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Why I don’t think Michael will side with Chuck in the End

I know there’s theories floating around that Michael may have been deceiving the Winchesters in 15x08. Its true we have no idea what his agenda is or if he’s that interested in playing nice with TFW. They did trap him in Hell with their half brother for a long time so he’s not exactly warm & fuzzy about that. However this isn’t the psychotic, sinister version of Michael from the alternate universe nor is he the same steel cold obedient soldier back in 5x22. He’s changed massively. There’s more humanity in him now than he’d like to admit. In spite of what we’ve seen from Michael in the past, I don’t think he’s interested in harming Sam and Dean, at least not currently. And I just can’t see him running to Chuck, not after receiving all that alarming information. So I'm going to present the following reasons for why he probably won’t turn on the boys. Number 1 being the most important. Adam Milligan.

For however it happened the archangel bonded with a human. The formally resurrected 19 yr old illegitimate son of John Winchester. All those years spent in the cage these two managed to forge an understanding between one another; an unusual strong connection. They're friends and allies. Michael listens to and respects Adam’s opinions even if he doesn’t always agree. Allows him freedom to control his own body. And despite being the ruthless warrior that he still is, Michael’s been shown to be much more merciful, patient and compassionate compared to when the boys last faced him. Because of his relationship with Adam, Michael’s developed a newfound appreciation for humanity similar to his aunt Amara aka the Darkness. He truly cares about Adam and protects him. Like at the diner when he smote Lilith for posing a threat. Then instead of killing the witnesses in front of Adam, Michael chooses to spare their lives by erasing their memories. He even defended Adam to the Winchesters further demonstrating that he does consider his feelings. That’s beyond the person he was when he told Dean “Adam isn’t home right now” all those years ago.

So I have no doubt Michael will do what ever means necessary to keep Adam safe from Chuck, who is hell bent on destroying the world which Adam is part of. Even if that means siding with some old enemies to take him down so be it. As the old saying goes “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”. Of course that doesn’t mean Adam shares any love for Sam and Dean. Hell no. He made that pretty clear at the diner. He has every reason and right to hate them after ten years of failure to save him from Hell. Every reason to make them suffer. Adam deserves to be pissed at the Winchesters and the world for doing him dirty like that. But...for better or worse, Sam and Dean are still his brothers. Its for that reason and that reason alone that I don’t see Michael threatening to go after them later. He knows Adam wouldn’t want that unless (he really is a scheming crazy person deep inside) Michael’s friendship with him is just smoke & mirrors which I don’t believe for one second. 

And Adam’s been presented as being a very forgiving, kind soul despite all the pain he’s been through. Revenge wasn’t even on his mind the moment he got out of that cage. It was human food on top of wanting to go back to school or get a job. Meaning he cared more about getting back to some sense of normalcy. Then when Castiel and the Winchesters pulled him and Michael into their crisis, Adam was willing to hear their side and attempted to convince Michael to help them. Why go through that whole charade if Adam just wanted Sam and Dean hurt or dead? They had every opportunity to double-cross TFW while being held captive but instead Michael & Adam chose to put aside their grievances, at least for the moment, and give the Winchesters something useful. Now whether or not the spell actually works (I doubt it’ll be that simple) is the mystery. However this definitely not the last time we’ll see these two characters which brings me to point number 2. Jack Kline.

This is a big one. Why you ask? Well lets go over that scene in 15x08 where Castiel shares his memories with Michael and Adam. There was so much foreshadowing in this moment (from Michael/Adam’s return down the road, to Michael’s unavoidable confrontation with Chuck and finally his eventual encounter with the young Nephilim himself) based on how that scene was shot and edited. The primary objective was Michael watching Jack die at the snap of Chuck’s fingers and reacting to it along with all the other nasty business his dad’s been doing behind the scenes. Talking didn’t seem to be enough to get through to Michael and neither did antagonizing him. His stubbornness and arrogance wasn’t surprising being he is the Prince of Heaven and has a blind idealized devotion for his father as his loyal son. So in order to open Michael’s eyes and get him to see the truth, Castiel focuses his energy on the most ruthless, evil act Chuck has ever committed. Murdering his grandson and Michael’s nephew. 

Doing this Castiel shatters that righteous image Michael has had of his father forever because Chuck/God (father of all creation) is suppose to be the embodiment of light, love, hope, peace and benevolence. He created Michael to be his champion of humanity; the guardian protector of Heaven and Earth. Its Michael’s sworn destiny to defend good against evil. And Chuck crossed the line, several in fact. He represents everything Michael was born to oppose. Trying to mess with free will, attempting to destroy everything he created all out of spite because the Winchesters refused to play his games anymore. But above every horrible thing he’s ever done there’s no sin greater than taking the life of his own flesh and blood. A child born of a human (God’s greatest creation) and an archangel (Michael’s younger brother Lucifer whom, despite their conflict, he loved immensely). That is unforgivable. No matter how much he may still love him, Michael has absolutely no reason to trust his father; not after all those centuries of deception. And Chuck has shown he has no regard for human life let alone the lives of his own family which Jack’s death all represents. 

Now Michael chose to leave at the end of 15x08 after giving our heroes the spell to trap Chuck and showing them the door to Purgatory. But what’s interesting about that is his reference to the Darkness. It’s unclear if Michael even knows Amara has been released and neither Dean or Castiel ever mention it. I wonder if he can sense her energy. So the question is where is Michael going? Is he planning to seek her out or leaving to confront his father (which I doubt since Chuck is preoccupied with Sam and Eileen at the moment)? What we do know is Michael and Adam can’t avoid the inevitable. They’re as much apart of this fight as TFW whether they like it or not. It all depends on which side Michael ultimately chooses. Will he align himself with the Winchesters or is he going to be on his own side? It’ll be interesting to find out when the show returns in 2020!  And I’ve been thinking a lot about what Michael’s interaction with Jack will look like when they’re finally reunited because if its anything like what we saw with Gabriel (or better) that could be a good sign for Sam, Dean and Castiel. 

 Out of all his paternal family members Jack’s so far met his biological dad (that didn’t go over so well), his grandfather (that didn’t go well either) and one of his archangel uncles. He’s yet to encounter his great aunt Amara the Darkness or his most powerful famous warrior uncle. The original Michael. Those are interactions I’d very much like to see happen before the show ends. But for arguments sake lets say Michael does consider turning on the Winchesters. Not that he would or might but what if he still has doubts. Jack could be TFW’s best chance at gaining Michael’s trust, cooperation and alliance. He could tell his uncle that Castiel and the Winchesters had been raising him as their own; protecting him since he was born. Things I’m sure Michael might appreciate. Or Jack could confide his biggest regret (accidently killing Mary Winchester) as a means to bond with Michael and help him understand the Winchester brothers a little better. Reminding Michael and Adam of redemption and forgiveness. That any pain the Winchesters might’ve caused them has no comparison to what Jack took from Sam and Dean and yet they’re still a family.

It’ll be fascinating to see how they go about the dynamic between these characters considering what happened with AU Michael in S13 and S14. Jack may be a little hesitant of his uncle at first and Michael may be hostile (since he probably knows Nephilim are forbidden) yet curious or a combination of both. Or maybe their first encounter may be a bit softer than expected what with Adam in the middle of things. Michael could become very taken with Jack and protective of him. He was very distraught after seeing those horrifying images of his father killing his nephew. And I could see Adam being their ice breaker (oh the comedic possibilities of this!) he’s a very laidback, likable chill dude not to mention Sam and Dean’s half brother. Yah that little detail is probably going to be the most shocking for Jack since Adam’s never been a blip on the Winchesters’ radar.

Moving onto point number 3. Heaven. It’s dying which is why Jack was manipulated into creating new angels to power it up. After all the damage done by Metatron, Lucifer and the Entity it’s left in ruin and without proper leadership. We know as of right now Michael has no intention of going back there. He’s severely withdrawn since learning his brothers are all deceased and probably feels like a failure and a fool. But none the less he’s got unfinished business back home. By the time Supernatural ends someone’s got to be left in charge of things up there, my moneys on either Amara or Michael since he’s the heir to the throne of Heaven. It would be a fitting ending for either of them. Maybe Michael will somehow restore Heaven’s power (with Amara and Jack) and reopen it for the all the earthbound souls. Or maybe in the aftermath of the final showdown against Chuck, Michael will just hang around with Adam and whoever else is left standing on Earth. And finally we reach my last point number 4. Amara.

What do we know about Michael’s complicated history with his aunt? Not much either than the fact that he and his brothers were ordered by Chuck to seal her away centuries ago; with no intention of ever releasing her. Something tells me Amara wouldn’t harbor any kind of affection for Michael, not after what we saw with Lucifer. And we have no idea if she still shares that same connection with Dean as she did in S11 (though rumor has it they got an upcoming storyline together in the back-half of S15) or if she’s even interested in lending a hand in the Winchesters’ business of saving the world. However Amara has been shown, like Michael, to have developed a love for humanity. She’s having the time of her life vacationing all over and taking advantage of her freedom. I don’t think she’d be too thrilled knowing her brother plans to destroy all he’s accomplished and he’s not exactly her favorite person to be around. She’s completely done with Chuck’s crap. He’s alienated her to the point where she wants to be as far from him as humanly possibly. 

And if she does still view Dean in a favorable light after what he’d done for her, that could be what persuades Amara into helping TFW. Michael would have to be an absolute moron to attempt an attack (if he decided to make them his enemies) if Sam and Dean manage to get the Darkness on their side. Its canon that she’s far more powerful than the archangels which is why it took all of them combined to lock her away. That said I don’t think Michael’s character is being set up as a villain. We already had AU Michael, been there done that. Nor do I see him and Amara at odds specifically because of their deteriorating ties to Chuck. Could their reunion be pretty heated and violent? Possibly. Its hard to say where they’ll stand with each other when they cross paths, there’s some bad blood between them for sure so they’ve got some family issues to sort through. But as of right now, what’s happening is bigger than both of them and their angst. Ironically Michael and Amara got more in common with each other than they realize. 

Both of them were abandoned, lied to and used by Chuck on top of being imprisoned for many years. And they actually care about the world they're currently inhabiting which Chuck wants to end. That’s got to be worth more to them than some old discrepancies in the past. Enough for them to want to put aside their differences and work together to stop Chuck. Imagine how awesome this storyline would be, former enemy family members coming together because of a common threat they’re all facing. Michael and Amara along side TFW, that’s a pretty badass team. I WANT THIS. I want to see Michael get to be a good guy. Become an ally and the honorable hero he was meant to be. Saving humanity whom he now cares about with his human best friend. We deserve to see this version of Michael come into fruition before the show ends. 

Anyway those are my thoughts on the Michael/Adam situation. I hope it comes true or most of it anyway. I know Supernatural is building up for a big finish. It would be nice if they didn’t waste two characters we haven't seen for ten years. I want to believe that they have plans for Michael and Adam that don’t include killing them off for shock value and/or villainizing them at the last second. They deserve better than that. 15x08 was a perfect example of how to utilize and develop these characters into the plot. They have so much potential and story left to tell. Lets hope the writers know what they’re doing.

CREATIVE CONVERSATIONS:

Who are you: Jules Hogan

What is your work: Design knitted garments and accessories

What is your:

Website: www.juleshogan.com

Twitter: juleshoganknit

Instagram: @juleshoganknitwear

Facebook: juleshoganknitwear

Describe your work in 5 words: Natural, simple, slow, crafted, timeless.

Can you tell us a little about your what you do? I’m a knitwear designer maker based in Berkshire, UK. My designs are inspired by the everyday, botanicals and patchwork crafts. The basis for the collection is simple shapes, natural materials and muted colours, designed to flatter and enhance the body and suitable for men and women. Time is spent selecting the perfect shades to flatter different skin tones. Many of the designs are knitted by myself, but helped by master knitters in Scotland, and have recently started working with a family-owned factory in Nottingham.

Can you tell us about your career journey and how you got to where you are today? I graduated in 1995 and the collection won the Graduate Fashion Week Knitwear Award, and the Winchester School of Art Colour award. Whilst studying at Winchester, I developed a love of colour and dyeing techniques. My first job was as a colourist for a design consultancy in London, where I produced colour samples for designers and high street stores, including Donna Karan, Calvin Klein and Sir Terence Conran. I’ve always been multi-faceted, so spent time producing print designs and embroideries during this time, and continued this once I had moved on, working freelance for a design studio. For my next appointment, I worked with Gary Rooney and we designed and produced knitted ideas for fashion houses and retail outlets. These designs were sold in Europe and the USA. A highlight was working with WGSN, a trend agency, because we were able to create inspirational textiles without restraint.

Where is your office/studio, and what is the view out of your window? My studio is at the end of the garden positioned under an old Oak tree. Looking out of the window, I can see a bird feeder (I love watching the Robins and Finches), my tiered vegetable patch, garden and the house.

What is the first thing you do when you get to work? The first thing I do is open the blind to let in natural light and turn on the radio, usually Radio 4, as I enjoy the hum of voices as I work and its always an education!

What are the tools of your trade? A knitting machine, yarn, machine tools, several pairs of scissors and snips, and a notebook, which I carry everywhere for those inspiring moments.

What can’t you work without? I’m very resourceful and can work with very little, but I can’t live without being able to create, having access to the outdoors and those moments of calm and relaxation.

Why do you love what you do? I love that being my own boss has given me freedom and I can work at my own pace. Since becoming self-employed, I have increased my social circle, meeting up with like-minded creatives and designing intuitively.

Who or what inspires you? The beauty of the everyday inspires me the most. It can be simple items we have in our homes, the hedgerows on my daily dog walks, lichen on a rooftop and even a tiny flower growing in the crack of a pavement.

What is the best advice you have received? The best advice I received was by a gentleman I met very early on in my career, David Shah, who said, “It’s important as a creative to be your own boss”. It took over 20 years, but I’m pleased to be at this stage now.

One moment in your career you will always remember? The moment I remember the most was getting the results for my degree. It was an emotional time with family illness, wanting to be at home, but knowing it was important to put in the work and finish the course. I was thrilled to receive a first class BA…you can imagine the relief and I broke down in tears.

What is the worst part of your job? The isolation of day-to-day working from home, but social media has helped an awful lot and being part of a network of creatives.

What’s your proudest career achievement? Seeing my textile designs on the catwalk and in shops, but also where I am now, running a creative business.

What are you working on at the moment? The right decision for all, but like many, it was very unsettling being in lockdown as plans were altered, shows cancelled and everything stopped. Once I had adjusted to our new way of life, I decided to use the time wisely and allowed myself to experiment (creative play), and try ideas that had been in my thoughts for a while. This has included working with woven fabrics, patchwork and darning. I’m really pleased with the results so far, and the designs are having a favourable response. Things have gone full circle and after a break I’m getting the dye pots out again, and introducing some botanical dyeing into the collection.

Can you share some favourite websites or instagram feeds?

Some of my favourites are:

@niki.at.the.cottage - One of the first people I followed on Instagram, a seasonal journal, gardening, books, and recipes.

@kathryn_davey - Natural dye textile study and tutor. I took part in one of Kathryn’s workshops last year and its helped me to fall in love with extracting dye from plant material.

@nakedclayceramics - Gorgeous ceramics in earthy tones. Beautiful glazes and subtle details.

@lobsterandswan - account for Jeska Hearne photographer. Jeska’s images have a narrative and you feel part of them. I am honoured to have bespoke items stocked in the online store (@thefuturekept) she shares with her partner Dean.

What advice would you give to someone wanting to do what you are doing? Learn as much as possible and continue learning - it keeps things fresh and exciting!

Do you have a secret ambition still to achieve? I hope to introduce some woven garments to sit with the knitted pieces.

What is your personal motto? ‘Nothing happens before its time’, is something my Mum always says. It’s important to have patience and if its meant to be, it will happen.

If you had an extra hour each day what would you do with it? If I had an extra hour I would like to think I would rest, but in reality know I would fill the time ‘doing’!

