stench of rot and pain andsulphur, prayers like acacophony in his head and nowhere to hide fromthe occasional demon patrol that would attack him on sight.He followed the gentle tug of the Righteous Man’s soul, they’dbeen given that much by their superiors at least, animprint, not enough to visualise, but enough to be certain when helaid eyes in it.
Itwas a strange descent. Not only was he getting weaker each day, hiswounds taking longer to heal, the power of Hell beating down on himrelentlessly, but it felt… empty. It was draining, more drainingthan he would have expected. Constant battle would have kept himalert, finding his way through twisting paths would have engaged hismind, but as he flew towards Dean Winchester there were no landmarks,no walls, nothing to indicate that there was anything except for theprayers and that tug and the infrequentencounter with a feral creature. He was beginning to get anxious; hehad left his siblings to die all so he could complete the mission,but would he even make it that far?Angels were not supposed to be in this place; it was everything theystood against, concentrated and acidic and it was grating on his verygrace.
Itwas almost threeyearsbefore he reached the cages and by that time he was fatigued in a wayhe had never been before; the prayers hadgrown louder and now actualvoices joined them, hands grasping through bars, some to claw, othersto beg. He ignored them. These souls were damned for a reason afterall, none of them had been deemed worthy of salvation, so there wasno point even acknowledging them.
Still,striding through the rows of cages was… uncomfortable, it was hardto ignore the prayers when the ones praying were so close, it washard to turn his head from a sobbing child—what had theydone to deserve eternity here?—from a woman half-deranged withpain, from a man convulsing on the ground. The not-air around themall was thick and cloying, those in the cages might not need oxygen,but most of them probably weren’t aware of that yet. Indeed, manyof those he passed had scars on their throats, some still drippingopen. His hands balled into fists as they longed to reach out andtake away that pain; thatis what angels were made for, to heal, to help, to aide humans. Ofcourse they were warriors, but if he stood aside and did nothing, howwas he better than the demons who had trapped them here? What was hefighting for if not for them? He had to shake himself at thattraitorous thought, focus, you have a mission.Heaven needs you.
Sohe spread his wings once more and flew past the remaining cages,towards the source of the tug. Attacks from Hell’s swarms werebecoming more frequent now as he delved deeper, more twistedcreatures lunged at him from the dark, those that had forgotten whatlight was. He reminded them with a flash of grace; eyes burned,demons howled and alerted others, they were all searching for him, heknew it. They knew that he was inside and they knew what he was therefor, it was only luck that the very nature of Hell made it difficultto find anything at all, including an angel actively trying to avoiddetection.
Hewondered if Heaven had sent more angels after him, or if they hadsimply given up the mission as a lost cause. Dean Winchester hadbroken the first Seal after all, he had felt the snap inside hisgrace as the Seal splintered, a warning of something new, somethingonly spoken of with an air of reverence and skepticism in Heaven.There was no turning back, the Apocalypse had begun. Dean Winchesterwould be needed to house Michael, but that need was much lesspressing than protecting the other seals. He should be with them.Instead he was here, in this festering space of pain and despair. Andhere he would stay unless he could find the Righteous Man. He knewthat as surely as he knew the names of all the prophets. He would notleave Hell without Dean Winchester. He had abandoned his own for thismission, he would see it through. The tug had grown clearer over thepast few days, a more solid directional pull than just vaguelydownwards and the singular demonic entities became groups, leavinghim weaker with every pulse of grace he had to expend.
Fortyyears since Dean Winchesterhad arrived in Hell, Castiel found him. Or at least, he found a heavyfortification of demons and hellhounds and other monstrosities. Theywere clearly guarding something, and Castiel knew what. He kept hisdistance, scouted out the defences, staying out of sight. But he knewthat there would be no easy gap to slip through thistime, he was going to have toforce his way in. He dropped back for a moment, feeling the strain inhis wings, even his limbs were beginning to shake with the tremendouspower that Hell exuded. He could turn back. As soon as he left Hellthe security measures would become laxer, making it easier foranother group of angels to retrieve the soul later. He had not beenmade for a battleground such as this, there had never been shame inretreat.But thesoul had been in Hell for a long time already, Dean Winchester mightbe pure demon by the time Michael was ready to claim his vessel, andthat just wouldn’t do. It called to him, now he was close enough tohear it, though his view was blocked by the demons. It sounded…angry. Anger, guilt, pain and… was that relief? Was the soul awareof his presence?
Gatheringhis grace he shottowards the wall of demons, hoping that the element of surprise wouldgive him an edge. Well… they were definitely surprised at thearguablestupidity of his move but they rallied quickly and the battle beganin earnest. Castiel fought with everything he had. His wings wererazors and shields, his blade sangin his hand and his grace whipped around him, boiling eyes in theirsockets and leaving only husks behind; the soul became agitated,probably distressed that his saviour was outnumbered and alone.Castiel sent a surge of grace towards it, burning demons in the way,aiming to soothe, to show the soul all the might of his Heavenlypurpose.
Theprotective ring around Dean Winchester broke and the would-be guardsscattered; some fled, most died. When the last of them had been cutdown, before more could come, Castiel got a look at Dean Winchester’ssoul for the first time. It was… horrible. It wasn’t bound byrack or chains, thought there wasa rack, and a screaming soul was trapped on it. The Righteous Man wascarving strips of the soul’s imagined flesh but his head snapped upwhen his guard vanished and he whirled around to face his salvation.
Castielapproached slowly and the soul mirrored him in retreat, ananimalistic snarl rippling from its throat. It looked human, thissoul had not yet forgotten its earthly form, though it had apermanent bloody stain streaked across its naked skin and its facewas twisted in feral distrust and malice – probably a result of thebarely-healed scars and open wounds criss-crossing its entire form:bite marks and the lashes from whips, knife wounds and ragged slashespossibly from some kind of saw. In some places the skin hung inflaps, in others it was tight and shiny with burns. Castiel would becapable of healing that once they got out of here, but it was adisturbing sight all the same. He extended his hand and the soulflinched back.
“Comewith me, Dean Winchester.”
Thesoul bared its teeth, tinged orange with blood diluted with saliva.Castiel tried not to show his disgust. This is the creature thatHeaven deems worth saving?
Still,there was something about it. It didn’t shrink away from him or runto him, it just glared at him defiantly, there was somethinginteresting in that.
“Iam an angel of the Lord, I will not harm you.”
“Alastair!”The soul screeched, suddenly frightened, “Alastair!”
Itcalls for aid from a demon? Curious.
Heknew he did not have the time to talk this wretched soul into comingquietly, not with a thrum of power appearing in his periphery;Alastair probably, even among angels he was known, and feared.
“Iapologise for any discomfort,” he said instead before using hiswings to propel him forwards quicker than the soul could retreat. Hegrasped it by the shoulder and the Righteous Man screamed as hisflesh sizzled from the contact with his grace.
Almosta full demon, he thought, butnot quite. Not yet.
Heshot upwards, Dean Winchester thrashing in his grasp. Castiel pulledhim in tight, after all this he would not risk failing Heaven becausehe simply dropped his prize.It was a few days before a demon found them, despite the flurry ofactivity he could feel pulsing from the place, and all that time thesoul fought him. Growling disjointed words like ‘No’ and‘Alastair’ and ‘back’, also a few choice curse words thatCastiel would not repeat.
Castielcurled one wing around his writhingcharge as he fought thedemon. He didn’t need both to fly. He actually didn’t need to flyat all. Anywhere in Hell was floor if you demanded it be, though notall of Hell’s residents had figured that out yet, but fortravelling directly upwards flying was necessary, it was alsoquicker.
Thesoul had crowedwith delight when the demon appeared, but hissed when Castiel blastedit with grace and it disintegrated.
“Whydid you want it to win?” Castiel asked. It didn’t really matter,it wasn’t relevant to the mission, the wants of the creature in hisarms had no bearing on its fate but still… Castiel was curious.
“Back,”wasall the Righteous Man said.
“Youwill go back.” Castiel said. Deeming now as safe a place as any torest. He shouldn’t need it, but he did. So he dropped onto asuddenly solid surface and for the most part let Dean Winchester go,holding on only by the soul’s wrist. “You will be returned tolife on Earth. You have important work to do for Heaven.”
“Screwyou.” It said, trying its best to wrench itself from Castiel’sgrip, but even in his weakened state, Castiel held on easily.Ignoring the soul for the moment, Castiel gingerly spread his wings,wincing as the lacerations and would on them were stretched. Heseemed to have stopped healing almost entirely now. The pain waseasier to ignore when they were moving, but it would benefit him inthe long run to keep track of the damage, knowing his limitations ina fight was vital, and he knew that there would be a lot morefighting before the mission was done. The human watched him,suspiciously, eyeing his wings.
“Angelsaren’t real.”
Thiswas perhaps the most perplexing thing the human had said. Castielturned his attention from his wings and back to the soul in front ofhim.
“Yousold your soul to a demon.”
“Demonsare real.”
“I’man angel.”
Deansaid nothing to that. Castiel gestured around them, to the sicklyred-grey dimness and the screams of the damned.
“Weare literally in Hell. You didn’t think there might be anopposite?”
Deanjust shrugged. “Take me back.”
“Ialready told you-”
“Alastair.”
Castielsquinted at the soul, “I don’t understand.”
Deanscoffed and turned away from him as much as Castiel’s grip allowed.Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to explain himself and Castiel wastoo tired to push. Tired… that was a new feeling. One that didn’tsit well with him given his current location. He might not need tosleep but he did need to rest, he needed a few hours to not expendany grace or use his wings. That was… not ideal. But if he wasgoing to recover enough strength to get the Righteous Man out of herethen it was necessary.
Hegot forty minutes before a patrol of three demons found him. Heburned one of them with grace but that left him feeling drained andweak. His fighting the others was sloppy and resulted in a few newinjuries, one of them almost grabbed the soul in his arms but Castielused one of his wings to slice through the creature’s flesh,removing its reaching arm and causing it to stumble backwards. Headvanced, suddenly furious that this thing had dared try to harm hischarge.
Castielwas not fool enough to think that they could linger after that, nomatter the protestation of his wings. He flew, more slowly than hewould have liked. For once, Dean Winchester didn’t fight him, andfor that he was grateful.