How would you like to be remembered? A maker of pieces that bring joy…thoughtful, honest and caring.

Thank you Jules for talking to The Lifestyle Editor.

Through The Looking Glass

A little something for my Family Business Supernatural RP Twitter family.

Don’t worry, gals - we’ll go on our hunting trip with the boys soon. First, gotta lay some groundwork... 

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

I think… I think I've actually figured it out. 

How to get to Dean's world. To Sam, and Cas, and Jack. 

And maybe even get them back here, too. But, one thing at a time. 

A mirror stood propped against the closet door in my spare bedroom. Standing in front of it, I wonder if I have the strength, and the courage to try. 

Maybe not - but I certainly have the will. This is something I've wanted since… well, a year ago, when I first discovered this universe existed.

And even more so after meeting them, talking to them - even if only through the "magic" of Twitter. 

Yeah, "magic" - because that doesn't exist in this world. I can't draw a sigil, light a concoction on fire, and mumble some Latin to make it happen.

It's going to require more… MUCH more.

 **********************

 @Redbanshee: Hey Dean… are you there?

@DWImpala67: Yeah… what's up? Are you ok?

@DWImpala67: I mean, you never DM me…

  @DWImpala67: Cee? You ok?

 @Redbanshee: Yeah, I'm here. Sorry, just… trying to figure out how to approach this…

@Redbanshee: Out with it, I guess. So, I've figured it out… I think.

@DWImpala67: Figured what out?

@Redbanshee: How to get there. To your world.

 @DWImpala67: Uh. That's not possible.

@DWImpala67: … is it?

@Redbanshee: It might be. I guess we'll find out. Where are you?

@DWImpala67: At the Bunker. Why?

@Redbanshee: And Sam? Cas? Jack?

@DWImpala67: Jack and Sam are. Cas is still not back from Heaven.

@Redbanshee: OK… ok. Just… head outside the Bunker, ok? By the door.

 @DWImpala67: … why?

 @Redbanshee: Because, for the first test, I don't want to try to breach the Bunker's defenses. I can visualize the outside well enough, and it's safer.

 @Redbanshee: Dean? Still there?

 @DWImpala67: Yeah, I'm still here.

@DWImpala67: I just don't know how you're going to do this…

@Redbanshee: Well, if it works, I'll explain how it happened.

@Redbanshee: No sense in talking about it if it doesn't work.

 @DWImpala67: Ok, I'm outside now.

 @Redbanshee: OK. Here goes nothing…

 ********************************

 I started to prepare myself, visualizing the outside of the Bunker, as I'd seen it a million times on the show. 

I checked my phone - Twitter was still up, the DM to Dean still active. Do I have everything? I'm going to a place where monsters - real-life monsters - exist. But I'm entering at a relatively safe place with that world's greatest Hunter waiting for me, outside a literal fortress. I should be ok, at least for this trial run. 

Then I thought of something…

"Alexa… what time is it in Kansas?"

"It's 7:54 pm"

 OK then.

I closed my eyes and focused hard on the image in my mind. I envisioned the position of the sun, how it would be dipping toward the horizon and heading into late twilight. I imagined the smell of the dust and brush outside the Bunker door, how the gravel and dirt would crunch under my feet… and walked toward the mirror. 

I walked into the mirror…

 … and miraculously, through it.

 ***********************************

 I felt a tingle, like the prickle of course hair, across my skin. The brush of the carpet turned into the crunch of dirt, and kicked up a dust cloud I could smell as I stumbled slightly at the change of footing. The air was cool and dry, and a light breeze brushed a lock of hair across my face. The light through my closed eyelids changed hue, going from the pale white of LED lights to a golden glow.

 My eyes were still closed when I felt two hands on my shoulders, stopping me in my tracks.

 "Holy crap… Cee… is that really you?" Dean's deep, gravelly voice, right in front of me.

 I opened my eyes to a flannel-covered chest an arm's length away. Blinking, I slowly looked up… and up, damn he was tall… and found myself staring into the face of…

Jensen Ackles.

 OK, a way more world-weary version, with a few more worry lines and a fresh cut at his temple from the vamp hunt he had just returned from. Eyes wide, the fading sun catching them and sparking them ivy green. Mouth slightly agape in surprise. But the resemblance was UNCANNY.

 "Wow. I guess Jensen really *was* born to play you…"

 The hands at my shoulders squeezed, hard, as if to test my solidity. I flinched, and convinced I wasn't a figment of his imagination, his hands lifted and hovered briefly before falling to his sides as he continued to stare, wordless.

 I was not yet convinced I was here. I reached up and poked him in the shoulder… HARD.

 He was solid, all right… and as he was not prepared for it, I actually managed to knock him a little off balance.

 "Holy shit.". Both of us, at the same time.

 The next thing I knew, my face was buried in his flannel shirt, his arms wrapped around me in a tight hug.

 I wrapped mine around his waist and might have even bounced a bit. "Ohmygod Dean!" I might have squealed a little. "It's… it's really you… YOU!"

We broke the hug and finally I saw it, live and in concert - that soft, sweet, beaming smile, his eyes crinkled in the corners.

 "C'mon… we gotta talk about this… how the hell… Sammy's gonna lose his shit!"

 He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and guided me into the Bunker.

 ***********************************

 The walk into the Bunker was surreal - the grunt from Dean as he hefted the heavy outer door open, the scrape of metal as it closed. The tap of shoes on metal as we climbed the spiral stairs down. The squeak of the inner door hinges as it opened, and again as it closed.

 The sight of the glowing map table, the ancient radio and electronic monitoring equipment. The hum in the air I felt more than heard.

 Sam Winchester, standing in the archway leading to the Library.

 Sam. Fucking. Winchester. Staring at me like I were a ghost.

 Like Dean, he was the spitting image of Jared Padalecki, the actor that portrayed him. But Jared's soft smile and puppy-dog eyes were gone, replaced by ones with a harder edge to them.

Not that I can blame either of them - I know the things they've seen, and fought, and endured.

Dean's hand at the small of my back urged me down the stairs, and Sam met us at the base. He grew taller, and taller… and taller, as I descended and by the time I reached the last step I was craning my neck back in order to meet his puzzled hazel eyes.

 I thrust my hand out, grinning like an idiot. "Hey, Sam, it's me… Celina, from Twitter…"

 Ignoring my outthrust hand, he gave a tentative squeeze of my arm, testing much like Dean had - then pulled me into his giant hug. I thought he was going to suffocate me for a minute as my head barely reached his ribcage, and discovered that, yes, breathing was still a required activity here which probably ruled out astral projection. I happily squeezed him right back, then broke the hug to catch my breath.

 He grabbed my shoulders, holding me out at arm's length. "But…h- how?" he stammered.

 Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder and led the way past the map table and into the Library.

 "That's next on the agenda."

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

 I was sitting at the table in the Library. THE. BUNKER. LIBRARY.

I swirled the glass of whiskey Dean had poured for me. Raised it to my nose and inhaled the heady aroma before taking a long pull. It burned my throat as I swallowed, and it was *delicious*.

 Confirmed, once again - all five senses present.

Sam sat at the table across from me, laptop open, fingers tapping against the keys. Dean sat on my right, his own glass already empty. He rose and walked to the trolley where the liquor was kept up to pour himself more, and after consideration, brought the entire bottle back to the table. Sitting back down, he tipped another finger's worth into my glass.

"Thanks." My gaze took in the room, noticed the quiet. "Where's Jack?" I asked to no one in particular.

 "In the Dean-Cave," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Watching 'Star Wars' for the umpteen millionth time." 

"Oh cool! Can I go see him?" I started to rise from the chair.

 "Not so fast," Sam said curtly from behind the laptop, and Dean reached for my arm, pulling me gently back to my seat.

 I got it. Like good dads, they wanted to vet the relative stranger who miraculously appeared on their doorway before exposing him to me. I totally agreed  - especially since I was still unclear how this all worked, and wouldn't have the slightest idea how to explain it to him how I got here, anyway.

 I also knew his first question would be if I were there to take him to Disneyland as we had talked about - another thing I didn't have an answer for - yet.

 Sam looked up from the keyboard and switched to full interrogator mode. "Ok, so… HOW did this happen? How are you here?" He gestured toward the laptop. "There's nothing in the lore about traveling between universes that doesn't require a powerful witch and archangel grace."

 I took another swig of the whiskey to gather my thoughts. How to explain this?

"I walked through a mirror," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

 "You walked… what? Like 'Alice in Wonderland' or something?" Dean asked, skeptical.

 "Yeah, I know what it sounds like… but that's what I did. " I turned to Dean. "What did it look like… when I came through?"

 His eyes unfocused, recalling. "There was… a… shimmer, sorta like, I dunno, light… bending around something." He scowled, uncertain.

"That's… impossible." Sam declared. "Something like that would *have* to require some form of spell - and we know for a fact that doesn't work in your world."

 I nodded in agreement - I knew they had already experienced that lack when Balthazar had thrown them into my world several years ago.

 "That doesn't mean there isn't… power there, for lack of a better term." I paused, trying to find the words. "It's belief… believing in something *so strongly*, that it comes into being."

"Tulpa." Dean and Sam said simultaneously. A grin flashed across my face, hearing the fandom squeal in my head: "I love it when they talk in unison!"

 I shook my head. "Can't be. A Tulpa is a real thing… creature?... here, but not where I'm from. This was *literally* the power of… positive thinking."

 I thought of all the self-help gurus making millions off this idea - "The Secret", et al. Jesus, could they be right?

 I mean, I've tried visualizing winning the lottery for *years* to absolutely no avail. Of course, would help if I actually bought a ticket. The Lord helps those who help themselves, or something.

"So you're trying to tell me you just… WISHED your way here?" Dean demanded, incredulous. "Like… friggin' OZ? Clicked your heels and said 'There's no place like home'?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his expression - brows furrowed and lips downturned to a frown, as if outraged at the idea.

His scowl deepened at my laughter, but Sam snorted.

"Wow, Dean… that's two literary references in under 5 minutes. That's gotta be a record!"

 "Shut up!"

 Sam laughed again, turning back to me.

 "Walk us through what you did," he said patiently.

 So I did. I told them about visualizing the Bunker grounds and the door, focusing on it, and walking through the mirror… "Oh, and Twitter. I had a DM open to Dean when I did it." I shrugged. "I thought it might act as a sort of… I dunno, GPS?... to guide me here."

 "Well, that begs another question, " Sam mused. "How do you get back?"

 My brain stopped for a moment. I hadn't stopped to consider *that*. HAHA, oops. "Uh… I dunno?"

 Dean rose from his chair to glare down at me. "You… wished yourself here, without an exit plan?" he growled.  "A WORLD FULL OF MONSTERS, and Chuck breathing down our necks?"

 "Dean…" Sam interjected as I involuntarily backed away at his tone.

 Yeah, just as intimidating in person, if not more so.

 "I don't believe this!" Dean threw his arms up in exasperation.

 "I'm s-sure it's not that hard…" I stammered. "Maybe just, uh, kill the Twitter feed, or… just stop believing…"

 But that was going to be difficult. I have living, breathing, SHOUTING proof that it was ALL REAL, and all RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

 And it would be bad news bears if killing Twitter was the key - what if my battery died while I was here? Would I just pop out of existence, and back to my world?

Actually, that could come in handy if it were the case, and a pack of monsters were after me. But what if it happened and I didn't want to leave?

 What if I ended up in some… limbo somewhere?

 I was snapped out of my musing by Dean's hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see an apologetic look on his face.

 "Sorry, kiddo." he sighed. "I'm just worried about you. You're not safe here."

 That was the crux of the outburst, wasn't it? Dean's overwhelming need to keep everyone SAFE. I smiled wanly up at him.

 "Well, only way to find out is… to try it." I reached into my pocket for my phone… and realized with a jolt - of course I wouldn't have signal here. Verizon might exist in this universe, but I sure as hell didn't have an account with them. A check of the signal indicator confirmed my suspicions.

 I showed the phone to Sam before Dean snatched it out of my hand to look for himself. "Well, that's just great." He pinched his nose with his fingers.

 "Dean, we'll figure it out…" I said, reaching a hand to tug at his sleeve. "I.. I’m sorry. Please don't be mad… I didn't know how else… I had to try it to see if it would work!"

My eyes betrayed me, leaking several tears.

 Dean took a deep breath, and sighing it out, sat back down. "I know we will," he said, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. Seeing the tears, his face fell and he reached to wipe them away.

 "Hey, hey… none of that. It's gonna be ok, kiddo, I promise."

I had to laugh at that. "Kiddo, huh? I'm older than you, sonny."

 Dean smirked. "No way… and it doesn't matter because you're new here, so you're still a 'kiddo'."

 Sam matched Dean's smile, and reached over for my free hand. "Besides… it's really good to see you!"

 "It's… amazing to see you guys, too. You have no idea…" Dammit. My eyes were betraying me again.

 Sam released my hand and came around to the other side of the table. Leaned over to hug me, his chin on the top of my head, arms wrapped around my shoulders.

 Dean grabbed my recently freed hand and squeezed both, then pulled me up, Sam rising along with me. Dean pulled us both into his arms and I found myself squished between them.

I've had photo ops like this, with their doppelgangers. Those were awesome.

 This was SO MUCH BETTER.

Dean released us, and Sam let go as well. We were still standing there when Jack walked in.

 "I heard shouting… oh, hello!" He waved at me, a happy, if puzzled, smile on his face. "Who are you?"

 "Oh… hi Jack…" I said weakly, as Sam said "Jack! Uh… I thought you were watching 'Star Wars'?"

 Jack turned to Sam. "I was, but the movie ended and I was putting on the next one when I heard shouting, and I came to see what it was." He turned to Dean. "I thought it was Cas… is he home yet, Dean?" A worried frown creased his innocent face.

 "I'm sure he's fine, Jack," Dean said reassuringly. Jack smiled, of course believing him. "I'm sure you're right." He turned back to me, and his head cocked like a puppy, expectantly, awaiting an answer to his earlier question.

 No sense in putting it off… besides, he was just SO adorable and I unbelievingly happy to see him. "Hey Jack… you're not gonna believe this, but it's me… it's Celina. From Twitter."

 His head cocked the other way, expression puzzled. "But… how can that be?" He turned to Sam. "You said we couldn't go to where our Twitter friends were…"

 "We're still trying to figure that out, Jack…" Sam said calmly. "But it's real. It's really her."

 "It's really me, Jack." I walked slowly around the table, approaching him, my hand held out to him.

For the third time, I found myself poked and squeezed, before being squished.

"Is it true? Is it really YOU?" he asked excitedly. "Does this mean we can go to Disneyland!?" He was practically bouncing at this idea, and I couldn't help but laugh.

And I totally called it with the Disneyland thing.

"I dunno, Jack, we'll have to see. This was just an experiment and we're still working out the details," I smiled up at him, grabbing his hands and squeezing. "but I sure hope so. We would have SO MUCH FUN!"

Jack smiled winningly down at me, eyes bright. "We would. I hope we can go."

"We'll work on it, Jack, I promise," Sam said. "Why don't you go watch your movie so we can get back to work figuring this out?"

Jack looked at me forlornly. "Will you be here when the movie is over?"

"I don't know, sweetie," I said hesitantly, then smiled back up at him reassuringly. "But I promise I'll say goodbye before I go, if I can."

"Okay!" He gave me another hug. "It was so good to see you! Bye!" He turned away and headed back to the Cave.

I turned back around. Sam and Dean looked at me expectantly.

"So… what now?" Dean inquired, looking at me, then at Sam. Sam shrugged.

"Since I'm here…" I hesitated. Was it too much to ask? Too bold? I took a breath…

"Wanna tour?" Dean asked, beaming.

"HELL. YES!"

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

Dean led the way, Sam following. He took me to the armory, but refused to let me fire any weapons ("Later, kiddo." "Dean… I'm OLDER THAN YOU!" "Yeah, whatever…"), the infirmary, the gym ("Wow, you have a gym?" "Yeah…” "Surprised you actually found your way here, Dean…").

Then a short series of steps to the garage. Dean flipped on the lights… and there she was.

Dean's Baby, gleaming in the light of the overheads.

"Oh… wow." I breathed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dean beaming at her like a proud papa.

"Well, you gonna go say Hi, or what?" He gave me a gentle shove toward her.

I approached her slowly, reverently, like the holy artifact she was. The Most Important Object In The Universe. Grazed a hand over her fender, and reaching the driver's side door, leaned in the window.

The initials on the back window deck.

The army men in the ashtray.

I could imagine the Legos in the vent.

I reached in and brushed fingers over the front seat leather. I glanced up over the roof, to the two men standing in the Bunker doorway.

Dean leaning against one of the shelves, grinning at me like a fool.

Sam leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, eyes rolling. "You're worse than he is!"

Dean laughed and sauntered over to join me at the door, leaning in next to me. "Pretty awesome, right?" I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Gently moving me back, he opened the driver's side door with a flourish and a small bow, sweeping his hand toward the driver's seat.

"Go on, try it out." He faked a frown. "One time only deal."

Grinning like a kid in a candy store, I slid into the seat. Placed my hands on the steering wheel. I couldn’t reach the pedals, obviously.

I bit my lip to keep from crying, and glanced over at Dean. His smile was soft, holding out a hand to assist as I climbed out of the seat, and reached behind me to close the door. Still holding my hand, he led me to the trunk. Fishing the keys out of his pocket, he opened the trunk lid, the inside emblazoned with protective sigils, and raised the false floor, propping it up with the sawed-off shotgun.

I've seen the contents of this trunk hundreds of times, but nothing prepared me for the reality.

Burlap bag filled with salt. A flask marked with a cross - Holy water, of course. An ancient-looking urn full of what could only be holy oil. Several different varieties of religious artifacts. Machetes, and daggers made of several different metals and materials.

The grenade launcher.

"So, you guys almost done with the idol worship? I'm STARVING" Sam huffed from the doorway. Dean glanced at me and rolled his eyes. I snorted and Dean laughed as he lowered the false floor and closed the trunk lid.

He draped an arm over my shoulders. "Sam's right, we need some grub." My stomach took that moment to loudly grumble to accentuate his point. Dean laughed again. "Ok then. Any suggestions?"

"Any chance I could get one of your famous cheeseburgers?"

Dean grinned and gave me a squeeze. "Hell yeah! Let's go!"

We headed back to Sam and the door into the Bunker. Sam flipped off the lights and followed as Dean led us to the kitchen.

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

 While Dean made the burgers, Sam asked me what it was like, to live in a world without monsters? I explained to him that we still had monsters, but ours were harder to find since they looked just like us, and even harder to get rid of because of it.

 What about angels, or demons? Nope, none of them either - although every organized religion wants you to believe otherwise.

 "I'm really bummed I missed meeting *your* angel, though…" I said sadly. I was not about to admit the gigantic crush I had on him… or rather, the character as portrayed on the show depicting their lives.

 But… Sam and Dean were *exactly* as they seemed on the show… so one would have to assume Cas would be as well. I gulped, and figured it was probably a good thing he wasn't here so I didn't have the opportunity to make a COMPLETE fool of myself.

 Dean served the burgers, Sam grabbed the beer, and we sat around the table in the kitchen. The burgers were phenomenal, the beer cold, and the company was, in a word… AWESOME. I had to stop for a moment to take it all in - sitting in the kitchen of the Bunker, with Sam and Dean Winchester, eating burgers and drinking beer. It was all so surreal.

 Sam, noticing my glazed look, nudged me. "Hey, you ok?"

 I blinked and refocused, then smiled at him. "Yeah… yeah, I'm great." I waved a hand around the room. "It's just… this." I grabbed his hand, then reached across the table to take Dean's. "You… both of you. I can't believe I'm here…" I swallowed down a wave of emotion. "I can't believe it's real…"

 The hand holding Sam's started to tingle… then my arm, and the rest of my body. The smell of the kitchen and the burgers began to fade…

 "CEE!" I heard Dean's voice shout. "HEY! Hey…c'mon, come back!"

 I felt sharp pressure on my arm, and the room began to solidify again. Sam's hand squeezing my upper arm, Dean pulling on the other.

 "OK… ok, I'm back." I shook my head to clear it. I felt two sets of concerned eyes on me.

 Squeezing Dean's hand, I met Sam's concerned gaze. 

  "Well… I think I figured out how to get back…"

 ***********************

 "So let me get this straight," Sam stated, all business. "you felt yourself being pulled back when you began to question the reality of being here?"

 "Yeah… I guess? But I've tried repeating it, and haven't been able to." I sighed.

 "OK, so," Dean asked, "what do we do now?"

 I smirked at him. "Any more vamp nests nearby? Would love to go see if choppin' up some fang is as easy as it looks on TV."

 "NO." Dean growled. "HELL. NO." I threw my head back and laughed.

 Sam scowled. "Seriously… we have to figure out how to get you back home."

 I sighed. I knew he was right, and there were still so many unanswered questions.

For instance… was the passage of time different here?

 "Dean… what time is it?"

 Dean glanced at his watch. "Goin' on 11… why?"

 So I've been here three hours… what if that were three WEEKS back home… three MONTHS… YEARS…

I felt the panic growing… but it couldn't be that big of a time difference. I talked with these guys on Twitter practically *every day*, and there was no indication that time passed any differently here than there. If anything, it was only a matter of minutes, certainly less than an hour or two.

 "OK…" I breathed to calm down and focus. "Here's the deal..." I thought back to the tour we took of the Bunker. I didn't recall seeing any floor-length mirrors - this might present a problem. "Are there any mirrors… like, big ones? Floor-length?"

 "Yeah… in the gym." Sam answered.

 "Ah, right. So… I'm gonna go say goodbye to Jack like I promised. Then I'm gonna do the opposite of what I did to get here - stand in front of the mirror and visualize the room I came here from." Took a deep breath, let it out. "But I'm gonna have to do it alone, and it has to be quiet. I have to focus, and you guys being there will keep pulling me back."

 Sam nodded. "Sounds like a plan." He stood and offered me a hand up from the kitchen table, drawing me to my feet and leading me out of the kitchen to the Dean-Cave, with Dean taking up the rear.

 I peeked inside. "Return of the Jedi" was playing, Jack sprawled on the couch like your average teenager, fully engrossed in it. I grinned, thinking I should introduce him to the Star TREK movies next.

 "Hey, Jack…" I said loudly over the din of the battle on the screen. Jack lifted up to peer over the arm of the couch, saw me and waved, smiling happily. "Hi! Have you come to watch the movie with me?"

 "No, I'm sorry, Jack… I have to go. I came to say goodbye, like I promised."

 Jack fumbled for the TV remote to pause the movie, and came to give me a hug goodbye. He then stood back with a somber look on his face.

"Did you figure out how to get back home?"

 "I think so. I'm going to go try it now." Before he could ask, I offered, "And if it works, I'll start working on how to get you over to my world so we can take that trip to Disneyland, ok?"

 He beamed. "Okay! And we'll still talk on Twitter, right?"

 His smile was infectious, and I beamed back at him. "Of course! I'll talk to you tomorrow." He waved goodbye and went back to watching his movie. I turned and left, a smile still on my face, but it vanished when I looked at the boys.

 It was time to say goodbye.

 And I was suddenly so very tired. I stumbled, and Dean caught me as I fell.

 "You ok?" Hands on my shoulders, a worried frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

 "Yeah… just… really tired. I think there must be some sort of energy drain by being here as well." I took a deep breath, rolled my neck and shoulders to rouse myself.

"Ok… let's get you to the gym and get you home." Dean guided me down the hall, hand on my back in case I tried to fall again.

We reached the entrance to the gym, and I sighed. "OK guys, this is where you get off."

 Dean snorted, and Sam rolled his eyes. "Really, Dean? What are you, twelve?"

"Hey, she started it!" he choked, trying to hold back the laughter, and I couldn't help but laugh with him. What an idiot… and I loved him. I reached up on tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck to give him the biggest hug I could muster and a kiss on the cheek. He hugged back, hard, briefly lifting me off my feet before setting me back down.

Giving me a kiss on the forehead, he let me go.

"It was really awesome seein' you, Cee," he said, his voice rough, the green eyes bright. I smiled into them and patted him on the cheek.

 "We'll do it again soon, ok?"

 Then Sam spun me around to say his goodbyes. After a giant moose hug and a kiss to the top of my head, he leaned down to look me in the eyes.

"You focus in there, ok, and you get home safe," he said, his voice cracking.

 "And you DM us the second you get back, you hear me?" Dean insisted.

 "I will. First thing." I grasped each of their hands for a final squeeze. "See you around, boys."

 I turned and walked into the gym. Turning, I take one last look at Sam and Dean Winchester, standing in the hallway. I blew them a kiss and closed the door.

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

 Silence. Not even the hum of the hidden electronics in the walls to break my concentration.

 I focused on the feel of the carpet under my feet, the hue of the LED lights in the bedroom… I *did* have the lights on, right? Yeah… the sound of the ceiling fan whirring.

 I closed my eyes and walked toward the mirror.

 I walked into the mirror…

 … and once again, through it.

 Again, my skin tingled, and I stumbled briefly as my feet left the rubberized floor of the gym and onto the low pile of carpet in my spare room.

 I opened my eyes. I was home.

 First thing I did was look at the clock - 9:23 PM. Converted to Kansas time - no time difference between here, and there. Good to know.

 My phone began to beep repeatedly, as messages stockpiled while I was out of signal range began to arrive. I ignored them and fired up Twitter, to do as I promised.

 To let the boys know I made it back.

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

 @Redbanshee: DEAN! SAM! I made it back!

 @DWImpala67: Oh thank G… UGH. We gotta come up with a new saying for that.

@DWImpala67: That's awesome! I'm so glad you're safe.

@ItsSam1983: That's great news, Celina. I'm so relieved!

@Redbanshee: That was… something, wasn't it?

@DWImpala67: Yeah it was something all right…

@DWImpala67: It was CRAZY. INSANE. DANGEROUS.

 @DWImpala67: …and it was awesome to see you, and now that we know it works and you can get back home, I hope you come to visit again soon.

@ItsSam1983: What my brother said. It was foolhardy, but also amazing, and awesome to see you in person.

@Redbanshee: I can't wait to do it again, I had THE BEST TIME. And I'll have sweet dreams about those burgers, Dean…

@Redbanshee: Speaking of dreams, I'm about to pass out here on the floor, so I'm gonna hit the hay. Can you tell Jack I'm ok, and I'll work on the Disneyland thing?

@ItsSam1983: You bet. Don't be a stranger.

@DWImpala67: Go get some sleep, kiddo.

 @Redbanshee: UGH WITH THE KIDDO THING.

@Redbanshee: … but I love you anyway. :)

@DWImpala67: … I know. :)

 @ItSam1983: Rest well, Celina.

@Redbanshee: Hey Sam… call me Cee. :)

@ItsSam1983: You got it… Cee :) 

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

 FIN

would you write a loki x supernatural one where they fell in love while the reader didnt have her memory bc of an accident and when she finally remembers she realizes shes a winchester and shes been through some shit and tells loki 'im not the person u fell in love with" since no-memory her is sweet and innocent and real her is not even though she cant deny her feelings for him. and one day a demon attacks the avengers tower and she has to tell them all the truth and capture the demon? thanks!!!

Hey,

So… Not a crossover expert. Not an expert at all, to be honest, so do not throw tomatoes please.

It is kinda long. And I have no idea what I did. I am sorry.

Name: Memories & Demons

“Maybe I should just keep it this way,” you offer to Loki, both of you sitting on a couch in his room in the Avengers base (he does not like the base, but ever since Thor has been spending here his every free second, Loki was forced to move here, so that one of the Avengers could always look after him). It is your regular memory training session - for the past few months, you have been trying to recall who you are and where you came from. Ever since you got into a terrible car crash and were found by Loki on his regular escape attempts, you have been unable to recall anything from your past. Sometimes you drew or wrote things that you have never seen before, but you could never bring them together into one image of what you are.

“Keep not knowing if I am calling you the right name? I mean, Sigyn is a very nice name, but don’t you want to know what is going on?” you nod slowly and lean back, resting your head on the back of the couch. Loki smiles and places his palm on your forehead. “Now, let’s do it. Relax and take a deep breath... Everything is fine, nothing bad will happen. Now try to recall the last thing you remember,” you think about how you opened your eyes, knowing nothing, and found Loki staring at you with genuine interest. “No, before that. Come on, love, you know you can,” you push your mind harder, through the black towel of amnesia. It would not work usually, but Loki’s magic aids you to pierce through the darkness, working as a blade to cut down the bushes that grew between you and your past. Those ‘bushes’ grew because of the head trauma that you suffered, but, thanks to Loki’s care, your health is fully recovered, and you can try to return your past.

“It’s pointless,” you inform him after a couple of minutes.

“It is never pointless. Keep trying,” you sign and return to your fairy tale forest. “Try a different technique,” you do that every time and fail every time, but you still try - sit down in the middle of the darkness and take a deep breath. “Now remember, you have the right to be here. It’s your memory.” 

“Right,” you really want to drop out, but Loki is right - you may be having a nice life now, but you don’t even know your name. Sigyn is indeed a very nice name, at least, it gets Thor to get quite happy every time he sees you next to Loki. But it is not yours. You let your thoughts turn to the idea of name until you realize something. “Y/N.”

“Y/N?”

“That’s my name,” Loki chuckles.

“That is a very good name. What do you do, Y/N?” it gets easier this time.

“I hunt… I hunt demons,” your job is important, you know that. Now you get why always feel that desire to carry salt around. And your drawings finally collide into one drawing - a demon trap. You were drawing triangles and hieroglyphs, you just never made it into one image.

“What else…”

“Dean.”

“Who is Dean?”

“He is… my brother. He taught me to hunt when Sammy ran away…” you open your eyes and fight yourself to not cry - your family history is not one of the most cheerful and happy things in your life. These few months were amazing, but it is about time you returned to your lonely being of a Winchester. Saving people. Hunting things. The damn family business.

“Y/N?” Loki smiles at you with gentle insecurity. “What is wrong, love?”

“You don’t really love me. Not the real me. You did not fall in love with me. You would never love the real me.”

“Y/N?”

“I am dangerous. It is in the blood, we do not have relationships, not us.”

“Us?”

“Winchesters. I am a Winchester,” you close your eyes and smile grimly. “And you are…”

“Still here. I am not leaving,” Loki tucks a curl behind your ear, and you shake from the overwhelming emotions. “Shhh.”

“That is so weird,” you blink quickly, your hand rising to check your belt where your knife usually rests. “Where is my knife?”

“The one you had when we first met?” you nod, and Loki snaps his fingers, making your knife appear on your lap. “I thought I better save it from Stark’s needy fingers.”

“Right,” you take the light blade and rest it in your palm. “That’s a good one,” you twist your hand, letting the blade swish through the air with a quiet sound. “It can cut through almost anything, Bobby gave it as a present, you know.”

“You know what?” Loki carefully covers your hand with his and looks you in the eye. “Let’s just settle down and see what we should do about all of that, alright?” you nod - you are way too confused to decide what to do with your life right now. As if there are two people inside of you - one is the innocent Sigyn that is in love with Loki and the team, and another is Y/N, the ruthless hunter that has to fight every desire to cuddle and have a regular life just to survive.

You have stopped spending so much time with Loki, opting for Hawkeye for gym workouts and Tony for hiding in the lab. You even started talking to Thor, just so that you can build better understanding of what and why happens with the multiverse. He is beyond helpful, except for the part where he still calls you Sigyn every time he starts talking about Loki. You are starting to realizing that there is something more behind that name, but you are too busy to deal with that right now.

“Did you ever notice how strange our job is?” you ask Tony one day, as you are sitting in his lab, playing with some electronic parts, while the genius is building another suit.