Itwas only a few days before he had to stop again. The demons werestarting to pinpoint his location and trajectory out of Hell so henow had to fly horizontally as well as vertically just to keep themfrom swarming him. It was taking more time and energy than he had tospare and he was starting to think that he would be unable tocomplete his mission. He also had to keep hold of Dean at all times,he had lunged for Castiel’s angel blade more than once, though hadyet to be successful.
“IfI let you go, will you try to run or attack me?” Castiel asked himas they alighted on the non-floor once more. Castiel’s legsactually gave out from underneath him as they hit a solid surface andhe crumpled ungracefully. That was embarrassing. Hiswings trembled with strain and he let them relax behind him, notfolded tightly into his back or stretched out. Dean eyed them, theneyed him, and shook his head.
Dean’seyes were strange things. They were green, which was not unusual,though they had flickered black a few times since Castiel had takenhim. Again, considering the position Castiel had found him in, thatshould be unsurprising. But while a lot of the souls here had hadeyes glazed over with pain or apathy or fear or even acceptance oftheir fate, Dean’s were sharp and alert. They calculated everythingand projected nothing and he seemed suspicious, guarded and careful.It was intriguing to say the least. Perhaps there was indeed more tothis human soul than he had first thought.
Castiellet Dean’s wrist fall from his grip and Dean jumped backwards,snatching his arm up to his chest and scratching at where Castiel hadheld him until he began to bleed. But he didn’t run or attack, soCastiel left him to it. His self-inflicted wounds would only re-healwhen he stopped scratching, only the damage intended for the soulitself would remain.
Timepassed and still Castiel did not rise. They were as safe as theycould be at the moment and he felt the sluggish pull of his gracetrying to knit together his many wounds. He sent it towards hiswings; those were what he needed most, and what the demons tried totarget when they attacked, but it was an increasingly slow process.In the meantime, Castiel watched Dean. The soul kept a distance fromhim but didn’t stray too far. After a while he began to pace in acircle with Castiel at its centre, his posture tense and aggressive.It almost felt like Dean had set up a perimeter around him and wasscouting for danger. This amused Castiel, a human guarding an angel.The whole thing was so absurd he actually laughed. Dean flinched atthe sound and whirled to face him, staring at him in outright shock,asthough he hadn’t heard a laugh not tainted with evil in decades. Heprobably hadn’t. Come tothink of it, neither had Castiel and he hadn’t realised how badlyhe’d missed the sound. Not that it was a regular occurrence inHeaven but Uriel got a few laughs on occasion.
“What’s funny?” Dean snarled at him.
“That you seem to be protecting me. It’s humorous.”
Dean looked unsure at that, downright unsettled even.
“Fine, die then.” he spat, dropping to sit cross-legged on the‘floor’, arms tightly folded. “See if I care.”
Castiel tilted his head at the strange soul. He does care,he realised suddenly. Even though he hates me, he recognises thatI’m trying to help.
“Apologies,” Castiel said, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Take me back.” Dean said after a pause.
“Back to Alastair?”
Dean jerked his head.
Castiel tilted his head.
“Why?”
“Why does it matter? Take me back and go home.”
“It matters,” Castiel said calmly, “because my reason for beinghere is to retrieve you. God commanded that you be saved. If I wereto return you to your torment, I would be going against God’s will,against Heaven and my purpose. I would also be forfeiting my life, asI do not have the physical strength to return you and then escapeHell. If I am to die, I would like to know if it would be worth it.”
Dean stared at him for a long time, those eyes seeming to search hisvery grace as they mulled over his answer.
“Not worth it,” he said eventually, turning away, “not foryou.”
Castiel frowned at the soul in front of him. This was nothing like hehad expected. He had had images of a pitiful creature that would sobits gratefulness for rescue, glad for an end to the tortures ofHell’s most depraved. Instead, this one wanted to go back.
“You don’t deserve to be here, Dean Winchester.” Castiel saidgently.
Dean flinched.
“Shut up.”
Castiel didn’t argue the point, he didn’t have the energy andthey had lingered too long as it was. He stood and stretched hiswings; some of the deeper claw marks had begun to close and thedeeper tissue damage had mostly healed, it was the best he could hopefor.
Surprisingly, when he saw Castiel stand, he didn’t try to bolt.Instead he walked towards him and extended his arm.
Castieltook it and flew once more.
***
“Behindyou!” Dean yelled mid-flight. He had been pressed against Castiel,his head hooked over Castiel’s shoulder. The more Hell’sinfluence faded from his soul, the more of what Castiel liked tothink of as the real Deancame into view and themore of Dean Winchester that he saw, the more intrigued he was. Deanwas surly and irritable but he had anintelligence and a razor witthat Castiel liked. Apparently,Dean did not like flight, andso had begun to cling as though afraid that Castiel would drop him,despite his attempts at reassurance. Truthfully, Castiel did notmind. And seeing as Castiel’sown senses had dimmed to a dangerous level, he was grateful for theextra pair of eyes, especially seeing as Dean seemed to have changedhis mind regarding demons and whether or not he wanted Castiel towin.
Castielspun, bringing one wing around to shield Dean as he swung with theopposite arm, his blade sinking into the neck of the attackinghalf-soul. It shrieked and hissed unpleasantly and scrabbled itsclaws along the wing that was covering Dean’s form. Castiel criedout but did not pull it away, to do so would expose Dean, and hewould not see the Righteous Man harmed. He kicked the almost-demonaway, ripping the blade out as he did so, yanking it across. The bodyfell into the depths of the Pit,its head flapping unnaturally on the remaining sinew keeping itstrung to the torso. Anotherdemon lungedat him from behind, landing on his back and sending him spinningoff-kilter, grace now pouring from the joints where his wings met hishuman-shaped back. Castielcurled himself around Dean, wings in tight as thedemon tore at his back andbit at his neck, it was a sign of how weak Castiel was that thoseteeth could even break his skin. He endured the onslaught until therewas a slight pause in the attack, then he acted, swinging one of hiswings out with force to dislodge the demon and following the momentumaround, blade aimed for the creature’s heart. The blade hit trueand the demon screeched as it died, following its brethren in a fall.
Onlytwothis time, he thought as hedropped Dean on the now-floor and collapsed ina heap where he landed, thatwas unusual these days. Hewas more likely to come across groups of three or four lately.They were closing in on the gates, he knew, buthe didn’t know what awaited them there. An army of Hell-spawncertainly, but would there be any angels to help him, tofinish the task of saving Dean Winchester? Castiel was fully awarethat he might not make it out the other side of this mission. Infact, he had almost hoped for it. The guilt of sacrificing hisgarrison weighed heavy and the idea of returning to accolades andpraise disgusted him. He had to finish the mission, and then he coulddie of his wounds. There was honour in that.
Butnow… he wasn’t even surehe could make it that far. The stench of Hell was all around him,seeming to feed on his very grace. Hecouldn’t endure it anymore, he wasn’t strong enough, he-
“Hey,open your eyes, you wingeddick,” came a ragged voicefrom in front of him. Automatically Castiel obeyed and the hard edgesof Dean Winchester’s face swam into view.
“Dean,”he said, as though he were pleasantly surprised by the soul’spresence, “are you hurt?”
Deanscoffed and ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that hadreplaced the scratching, for which Castiel was grateful.
“AmI hurt? Your wingslook like a freaking beadcurtain right now.”
“Idon’t know what that means.”
“Itmeans they’reshredded, idiot. And I left my emergency surgery kit in my othersoul so unless you can mojoyourself better we’re grounded.”
“Theywill heal,” Castiel said, strugglingto push himself to sitting, “itmay take some time before I can fly again. I apologise for thedelay.”
Hiswords came out more biting than he meant them but astonishingly, Deansmirked until he walked out of Castiel’s view and around topresumably inspect the damage.
“Sohe’s got some sass in him after all, good to know,” he said,“hey, why do you bleed blue mist?”
“It’smy grace, it’s what I use to heal myself, what makes me an angel,”Castiel explained between heavy breaths that he shouldn’t need.
“Soit’s probably bad that it’s floating away then.”
“Itwill replenish.”
“Andhow long will that take?”
Castielgrimaced as Dean poked at a deep scratch on his back, “I’m notsure.”
“Great.”
Theylapsed into a long silence, hours passed and Castiel was still losinggrace faster than it could restore itself. That was worrying. If hedied here, what would Dean do? He could not escape Hell on his own,he couldn’t even hide. Castiel had toget him out, or at least keep him safe until his siblings launchedanother mission. He would not allow Dean’ssoul to be returned toAlastair, no matter what. Hehad only just begun to heal, purely from the lack of constant tortureand an angelic companion, freckles previously hidden by gore nowdotted Dean’s form, his eyes now sparked with emotion whensomething amused or frustrated him, he spoke in confusing slang andno longer jumped away from Castiel as soon as they paused to rest.Castiel could not let that light be dimmed again.
Thatwas all that mattered. It was more than his mission now, it wassomething he wanted desperately, to keep Dean Winchester safe.
“Dean,”Castiel said, his voice measured, Dean,who had taken up his pacing again, stopped and backed up so he was inview.
“Ithink we are going to have to delay your return. I’m sorry.”
Deanrolled his eyes, “Whatever, man, take the time you need, it’s notlike I’m going anywhere without those flappers anyway.”
“I’mnot going to make it out of Hell,” Castiel continued, ignoring thechange in Dean’s expression, aslight tightening around the mouth,“but I can protectyou. I can change my form, concentrate my grace into a shield aroundyou. It won’t be using energy on flight or movement so it will notweaken and my grace will replenish more quickly. No demon will beable to get through. You willbe safe until my siblings come for you.”
“Okay…”Dean said, “And if you get back to full power before that happens,you’ll just pop back out, right?”
Castielsmiled, suddenly sad that he would never see Dean Winchester restoredto life. “No, Dean. Mywings are too deeply damaged, it would take more grace than I possessto heal them enough to fly again, andchanging my form into something non-sentient would be permanent.”
Deanwas shaking his head violently, “No, hellno.”
“Dean-”
“I’mnot gonna just sit in some angel-bubble for who knows how long justso that you can get out of babysitting duty. You are notleaving me here alone, you understand?!”
“Mysiblings-”
“Theyain’t here!” Dean yelled, “I’mnot pinning my hopes on somefeathered assholes who don’t evencare where you’ve been for the last decade.”
“You’drather pin your hopes on a dying angel who can’t fly?”