“Our job?”

“Well, we both protect people. But you fight people, and I… fight damn demons.”

“You should talk to Stephen Strange,” Tony chuckles. “He will have something to say about demons,” he stays quiet for some time, then looks at you. “Are you serious about demons?” you nod. “Black eyes? Strong desire to murder and take souls?” you nod again, and Tony shrugs his shoulders. “Is there a way to… recognize a demon?”

“Just say Christo,” you answer simply, not looking at Tony and missing how he shivers and looks away. “Or spray them with holy water, that will also burn them. Why the questions? I am sure no one here is possessed.”

“Oh, just making sure it is true, and the famous hunter Y/N is really back.”

“I am not that famous, Tony.”

“Maybe not compared to your brothers, but you for sure are causing some disturbance among the demon kingdom.”

“I really don’t think so… Wait, kingdom? I never told you that there is a king.”

“Well, there is definitely no president or democracy. That was the only option.”

“Right,” you shrug your shoulders and look at the ceiling. “Have you seen Loki?”

“No. Why?”

“Because I have no idea what he is doing, and that should worry you too, Tony.”

“What would he do?” you turn to Tony and frown. The heavy feeling rises in your chest, as Stark keeps reattaching same electrodes over and over again. 

“Should I go back to my old friends? I had a… well, a friend… Bobby. You know he greeted me every time we met?” you stand up next to Tony to see his eyes clearly. “He walked up to me, smiled and, a second before hugging me, literally screamed Christo!” Tony flinches, his eyes turning pitch black.

“That’s why Bobby Singer is no longer alive,” the demon gives you a long sly smile that makes you freeze. “You didn’t think we would let the infamous Y/N just go on and have a life, right?”

“How did you find me?”

“We were there to start the car accident, Y/N. Now let’s have some fun with your dear friends,” the demon snaps his fingers, knocking you out. You would have died (you should have), but you are suddenly grateful for Loki’s magic that protects you in every way possible. However, for now, you lose consciousness and fall on the floor, bashing your head against a corner of the table.

The next thing you see is Loki’s face in front of you, as he is helping you up.

“Everything alright?”

“Tony is a demon,” you cough out, and Loki sighs.

“I am glad you agree with me on that, but…”

“No, he is an actual demon. The one I hunt,” you slowly stand up and reach for the knife (that should have gone into the demon’s chest if you listened to your father) on your belt to only find emptiness. “Damn it.”

“You are an amazing hunter,” Loki murmurs, holding you close with one hand. “But I think you need some help.”

“We need… We need JARVIS,” you rub your forehead with one hand, then rest your forehead on Loki’s shoulder. “I mean, we can hunt him down and personally ask why he is being such a pain in the everything… Or we can turn on some exorcism on the entire base.”

“Did you hit your head too badly?” Loki sighs “If the demon is Tony, then no one has access to JARVIS.”

“JARVIS is an independent being, Loki,” you stand up straight, and he pulls away a little, giving you more freedom. “JARVIS, I need you to turn on the audio of track…” you look aside, trying to remember the exact name of the track you personally uploaded to JARVIS’ memory circuits the night you realized who you are. Right now not telling anyone about the track and the recorded exorcism sounds like a fantastic idea. “Track 476. Maximum volume all around the base.”

“Yes, ma’am,” within seconds, the track is turned on, and the entire base is filled with extremely loud Dean’s voice, chanting the exorcism. He gave this track to you as a birthday gift (and you had it as a ringtone for a long while), and you have never been more grateful because the words are still not clear in your mind (at least their order is not).

“That was smart,” Loki chuckles, as you see on one of the screens (used by SHIELD to not control the Avengers) how Tony’s demon makes some loud screechy noises of an unhappy bat and slowly leaves the genius’ body, leaving his on the floor - a bit confused but perfectly healthy.

“Yeah... But not giving you the rings and tattoos was very reckless of me,” you shake your head. It was your responsibility to hand every Avenger the anti-possession ring. Or make tattoo. Or at least draw it on their clothes. “I just almost got Tony killed... Hunters are not trained to exorcise. They are taught time and time again to kill the demons no matter what.”

“So you killed people?”

“Yeah,” your voice is quiet and hesitant.

“And that’s why you did not want to see me any more?” you nod, and Loki bursts into laughter, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against your temple. “Love, you are dating one of the mega-villains on this universe. I do not get to judge you for murder.”

“Yes, but...”

“I do not care how many people you killed while trying to save thousands others. Don’t be stupid,” you blush and look away. “As long as you are staying with me, I will even get that stupid tattoo.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“Yeah, I am sure it’s not,” Loki chuckles softly, as Steve literally breaks into the room, looking more worried that anyone else on the base - even Tony looks more focused and calm, as he crawls into the room and smiles at you.

“Lord, Captain, what happened to you?” Stark fixes his hoodie to look completely normal and raises his eyebrow. “Discovered the powers of a microwave and are so excited to share?”

“What the hell was that thing? Dark cloud of matter coming from Stark? I saw it on one of the screens in the main hall, what the hell was that?” Steve suddenly looks at you, and you recall (very painfully) that he was not told about demons. Or supernatural. And that right now you will have the questionable pleasure of introducing the poor 40′s man into the world of soul-selling.

“The hell part was right,” Loki chuckles and takes a couple of steps back, together with Stark. “We will just let you chat... Discuss...”

Tagged: @memyselfandmaddox,  @one-big-dreamer, @leleleish

Knight in Checkered Flannel (AU)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2503

Summary: Whilst out on a shopping trip, you bump into someone unexpected, someone you didn’t leave on good terms with.

A/N – This is my entry for @luci-in-trenchcoats  Michelle’s AU & Things Challenge using the prompt: Childhood Friends AU. This was also based on a dream that I had a while back so yeah. I may be sorry depending on how you feel.

Pushing along the shopping cart, your eyes skimmed the list of things you needed to buy. Walking up and down the aisles, you tossed in the items that were on there, the stuff that you and your roommate deemed a necessity.

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket. Singlehandedly, you pulled it out and answered the phone.

‘Sup Deels.’ You answered cheerfully as you checked the caller ID.

On the other end of the phone, Delia returned your greeting with her own, 'how long are you gonna be? I need food woman!’

'Delia! I’ve been gone for thirty five minutes. You could always, oh I don’t know, do your own shopping.’

Rolling your eyes, you stuffed the phone between your ear and your shoulder as she argued.

'Hey! I’m very busy if you must know.’

'No. No you are not busy. Getting ready for a sex date with your boyfriend is not busy. That’s just being crazy.’

You laughed as you walked along the next aisle, grabbing the bread and cautiously putting it in the cart.

Looking down at the list, you saw that milk was next on there.

'Y/N, it is not crazy and you know it. It’s just that I need to look hot so Randy can rip it off me.’

Ridiculous. You shouldn’t need to look god if it’s going to come off as soon as walks through the door. She tells you too much.

'You’re wearing your red lacey underwear set again aren’t you?’

With another roll of your eyes, an image of Delia standing in front of her full length mirror - in just her lingerie - clothes, both clean and dirty, scattered across the floor as she looked for the perfect outfit.

'Shut up.’ You caught her when you heard her stutter.

Walking around the corner, you saw a familiar face. It had been at least 15 years.

Dean Winchester.

A kid that was five years older than you. A kid that had turned into a friend ever since your birth. A childhood friend that you used to depend on. A childhood friend that you cared for. A childhood friend that you had come to love even before you knew what love was.

'Y/N? You’ve gone quiet, I expected a grilling. What’s happening?’

You heard the panic in her voice but completely disregarded the urgency for the moment. A panic of your own taking over.

You didn’t know how you felt. On one hand you were happy to see him after all these years but you hated him. The reason he had left leaving a hole in your heart.

He destroyed you and he didn’t even know not did he care.

Grabbing the fabric of your jacket, you pulled the hood over your head and turned away so he wouldn’t see you.

'Delia? Remember when I told you about that guy when I was young. All those years ago. He’s here! Dean’s here!’

Dean. Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester was one of the first people to hold you, other than your mother and father of course. Dean’s mother, Mary, had befriended your mom when they became neighbors a few years before you were born.

Mary was there through your mother’s birth just like your mom was there at the hospital with Mary when little Sammy was born a year before you.

When your mother was over for tea in the Winchester household, whilst she was pregnant, almost five year old Dean would get excited, sometimes squealing when he placed his hand on your mother’s growing, swollen belly and got a kick against it.

When you were born, Dean was deemed your protector, he felt a pull to you as soon as you were born. He’d been the one to make you smile, even when your parents couldn’t, it may have made your father a little jealous but five year old Dean didn’t know what it meant at the time. All he knew was that he wanted to keep that smile on your face because it made him feel good it made him want to be the reason why you were happy and giggling.

Dean had become your best friend, easily. Your parents had speculated that the two of you would become more than friends, they were so excited when you had both asked about each other when you had reached your home, just as you had come back from the others house. The perks of being next door neighbours, as all four of your parents would say.

Whilst John was working as a mechanic at the garage, Mary had been a stay at home mom with her two kids, getting Sam and Dean, and sometimes you when your mom was busy with work, to school.

‘Dean?’ you asked the nine year old, when you were four.

‘Yeah, Y/N/N?’

Dean had been sitting up your table, doing his homework with your mothers help and yours when you wanted to be helpful, not that you were much help though.

Biting at a hangnail, swinging your legs, you nervously asked him. ‘Are we going to be friends forever?’

You pouted, playing with a loose thread on your jeans – even though your mother had told you many times not to.

Dean had put his pen down, stopping his homework, your mom secretly listening in when she heard your quiet little voice, putting a stop to scrubbing the dishes. ‘Of course we are. I’ve got you and Sammy and our parents, I’m all good. Why would you say something like that? You know you can’t get rid of me that easily.’

‘Because Beth said that you’re going to leave me because I’m not a big girl like you’re a big boy.’ With a quivering lip, tears filled your eyes as you uttered your next words, ‘I’m not like big girl like Cassie. Beth said you’re going to go to Cassie and leave me behind. She says you look at her differently to when you look at me. She’s prettier and I’m not.’

Your mother’s heart had filled with dread, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she placed a had over her heart, her baby had been told that her older best friend was going to leave her.

No one could predict the future, the two of you could go your separate ways, but the fact that you were told and thinking about it made her heart break for you.

Dean forgot about completing his homework for now to comfort you, he immediately jumped off his stool and pulled your crying, shaking form into a hug.

‘Y/N/N, it’s okay. I’ll always be here. I live next door, we see each other every day and like I said I’m not going anywhere. Cassie is a friend but you’re my best friend.’

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your face buried in his neck as your body wracked with sobs. Dean calmed you as best as he could by rubbing a hand up and down your tiny back. Your mother had listened to every word that Dean had used to calm you, she vowed that she would talk to your father and let the both of them talk to you about Beth and what she had said.

That moment had brought the two of you together, even closer – if that were possible. Dean hung out with Cassie but he still made time for you, you loved that about him, he would be your guardian, your protector and he would look out for you when you needed him the most.

One night, five years later, Dean and your mom had picked you up and took you home, when you got there Dean house was on fire, surrounded by fire trucks and police cars. Dean’s father was being taken away, hands cuffed behind his back and the police officer reading John his rights.

The only thing that was going through Dean’s mind, other than why his father was being arrested, was where was his mother. He screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to get out of your mother’s iron grip on him.

‘Mom! Dad! Where are they taking him? Where’s my mom? Where is she?!’ Dean had wriggled and almost hit your mom in the ribs as he tried to get answers as to what was happening to his parents. ‘Let me go!’

Your mom had tried to calmly protest. ‘Dean, sweetie, you shouldn’t.’

‘I don’t care! I want my mom!’ Dean didn’t care that you had tried to comfort him.

He didn’t care that he had pushed your nine year old frame to the floor and pulled Cassie into him, leaving you a crying mess on the floor.

Dean’s father had been charged with the murder of his mother. Death by house fire, plastered on every newspaper. Before your mother and father volunteered to take him in, Cassie’s parents had took him into their arms and took him away. You were devastated. You had lost your best friend to Cassie, just like Beth had predicted all those years ago.

You were brought back to the here and now with a hand on your shoulder.

Tears were streaming down your face as you recalled the events you had lost not only your ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’ that you loved and adored like family but your best friend that had been there since your birth, gone after a house fire and going to live with the love of his live at fourteen, Cassie.

‘Excuse me, I know it’s none of my business but are you okay?’ Shit.

It was Dean, but damn he sounded good and it hurt that he had grown up without you and you without him.

‘Deels, I gotta go.’ You didn’t give her time to answer or stop you before you had ended the call and stuffed your phone back into your pocket.

Sniffling, you dried your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, although your red puffy eyes were a dead give away.

‘It’s… yeah, I’m fine. Just a little,’ you shook your head. ‘Nevermind.’

Dean had left his post at the yogurt pots, where you had spotted him first. His shopping basket was nearly filled to the brim with a few goodies like chili lime jerky and the ingredients for burgers.

‘You could use a shopping buddy.’  He declared, of course he didn’t see the inner turmoil you were going through as you tried not to sputter your tears everywhere. He wouldn’t appreciate that.

You told him that it was a kind offer but he didn’t have to comfort you when you were just overreacting. ‘You do have to be nice to me when I’m balling my eyes out. You barely even know me anymore.’ You mumbled the last sentence, not wanting him to know who you are.

‘That’s the time when you need a buddy most, sweetheart. Besides,’ He lifted his basket and waved his own list in the air. ‘I’ve still got a lot on my list and I think I need some help.’

‘That’s a great pick up line, you know that. How often does it work?’ Your eyebrow raised at him and it seemed that he was still able to lift your spirits even after all these years, even if he didn’t know that it was you.

‘Well, if you accept then this would be the first time. I don’t usually see pretty girls crying in the middle of the supermarket. I just want to be your knight in checkered flannel, is all but you can call me Dean.’ He pointed out, making you look down at your shoes.

‘Wow, at least buy me dinner first.’ You choked out a single laugh.

‘I got most of the ingredients, it wouldn’t be a surprise but it’ll do. If you were to say yes to my invitation that is...’ He drawled, and indication that he was waiting for you to tell him your name.

At this, you bit your lip. Should you tell him? He’d know that it was you but he would be pissed and hurt, just as much as you were that night.

You couldn’t let anyone feel that pain, not like you did.

‘Y/N, my name is Y/N, but wouldn’t your girlfriend be angry that you’re inviting another woman to your humble abode.’

Dean gave a laugh, ‘no, she wouldn’t because I don’t have one, unless you’re willing to change that.’ He winked. ‘But I used to have a friend called Y/N, back in the day, used to call her Y/N/N.’

‘Y/N/N’ You both answered at the same time. His voice cheery as he reminisced your times together but yours quite the contrast and you said it with a mellow, quiet tone.

Pivoting on the heel of your foot, you grabbed the milk within the same aisle and tried to move on to the next thing on your list but Dean had grabbed your elbow.

‘How did you know that? You’re- you- what?’ Dean’s hands had hesitantly reached out, scared that you would flinch away from him but when you didn’t, he cupped your face in his larger hands, tracing his thumbs over the apple of your cheeks. ‘You’re my Y/N, aren’t you?’

You nodded, feeling the tears prick at the back of your eyes again. ‘And you’re my Dean.’

Dean was shocked, you could at least tell that much by the way his eyes had bugged out of his head and his jaw has clenched before it slightly dropped. He didn’t know how to behave, fifteen years away from each other would do that to a person. A whole lot could change in one year, let alone fifteen. You and Dean were adults now and not the little kids that the other used to know.

Although, you did love him as much as you did back then but still feel the dagger in your heart and scrapes on your knees.

But as you said, things were different between the both of you. Before you had time to process anything else, Dean had dropped his basket on the floor, enveloping you in his arms, cupping the back of your head to his broader chest. Within the shock, you hadn’t moved, not yet anyway. All the feelings you used to have for him flooding back, you realised it had been too long and you needed him again. As unhealthy as that sounded but it was true.

It had been forever but you wrapped your arms around his back, your nails practically clawing at his shoulder blades, trying to get closer and closer to him.

Dean did everything he could calm you, just how he remembered but he wanted to distract you.

‘I still need a shopping buddy, and a housewarming guest, if you’re still interested, that is,’ he said, pulling back and wiggling his eyebrows at you.

‘House- did you say housewarming?’ This could only mean one thing, right?

He nodded enthusiastically, ‘yep, I did indeed. I just moved back here. I’m coming home, Y/N/N.’

Lemme know what you think… 

 @thorne93 @becaamm @jotink78 @love-kittykat21 @jensen-jarpad @hymnofthevalkyrie @capsheadquaters @kurosaki224-new-blog @supernatural-jackles @cyrilconnelly @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @iwantthedean @goody2shoessmut @ruprecht0420 @mrswhozeewhatsis @feelmyroarrrr @redlipstickandplaid @mogaruke @pureawesomeness001 @mizzezm @jpadjackles @jesspfly @urpeachess  @skybinx-blog @aubzylynn @deansbaekaz2y5  @plaidstiel-wormstache @lilasiannerd @thewayward-winchesters-blog  @valerieshubin @be-amaziing @akshi8278 @purplediamon @graceforme86 @its-my-perky-nipples  @dalikah3 @nervousmemzie  @mrsbatesmotel53 @lavieenlex @percussiongirl2017  @oneshoeshort @whit85-blog @muliermalefici  @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @moonlover19 @emoryhemsworth  @reallyverynodansi @milo-winchester-4ever @captainradicalpassion  @captainemwinchester @ilsawasanacrobat @alicat-life @cojootromuelle @essie1876 @dancingalone21 @dslocum89 @atc74 @superwhomerlockinuum @spnbaby-67  @anitalasirenita  @queencflair @misticty  @weasleywinchester-blog @ria132love @spn-fan-girl-173 @nightlyinsomnious @easelweasel @grace-for-sale @roxyspearing

Dreamscape, part 2

Link to Part 1: https://maximumsuckage.tumblr.com/post/167175722147/dreamscape 

Description: Sam, Dean, and Jack discuss the Norse death goddess Hela.  Across the country, a werewolf child turns up dead.

Word Count: 3125

A/n: I am so so so sorry if I ruin this by adding more, but tis the season of NaNoWriMo and this is the closest thing I've had to a plot in ages, so I don't care if it's fanfic and not original.  lemme know if anyone is interested enough to be tagged in updates, no worries if nah

  “So lemme get this straight.”  Dean wrapped his fingers around the coffee mug as he looked down at the book Sam had dropped in front of him.  “You have a dream about our old dead buddy the Trickster, only he’s a giant crazy monster, and he tells you some crap and sends you on a quest to find his freaky death goddess daughter to be the Jedi Master to your freaky angel padawan?”

Sam let out a slow breath.  “No, Dean.  I mean, yeah, but you’re ignoring the point here.  Jack isn’t the first archangel offspring.  It makes sense… we knew Gabe was Loki.  I just never realized he was Loki.  Like, the actual god.  He had a whole life outside of Heaven…”  He trailed off, looking down at the book, not for the first time wondering at how little they actually knew.  “And he wasn’t a giant crazy monster.  He was an archangel.  Without the vessel.”

Dean waved a dismissive hand and sipped his coffee.  “Whatever.  So monster Gabe wants you to find his freaky death goddess daughter.  And what, exactly?  We don’t exactly have a great record with pagan gods.”

“Yeah, but Dean, this could be an opportunity.”  This was pointless.  They were going in circles, still, like they had been for forty minutes already.  “I know that it’s a risk, but-”

“But nothing.”  Dean gestured with the mug of coffee.  “We’ve already dealt with Death himself.  We’re not getting the attention of one of his death god lackeys too.  Mr. Miyagi the kid yourself, fine.  But if we get her attention and she gets pissed…”

“Then we take her out too.”  Sam stood.  “We’ve taken out stronger things than-”

“Than an archangel Nephilim?  An archangel Nephilim who’s had thousands of years to hone her powers?”  Dean raised an eyebrow and sipped his coffee.  “Look, I get it.  The kid’s not all bad.  Might grow up to be a superhero.  Who knows?  But we do know that a goddess named Hell is not someone we want to tussle with.”

“Hel with one L, not two.”  Sam pointed.  “Or Hela, in this translation.”

“Hela then.”  Dean paused. “Wait, wasn’t that the bad guy in that new Thor movie?”

“Well-”

“That settles it.  No.  If she scares Thor, then I don’t want to deal with it.  Wherever she’s holed up, she can stay there.”  He downed the rest of his coffee, made a face at the dregs, and got up.  “Come on.  We’ve got a werewolf to catch.”  Without letting Sam have time for another word, he left the kitchen, heading back towards his own room. 

“I have a cousin?”

Sam jumped at the voice.  Jack definitely shared that little trait with Castiel.  He glanced at the direction Dean had vanished in, and sighed.  He had no idea how long Jack had been listening, and lying would only upset him.  “We’re not sure,” he decided on, sitting down and pushing the book towards him.  “I had a dream about Gabriel- your uncle- and he told me to look for this goddess, who, according to the lore, is his oldest daughter.”

Jack pulled the book closer and studied it, his eyebrows creased together.  “Gabriel,” he said slowly.  “He was in the Bible.  He told Elizabeth and Mary that they were pregnant.  He is good.”  He glanced up at Sam, worried.  “Right?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, he was good.”  Sam decided that they didn’t need to get into the semantics of good when it involved the Trickster.  He’d come over to their side in the end; right now, that was what mattered. 

“Was?”  Jack caught the past tense, head tilting in that painfully familiar way. 

“Lucifer killed him.”  He decided not to sugar-coat it, just ripping off the metaphorical Band-Aid.  “Gabriel was stalling so we could save people.  He knew he was going to be killed.”  He paused, figuring somebody didn’t go through the work of filming a pornographic suicide note if they didn’t know they were going to die.  “He loved your father to the end, I think.  He attacked Lucifer, but now that I think about it, I don’t think he could have killed him, even if he had the ability to.”

Jack looked back down at the book, considering the information, filing it away in what he knew of the world.  “But, he had children.  This goddess is my cousin.”  He touched the picture, running his finger down the sketch.  One side of her was a young lady, lovely if stern, while the other side was a garish image of rot and desiccation.  That didn’t seem to bother Jack, whose impression of the world was still fresh and new.   

It had, however, bothered Dean, who, when Sam had first set the book down, made a comment along the lines of, “this zombie freak your new girlfriend?”

“We don’t know that for sure yet,” Sam was quick to point out.  “Gabriel didn’t give me anymore information…”  Because he was too busy trying to bite my lips off, but Dean and Jack don’t need to know that and why the hell was he doing that anyways I’m not into him I’m straight straighter than Dean anyways like maybe we were friends at the end but only barely and… “and we don’t even know if she’s alive, or good or evil, or if she’s even his daughter.  Sometimes the lore gets mixed up over time, and things aren’t usually that accurate.”

Jack tilted his head.  “But it says here that she was.”

“Yeah, but that was written by humans.”  Sam settled in for a lecture on mythology, which could either go very smoothly or would throw Jack into a mental tailspin.  “A lot of the lore we have is based on old stories.  A long time ago, they were just told word of mouth.  Like… like I’m telling you right now.  And to keep people’s interests, storytellers would exaggerate.”

“Exaggerate.  A small lie.  To make it bigger than it really is.” 

Sam made a small agreeing gesture in his direction, not sure if Jack had read the dictionary or if Dean had covered that particular lesson.  Probably Dean, exaggerating away all the carbs he was drinking to hide the still-raw grief.  “So if every storyteller exaggerates the story a little bit, and then the inflated version gets written down…”

“It might be completely different from the truth?”  Jack looked up at Sam, hopeful, and Sam found himself smiling. 

“Yeah.  Exactly.”

Jack nodded and looked down at the picture again, considering it through this new lens.  “But Gabriel is my uncle.  That’s not exaggerated.  And he does know her, because he told you to find her in a dream.”  He looked up at Sam, hopeful.  “How hard would it be to find her?”

“Well, I don’t know, and Dean’s scared of her.  He doesn’t want us to find her and then it turn out that she’s the bad guy.”

“Why would my uncle be friends with a bad guy?”

Sam really did not want to get into the gray morals that seemed to permeate Gabriel’s pagan lifestyle, and thankfully, he was saved by Dean’s walking in.  “Case,” he said pointedly.  “Wolf clan.  New York.”  He looked over at the book, then pointed at the image.  “Bad guy,” he said to Jack, like that settled it.  “You guys ready to go?”

Jack nodded, hopping up, eager to please Dean.  “Yes.  I had my bag packed last night.  And I didn’t forget extra underwear and socks this time.”

Dean frowned.  “Extra?  You had extra last time.” 

Jack grinned, pleased.  “Yes, for myself.  But I packed for you both as well.  When you wear the same pair of socks every day, it gets-”

“We get it.”  Dean rolled his eyes and headed for the car. 

Sam, for lack of a better response, patted Jack on the shoulder.  “Thanks, bud.  What would we do without you?”

“Probably stink,” he said, dead serious, and followed Dean, a spring in his step at being useful to his guardians, like a puppy.  A wolf puppy, Sam reminded himself, one that was loyal, but could bite. 

A week previous

Fairpoint, New York, was a pleasant little tourist trap in the Adirondacks, somewhere beyond Old Forge.  A main road led visitors to a plethora of family owned motels and campgrounds, winding through little shops owned by kindly retired folk or kids in their twenties irritated at being forced to take over the family business.  A lake nearby allowed for swimming or sailing, though it was quiet now that the season was beginning to turn.  This time of year, the draw was the beautiful shades of red and yellow and gold that graced the ancient trees, and hiking trails winding through the surrounding mountains allowed tourists the opportunity ample opportunities to soak in the autumn aesthetic. 

The only issue was the werewolves.  Those townsfolk who had lived there for more than a generation knew about them- the clan out in the woods, who feasted on deer and moose and bear and avoided civilization like the plague.  That was the original purpose of the village, after all.  Keep the werewolves in the wilderness, away from the more human haunts.  For a long while, the wolves had been quiet, and only the occasional foray into town for medicine or booze by one of their runners told the old folk that they were still active. 

But that had all changed when a child turned up dead. 

He was not one of Fairpoint’s- he was branded by the mark of the wolves, a symbol like four claw marks slashing the shoulder, and he was thin and gaunt, buried in a shallow grave that was unearthed by the excessive rains.  It would have been ignored by the local cops, who, as a rule, kept only to Fairpoint business, except for the fact that it was a clear murder: his heart had been ripped from his chest cavity.  The organ was missing. 

It had to be a wolf, because no fox or coyote or bear would simply take the heart and run, and besides, attacks by wild predators were excessively rare, saved generally for foolhardy hunters (real hunters, with deer and stuff- they had no idea about Winchester-type hunters) who got between Mom-bear and cub.  The thinness was a problem as well- though many wild populations were thinning, white-tailed deer refused to stop breeding, and their population boom allowed not only food for ticks, but for the wolves as well.  Any children glimpsed traipsing through the woods were well-fed, bordering on chubby if not for all the running and playing they did, so a dead child whose ribs were clearly visible?

That was foul play, for sure. 

So, it was with a great deal of nerves that Sheriff Harry Baldwin found himself hiking through the woods, sweating despite the autumnal chill, cop car left behind at the deepest hunting cabin he could drive to.  His twelve-gauge was slung over his shoulder, heavy now that he had to hike with it, and shot shells clinked in the pockets of his jacket.  The gun was only for protection from bears though.  He didn’t fear the wolves.  His family had been there for ages, and he had the feeling there had been a bit of interbreeding- every time the full moon rolled around, he felt peckish for bloody burgers.  It was a craving he didn’t share with anybody, but a very real craving nonetheless, and he liked to imagine the wolf blood in him (even if it was imaginary) made him a better cop. 

There was a stitch in his side by the time he heard a howl that clearly came from a human throat and not a coyote, and he leaned against a tree, panting.  “Hey,” he called out to the trees, knowing one of the wolves was there, even if he couldn’t see them.  “It’s me. Sheriff Baldwin. I need to talk to Alpha Melissa."

A wolf warrior stepped out.  She was a pretty girl, curvy with big eyes and an easy smile, wearing a deerskin jacket over a Doctor Who t-shirt and skinny jeans.  “Officer Baldwin!  Hi!  If we knew you were coming, we would have sent a truck out for you.  What’s up?”  Before he had time to respond, she darted off, and then returned with a bottle of water that she offered out.

He took it gratefully, draining it in a few moments, and then wiped his mouth.  “I’m here on business, Charlotte.  I need to talk to Melissa.”

Charlotte nodded.  “Yeah, of course.  I’ll call a ride to town.  Seriously, next time you need to come out here, just call one of us.”

A few minutes later, Harry was on the back of an ATV, clinging desperately to the waist of Travis, another wolf warrior who was a few ranks higher than Charlotte.  Harry wasn’t exactly sure how the ranking worked here, as the wolves were an independent nation it seemed, yet still had access to ATVs and Poland Spring and, apparently, Doctor Who.  Harry never asked.  He figured, that was their business and his business was Fairpoint. 

The town itself blended into the surrounding forest, log cabins trailing wood smoke into the sky.  A group of barefoot kids were playing soccer in a clearing that served as the town square, laughing and occasionally snarling at each other with teeth too long and sharp for a normal child’s mouth.  Occasionally, there would be a splash of blood on the hard-packed earthen ground, but that only drew more laughter.  Several deer were hanging from a pole, blood dripping into buckets on the ground.  Their glassy eyes seemed to watch Harry as he dismounted the ATV, waiting for the warrior to lead him to the pack leader. 

“Wait here,” Travis said sharply, and disappeared into the largest of the cabins. 

Harry obeyed, but it was with a frown.  He had spoken to Melissa many times.  She was older, a calm leader, giving off the vibe of a Victorian era queen rather than a werewolf pack leader roughing it in the woods.  Never had she kept him waiting. When he became sheriff, she had arrived in Fairpoint for the ceremony herself, congratulating him personally, and after that they had struck up a professional relationship that seemed to border on more than friendly (or at least, so Harry hoped.  He may have had a teensy crush on the pack leader). 

But never before had he been commanded to wait for an audience.

One of the children was on the ground, crying. Somebody had yanked one of her pigtails too hard, and now a few of the boys were jeering at her.  Harry took a step closer to break it up, but then the smallest of the girls snarled as she intervened first, her face twisting, hackles raising, hands twisting and breaking into claws with an audible snapping of bones.  The boys raised a laugh at her as well, but then the beast-child leapt forward, throwing the biggest boy to the ground with a thump.  He tried to change as well, but she slashed him across the face, and he stayed down. 

Harry stood, frozen, watching as the smallest hopped off the largest and walked over to the bullied girl to pull her to her feet.  The boy on the ground sat up, the scratches on his face already healing, and snarled at her, but it was weak and small and ignored.  The girl was alpha, and both knew it.

“I’m goalie!” she declared, human again, sprinting towards the two sticks that comprised the goal.  With that, the fight was forgotten, and the game was back on.     

“Sheriff Baldwin?” 

Harry turned away from the kids to the familiar voice of Melissa, the pack leader.  Middle aged, with a few scars across her face suggesting old triumphs, she exuded the aura of a warrior, despite her torn jeans and sky-blue sweater.  Harry always felt a little subpar next to her, aware that maybe he should put in some time at the gym and maybe avoid the pastries Sally Parr, the town administrator, brought in every morning.  “Yeah.  What’s going on?”

She gave him a thin-lipped smile and gestured for him to come inside.  He followed, grateful to get off his aching feet. 

“Whiskey?” she asked once he had been seated in front of her desk, which was little more than a homemade table.