“I’mpinning my hopes on you.”Dean snapped, “You’re the most stubborn son of a bitch that Iever met. You just took out two demons and you’ve been flying onfumes for weeks straight and you wanna give up now?”
“I’mnot givingup,”Castielinsisted, trying not to give sound to the frustration that only Deanhad been able to bring out in him, “I’m being practical. Thereare other angels, Dean, and I can protect you long enough for them toget here. Thisis the only way I can think of that will make sure you never end upin Alastair’s hands again. This is the only way to saveyou.”
Castielsensed rather than heard Dean’s flinch,
“Inever asked you to save me,” he said, his voice shaking with rage,“I never asked anybodyto save me. I’m not some freaking damsel in distress princesslocked in a tower, I got myselfhere. I made a deal and I knew where it was going, so don’t actlike I didn’t sign up for this, likeIdon’t deserve everything that I get.There are people here who were tricked into their deals, or were tooyoung to know what they were selling, that ain’t me. Youwanna go out in a blaze of glory? Go die for one of them instead.”
Hestepped forward and prodded at Castiel’s back again. “NowI’mnot anangel surgeon but I know a little something about first aid, so Iguess the first step is to stop you from bleeding, leaking, whatever,right?”
“Dean,wait-”
ButDean had already pressed his hands directly onto what was probablythe wound losing the most grace, right at the joint of his wings.Castiel cried out. Painlanced through him, then horror ashis grace began to pull at the soul so valiantly trying to help himas though attempting to steal its energy. Castiel jerked forward,away from Dean’s touch, and rolled to face Dean, holding a hand outin front of him, “Stop!”
“Don’tbe such a baby,” Dean scoffed, “I know awaddedshirt would be better but-”
“Thatwas incrediblydangerous.” Castiel said, a growl leaking into his voice. “You’relucky you didn’t explode.”
Ithad been like a shot of adrenaline in a human brain, a sudden rush ofenergy, intenseand overwhelming.
“Dramaticmuch?”
“Fora human soul to come in direct contact with grace is notsomething to take lightly.” Castiel admonished, “I don’t evenknow what would happen, it hasn’t been done in eons.”
Deancrossed his arms, sceptical, “I’lltell you what happened,you’ve stopped leaking.”
“What?”
Deanjust raised an eyebrow so Castiel craned his neck and tested hiswings. Dean was right, the superficial damage on his wings had closedover, even if he could feel the deeper tissue trauma. It would takeless time for his grace to replenish now. Thatdidn’t mean he wasn’t angry.
“You’rewelcome.”
“Icould have destroyedyou.”
“I’malready dead.”
Castielclenched his jaw, “AndI would be unable to reverse that if my grace had absorbed you.”
“Thatsounds like a you problem. Myproblem is making sure that no one else dies for me, you got it?”
“You’re…infuriating.”
“Hey,I never claimed to be an angel, pal. AndI just saved your feathered butt, so maybe stop with the name-callingand make with the healing so we can get out of here. Look, whateversoul damage I got from that weeny little shot you’re gonna fixlater anyway, right? So we might as well use it. And no more stupidtalk about becoming a shield or whatever. We get out of this togetheror not at all, because I’m telling you right now, if your‘siblings’ show up, I ain’t going with them.”
Castielgrumbled but refrained from mentioning the fact that Dean would havelittle to no say in the matter if it came to that, but his angerdimmed into a warm glow that he didn’t quite understand,unexpectedly touched at Dean’s obvious wish for him to stay alive.
***
Thingsbecame marginally easier after that, Castiel regained his ability tofly within a few hours and they set off once more, energy restored.Dean was generous with his soul energy, though never more than oneshort burst at a time, Castiel had been explicitly firm on thatpoint, and he had to admit that Dean had been right, it gave him anextra edge in battle and he was going to need that it they were everto make it to the gates. Even if it made him tainted in the eyes ofHeaven, even if it meant thathisgrace was so weak he needed to tangle it with a human soul; it wasfilthy, it was unheard of, it wasthe most beautiful thing Castiel had ever experienced. For onreceiving Dean’s gift, he saw,he truly saw what was under the layers of trauma and guilt anddespair and rage that Dean gathered around himself. He felt his soulas pure and glorious as it had been before Hell, not unmarked truly,but bright and delicate and good. Castiel kept those thoughts tohimself. They were not right, they were not related to the mission.But Castiel took to staring at Dean when they paused to rest, tryingso hard to see what he could feel when Dean touched his wings.Sometimes he did, when Dean smiled at him one time without sarcasm ormalice, he saw it then and it caught his breath.
Deanslowlybegan to open up about things that he missed onEarth. He talked about food, and women, and his car, andalcohol. But it took him almosttenyears of travelling together to ask about his brother.
“Hey,so you know a bit about me, right?” Dean said, shuffling his feeton the not-floor.
Castielcocked his head, “I have learned much since meeting you.” Theywere waiting for his grace to rally once more, he had taken a set ofclaw marks to one of his wings, perfectly placed to sever one of hismain tendons. It was excruciatingly painful, but Castiel did not letit show. Pain was just a thing he could ignore and it was worthignoring it so long as Dean didn’t think he needed some ‘souljuice’. Castiel was worried about how much soul was now blendedwith his grace. He would return it, of course, when the oppressivepressure of Hell was gone, allowing his grace to replenish as quicklyas it could, but it was weakening Dean day by day and he didn’tknow how much more he could give without doing something irreparable.
“Imean, from before. You know about my life, right? That I was a hunterand we killed a lot of bad things?”
“Iwas given a summation.”
“Right.So… you know about my brother.”
“Ofcourse.” Castiel didn’t elaborate. He didn’t like thinkingabout the boy with the demon blood. Theyhad gotten word on the battlefield of what Sam Winchester wasbecoming without his brother there to guide him, and it had beenprophesied as to how it would all end. Hedid not like to think of Dean becoming a vessel for Michael anymore, it felt less like the natural order of things and more like apreventable loss.
“He’sdead, right? I mean it’s been, what, nearly fifty years? Huntersdon’t live that long.”
“Actuallyit’s only been a few months on Earth.” Castiel said, “yourbrother is alive.”
Thatput a light in Dean’s eyes like Castiel had never seen before,“Really? You better not be screwing with me, man.”
“I’mtelling the truth. Or at least, he was alive when I entered Hell, Idon’t know what’s happened since.”
“He’sokay,” Dean told him, “Sammy’stough, tougher than me. He’s fine.”
Castielsaid nothing. It was clear that this was important to Dean and hedidn’t want to ruin it by informing him about the demon that wascurrently his brother’s only companion.
“We’regonna get out of here,” Dean said, a small, hopeful smile on hisface that buried itself deep into Castiel’s chest, “I’m gonnasee him again.”
“Yes.”
***
“Andhe was right.” Cas concluded, smiling atthe sun now restingon the horizon, glancing at Sam to see tears in his eyes. Jackwas back to skipping stones in the lake, concentrating fiercely, “Wegot through. We got close enough to the gate that I began to hearsnatches of angel radio again, I sent out a signal, told them that Ihad the Righteous Man but I needed help to get him out. Heavenrallied, sent all the angels it could spare, including my originalgarrison. Hell’s army was as numerous as it had ever been and welost even more angels in the fight. But Dean leant me his strengthand we managed it. Together.”
Hefelt pride welling up in him, as much as he had felt when he hadflownthrough the hoard of demons like a bullet, ignoringthe demons that harried at him,and come out the other side, unfurling his singed and battered wingsto reveal Dean’s grinning face,
“Didwe make it?”
“Yes,Dean,” Castiel had said, his arms holding the human soul just astightly as his wings had, “we made it.”
Ithad taken several days for Castiel to recover enough to be able totake on the task of healing Dean. The other angels had tittered aboutthe presence of human soul intermingled with his grace and Naomi hadrequested a meeting for once Dean had been returned to Earth, ameeting he would not be able to attend because of Pamela Barnes’and then Dean’s own interference. But he was praised by hissuperiors and promoted to official commander of his garrison, despitethe fourteen angels in his charge that he had allowed to die. Thoughthe garrisons of those fourteen did not forget as quickly.
Deanhad not allowed any other angel near him while Castiel was healing.Zachariah tried and even Michael paid a rare visit but Dean sent themboth away without a conversation and certainly without a healing.When Castiel was deemed well enough, he was instructed by an annoyedZachariah to begin the process himself.
“You’rethe only one he can seem to stand,” he huffed, practically shovinghim into the room where Dean was being kept and closing the doorbehind him.
Deanwas crouched in a corner defensively, but he stood when he recognisedCastiel.
“Yoursiblings are all dicks.” He said by way of a greeting, “All theywanna talk about is the Apocalypse and using me as a meat suit, it’sgross.”
“Wedon’t interact with humans much.” Castiel said, “I’m afraidwe are very practical creatures.”
“LikeI said, dicks.”
“Iam one of them, you know.”
“Nah,”Dean said, “you’re different.”
“Thankyou?”
Deanlaughed, it was small and shaky but it was real. “So it’s timenow, right? E.T. goes home?”
“Thoseare not your initials.”
Deanlaughed again, Castieldecided that he liked the sound very much.“Heal me up, doc,” Deansaid, spreading his arms out.
Castielstepped forward. “My name isn’t ‘Doc’,” he said, raisinghis hand to begin sending healing grace pouring into the soul infront of him, but before he could, Dean grabbed his wrist andmet his eyes.
“Whatis it? Your name? You never said.”
“Castiel.”
Deannodded and released his wrist. “Cool. I’mma call you Cas.”
Baffled,Castiel blinked at him, “Why?”
“’Causeit’s shorter,” Dean said sardonically, “and it suits you.Sounds less stuffy.”
“Myname is not ‘stuffy’,” Castiel huffed, flickinghis fingers in quotation,though he wasn’t opposed tothe nickname.
“Nah,it’s not so bad. But I mean, you’ve got a better nickname from methan Junklessout there,” he jerked his chin towards the door and grinnedconspiratorially at him. Cas couldn’t help but smile, even thoughZachariah was a well-respected and high ranking member of Heaven andhe had no authority to poke fun.
“Alright,stand still,” Castiel instructed, raising his hand once more. Deanshuffled a little but did as he was told.
Castielbegan on Dean’s face, healing away the scratches and the red tintto his skin, remnants of the blood he had shed. Under the healing,Dean’s hair lightened to sandy brown and the freckles, which Cashad only caught glimpses of before now, came into glorious view. Evenhis eyes grew more vibrant incolour.