He waved it off.  “I’m on the clock.  I’m here to talk about a murder.  A child, about ten, was found a few miles outside of town by a hunter.  Poor kid was starving before he died.  Heart ripped out of the body.  Coroner hasn’t told us whether it was taken out before or after he passed.”

Melissa’s brow creased as she turned back to the desk, a small glass of whiskey in her own hands.  That was new.  Harry had never seen her touch a drop of alcohol in all the time that he knew her.  Although, granted, it was more phone conversations than anything else. 

“Shit,” she said, and all hope that she didn’t know about the murder flew from Harry’s mind.  He hoped they weren’t going dark.  He had no idea what they were supposed to do if the wolves went dark.  That was on him, but half of Fairpoint didn’t even know about the wolves, so how would they fight-

Melissa drained the whiskey like it was water.  “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” she murmured, gazing at the golden drops clinging to the side of the empty glass.  “I prayed that it wouldn’t come to this.”

“Come to what?”  Harry leaned forward.  “Melissa, if any of your guys did this, you know I can’t protect you.  This whole settlement is already illegal.  If there’s murder too…”

She stood, slamming fingers that broke and twisted into claws into the wood of the table.  Splinters of wood flew to the floor.  “They are not my guys.  Not anymore.”

“Mel?”  He tested out the nickname cautiously.  “Something’s going on.  Tell me what’s going on so we can prevent anyone else from turning up dead.”

Now her teeth were elongating, and her voice dropped to a growl that resonated within Harry’s chest.  “A strange wolf came.  He corrupted some of our youth- now they wish to summon him.” 

“Him who?”  Harry sat back a little, trying to remain calm in the face of the half changed alpha in front of him.  “Mel, calm down, okay?  We’re friends here.  I want to help.”

She glared at him, normal cocoa-brown eyes now feral yellow, and then took a breath.  “Him,” she repeated, forcing her voice back to its normal register.  “The original Wolf.  Fenrir himself.”

If Chuck E. Cheese disappears, so does a bit of San Jose history

It appears one of my favorite San Jose landmarks will live to chew another day.

I’m speaking about the 30- foot statue of Chuck E. Cheese that sits in one of 3 glass-walled alcoves at the pizza chain’s place off Tully Roadway. Developed in the early 1980 s by carver Jeff Tritel, the foam and fiberglass rodent can be seen by motorists on Highway 101, as huge a monolith to pizza and commerce as you’ll find anywhere west of Chicago.

I was a little concerned about its fate this week when the Texas-based parent business of Chuck E. Cheese announced it was filing for bankruptcy since of losses coming from the coronavirus pandemic. CEC Home entertainment says its reorganization shouldn’t indicate the closing– or continued closure– of its hundreds of dining establishments around the nation, including numerous in the Bay Area.

Don’t get me wrong. My fondness for Chuck E. Cheese has little to do with its pizza or the noisy games that keep kids pressing buttons like slot-machine fiends in Vegas. It’s not even the animatronic and anthropomorphic animals, including Mr. Cheese himself, that would captivate guests (and have actually considering that been retired in favor of live costumed performers).

It’s due to the fact that Chuck E. Cheese’s Pizza Time Theater got its start in San Jose in 1977, established by Atari co-founder and Pong creator Nolan Bushnell, who– the story goes– wished to create a family-friendly location where kids could play video games. The initial Pizza Time Theater was on South Winchester Boulevard– Santana Row inhabits the site now– however it wasn’t long prior to Bushnell’s idea caught on and the colorful pizza joints started turning up all over, presenting households to characters like Jasper T. Jowls, Mr. Munch and Pasqually the chef.

In a valley loaded with creation, Chuck E. Cheese– along with Togo’s Sandwiches and Eggo waffles– is an uncommon San Jose initial that caught on nationwide. The signature character has actually progressed for many years, transforming from a gangster-themed, paunchy rat to a slimmed-down mouse along the method, and trading in his stogie and bowler hat for athletic equipment.

The statue has been repainted to match the company’s current color scheme, and he’s still got his hat (but no cigar), so I picture he’ll still be around after this most current monetary drama passes.

After all, it’s not even the first personal bankruptcy. That occurred in 1984 and led to Bushnell’s departure from the business.

Speaking of Bushnell, he figures into one of my preferred stories about Chuck E. Cheese.

DOWNTOWN ART INFUSION: The provocative and poignant murals that have sprouted on walls and boarded-up windows around downtown San Jose because the Black Lives Matter demonstrations started have been a welcome addition to the creative streetscape.

And another is the Downtown Doors student art program, which is installing 10 new pieces on energy doors and boxes downtown, producing a street gallery of 302 works of trainee art in 17 years. The San Jose Downtown Foundation program got almost 100 submissions in January and February, and the pieces chosen will be shown at the Hammer Theatre Center, Il Fornaio and the Westin Sainte Claire, the Fairmont San Jose, 50 West and Studio Climbing Fitness Center.

” Downtown Doors provides young artists the opportunity to openly express themselves,” said Ramona Snyder, president of the SJDF board. “Students of all ethnic cultures and demographics have actually been posting their messages of modification and hope downtown for 16 years now.”

SAVE THE BANNERS: When San Jose’s Rose, White & Blue Parade generally held on July 4 had to be called off because of the coronavirus pandemic, organizers were optimistic they might stage the 13 th yearly event for Labor Day in September. However conditions have not changed enough to make anyone believe that’s a possibility, so the parade has actually formally been canceled till 2021.

Rather, revelers are welcomed to take part in an online celebration at Facebook.com/ RoseWhiteBlueParade by sending in images or video greetings for the vacation. Get more information at rwbsj.org/parade-participation

FOND FAREWELL: Park Location Vintage, the Willow Glen store where you could discover a gown from the 1950 s or the best aloha shirt, closed its doors last weekend after 38 years, another organisation casualty of shelter-in-place. It was a terrific location to purchase classic clothing and other presents or just invest sometime while travelling Lincoln Avenue.

Owner Linda Ruiz revealed she was closing in May and had a couple of weekends of blow-out sales to empty out the 3,000- square-foot space. “I’m not going to stop being Park Location Vintage,” Ruiz said on Facebook, “I’m just going to do it differently.”

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from Job Search Tips https://jobsearchtips.net/if-chuck-e-cheese-disappears-so-does-a-bit-of-san-jose-history/

When Art Begins at the Scene of a Crime

The Walmart on Gateway Boulevard in El Paso is where a 21-year-old man from across the state, driven by his anger at a “Hispanic invasion,” showed up last Aug. 3 on a murder mission. Firing an assault rifle, he killed 22 people and injured another 24.

Last month, the Mexican artist Teresa Margolles made a pilgrimage to the scene. Ms. Margolles’s work focuses on violent death and its aftermath, which she expresses in tough photographs and installations that often involve material residue from murder sites. She knew the Walmart for having often shopped there: Though based in Madrid, Spain, she has worked for many years in Ciudad Juárez, just across the border from El Paso, and much of her art responds to the borderland’s cartel wars, trafficking and gender violence.

Walmart stopped selling certain classes of ammunition after the massacre, but not all, so Ms. Margolles purchased a box of Winchester 12-gauge shells. Her large-format photograph of the shells is part of her spare but powerful new exhibition, “El asesinato cambia el mundo / Assassination changes the world,” at James Cohan gallery, in TriBeCa. Bright red with shiny metal ends, they are jumbled on a black surface in a pile that reminded me of a human heart with its valves and sinews. This ability to make visceral the ordinary tools and circumstances of murder is a hallmark of Ms. Margolles’s work.

The box of 25 shells cost $5.48, plus tax. Ms. Margolles paid cash. The original receipt is on view next to the image. It will fade during the show’s run, as receipts do, but you can take away your own reproduction, enlarged to poster size, from a stack at the gallery entrance. (When I photographed the stack, my phone invited me to scan the QR code for Walmart coupons.)

Ms. Margolles, 56, is one of Mexico’s most prominent artists. Her installations, photographs and performances have been widely presented around the world, but less so in the United States. (She had a solo exhibition at the Neuberger Museum of Art in Purchase, N.Y., in 2015, and this is her second solo gallery show in New York.)

One of her contributions to last year’s Venice Biennale, reprising a wrenching piece she developed in 2014, was a knockout. Set up in a darkened room, “La búsqueda (The Search)” employed vertical wood frames that held glass plates scavenged from closed businesses in Juárez. Still stuck to these panes were torn and faded search notices for young women gone missing in the city’s nearly three-decade epidemic of sexual violence and femicide.

Periodically, a low rumble traversed the room, shaking the glass. It was a conversion of sound recordings of the trains that run through the center of Juárez, a key element in the border’s economic infrastructure. Many of the women killed in Juárez came to work in factories serving the United States market.

Ms. Margolles’s art used to be more graphic. At the Mexican pavilion at the Biennale in 2009, she invited people from Juárez, relatives of victims, to mop the floor of the palazzo with water into which she had dipped a cloth carrying blood from murder sites. Outside the pavilion, in lieu of the Mexican flag, she flew fabric reddened by a similar infusion.

And in her early career, in the 1990s, she worked directly with dead bodies — at the morgue in Mexico City, where she earned a certificate in forensic medicine after her degree in social sciences, and as a member of the art collective Semefo, which took its name from the acronym for the city’s coroner’s service. She photographed incisions, stitches, bodies being washed; she smuggled out blood and grease from autopsy trays and used them in sculptures. One mother gave her a stillborn fetus, which she entombed in a block of cement, leaving no trace of its tragic content.

This exhibition is compact, with just eight works, and contained, emphasizing texture and form in all save the pieces prompted by the Walmart shooting. It feels like a placeholder for the major museum retrospective that her career warrants.

Still, these pieces strikingly convey her methods. Past an industrial curtain of plastic flaps, the first room contains three black garments on mannequins — one a full-length dress, the other two other chest-pieces — lit so as to highlight the shimmer of the ornaments in their stitching. These include sequins, paillettes and hundreds of glass shards sewn in with 24-karat gold thread. The glass comes from car windows exploded by shootings in three locations: El Paso, Juárez, and Culiacán, Ms. Margolles’s hometown, capital of Sinaloa state and center of its notorious cartel.

A long wall is devoted to 2,300 earthwork tiles in tones of dark brown to black, buffed to a gentle shine and precisely aligned. Ms. Margolles had them manufactured in Mata Ortiz, a village of potters in Chihuahua State whose livelihood has suffered from all the violence. The earth is local, and so is the technique, the color achieved through smoke from burning cow manure. It is a mourning piece, for those known and unknown. (Near the end of production, the lethal ambush of a fundamentalist Mormon family took place nearby.)

One can contemplate this piece from a pair of cement benches. They are, as one might suspect, made by Ms. Margolles’s infusion technique, blending dirt and residue from a murder site in northern Mexico with New York City water.

Wherever Ms. Margolles exhibits, she involves local materials, ideas, and people — often from groups threatened by violence, like sex workers or trans people. For a public art program in Los Angeles in 2016, she built a huge concrete stele using matter from 100 shooting sites in the city, and made with local artists.

New York plays a distinct, and not entirely positive, role in Ms. Margolles’s social geography. It is the financial center, where money invested on Wall Street or laundered into real estate is far removed from the border economy and from the United States-driven flow of drugs and weapons that accounts for so much pain. It is also the hub of the art industry, and one gets the sense that the openings and parties are not Ms. Margolles’s favorite event.

She has nodded instead toward New York the fashion capital, hiring local designers to imagine and confection the show’s couture-like dresses. They invite us to consider how much violence is embedded in luxury and status, even as the death toll mounts, implacably, out of view.

Teresa Margolles: El asesinato cambia el mundo / Assassination changes the world

Through March 1 at James Cohan, 48 Walker Street, Manhattan; 212-714-9500, jamescohan.com.

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/when-art-begins-at-the-scene-of-a-crime/

New Year’s Mini-Review Pack 2019

Another year is over and I want to make the mini-review pack from last year a yearly tradition to announce it.

Sometimes I watch shows that I have something to say about, but I don't feel like writing a real review of them.  Here are the five I want to highlight this year.

Happy New Year, nerds!

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1. Food Wars (2015)

Episodes watched: 7

Platform: Hulu

Souma is in the family diner business, trained by his father on expert renditions of “low-class” foods.  He expects to continue in the family business, and even rescues the diner (via cooking, naturally) from sabotage by a developer trying to pressure his father into selling the building so it can be replaced with high-rise apartments.  But despite that, his father shuts down the restaurant “for a few years” to go abroad and sends Souma to a fancy boarding school for aspiring chefs.  The school is sprawling and eclectic in a way only anime boarding schools can be.  And, like any self-respecting anime boarding school, it naturally has three things: an absolutely nonsensical student government, an extraordinary level of old-school elitism, and most importantly, duels.  Disputes can be settled through challenges of head-to-head Iron Chef-style cooking, with wagers riding on them ranging from "you have to join this club if you lose" to "you're expelled if you lose".  As far as I’ve watched so far, there are a few episodes focused on setting up the premise and main characters and a few focused on these competitions between students.  Although the latter concept can be tedious because I’m not much of a tournament show person, it is nevertheless fun because this show commits to its absurdity.

Classic W/A/S: 6 / 7 / 3

Weeb: Ludicrous school setups!  The main character progressing through a series of duels!  Tentacles!  In-depth descriptions of Japanese food!  It's not the kind of weeb that makes it incomprehensible to those not familiar with the tropes, but it's certainly very Japanese.

Ass: This show has been described to me by several people as "literal food porn", and... yeah.  The cold open scene to the first episode contains... uh... basically tentacle porn.  I'm sorry.  The feelings of characters' pleasure (or revulsion) in food is depicted metaphorically and absolutely over-the-top, often with the pleasure of delicious food being heavily sexualized.  And there's plenty of sexualization of both male and female characters even outside of these scenes, although it never crosses the line into full nudity.

Shit: Very well-drawn!  The food is particularly gorgeous, as you'd expect, but the other imagery is creative, and the melodramatic writing and music are not bad, even fitting for so outlandish and cheesy a concept.

PS: I haven’t actually tried making it... yet... but the gag dish introduced in ep. 1, grilled squid with peanut butter, sounds good to me, despite the negative results you can easily find... and others seem to agree, since the concept predates the show.  Just make a peanut-butter-based-sauce rather than just using peanut butter and it should be fine.

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2. Hinamatsuri (2018)

Episodes watched: 12

Platform: Crunchyroll

Hina, a time-traveling middle-school-aged psychic, arrives in our time, in the apartment of a very confused yakuza operative, Nitta Yoshifumi, who takes her in.  Shenanigans ensue, mostly centering around hilarious misunderstandings and the dubious life lessons Yoshifumi and other mobsters impart.  Mostly, the comedy and story are propelled by Hina and two other girls we meet early on: another time-traveler, Anzu, who is sent to retrieve her, fails, and gets stuck in our time, and Hitomi, whom Hina meets as a classmate when Yoshifumi enrolls Hina in school under the name Nitta Hina (claiming she is his daughter), and who gets intimidated into taking an after-school job as a bartender that she struggles to keep secret. The show's format is two segments per episode focusing on different slice of life-ish stories (though with solid continuity and more ongoing plot than you might expect for that characterization), and is usually comedic but also veers into drama and incredible sweetness.  Hina is deadpan, bad at conversation, and unable to unable to understand the context or motives of what others are saying, in a way that honestly almost makes me think autism(?), but I'm guessing is probably supposed to just be "she was raised in the creepy time travel organization and they didn't train her to socialize".  Anzu is a different outcome of the same deprivation: after not returning Hina to their own time, she moves into a homeless camp and quickly takes in the life lessons of the residents, becoming earnest, helpful, and incredibly resistant to spending money, but completely baffled and amazed at how our world works.  Hitomi, the only "normal" one, is just... the best.  The episode about her first becoming a bartender felt like a backdoor pilot, and if it were I would absolutely watch that spinoff.  The first segment of ep. 10, also starring Hitomi, is the funniest "compounding misunderstandings"-style comedy I've seen in a while... and I'm a big Arrested Development fan, so that means something.