“Theylook like peas.” Castiel mused aloud.
“What?”
“Youreyes, they look like spring peas.”
Deansnorted, and a new red tinge appeared on his cheeks, though it wasfar more endearing than the one he had just healed, “That’s gottabe one of the worst pick-up lines I’ve ever heard.”
“Idon’t know what that is. I have picked you up many times.”
Deanmade another amused sound but said nothing.
Theritual continued. Molecule by molecule, Dean’s soul was re-shapedinto what it had once been, although Castiel knew that he could noterase all of what Alastair had done.
“Areyou getting rid of all my scars?” Dean asked suddenly.
Castielblinked at him.
“Ihad a long white one here,” he pointed to his right elbow, “froma werewolf hunt when I was fourteen, and I had somehere,” he gestured to his abdomen, though he didn’t meetCastiel’s eyes, “from the night Sammy left.”
Castieldid not enquire, but he recognised the point about scars. They wereimperfections on Dean’s soul, true, but Castiel had found that theyonly added to Dean’s beauty. They were a testament to what he hadbeen through, a story told through puckered skin and raised tissue.Perhaps they were important to him.
“Doyou want to keep them?”
Deanconsidered, then shook his head, “I don’t need to be remindedanymore.”
SoCastiel erased them and, oneby one, Dean recounted thestories of how he had gotten them; most of them anyway, there weresome that he wouldn’t talk about. He was passing over Dean’s leftshoulder when Dean stopped him,
“Leavethat one.”
Castielactually took a half-step back, “what?”
“Youcan leave ’em, right? Leave that one.”
Castielplaced his hand over the raised mark on Dean’s arm, his fingers fitperfectly, “You’re sure?”
Deannodded, “Junkless told me that I’m not gonna remember you. Hesaid that I ‘needed to be introduced to angels properly’. Bastarddidn’t say anything about making me forget the rest though.”
“Ican make you forget it all if you want.” Castiel offered. That wasdangerous, he had been given strict instructions to only erase thememories of himself and their escape from Hell, but Castiel had seemhim down there, revelling in doling out the torture that he himselfhad endured. The person that Castiel had come to know would not beable to abide what he had done, perhaps it was best that he forget.
“No,”Dean said softly, “I need to remember. I need to know what I canbecome.” After a moment, heshook himself, “so leave that scar, okay? If there’s one thing Ididn’t hate about thatplace, it’s you.”
“Verywell.”
***
Oncethe healing was done, Castiel raised his palm to Dean’s head. Hefelt an intense sorrow that Dean was not going to recall anythingabout him, but Heaven had a plan, and Castiel was made to follow thatplan.
“Bye,Cas.” Dean said with a wobbly smile that Castiel tried to return,“Drop by some time, okay? I’d like to meet you again.”
Castielnodded, though he had no idea if he could keep such a promise.
“Goodbye,Dean.”
***
“Ittook me moments to restore Dean’s body and place his soul inside.Heaven told me that it was important he be returned exactly where hisbody lay, but now I think they were just being petty. I should haveleft him somewhere beautiful.”
“AndDean doesn’t remember any of it?” Sam asked, glancing at thestill-sleeping figure, though he would probably wake soon, he was alight sleeper.
“No,but sometimes he’ll say things, turns of phrase that soundfamiliar, that kind of thing. Perhaps part of him remembers. Memoryis complicated, it’s impossible to erase everything.”
Theylapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, just taking inthe scene, the shadows were getting longer, the temperature wasdropping incrementally butdespite all that it was serene.This place was truly calming.
“Iunderstand your feelings of failure, Sam,” Cas said eventually,“you weren’t there for people you felt responsible for and theysuffered because of it. But if I had turned back to try and save mybrethren, I would not have saved Dean. And the only way to haveprevented Maggie and the others from dying would have been to lockDean in the Mal’ak box and drop him in the ocean. Butyour choice wasn’t so clean-cut as choosingwho to save. Andit’s hard, because you cared about them, but you have to forgiveyourself. Dean is here, and Michael is dead and those are good thingsand we will deal with therest. You proved yourself awise and capable leader, Sam. Don’t let this discourage you fromtrying to help those that survived. Don’tshut yourself off to the possibility that this time, things mightjust work out.”
Deanstirred and groaned, loudly stretching out on the blanket. Samflashed Cas a quick smile and wiped at his face.
“Thanks,Cas,” he said, nudging him gently with his shoulder, “I think Ireally needed to hear that.”
#prompt#prompt list#prompt me#destiel#dean winchester#castiel#wings#protection#spn fanfic#fanfiction#writing#TibbinsWrites#TibbinsAnswers#supernatural
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Chapter 6
As the snows of the Crystalline Gala melted away Auriga started planting a garden. With both Ildan and Morgawr coming into their own as capable fighters she could trust them to go out gathering on their own. This left her with plenty of time to start work on various projects that she never before had the time for, like finally building a proper garden.
Auriga hummed to herself as she worked. Already small green shoots grew up in neat rows, Auriga’s magic ensuring that each seed she planted sprouted. She looked up from her work as she heard the now familiar grinding sound the cat golem made when it moved. It had stood up in its patch of sunlight and was looking towards the sky, its tail twitching back and forth.
Auriga followed its gaze upward and spotted Ildan and Morgawr. She started to turn back to her work but then whipped her head back up and stared. Both were flying much faster than normal and Morgawr was carrying something that looked very much like another dragon. Quickly she cleared away her gardening supplies making as large and clear a landing zone as she could.
Ildan landed first and Auriga was surprised to see a pair of wailing and terrified hatchlings in his arms. A moment later Morgawr came to a rough landing and that surprise was replaced with shock as she saw the bloodied ridgeback he carried.
The next couple hours were a whirl of frantic activity. Morgawr worked tirelessly to keep his patient alive. Auriga and Ildan lent what aid they could to his endeavor after calming and putting the hatchlings to sleep. During this time Ildan told her what happened and the tale froze the blood in her veins.
A shade beast. Auriga began to tremble. A shade beast so close to her home. She gripped her scarred shoulder, images of that night flooding back to her.
“Auri? Auri?” Ildan’s voice was filled with worry, “Auriga, its gone. We killed it. It’s ok, it’s safe.”
Auriga came back to the present as Ildan gently touched her on unscarred shoulder. “I’m alright,” She shook her head to chase away the last of the memories. “Some old and unpleasant memories resurfaced when I heard about your fight.” She patted his arm reassuringly. It didn’t seem to work as Ildan kept glancing at her with a worried look on his face for the rest of the day.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day the ridgeback, Illegra, was conscious enough to tell her side of the story. She was apprenticed to an Earthshaper in a small roving clan of crafters. The attack had come as they were taking down their camp and preparing to move on. In the chaos no one was able to mount a proper defense. Illegra barely had enough time to grab the two hatchlings and flee.
Later Auriga and Ildan flew above the forest towards the location of the camp to check for other survivors. As they reached the location it became evident that there were no other survivors. Auriga counted the bodies from the air and the total matched the number that Illegra gave her.
“Should we do something?” Ildan sounded sick.
“We can’t.” Auriga turned in the air but not towards home, “But I know where we can find someone who can.”
It was another hour before they reached the closest crossroads and trading post. One of the merchants who kept permanent shop there would know how to get in touch with a member of the Bone Court. When they got to the crossroads it turned out that one of the Court was already there.
A guardian named Berath listened to their tale. “Do not worry, I can lay their bodies to rest.” Her head cocked to one side as if listening to an unseen voice. “And do not worry for my safety, the spirits say the beasts are long gone. There is nothing to fear from them.” There was a certain weight to her words, she wasn’t just speaking about herself being safe from the beasts but Auriga as well.
“Thank you.” A great weight of fear lifted from Auriga. She trusted the guardian’s words, those of the Bone Court were said to have strange powers and if this one said that spirits told her that she and Auriga would be safe Auriga was going to believe it.
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When I Wasn't Afraid To Lose You
By TheMoodyAngel
Link to Ao3
2007
Central City
Leonard Snart was 35, and well on his way to being one of the best thieves ever. He and Mick were in a brand-new bar with the rest of their crew, celebrating a successful heist. Snart allowed himself a small smile as he watched Mick party; he was glad his old friend was having fun. His smile grew slightly more at the thought of this being his tenth successful heist without the help of his bastard father. He’d known that he didn’t need that asshole’s help. He took a sip of his drink, glancing around the bar a bit more. It was a new addition to Central City known as ‘Saints and Sinners’. He liked it.
As he set his empty bottle down and turned to ask the bartender for another, the crook glanced at the TV above the counter. The perky announcer had a grim look on her face.
“Aboard the boat was Starling City billionaire, Robert Queen, his son Oliver Queen, and 20-year-old Sara Lance, the youngest daughter of Officer Quentin Lance of the Starling City Police Department. All passengers and crew have been declared dead.”
“What a shame,” The bartender grumbled “that Lance girl was pretty. Hit on her a bit while she was a bartender at that Oblivion place.”
Snart scoffed. Thanks to those stupid billionaires from Starling, his theft probably wouldn’t even make the news. He accepted another drink from the bartender and pressed the bottle to his lips as he thought.
He did feel kinda bad for that young girl though. Hmm, only twenty years old, probably still in college. He lowered the bottle without drinking and locked his eyes on the family picture being shown by the news channel. The smiling blonde in the photo didn’t even look twenty yet. She was someone who had had her whole life ahead of her, and now her corpse was rotting at the bottom of the ocean.
A shout from Mick had Snart sighing in exasperation and wiping his head clear as he got up to help the pyro with another bar brawl. His thoughts wouldn’t linger on Sara Lance again for another six years.
2013
Starling City
Leonard Snart was 41, and at his hideout planning a huge heist for his return to Central City in a few months. After a huge debacle on his last job, which was mostly Mick’s fault, Snart had had to go into hiding in Starling. He was just lucky he had moved to town after an earthquake leveled the glades. However, the ruined area made for a good place to lay low and plan his next move, so that’s what he was doing. He had just finished marking all the alarm system locations on his blueprint when something on the news caught his ear. He looked up from the papers spread across the worktable to see an announcer sitting behind a desk and wearing a grim look.
“Sara Lance, daughter of Officer Quentin Lance, was previously presumed dead, along with the rest of the passengers of the Queen’s Gambit, which sank six years ago. The only known survivor was billionaire Oliver Queen, but today Miss Lance was admitted to a hospital, after being found in The Glades.
Snart raised an eyebrow at that. He had heard rumors that something had gone down a few blocks over involving two archers. He wondered if it had anything to do with this girl. A picture temporarily replaced the news anchor, and the smiling face of the blonde girl dredged up the crook’s memory of a similar report several years ago. His mind ran through the details of that night as the man returned to the screen.
“Miss Lance is currently being treated for poisoning which is said to have temporarily stopped her heart. Doctors say she will recover, but as to where the twenty-six-year-old has been for the past six years, no one knows. We will update you as more details are known. In other news . . . “
Snart aimed the remote and powered off the TV. Well then, the girl who came back from the dead. His mind whirled, picking out small details and connecting bits of information. Interesting how this girl turned up out of nowhere the same time as The Glades new leather-clad vigilante. That girl had been taking down guys left and right. He wondered if he should go after the Lance girl just in case. He thought once more of the smiling girl in the photo and shook his head. It was doubtful the two were the same person. And anyways, the vigilante was only going after stalkers, if he behaved himself he shouldn’t have a problem, and as long as she left him alone, Lewis Snart’s son wouldn’t have to kill anyone.
2014
The Glades
He was 42, and it was his last night in Starling before returning to case out a new target in Central City. Leonard Snart was on his way back from a bar. Not as good as his preferred Saints and Sinners, but still not bad. There were not many people around except a woman who had just exited the building in front of him and was turning down an alley. He meant to just keep walking, but as Snart passed the alley entrance he saw a flicker of movement.
He looked up just in time to see a blonde figure in black tumble off the side of the building and land right in front of the woman from before. The figure hit a dumpster and rolled off it, coming to a stop with three arrow shafts protruding from her stomach. She wasn’t moving.
“No! No!” the woman cried. “Sara! SARA!” she got to her knees in front of the fallen blonde and it wasn’t long before she was crying and clutching the dead girl for all she was worth. Leonard just stared.
Sara.
So he had been right. It seemed that the Lance girl had been the mysterious vigilante protecting women in The Glades. She had come back from the dead twice, but it seemed her luck had run out. Snart’s gaze locked onto the three arrow shafts for a moment and then turned his gaze to the five-story building. He had heard the crunch of breaking bones when the girl fell, and there was no doubt that at least one of those arrows had pierced something vital. There was no coming back from that; Sara Lance was truly dead.
So Leonard Snart the crook turned away from the scene in the alley and continued back to his hideout. It would be over a year before Sara Lance would reappear in his life. And this time she wouldn’t be going anywhere.
2016
Central City
Leonard was barley listening to the man claiming to be from the future – because there was a thrice dead girl in front of him. He recognized her face as the same one that had been covered by blood in that alley over a year ago. She intrigued him. Maybe that was partly why he was determined to go on this crazy trip.
The Waverider
She was an assassin, well alright. And apparently, she really had died; interesting. The more he learned about this woman the more she caught as his attention. By the time the two of them ended up locked in the engine room and huddled for warmth, he actually found a spot of heat in his chest reserved for her, right next to the spot that belonged to his little sister. He found himself betraying his best and oldest friend for her. That was when he decided to make sure she didn’t die before her time again.
And he even managed to steal a kiss when she thought he would be the one dying. He got another one in addition to a slap after they all made it out of the vanishing point alive. It wasn’t long after that when he found her at the door of his room in the middle of the night. From then on, she was there every night. She was safe.
Then Rip decided to be an asshole and scatter them across time, which is when he found himself worrying about her. But she was tougher than nails, and she was fine. And she came back to him unscathed.
2017/1776
Pennsylvania
Although they were currently in the 1700’s, back home it was 2017, Leonard Snart was 45, and he was getting a really bad feeling that this whole plan was about to go sideways. The word ‘Alexa’ was sitting on the tip of his tongue about to jump off at any second, but his trust in Sara kept him from listening to his instincts. That was his first mistake.
He followed Sara and Washington out of the house and vaguely noticed Mick trailing afterwards. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the redcoats in front of them until Sara stopped in her tracks and her voice made him look up.
“Rip? Rip!” his eyes locked onto the figure in front of them as Sara took a step away from his side. “How did you get here?” she asked. Something definitely did not feel right. Leonard flipped the switch on his gun but nothing happened. It was dead, damnit.
“I don’t like this.” Mick growled. Leonard had to agree with the arsonist.
Sara spoke their former Captain’s name once more and the man in question responded.
“Hello, Sara.”
It happened too fast for Leonard to do anything. He saw Rip raise his hand and he heard the blast of a gunshot. He watched Sara jerk from the impact and he instinctively raised his arms to catch her. He smelled blood.
“Goodbye Sara.” The traitor slowly walked forward to stand in front of them.
“You son of a bitch!” Leonard snarled.
“Mr. Snart, we meet again.”
“What the hell is wrong with you!?” Leonard retorted. He didn’t have time for Rip’s games. Sara was bleeding out in his arms. He could hear her gasping for breath and he could feel her shaking against him.
“On the contrary, nothing has ever been more right. If anything, we’re a bit more alike now, aren’t we?” Rip stroked Sara’s cheek for a moment and Leonard saw red. If he wasn’t occupied with keeping Sara on her feet he would’ve clocked that asshole out by now.
“You and I,” he snarled “are nothing alike. I would never shoot one of my own friends.”
“Really? You didn’t seem to have a problem with Mr. Rory.” Leonard just glared.
“TAKE THEM AWAY!” Rip shouted to his men.
Leonard felt several pairs of hands grab his arms and wrench him away from Sara.
“No!” he shouted as they dragged him away. “SARA!”
He watched the small figure collapse on the ground, leaving the snow next to her dyed red. He kept screaming long after she was out of sight. Finally, he let himself sag in the hands of the soldiers who held him. He put on the perfect appearance of a man who had been broken by betrayal. But he was Leonard Snart, and he’d be damned if he let himself lose so easily.
He waited until the grip on one arm loosened ever so slightly, and he struck. He wrenched one arm loose and brought his elbow up to crush the redcoat’s nose. He them brought his fist around to smash into the nose of the other man, whose let go of the crook to clutch at his bloody face. Leonard heard Rip shout and saw Mick start struggling to get free, but instead of helping the arsonist, Leonard turned tail and ran as fast as he could into the woods. Mick could handle himself, and it didn’t seem like Rip wanted them dead. If Mick couldn’t get himself out of this mess, then Leonard would come back for him. But right now, all his thoughts were focused on the assassin that had been left bleeding in the snow.
He cursed under his breath when he realized the redcoats still had his cold gun. Shit, he didn’t want those assholes screwing with his weapon. There was no helping it though, Sara mattered so much more than a weapon.
Finally, Leonard burst out of the trees behind the manor house. Sara was still collapsed in the snow.
“Sara!” the crook dropped to his knees beside the small figure and pressed his fingers to her throat.
“I promise I have a pulse.” Her voice was hoarse, but she was talking. Len sighed with relief as her eyes slit open to lock with his own.
“You really are something else assassin.” Sara frowned up at him. “Hmph. Supposed drowning, poisoning, three arrows to the stomach, and now a bullet to the gut. Not to mention almost freezing with me in the engine room. Are you even capable of dying?”
Sara managed to get out a small laugh before cringing with pain. “I’m not really sure at this point.” She frowned. “How did you know all of that? I told you I was dead for a year, but nothing else.”
“I’ll tell you later.” He muttered as his slid his arms underneath her. “For now, let’s get you to Gideon so she can fix you up.” She didn’t bother to answer, just locked one arm around his neck and pressed the other to the hole in her skin. As Leonard walked away, he didn’t bother to see how much blood Sara was leaving behind in the snow.
The Waverider
Leonard groaned as he slowly regained conciseness. He had been standing behind Stein as the man worked on Sara’s wound. He remembered Sara having just opened her eyes and a rare smile gracing his lips before something whacked the back of his head, causing everything to go dark.
As he sat up he heard a groan and turned his head to see the old man slowly sitting up. Looking around he saw Jax sitting curled up in the corner.
“What happened?” he muttered as he stood up and pressed a hand to the back of his head.
“I told him.” Jax muttered. “I told him where to find the piece of the spear, and he just killed her anyway.”
Leonard froze. He turned his head slowly and stared down with horror in his eyes. Sara. The small figure was still on the medical bed. She wasn’t breathing. Leonard vaguely heard Stein and Jax talking, but nothing except white-hot rage filled his head. He barley even thought as his hand grabbed a gun from the nearby tabletop and his feet carried him out the door and off the Waverider.
Sara.
In the past, that name had meant absolutely nothing to him – just another lost soul claimed by the harshness of the world. Just another dead body. Another unfortunate accident. Another girl who was dead while his little sister continued to live. Sara Lance had been one of many people that Leonard Snart couldn’t care less about because he had his own fucked up life to deal with. He had never given her a second thought. But this time it was different. She had been his to protect and keep alive, just as much as Lisa was his. He had decided that after they escaped the engine room; he had decided that she would never die young again. And he had failed her.
He had failed the woman he loved.
So when Rip turned around and bared his chest to the crook, Leonard was a breath away from killing a man he had once considered his comrade – until a woman’s voice stopped him.
“Leonard! Stop!” the crook stilled and slowly turned to see Sara struggling up the path. She was pale as a sheet and gasping for breath – but she was alive.
“Sara? How -?”
“Stein and Gideon saved me.” she panted as she neared him. “Len, please. Don’t do this, don’t kill Rip.”
Leonard’s mind was a blank. He was in shock. He had been so sure that the fiery former assassin was permanently dead, he had been ready to make sure her killer received the same treatment. But she was alive, and she was here, and right now that was all that mattered. So Leonard turned and glared at the Englishman’s retreating back until he was out of sight, then he slowly lowered the gun and turned towards the blonde shivering in the icy morning air.
He took a moment to look at the flush of life in her cheeks before dropping the gun in the mud and striding forward to wrap her in his arms. He buried his face in her hair and felt a tear escape. She was alive.
“I thought I had lost you.” He whispered.
“Never,” her hands gripped the back of his jacket “I’m basically un-killable.”