Classic W/A/S: 3 / 2 / 3

Weeb: There are some distinctly Japanese traditions depicted, but most elements of the show could be moved to a different setting and "reskinned" for different cultures' organized crime, foods, shopping options, homeless camps, etc., without sacrificing any of the plot or comedy.  Mostly, its distinctly Japanese features are that it relies on imagery and exaggerations that absolutely scream "comedy anime".

Ass: Sexual humor and references, occasionally, but not going to far. Recurring nudity, but not full and not for fanservice.  Actually, it seems as if they've taken a cue from Terminator and assumed that, for whatever reason, you have to time-travel naked.

Shit: This show is practically made of reaction images.  Although it's not the best animated, it's very consistent, clean, and expressive.  They do well with how they did it.  The show practically demands a second season in its last episode, and I think it could make it all the way down to a score of 2 or even 1 on here if they do so and upgrade the animation a bit.  The characters are distinctly and pleasantly designed and rarely does a scene go by that isn't hilarious not because of some kind of rapid-fire jokes thing but because each segment is set up so well and characters play off each other.  Hina's lack of affect gets a little tiresome, but the other characters are great, and usually get a large chunk of an episode's screentime.

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3. Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon?  Arrow of the Orion (2019)

Episodes watched: n.a. — movie

Platform: in theater

Picking up sometime between the first and second seasons of the main series of Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon (or Danmachi for short, derived from the Japanese title), this follows the main cast of Bell Cranel and his ragtag dungeon-crawling party on a new quest. Artemis, Greek goddess of chastity and hunting, is in search, via Hermes, of an adventurer who can wield "the Orion" (a drastically OP spear with the power to kill gods themselves) to destroy Antares, a monster who keeps wiping out adventuring parties and has become a threat to the entire world because [spoiler].  A love... square... ensues between Bell, Hestia, Lili, and Artemis, and other various shenanigans happen that will make much more sense if you've seen the main show and its companion/spinoff, Sword Oratoria. I personally didn't find the affection between Bell and Artemis particularly believable, and I didn't expect the ending to go quite the way it did, but I try not to complain about a story not being the story I wanted it to be.  Watch it if you're already a Danmachi fan or really really like weird takes on classical mythology.  Skip if not.

Classic W/A/S: 3 / 4 / 4

Weeb: Prior knowledge of Danmachi helps immensely, but is not strictly required as there is a and although the show is another "what if we just mix a bunch of mythologies together?" and "what if a real world functioned on RPG logic?" premise, it does occasionally have an idea thrown in that will be foreign to much of the American audience (even if not distinctly Japanese), such as the Buddhist idea of gods themselves being reincarnated (something that also came up in Noragami).

Ass: As the after-credits interview feature says, they wondered whether or not they should keep -sigh- the panty shot.  And they went with "yes".  Also, peeping on women bathing has, unfortunately, become a running joke whenever Hermes appears in Danmachi, so be prepared for that.  Without giving spoilers, though, let me just say I hope not all of the nudity comes off as sexual.

Shit: The monsters are hit-or-miss CGI, sometimes blending with the 2D animation of the rest, sometimes looking so jarring it's actually funny. The 2D art is usually beautiful, though, and as much as I love the show, this is definitely an art upgrade overall.  The plot has a few dumb elements, honestly, or at least not well-enough-developed ones, that make me wonder if it could have worked better as a story arc in the show itself (actually developing a relationship between Artemis and Bell).  The score is a mix of reused tracks from the show plus some new stuff that sounds pretty Jurassic Park-era John Williams to me.  A few subtitle choices are noticeably different from the show, but not consequential to understanding things.  There were a lot of ugly audio glitches, especially early on, but I hope that's a problem with the equipment at the theater I went to and not the editing of the movie.

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4. Supernatural the Animation (2011)

Episodes watched: 1.

Platform: Hulu.

This show follows Sam and Dean Winchester, who -- yup, you're on the right blog, and yup, that's "Supernatural" as in the long-running American live action series.  For those not familiar, the original is a sprawling drama set in basically "our world except all mythologies and folklores are true", and follows the aforementioned Winchester brothers, who hunt monsters in situations that range from their straightforward monster-of-the-week investigations to meta-humor to multi-season story arcs involving multiple trips to Hell itself.  My wife is a huge fan, so I've seen a lot of episodes just incidentally, and enjoyed some of them, but haven't really followed the show.  She assures me, though, that this anime adaptation is loosely based on the first two seasons.  So loosely that at first she thought it was some sort of interquel or sidestory.  The first episode comes off feeling like you're supposed to already be familiar with the main characters -- that they're brothers, that they're monster hunters, why they're looking for their missing father -- because not much actually gets explained.  It’s unremarkable and badly-executed and ugh.

Classic W/A/S: 3 / 1? / 7

Weeb: Although the source material is American (and further back, European and Middle Eastern, given the influence of European folklore traditions and the Abrahamic religions on the choice and depiction of monsters), it's presented in a very Japanese style. This is especially true in reworking the original's horror tendencies -- the blood splatter from offscreen and the writhing, lurching body horror that is the shapeshifter seem much more like what little I've seen of Japanese horror than American.

Ass: I forgot to write anything for this immediately after I watched it and I don't care enough to go back and check but I don't remember anything that would fall under the headings of fanservice or general nudity.

Shit: Variable.  There are occasional moments of bad CG, occasional low-frame-rate weirdness, and disjointed storytelling compared to what I've seen of the original.  The art style is pretty interesting, though, because it's not something you see animated much -- its angular faces and stark shadows remind me of the darker end of American superhero comics.  Although it's certainly not the technically worst show I've reviewed in either story or art, I find it extremely unpleasant and do not want to continue past one episode.  If you feel like doing so, feel free to tell me if it gets any better.

Content: Violence and horror imagery is somehow both less extreme and more successfully unsettling (at least to me) than those in the original live-action show.

To Be A Force of Positivity, To Be Everything Trump Is Not: The #WomensMarch Experience

Seven days since the #WomensMarch shook the world and I still can't get out of my head images of women resisting - joyful and determined. I marched in New York City. I came home that day with a thrill I still haven't shaken. A good thing, because mass mobilization may be our most potent weapon against a new administration that has already shown itself to be grossly incompetent, hateful, and acutely dangerous to our health. As a reported 3.3 to 4.6 million women and men marched on January 21st, I wanted to get a selection of stories - first drafts of history - so we can know what this day was really like for many. I sent out the call and received written narratives from 41 marchers (39 women and two men). Fifteen marches were represented: Washington, DC; New York City, Phoenix, AZ; Stamford, CT; Cincinnati, OH; Montpeiler, VT; Dayton, OH; Winchester, VA; Ithaca, NY; Indianapolis, IN; Houston, TX; Portland, ME; Jacksonsivlle, FL; Austin, TX; Lansing, MI; and Des Moines, IA. Here is what they shared. Getting There Some marchers hired buses. Some flew, some drove, others walked. Megean Weidman journeyed just "a few hundred feet" to the march site from her café job in Portland, Maine. Elisabeth Lehr traveled 500 miles each way. "We drove from Northern Vermont to Washington, DC," wrote Lehr. "Every rest top was filled with happy, excited, pussy-hatted women." Instead of marching in NYC's sister march, several New York-based respondents headed to Washington. "I took a bus to DC from Manhattan with a diverse group of women and one righteous man," wrote Shari Berman. "The bus was arranged by moms from my son's school. We sang freedom songs along the way led by a 70 year-old grandmother who had clearly done this before." "Our bus captains jokingly left Depend diapers on each seat," wrote New Yorker Leslie Cain. "We laughed about our ugly clear backpacks that carried water, granola bars, sharpies, battery packs, and tampons on full display. They had to be clear so we wouldn't be deemed 'dangerous' and detained." Some marchers had a simpler journey. "I had a ten-minute drive," wrote Morgen Bermel in Des Moines. "Then a couple rides around the block to find an open parking space." In Houston and Phoenix Uber-riders reported anxiety that their drivers in might be conservative and against the march, but were pleasantly surprised by their support--or at least, neutrality. "[Our Uber driver] was rather indifferent but we got him talking about music," said Beth Weinstein in Phoenix. "He was a big Lady Gaga fan, so we at least felt non-threatened at that point." In Washington, Melissa Sullivan was struck by the journey through DC itself: "As we drove [in] we could see bands of men and women wearing pink hats and holding signs, on their way to the march. We honked at them in solidarity, waving a sign out of the window and cheering as we passed. The closer we got to the Capitol, the larger these groups became. Dozens of tour buses, filled to capacity, unloaded. Throngs of people ascended from the metro. It was amazing." Obstacles Fear ranked number one. Getting over one's fear that the march might get violent or out-of-control. "We had never protested or marched before," wrote Monica Chylla, an East Lansing mother who marched in DC. "I was nervous about potential violent outbursts at the march. I was so anxious I couldn't sleep the night before. But this experience was completely peaceful and people were courteous." "Winchester (VA) is a fairly conservative place," wrote Tamara Haack. "I was worried about what the repercussions would be as far as counter-protests. While watching the Inauguration I realized I needed to overcome my fear because this just too damn important to stay home." Fear of crowds was a major anxiety to overcome. "I feel incredibly claustrophobic and shy in huge crowds," wrote Addie Tsai, who attended the Houston march. "I have never been to any kind of protest or march such as this one, mainly for these reasons." For Pam Hart, who attended the Stamford, CT, march, it was deciding whether to bring a mildly-feverish child who really wanted to go. They decided to bring her and it was fine. "Tylenol and snacks did the trick," wrote Hart. Other obstacles involved logistics. A Maryland mother who prefers to remain anonymous arrived at the Shady Grove Metro at 8:00am and couldn't board until 9:30am. "It was so packed inside the station," she wrote, "we worried we wouldn't get to DC. But police came and staggered the traffic so people weren't crowded in the tunnel leading to the station. It could have been a disaster." At the DC march, marchers struggled to access WI-FI. Marchers who promised to text and find each other were incommunicado. "My family was trying to reach me but they couldn't" said the Maryland mother. "No Internet seemed to be a problem," wrote Carolyn Ferrell. "But then it wasn't. We communicated with each other, shared stories, and enjoyed the signs." The Kids Are Alright As the mother of a six year-old, I thought about bringing my son to the New York City march. But that thought last two minutes - I feared losing him in a large, unpredictable crowd. I feared bathroom asks at bad times. Many respondents reported worrying whether or not the march would be a safe and good place for their kids. Yet many families brought their children and shared how profound it was to march together--with a little planning. "We had such a smooth, positive experience that could have easily turned difficult due to the children," wrote Dr. Christie Boxer, who attended the Lansing, MI march. "We studied the city layout so that we could move about effectively given any conditions - violent outbreak, road closings - and arrived early enough to get a kid-friendly spot." In New York City, Dana Ostomel was proud of her daughter's poise, as were fellow marchers: "My five year-old stood with me in a two x two radius for almost three hours waiting to march. My daughter received a lot of positive reinforcement for coming out, standing with others, and using her voice." At the same march, Jenn Linstad felt her eleven year-old daughter had a profound consciousness expansion. "Her foundations in social justice have been strong," said Linstad. "But by being there, she was able to see, first-hand, the deafening truth in the Audre Lorde statement: 'I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own." Two respondents noted the children as a highpoint. "Perhaps the most beautiful thing about the march were the children who marched alongside their parents," wrote Matt Jones, who marched in Cincinnati. Addie Tsai thought the most poignant aspect of the march experience was "seeing so many children holding signs." At the Houston march, Robin Reagler's 11 year-old daughter carried a sign that said "I compete in rodeos. Don't tell me how girls should ACT." A daughter in DC held the sign: "If One Man Can Destroy Everything Why Can't One Girl Change It?". And I'll never forget the young afroed teen boy I saw sitting above the crowd on NYC scaffolding with the sign "Thank you Obamas! You made us feel great again!" "I'm not sure if my daughter will remember the actual day," added Ostomel, "but I hope it builds a visceral feeling within her memory bank that she can call upon." The March Experience So how did it feel for the adults? "Transformative," wrote Lucy Vagnerova. "Uplifting and invigorating," wrote Pam Hart. "Empowering and transformative," wrote a Long Island mother. "A top ten highlight of my life," wrote the Maryland mother. This may have been a trip of a lifetime, but it wasn't easy. "Cold, muddy, stuck in a crowd - we didn't really get to march or hear the speakers," wrote Nicole Cooley, who traveled to Washington from New Jersey. "But it was so inspiring! A lesson to girls that activism isn't always comfortable. Ami Novak wrote of the #PortaJohnStruggle. "We exchanged supplies with the ladies around us, because the porta-johns were disgusting and nearly overflowing," wrote Novak. "[The ladies in line] gave my friend's daughter an extra pussy hat. She loved it." In Montpeiler, VT, Lea Belair was stunned by the crowd size - an estimated 20,000 in a town of 7500 - and who made a special appearance. "We had a high vantage point from the capitol steps and could see marchers arriving at the rally for literally hours. When Bernie Sanders showed up unexpectedly, the crowd--including me--went wild. When he told us there were so many cars on the interstate they had to shut it down, the crowd erupted." For a New York mom traveling to Dayton, OH, on business, attending the local march was an "incredible" experience. "At first I felt out of place because I'm Black, and the crowd majority was definitely Caucasian. I was also wearing all-black and tall boots, something extremely common in New York City, but not in Dayton. But I loved my displaced experience. It proved to me how from the beginning this era is strong." "At 62 years, it was my first march," wrote the Maryland mom. "It's the best I've felt this election because I realized that there was a sense of solidarity that day. I wasn't alone. I wasn't crazy. The marchers were predominantly white, but people of every hue participated. People were so nice. And that's not a word I use often. Though I would suggest inviting more women of color. It would have been nice to see more diversity." Despite white majorities, marchers of color reported positive experiences. "Although I've heard valid points regarding issues of white privilege at the marches, that wasn't my experience," wrote Addie Tsai of the Houston march. "I found incredible solidarity among bodies of various positions - white, black queer, Asian, etc. Everyone felt very connected, and kind, and generous with their bodies in the space." Leslie Cain wore a placard that said "What a Patriot Looks Like". "The arrow pointed towards my melanin-skinned, afro-haloed self," wrote Cain. "Older white women in particular stopped to take pictures of me all day. Not in a unicorn siting way (I know that feeling), but possibly in agreement." In New York City, marchers spoke of the thrill of marching up Fifth Avenue towards Trump Tower. "Beyond the barricades, non-marchers were cheering us on and holding their own signs," wrote Sirin Thada. "People were waving down from windows and balconies. We heard the sound of church bells along the breeze. As we got closer, 'We Shall Overcome' rang from the top of St. Thomas Church and we sang along. That was such a beautiful moment, to all be of one voice." Rosie Finizio wrote that the high point of marching was knowing "that we are all the heroes of this story, united against an evil Orange Menace." But Finizio had advice for next time around: "Once people get to Trump Tower, they must MOVE." After many hours waiting for a march to start, marchers want to keep it moving for sure. Speakers captivated many of the marchers. National coverage showed the diverse Washington speaking program, featuring activists from Angela Davis to Linda Sarsour to Melissa Mays. Other marches had speakers, too. At the New York City march, Finizio noted Whoopi Goldberg and Cynthia Nixon. "I went early so I was near the platform and got to hear many of the speeches," wrote Michelle Valladeres. "The most poignant one came from a Latino activist who spoke about his mother's journey crossing the border to give him a chance at an education. He described the running, falling down, and fear, in detail. I felt the pain of all of our stories of immigration, discrimination for whatever difference we possess in that moment. I cried." Star encounters were profound, too. Joan Lipkin had a primo spot next to the stage in DC. There she met Harry Potter film star and UN Goodwill Ambassador Emma Watson. Watson is best known for playing girl power heroine Hermione, a character often namedropped on many march signs (ex. "Without Hermione, Harry would have died in book one"). "I told her she was a wonderful actress but that her work as a human rights activist was as important," wrote Lipkin. "She seemed touched. And when I told her that she is the future, she teared up." You can make the case that the real stars of the day were handmade signs--and the handmade hats. "We saw so many creative signs--people actively complimented each other on originality and execution," wrote Lucie Vagnerova, who attended the Washington march. She also met a woman who sculpts medical-grade silicone vaginas for surgical practice, and she had glued a few anatomically-diverse ones to signs staying "Stay out of my vagina," "Grabs back," and "Not Yours to Grab." And so many in the crowd wore hand-knit hats based on a pattern shared before the march. "There were thousands, maybe tens of thousands of pink pussy hats. This is what the patriarchy gets for committing women to arts and crafts for centuries: we really brought it!" At her Phoenix march, Beth Weinstein was moved to see Canadian women marching. "To know that the world is concerned and wants to lend their voices is truly heartfelt," wrote Weinstein. "It also scares me. If they're as concerned as I am, then the administration must be as bad as I anticipate it to be." In Jacksonville, Holly Masturzo simply wanted to listen. Part of their march day was at Suffragette Mary A. Nolan's gravesite. "People were greeted at the gates of the cemetery and given pledge cards for the local Democratic party - a practical gesture, yet not one that felt like the call I wanted to respond to most that moment," wrote Masturzo. "It wasn't a moment to sign for next actions in my view but rather for listening, for tending to the layers, intensely complex ones at that, of the journey of women's suffrage in this part of the world." Photo by Emma-Lee Signs (A Selection) Take your broken heart and make it art! / These are not tears. This is the Sea. /Thinking Women Against Trump (TWAT) / RBG, stay alive!/Black Lives Matter (carried by more than Black people) / Cheeto in Chief / My daughter's more afraid of intolerance than cancer / Women are Literally the Best / Grumpy Cat saying "UGH" / So bad, even introverts are here / Build a wall between church and state / Do the Most Good/ Love trumps hate / They tried to bury us but they didn't know we were seeds / Women's rights are human rights (with the W on Women replaced with a pair of breasts) / RESIST / The revolution starts here (with a diagram of a uterus) / Make America Think Again / Did you assume that I'm wearing my dad's (Navy) hat? Or my brother's maybe? Then YOU are the reason I'm here /Less suffering, more grace / #FreeMelania / Can't believe I have to protest this shit forty years later / Toddlers Against Tyranny / Your guns will have no animals left to kill if you don't take care of the environment / [Signs in Russian] / Show us your taxes / (Caricature of a sad Paul Ryan) Paul Ryan Can't Find the Clit / Excerpt of June Jordan's 'Poem About My Rights' / We Shall Overcomb / America Is Already Great / Don't Forget: White Women Voted for Trump / I'd Call Him a Cunt But He Lacks Depth and Warmth / Never Underestimate the Power of a Fag with a Tambourine / Resistance is Fertile! / Lesbian Moms on Fleek. Stay Woke! / Thou Shalt Not Mess with a Woman's Reproductive Rights. Fallopians 1:21 / Hell hath no fury like 157 million women scorned / Viva la vulva / I will NOT go QUIETLY back into the 1950s / Respect existence or expect resistance / If you build a wall, I will grow up and tear it down / History has its eyes on you / Planned Parenthood saved my life / I'm NASTY AF / Bully Culprit / Oh Hell No What Now? I asked the marchers what they will do next. "What won't I do now is the question," wrote Beth Weinstein. "I'm making calls every day to (Senators) McCain and Flake. Today's calls are regarding (Cabinet nominee) Betsy DeVos." Other marchers pledged phone calls and visits to elected, actions encouraged by the Indivisible guide and congressional staff advising constituents on most effective lobbying techniques. "We must call, email, and write our representatives relentlessly," wrote Dawn Tarney Brunner. "So they never forget what the majority wants." "I'm getting involved with the local Democratic organization," wrote Dr. Boxer, "and using my position as a college professor to educate and guide others to effective actions." Laura Miller Tomaselli, a Brooklyn mother, is busier than ever: "Lots of conversations, social media posts, poster parties, fundraising dinners, rallies, picket lines, voter turnout efforts. Lots of listening, lots of comparing notes." But Miller made a point about current political leadership. "The grassroots certainly showed its stuff last Saturday. Now we are waiting for the Democratic Party to do more than send us daily solicitations. Where are they, I wonder? Is there anything left of that billion we raised for Hillary?" All respondents had some kind of action plan, though some marchers were focused more on personal interactions: "I want to be a force of positivity, to be everything Trump is not," wrote Sirin Thada. "To speak from the heart, but with wisdom, clarity, love and respect. To End with a Beginning When Shari Berman shared her story, she wrote of her group's walk from their parked bus to the Washington march site. I thought it was beautiful. Please allow me to end this piece with a beginning: "Our bus parked three miles from the staging area and, to our surprise, the Metro was at capacity. So we decided to walk the three miles - a sea of pink pussy hats making its way through the streets. And for a day that was filled with inspiration, the three-mile journey was perhaps the most inspiring experience of them all. All along the way we were greeted with lawn signs set in front of private homes not promoting a particular candidate or political agenda but instead featuring spiritually-lifting quotes from Dr. Martin Luther King. The DC police and the National Guard were kind, polite, and welcomed us to their city. A few even applauded us. We passed an African American church where several older people were leaving a religious service. They cheered us on and said that they were with us in spirit. We encountered neighbors handing out free water or playing music to spur us on. A beautiful little girl not more than seven years-old dressed in a Disney Princess stood on her porch and waved to us. It was her future we were marching for and we all waved back! All along the way people took a moment out of their day to thank us for being there and I couldn't have been prouder to be American."