He let out a short laugh and pulled back to look at the face he had glimpsed for the first time ten years ago. He barley remembered that news report about the sinking yacht, but the smiling face of Sara Lance was permanently burned into his memory. Not the twenty-year-old version though, this one. The thirty-two-year-old who smiled at him every morning when she woke up next to him. Not the huge grin of adolescence, but the causal smile of someone who was truly happy with their life. His Sara, the one who refused to die.
“What are you thinking?” Her voice broke into his thoughts and made him smile.
“Me. And you. And me and you. And if you ever scare me like that again I will bring you back myself, just so you can hear me rant.” She grinned.
“No worries. I died once, wasn’t a fan.”
“Technically you’ve died four times, but who’s really counting?”
“You apparently.”
“Yes, and this had better be the last time I need to add another plus sign when counting your deaths.”
“No promises.”
Leonard rolled his eyes and then proceeded to kiss his immortal assassin.
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Dan Howard - Brit 🤘
We had the pleasure of attending a lecture with Dan Howard Brit. He is actually going to be around our uni over the coming months which is amazing!!
Dan has recently curated the works of Jacqui Hallam for the John Moore’s Painting Prize at the Walker Art Gallery. Jacqui Hallam is this years winner! Dan and Jacqui have worked together for many years. Dan interestingly stated that Jacqui had never been shown any interest by the art world at all until she won the prize despite working for many years as an artist. You can hear the admiration Dan has for Jacqui as he speaks about her. He says Jacqui is a great inspiration to him.
Dan discussed how he became a curator (although he hates that label he would prefer to be known as a man that puts on shows every now and then) Dan is an artist in his own right his works have been in show with the likes of Tracy’s Emmin.
Dans paintings are still life paintings although he sees the items he paints as abstract representation of people from scenes in books he has read and been inspired by. In fact the organges he paints represent people’s severed heads. He says he is strangly interested in the weight of a severed head and how that would feel to hold.....not quite sure how I feel about that one? We all have our weird thoughts at time’s. It’s strange how all our minds ponder on such weird and random senarios. Dan is also interested in stains and marks left behind. I have a love for traces and marks there is something so beautiful in the organicform they leave behind they hint at a memory of something that once was.
It was wonderful seeing how for one exhibition Dan moved from painting to actually showing one of his still lives as an instillation piece, its was left to rott throughout the exhibition. This really intrigued me as I can imagine after being a dedicated painter it must of been an unsettling step to take. He did say he particularly trusted the curator of the exhibition otherwise he would not of done it. I loved the fact it was show in the floor in the middle of the room allowing the viewer to walk round all side looking down on the scene just like we do when we read a page in a book.
Dan read from a book called ???? Cafe (I couldn’t hear the book title 🤦🏻♀️) the bit that stood out to me was a descriptions they were so wonderful one was ‘a blonde lady on crutches’ I found it funny that the writer felt her hair colour important but the reason for her being on crutches completely irrelevant.
I really enjoyed the Q&A Dan told us he used to create flower beds for galleries. As the flowers grew they spelt out words that then eventually became a blurr of colour. I though this sounded absolutely beautiful like words lost in time, living words that would bloom then decay. Dan seems interested in stains and marks, which is definitely something I find of great inspiration, this idea of a trace of something that once was. Unfortunately the galleries just didn’t seem to understand what Dan was trying to do. They wanted Dan to come along and sort the flower beds out because they no longer spelt out the words! Completely missing the point of the work. 🤦🏻♀️
In the end Dan said he turned down work until he stopped being asked, he would concentrate on what was not working for him as an artist so he could move forward. Dan said he struggles with the commercial art world. Dan decided to take charge and start showing artists work from artist that had not been acknowledged by the art world showing their work in warehouses and other underground venues breathing new life into each piece of art no matter how many times it show. Dan realise he keeps putting on the same show just in a slightly different way. I like how artwork can link unconsciously. I feel that’s something I tend to do myself.
Although I have to say I love visiting galleries so much, seeing artwork in the flesh is so important o me (strangely this is the exact thing Dan said) You can never really get the true feeling from a piece of art unless you see it yourself. I always find I want to virtually climb inside and see each piece of artwork from as many angles as possible........That being said as I mentioned the idea of putting my own work in a commercial setting I find unsettling. Rory said to me the other day, ‘galleries are just posh shops and maybe your unsettled feeling could mean it’s not were your art belongs?’ I do think that is an interesting thought. It will be fun to find out how and where we end up showing our work.
Dan said, we should use the commercial galleries when you need them, and to remember that its not the only way to show our work. I always though it maybe my lack of confidence in myself that made me feel unsettled but I’m starting to realise maybe it’s my lack of love for the elitist snobbery galleries can attract? I think its about remembering that none of this actually matters, because in the end it’s about showing your work. I have struggled with thinking of my work as a commodity too, to me my work is part of me, it’s my journey my story, it seems strange to add a price to it, it’s like it looses its meaning by becoming something to be sold and consumed. But hopefully during this course I will learn to let go of that. Rory has said you need to let go to make space for the next thing.
Dan believed that exhibitions don’t belong in galleries, as the gallery can kill the art work. This idea I found fascinating, the idea that the life of our work can be stamped out by the artists explanation or the stiffness of the works placement. Dan’s analogy about exhibitions was absolutely brilliant!! He says he feels a exhibition should be like a jumble sale or a compost heap. He stated ‘exhibitions should be like a car crash with only a few survivors’ I loved these analogies, this idea of an art show makes exhibitions much more exciting to me as an artist and a viewer.
The explanation of my work is something I have always been drawn to, but is it a good thing? I get excited about what I’m making and constantly share it with everyone like a child with a new toy, but maybe this is something I need to look at moving forward. Although to me not talking is something I find really difficult, my default setting over sharing and over thinking.
I know as artist we can not control what people take from our work, we can only listen to what viewers see. We should take that on board and digest it as it can add to our work and it’s future meaning. Maybe we will realise our work has a subconscious meaning or sometimes it will carry no weight at all adds no value, but even then this can be interesting moving forward.
This idea of artwork being alive is something I have always found fascinating, even after art work has been created it continues to grow as it’s viewed. That’s why it is so important to me that my art work is seen even just online at first because if it’s not see it not only looses it meaning, but also it’s life.
I really appreciated Dans help with our exhibition his energy and passion is inspiring. His placement suggests for my art work really brought my work to life. To me as an artist it’s vital to consider placement, light and language especially between the works around it, as Rory says placement can change its meaning in the eyes of a viewer the work can be lost in that chaos that surrounds it.
(The images below are of my art installation from my first degree art show last month - Ceiling 2019)
(The image of the wire sculpture above are also from my first degree show. It’s a wire sculpture was my Failure Success piece - Faint Memory 2019)
But it seem to me that Dan likes the chaos and I think that adds value too. Our show was a smash hit. The energy was outstanding and everyone did so so well. I’m so proud of us!!
The feed back from other artists and visiting lecturers was just amazing. We couldn’t of been more proud. I felt honoured to have the valuable input of both Dan and Rory!!
Looking forward to our next show!! 🤘🤘🤘
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The Walking Dead “Scars” Discussion
Woah! Guys, this episode was heavy. I just want to get that off my chest before we begin. Now, I know that this is my first episode discussion post, so I wanted to make sure things are easy to follow. I’ve taken notes as I watched the episode, and I’ll be discussing those notes in the order they were taken. I’ll add a bit at the end with theories and other questions and thoughts that I had while watching the episode as well. I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to discuss with me your thoughts and opinions as well.
I really liked the music at the beginning of the episode. I think because of the music and the far away view of Michonne made it obvious that this was a flashback, and I like how TV shows can often do that.
Michonne found the gun. I know that she obviously needs closure, but I wondered if this was a confirmation that Rick is really gone for her. Obviously, she’ll keep looking until she finds definitive proof, but did this shatter her hope of finding him alive? I did notice that later on in the episode when she was talking with Judith, she said, “That’s not what Carl or your father gave their lives for.” I think in her heart, she’s lost faith that Rick is alive, but she knows she owes it to her kids to keep looking anyway.
Daryl said that he “followed this to the ocean and back”. Obviously we know that Rick is alive, but we don’t know anything about where he is, who was flying that airplane, or what they were even doing in this story in the first place. I can’t wait for the movies with Rick to come out but I think that this maybe indicates that Rick is somewhere far away. I’m thinking maybe upper midwest. I would kill to see the Zombie apocalypse in the Washington Forrest, seriously.
There was so much emotion when Michonne said that she wasn’t okay with being alone after Daryl said that he was. What a woman! At first I was sort of mad when Daryl just kind of walked away at that moment. Like dude, she’s heavily pregnant and mourning, all while raising a kid and leading an entire community in the zombie apocalypse, and still out there looking for her man. Don’t just leave her! But, I think her saying that she wasn’t okay with being alone reinforced his motivation: no matter how far he travels, no matter how bleak things look, he can’t give up looking because Michonne needs Rick back, his kids need him back, and he can’t waste another second. He has to keep looking.
When Jocelyn’s group showed up at Alexandria’s gates, the first thing I noticed was the kids. Michonne’s recognition and the shared history piqued my interest and distracted me from those kids, but then I started thinking... Those kids are obviously not Jocelyn’s kids. My initial thoughts (which I now know are wrong) was that this woman had saved these kids from a big bad and their parents died, and Michonne was welcoming them in only to have the survivors that might’ve gotten away come looking for Jocelyn and the kids. I think that might’ve been a better ending. Poor Michonne.
When Michonne and the group go to get the rest of the kids, I was immediately very aware that the “skinning” and “draining” instructions were bad news. I thought, “What else are they skinning and draining?” The next thing I noticed was that there were no adults, just kids. I think this is when I started getting suspicious of Jocelyn. At this point, I sort of felt like the kids were a part of something, but not the extent that they were.
I think Michonne’s talk with Lydia was really brilliant. I like how she passive-aggressively told Lydia exactly what she thought. She planted that little seed in Lydia’s mind so well. I wondered though, does Michonne really wish she could walk away or was this only about sending a message to Lydia?
I wonder if Lydia will leave. The way she turned away as Michonne left, the look on her face... I think she knew Michonne wasn’t just opening up to her. I think maybe she would have left if it wasn’t for Alpha admitting that if Lydia didn’t kill Henry, then Beta would kill them both just before Daryl rescued them. I wonder if she thinks that she can protect Henry from the Whisperers when they catch up to them or has she realized that her mother truly doesn’t care for her, even if she did come back for her?
When Judith and Daryl were on the docks, I love how they showed us that Judith can see right through him. He really is her “uncle Daryl” I like that she can be so open and transparent with him. It reminds me of her relationship with Negan, but rather than her learning from Daryl, I think Daryl is learning from her.
I love the closeness between Daryl and Michonne. It’s been apparent through the last several seasons that these people are family now. Maybe I’m the only one who feels this way, but I never knew how close Daryl and Michonne were. I think maybe the shared loss of Rick brought them together. I’ve never noticed it before, but they are both so much alike.
When Michonne tells Daryl, “She’s just a little kid. She gets to be one as long as I can help it.” OH MY GOSH. YESSSSS MAMA MICHONNE. However, each time I watched this episode, I made different connections. The first time, I thought this was to show the rift between Michonne and Judith; how could Michonne not see that Judith is so much more than just a kid, that she’s already beyond her years? But the second time I watched it, I felt as though this was to shadow the kids with Jocelyn. Yes, they’re just kids. But it is up to the adults to raise them how they choose to raise them. Some will sheild their children from this new world entirely, some (like Michonne) will only expose them to what they have too, but others can bring these children up to rule this new world, and that’s exactly what Jocelyn was trying to do. -Shudder- Can you imagine if children raised by Jocelyn grew into adults? That might be scarier than the walkers.
The manhole thing was so beautiful! I like how first of all, it zooms in on the manhole in present time, and again in the past. It’s obvious this was a foreshadowing technique, but I loved the fall scenery on the past shot of the manhole. We usually see them in hot, sticky summer. The browned leaves littering the ground, Michonne’s scarf... The fact that later on we’re in a school and a playground brings a sort of comfort, strangely, like first days of school when I was a kid. Seeing Michonne and Daryl so vulnerable on the swingset and keeping the growing minds of children in our thoughts, I think creating that reminiscent feeling is a stroke of genius for what’s to come.
My initial thoughts on the manhole was that Jocelyn had someone else outside of Alexandira and now that she was in and had earned their trust, she’d use that manhole to sneak the adults we weren’t aware of into Alexandria and cause some mayhem. Again, I think that might’ve been a better ending.
The dinner scene with Judith and Michonne was so perfectly timed. This whole episode, we’ve seen Judith thinking like the adult we all wish we could be: she understands things that she shouldn’t have to understand, she sees things through the eyes of both adult and child, and she’s still compassionate to everyone. But in this scene, we see her as a child. Refusing to eat her dinner, Michonne telling her what to do--it’s all so normal. I’ve had that exact conversation with my own stubborn daughter. Then she asks if she can go to her room, and she’s not there when Michonne checks on her. Haven’t we all been there, either as parents or the kid? I think that they were setting us up for the emotional blow that was coming. We’ve seen her as tough, strong, smart, and built for this world. But we need to see her vulnerabilities, to remember that she’s still just a child, so that when she’s been taken and she’s at risk, the wound is deeper.
Michonne went directly to Negan! Smart woman, even if it’s not something she was okay with. I think Negan probably understands Judith better than anyone. There is no hiding behind the eyes of youth when she talks to him, and there is no sugarcoating things from him. It’s total transparency. She can trust him to tell her what she wants to know, and she can trust him not to let her explore her world without feeling like she’s sneaking around to do it, even if that exploration is simply through his memories and the stories of his role in that world. And I think it works the same for Negan: Judith knows what he did, and she still doesn’t see him as a monster with less right to the world than the dead. I think if it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have made the long strides he has (and yes, I do think he’s better than he was). I think if there was any doubt about whether or not Negan truly cares for Judith (even if she’s the only one he cares for), it’s gone now. Yes, he does. He says he told her she was badass like her brother. He notes how smart she is. I think he not only cares about her, but he admires her too.
I also love that this scene shows how close Negan and Judith really are, without needing her in the scene. Also, parenting advice from Negan? Laughable, but surprisingly good.
Michonne’s pain when she’s with Daryl on the swings... It’s one of those things that really makes you care for a character. Also, Daryl says “wear a mask”. I bet that was done on purpose: a nod to the Whisperers, perhaps?
Alright, let’s talk about this branding business. I still don’t get it. I know they said brand their kill and kill their brand, but why brand in the first place? Also, OUCH! As if being branded wasn’t bad enough, they JUST DROPPED THE DIRTY SHIRT right back on top of the fresh burns! ACK! I just can’t, y’all. I just can’t.
Michonne is such a strong woman. We knew she was strong physically but this episode does a great job of showcasing how strong she is emotionally as well. She offered to take the kids in? Listen... I get their kids and all. I don’t know if I would say this before I had a child, because my heart would be like “but they’re kids, they need guidance” but now that I am a mother... Anyone that threatens my kid is CUT from my life forever. Slash my pregnant belly? In the apocalypse? Yeah, you’re going to die. Plain and simple.
I love, love, LOOOOVE the effect of never showing Michonne killing the kids, but cutting to the present and slashing through walkers the second we should’ve seen her slash through those kids. First of all, I think this makes it easier for me to stomach as a mom. Y’all remember when they put that baby in the grass for crying when the walkers were coming? I wanted to puke. I can handle a lot, but I don’t think I could watch her kill those kiddos, bad or not. They weren’t much bigger than my daughter and the thought... Ugh. Kills me. But I love the emotion this brought. It made it much more emotional, and I love the way it connected Michonne’s pain and fear in each situation. Whether your kid is too far out of sight or about to be murdered, that fear doesn’t change. I love how it connected those two situations and although one seemed much more dire than the other, it made them equal.
Then the way her voice cracked when she finally said “Judith” after killing all of those kids. Y’all, that BROKE me. Bring on the waterworks. Phenomenal acting by Danai Guiria. Fabulous!
Daaaaamn Judith! She can really hold her own fighting zombies, right? Also, has Michonne trained her with a sword? She did amazing with it, but given Michonne trying to keep her at least a little sheltered, let her be a kid as long as she can, I just can’t picture her training Judith to use a sword. I kind of just thought the gun would be her go-to weapon, just like ‘dear old dad’.
Okay so now on to some other stuff. WHY is Negan still locked up. Ugh! Negan is one of my favorite villains from the show, along with The Governor. I really wanted more Negan this season and with only two episodes left, I’m more than ready for him to come on out! I think maybe Negan may be the last ditch effort against the Whisperers. Like, “We really don’t want you out here with us, but we’re pretty much screwed so I guess we can let you out.” I think that would be a great way for Negan to prove himself. Which begs the question: will he prove himself? I think he has changed, for sure. I think if we were to put him in a society like Alexandria, give him a job to keep him busy, maybe not in power but working closely with those in power, he could really thrive as a decent human. But busting him out, giving him a weapon, letting him make that first kill in like seven years...? Not so sure that the change will stick. I’m on the fence on that one.
Besides, if the change did stick, would Michonne accept it? I love Michonne, and I really want to say that she would accept it. I think she’s closer to forgiveness or at least understanding now than she was at the start of this season... But I’m thinking it would take another major event (what I as a writer call a “tipping event”) to allow her to accept him into their world as a welcomed member of society. I’m thinking like him saving Judith’s life, or risking his own for her life. Something major. And even then, I think she would still not trust him. She’d watch him closely, his freedoms, while now being a real thing, would be restricted in some ways. I hope we get to see.
Wellllll damn. All this growth and healing in this episode, and then we wend it with the freaking Whisperers. Not cool.
#the walking dead#negan#twd negan#michonne#daryl dixon#scars#judith grimes#amc#twd season 9#the whisperers
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Unfathomable Love by Linda Diane Wattley
“Charge of an Angel”, the first of the “Love and Redemption Series”, continues as Leona Tillard, the survivor of an uncensored childhood love, begins her journey into the heart of “Unfathomable Love”.
When Leona graduated from high school, she joined the United States Army. It was then she learned there was plenty of love to go around; after all, the Army is one place men outnumbered the women. Her only dilemma was figuring out which love was the best love for her to embrace.
Hearing the words ‘I love you’ heals our souls. The ironic thing about it, very seldom do two people share the same meaning for love. This is usually fine until someone else’s meaning of love changes our lives forever.
In “Charge of an Angel”, Leona Tillard asked for your help as she survived her daily childhood nightmare. Today, she is asking you to help her to choose the right man to love forever. Do I love the soldiers or do I love my big brother’s best friend?
Sounds like an easy task, doesn’t it? Trust me, you too just might choose the wrong one. Let’s see if we can save Leona once again.
Order Unfathomable Love by Linda Diane Wattley
Link: http://a.co/42ISKnS
Top Customer Review Written by Cold Coffee
Unfathomable Love (Love and Redemption Series Book 2)
Those of us who read Linda’s book ‘Charge Of An Angel‘ have been waiting to read ‘Unfathomable Love’. Main character Leona Tillard is now a young adult and on a journey to wholeness in her life. How does love factor into this journey and where does God fit into her life?
Meet the people in Leona’s young adult life including some from her childhood. You will be privy to letters and a narrative that might bring up memories of your own. I quote not to spoil the story, but to enlighten you so you will want to read further.
“The next morning when I woke up everyone was gone. According to the note I found in the kitchen, they had gone to the grocery store. As I looked around at our home, my heart was heavy. The pain-free home I once visited had become a place of progressive doom. Dennis and I had brought misery to this house. They called it evil, I called it pure darkness. While I was looking in the refrigerator for something to drink, the home line phone rang. At first, I didn’t want to answer it. I felt like hiding myself for a while, but the phone kept ringing. Reluctantly, I answered it.”
Even the description of Leona’s “Grandma Tillard” might carry you back to your own childhood when a grandmother’s presence and warm embrace brought a sense of belonging, even when you didn’t know how lost you were.
Follow Leona as she graduates high school and joins the Army primarily as an escape. The green uniforms and rigid routines brought some level of isolation, but ultimately a new world emerged. This new world is filled with attractive, buff, single men with desires. The problem, how is she to find the right man and will he embrace love the same way she does?
When you read, allow Leona’s story to waken within your sub-conscious to things that might need a healing touch. Healing is a journey that takes a lifetime to achieve.
I, (Theodocia McLean) endorse ‘Unfathomable Love’ (Love and Redemption Series Book 2). I encourage you to read ‘Charge Of An Angel’ (Love and Redemption Series-Part 1) by Linda Diane Wattley.
Excerpt: Unfathomable Love by Linda Diane Wattley
“Lord God, so much love, help me choose!”
While lying in bed I wondered about the God who created this world. What did this God expect for us to do with our lives after being damaged by the adults around us? I wasn’t the only one hurt by Bruce. Mark and Dennis had suffered also only they both fled to avoid the pain, but I was still there. Trapped during the horrible wake of what Bruce created.
What did this God expect me to do? Run away, too? All of this just when I was finally getting a chance to know my mother and real father, why?
As much as I hated it, I felt myself becoming angry with God.
“Leona, Mark wants to talk to you, hurry up he has a class to get to soon!” yelled Mom.
“Here I come,” I yelled down the hall, jumping out of bed.
“Mark, what’s up? You’re still coming home, aren’t you?” I asked when I took the phone from Mom.
“Calm down, sis. I’ll be there.”
“You better,” I laughed. “So, what’s up?”
“I can sense something is wrong, Leona. What’s going on with you?”
My face grew hot. “What are you talking about Mark? I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. I know what’s going on.”
I didn’t want to say anything, but he was starting to freak me out.
“Mark, knock it off. What are you talking about?”
He let out a sigh. “I don’t want you to be angry with God,” he finally said.
My mouth fell open with shock. “How did you know? I didn’t tell anybody.”
“You told God. Now just listen to me for a minute. One day you will understand. When we entered this world, we entered a pre-existing twilight zone. Duality rules here. If you don’t remember anything else, remember this; God is our true Father, and this is all that really matters.”
“Now you sound like the Mark I know and love,” I said with a smile on my face.
“You should feel stronger. In fact, our whole family should feel stronger. This is what happens when a link is empowered with truth.”
“Is it because we’re connected?” I asked.
“Exactly, we make each other weak or strong whether we know it or not. God is with us all the time. We can’t be disconnected from Him. Whether we acknowledge Him or not, God owns us.”
“So, you’re saying no matter what happens to us, our connection with God keeps us heading right into His plan for our lives?”
“Exactly, wow we feel and think about our lives doesn’t matter. God sees His plan and He doesn’t deviate from it for anybody. To God, everything is on course. Girl, you got me running my mouth. Let me get off this phone. I’ll see you soon.”
“Love you, Mark!”
While lying in bed I wondered about the God who created this world. What did this God expect for us to do with our lives after being damaged by the adults around us? I wasn’t the only one hurt by Bruce. Mark and Dennis had suffered also only they both fled to avoid the pain, but I was still there. Trapped during the horrible wake of what Bruce created.
What did this God expect me to do? Run away, too? All of this just when I was finally getting a chance to know my mother and real father, why?
As much as I hated it, I felt myself becoming angry with God.
“Leona, Mark wants to talk to you, hurry up he has a class to get to soon!” yelled Mom.
“Here I come,” I yelled down the hall, jumping out of bed.
“Mark, what’s up? You’re still coming home, aren’t you?” I asked when I took the phone from Mom.
“Calm down, sis. I’ll be there.”
“You better,” I laughed. “So, what’s up?”
“I can sense something is wrong, Leona. What’s going on with you?”
My face grew hot. “What are you talking about Mark? I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. I know what’s going on.”
I didn’t want to say anything, but he was starting to freak me out.
“Mark, knock it off. What are you talking about?”
He let out a sigh. “I don’t want you to be angry with God,” he finally said.
My mouth fell open with shock. “How did you know? I didn’t tell anybody.”
“You told God. Now just listen to me for a minute. One day you will understand. When we entered this world, we entered a pre-existing twilight zone. Duality rules here. If you don’t remember anything else, remember this; God is our true Father, and this is all that really matters.”
“Now you sound like the Mark I know and love,” I said with a smile on my face.
“You should feel stronger. In fact, our whole family should feel stronger. This is what happens when a link is empowered with truth.”
“Is it because we’re connected?” I asked.
“Exactly, we make each other weak or strong whether we know it or not. God is with us all the time. We can’t be disconnected from Him. Whether we acknowledge Him or not, God owns us.”
“So, you’re saying no matter what happens to us, our connection with God keeps us heading right into His plan for our lives?”
“Exactly, wow we feel and think about our lives doesn’t matter. God sees His plan and He doesn’t deviate from it for anybody. To God, everything is on course. Girl, you got me running my mouth. Let me get off this phone. I’ll see you soon.”
“Love you, Mark!”
( Continued… )
© 2017 All rights reserved. Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Linda Diane Wattley. Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.
Book purchase website:
https://www.amazon.com/Unfathomable-After-Publishing-Presents-Redemption-ebook/dp/B0754882S1
About the Author
Linda Diane Wattley is a proud veteran of the United States Army. Born in Akron, Ohio attended the University of Akron majoring in Psychology. Over twelve years, a religious/philosophical columnist for the Frost Illustrated Newspaper in Fort Wayne, Indiana.
In 2016, she addressed PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder by writing, “Soldier with a Backpack, Living and Dying Simultaneously” which made her a nominee for the ‘Best in Nonfiction’ during the African American Literary Awards Show.
Currently, she shares her “Love and Redemption Series” a dramatically written series promising to get victims to healing.
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: https://twitter.com/universalove
Website: http://www.lindadianewattley.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lindawattley
Like Linda: https://www.facebook.com/linda.wattley
Follow Linda: https://www.facebook.com/Lindadianewattley
Unfathomable Love by Linda Diane Wattley Unfathomable Love by Linda Diane Wattley "Charge of an Angel", the first of the "Love and Redemption Series", continues as Leona Tillard, the survivor of an uncensored childhood love, begins her journey into the heart of "Unfathomable Love".
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What I Know about Dramaturgy: Sonia Gardes @ Village Storytelling Festival
Sonia Gardes presents
What I Know About What My Grandfather Didn't Know
a brand new commission created especially for the Village Storytelling Festival.
When political disagreements with her whole family became the centre of her life, Sònia started wondering about that mysterious figure in the story of the family who had gone on exile 80 years ago and who nobody talks about.
What was the inspiration for this performance?
There were some artistic inspirations and some practical facts which all of them together eventually took me to develop this performance.
Firstly, the performance "Ragazzo", by Lali Álvarez and Oriol Pla was a very deep inspirational experience on how to approach political stories about police brutality and those who daily fight back from a point of view which helps any kind of audience empathise and connect with the issue and those who support it.
Secondly, tired of my accent to be an issue, I was really looking forward to develop a performance where it would not only not be a problem, but actually an artistic plus to the story. I don't think it is necessary to have a story happening in Spain for this to happen, though.
While these two more artistic facts influenced what my next project could be like, there was the personal need to research about my Great-Grandfather, as it is explained in the performance. Even though Franco died more than forty years ago, and the Spanish Civil War happened eighty years ago, the law for historical memory is just ten years old, and my generation is being the first or second one feeling still close enough to need answers and emotionally far enough to find them.
The performance includes many other contemporary topics such as how do we as a society welcome refugees, and which are the long term consequences of not doing so.
Is performance still a good space for the public discussion of ideas?
Yes, definitely. Not the only one, but it is a really good one. Performance doesn't present only an idea or a story, it can present the emotion that makes that idea happen and it can awaken it in people who haven't felt it. The experiential potential of performance is a very powerful tool for that.
It helps creating bonds based on empathy, and in a world where discussions many times become about proving one's right, it offers a comfortable space to sit down, listen and experience, without anyone judging how you feel about it. After this emotional experience, opening a discussion can have such a different result.
How did you become interested in making performance?
Performance has been in my life from a very young age. As a child, my mum would take my brother and me constantly to see children's theatre, and the three of us loved watching puppets. We also had loads of puppets at home to play with.
As I grew up, I loved going to the theatre and how it would touch me. However, I never wanted to perform. Looking back now, I'm pretty sure that gender restrictions from growing up in a small town where being a visible woman was not well seen had a lot to do with that.
What I did instead was being interested in anything in theatre which would be the invisible work. I studied make-up and hairstyle for theatre, and also costume design and making. In Fine Arts I specialised in sculpture for theatre and giant puppets.
And in my first professional years in Barcelona I was finding work successfully.
It wasn't until I came to Scotland and lost my safe network that I started considering creating my own work. I had been very active politically, and I had been working with children as well for a long time, so I became interested in developing those ideas and values for children's performance.
After that, I started becoming more interested in developing adult work, and that's when the project "What I know about what my Grandfather didn't know" started.
Is there any particular approach to the making of the show?
The performance is a commission for the Village Storytelling Festival, and therefore it is designed as a storytelling performance. However, my background as a visual artist and performance designer always ends up appearing.
Since there are so many images that are important to the story I started developing the introduction of life-streamed projections and collage. Gavin Glover has helped me in the process. He's an amazing creative person, and it has been a really inspiring experience.
Does the show fit with your usual productions?
It does in terms of topic. It fits with the values and topics that have appeared previously. However, it is the first time I do it for adults, so there is a big jump in the way I have approached certain aspects of it. The rhythm is very different as well.
I have also explored very new ways of developing visual arts and visual communication. So I would say it is very new exciting work to me.
What do you hope that the audience will experience?
I want the audience to connect with the personal experience of a refugee and the impact this choice of survival has in others, specially relatives. I would like them to become more interested in their own past and the importance of historical memory through listening to my discoveries.
And of course the importance of being the ones writing our own history through listening to our survivors, because if we trust those who are writing history we might get a very perverse and confusing point of view. Ultimately, the performance is a shout for hope, which we so much need at the moment.
What strategies did you consider towards shaping this audience experience?
The introduction of silence to the story has been a key element for that. Communicating through images and giving some time to the audience to connect with their feelings and not only with the verbal information they are being given is a key aspect of it. Collage plays a big role doing it. When doing collage, we are building a fantasy, through merging realities.
And fantasies tell us so much about fears, hopes and frustrations. Music also plays an important role creating atmospheres and time for the audience to connect to what they have been experiencing.
Considering the audience socially and culturally was another important thing to do. Scotland and Catalonia are territories with many similarities, yet still different territories with different stories and experiences. It has been very interesting to think of a story which has so much of the common cultural knowledge in the history from where I was born adapted to somewhere which has its own history and doesn't necessarily know mine.
from the vileblog http://ift.tt/2t6xT8s
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