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

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To Be A Force of Positivity, To Be Everything Trump Is Not: The #WomensMarch Experience

Seven days since the #WomensMarch shook the world and I still can't get out of my head images of women resisting - joyful and determined. I marched in New York City. I came home that day with a thrill I still haven't shaken. A good thing, because mass mobilization may be our most potent weapon against a new administration that has already shown itself to be grossly incompetent, hateful, and acutely dangerous to our health. As a reported 3.3 to 4.6 million women and men marched on January 21st, I wanted to get a selection of stories - first drafts of history - so we can know what this day was really like for many. I sent out the call and received written narratives from 41 marchers (39 women and two men). Fifteen marches were represented: Washington, DC; New York City, Phoenix, AZ; Stamford, CT; Cincinnati, OH; Montpeiler, VT; Dayton, OH; Winchester, VA; Ithaca, NY; Indianapolis, IN; Houston, TX; Portland, ME; Jacksonsivlle, FL; Austin, TX; Lansing, MI; and Des Moines, IA. Here is what they shared. Getting There Some marchers hired buses. Some flew, some drove, others walked. Megean Weidman journeyed just "a few hundred feet" to the march site from her café job in Portland, Maine. Elisabeth Lehr traveled 500 miles each way. "We drove from Northern Vermont to Washington, DC," wrote Lehr. "Every rest top was filled with happy, excited, pussy-hatted women." Instead of marching in NYC's sister march, several New York-based respondents headed to Washington. "I took a bus to DC from Manhattan with a diverse group of women and one righteous man," wrote Shari Berman. "The bus was arranged by moms from my son's school. We sang freedom songs along the way led by a 70 year-old grandmother who had clearly done this before." "Our bus captains jokingly left Depend diapers on each seat," wrote New Yorker Leslie Cain. "We laughed about our ugly clear backpacks that carried water, granola bars, sharpies, battery packs, and tampons on full display. They had to be clear so we wouldn't be deemed 'dangerous' and detained." Some marchers had a simpler journey. "I had a ten-minute drive," wrote Morgen Bermel in Des Moines. "Then a couple rides around the block to find an open parking space." In Houston and Phoenix Uber-riders reported anxiety that their drivers in might be conservative and against the march, but were pleasantly surprised by their support--or at least, neutrality. "[Our Uber driver] was rather indifferent but we got him talking about music," said Beth Weinstein in Phoenix. "He was a big Lady Gaga fan, so we at least felt non-threatened at that point." In Washington, Melissa Sullivan was struck by the journey through DC itself: "As we drove [in] we could see bands of men and women wearing pink hats and holding signs, on their way to the march. We honked at them in solidarity, waving a sign out of the window and cheering as we passed. The closer we got to the Capitol, the larger these groups became. Dozens of tour buses, filled to capacity, unloaded. Throngs of people ascended from the metro. It was amazing." Obstacles Fear ranked number one. Getting over one's fear that the march might get violent or out-of-control. "We had never protested or marched before," wrote Monica Chylla, an East Lansing mother who marched in DC. "I was nervous about potential violent outbursts at the march. I was so anxious I couldn't sleep the night before. But this experience was completely peaceful and people were courteous." "Winchester (VA) is a fairly conservative place," wrote Tamara Haack. "I was worried about what the repercussions would be as far as counter-protests. While watching the Inauguration I realized I needed to overcome my fear because this just too damn important to stay home." Fear of crowds was a major anxiety to overcome. "I feel incredibly claustrophobic and shy in huge crowds," wrote Addie Tsai, who attended the Houston march. "I have never been to any kind of protest or march such as this one, mainly for these reasons." For Pam Hart, who attended the Stamford, CT, march, it was deciding whether to bring a mildly-feverish child who really wanted to go. They decided to bring her and it was fine. "Tylenol and snacks did the trick," wrote Hart. Other obstacles involved logistics. A Maryland mother who prefers to remain anonymous arrived at the Shady Grove Metro at 8:00am and couldn't board until 9:30am. "It was so packed inside the station," she wrote, "we worried we wouldn't get to DC. But police came and staggered the traffic so people weren't crowded in the tunnel leading to the station. It could have been a disaster." At the DC march, marchers struggled to access WI-FI. Marchers who promised to text and find each other were incommunicado. "My family was trying to reach me but they couldn't" said the Maryland mother. "No Internet seemed to be a problem," wrote Carolyn Ferrell. "But then it wasn't. We communicated with each other, shared stories, and enjoyed the signs." The Kids Are Alright As the mother of a six year-old, I thought about bringing my son to the New York City march. But that thought last two minutes - I feared losing him in a large, unpredictable crowd. I feared bathroom asks at bad times. Many respondents reported worrying whether or not the march would be a safe and good place for their kids. Yet many families brought their children and shared how profound it was to march together--with a little planning. "We had such a smooth, positive experience that could have easily turned difficult due to the children," wrote Dr. Christie Boxer, who attended the Lansing, MI march. "We studied the city layout so that we could move about effectively given any conditions - violent outbreak, road closings - and arrived early enough to get a kid-friendly spot." In New York City, Dana Ostomel was proud of her daughter's poise, as were fellow marchers: "My five year-old stood with me in a two x two radius for almost three hours waiting to march. My daughter received a lot of positive reinforcement for coming out, standing with others, and using her voice." At the same march, Jenn Linstad felt her eleven year-old daughter had a profound consciousness expansion. "Her foundations in social justice have been strong," said Linstad. "But by being there, she was able to see, first-hand, the deafening truth in the Audre Lorde statement: 'I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own." Two respondents noted the children as a highpoint. "Perhaps the most beautiful thing about the march were the children who marched alongside their parents," wrote Matt Jones, who marched in Cincinnati. Addie Tsai thought the most poignant aspect of the march experience was "seeing so many children holding signs." At the Houston march, Robin Reagler's 11 year-old daughter carried a sign that said "I compete in rodeos. Don't tell me how girls should ACT." A daughter in DC held the sign: "If One Man Can Destroy Everything Why Can't One Girl Change It?". And I'll never forget the young afroed teen boy I saw sitting above the crowd on NYC scaffolding with the sign "Thank you Obamas! You made us feel great again!" "I'm not sure if my daughter will remember the actual day," added Ostomel, "but I hope it builds a visceral feeling within her memory bank that she can call upon." The March Experience So how did it feel for the adults? "Transformative," wrote Lucy Vagnerova. "Uplifting and invigorating," wrote Pam Hart. "Empowering and transformative," wrote a Long Island mother. "A top ten highlight of my life," wrote the Maryland mother. This may have been a trip of a lifetime, but it wasn't easy. "Cold, muddy, stuck in a crowd - we didn't really get to march or hear the speakers," wrote Nicole Cooley, who traveled to Washington from New Jersey. "But it was so inspiring! A lesson to girls that activism isn't always comfortable. Ami Novak wrote of the #PortaJohnStruggle. "We exchanged supplies with the ladies around us, because the porta-johns were disgusting and nearly overflowing," wrote Novak. "[The ladies in line] gave my friend's daughter an extra pussy hat. She loved it." In Montpeiler, VT, Lea Belair was stunned by the crowd size - an estimated 20,000 in a town of 7500 - and who made a special appearance. "We had a high vantage point from the capitol steps and could see marchers arriving at the rally for literally hours. When Bernie Sanders showed up unexpectedly, the crowd--including me--went wild. When he told us there were so many cars on the interstate they had to shut it down, the crowd erupted." For a New York mom traveling to Dayton, OH, on business, attending the local march was an "incredible" experience. "At first I felt out of place because I'm Black, and the crowd majority was definitely Caucasian. I was also wearing all-black and tall boots, something extremely common in New York City, but not in Dayton. But I loved my displaced experience. It proved to me how from the beginning this era is strong." "At 62 years, it was my first march," wrote the Maryland mom. "It's the best I've felt this election because I realized that there was a sense of solidarity that day. I wasn't alone. I wasn't crazy. The marchers were predominantly white, but people of every hue participated. People were so nice. And that's not a word I use often. Though I would suggest inviting more women of color. It would have been nice to see more diversity." Despite white majorities, marchers of color reported positive experiences. "Although I've heard valid points regarding issues of white privilege at the marches, that wasn't my experience," wrote Addie Tsai of the Houston march. "I found incredible solidarity among bodies of various positions - white, black queer, Asian, etc. Everyone felt very connected, and kind, and generous with their bodies in the space." Leslie Cain wore a placard that said "What a Patriot Looks Like". "The arrow pointed towards my melanin-skinned, afro-haloed self," wrote Cain. "Older white women in particular stopped to take pictures of me all day. Not in a unicorn siting way (I know that feeling), but possibly in agreement." In New York City, marchers spoke of the thrill of marching up Fifth Avenue towards Trump Tower. "Beyond the barricades, non-marchers were cheering us on and holding their own signs," wrote Sirin Thada. "People were waving down from windows and balconies. We heard the sound of church bells along the breeze. As we got closer, 'We Shall Overcome' rang from the top of St. Thomas Church and we sang along. That was such a beautiful moment, to all be of one voice." Rosie Finizio wrote that the high point of marching was knowing "that we are all the heroes of this story, united against an evil Orange Menace." But Finizio had advice for next time around: "Once people get to Trump Tower, they must MOVE." After many hours waiting for a march to start, marchers want to keep it moving for sure. Speakers captivated many of the marchers. National coverage showed the diverse Washington speaking program, featuring activists from Angela Davis to Linda Sarsour to Melissa Mays. Other marches had speakers, too. At the New York City march, Finizio noted Whoopi Goldberg and Cynthia Nixon. "I went early so I was near the platform and got to hear many of the speeches," wrote Michelle Valladeres. "The most poignant one came from a Latino activist who spoke about his mother's journey crossing the border to give him a chance at an education. He described the running, falling down, and fear, in detail. I felt the pain of all of our stories of immigration, discrimination for whatever difference we possess in that moment. I cried." Star encounters were profound, too. Joan Lipkin had a primo spot next to the stage in DC. There she met Harry Potter film star and UN Goodwill Ambassador Emma Watson. Watson is best known for playing girl power heroine Hermione, a character often namedropped on many march signs (ex. "Without Hermione, Harry would have died in book one"). "I told her she was a wonderful actress but that her work as a human rights activist was as important," wrote Lipkin. "She seemed touched. And when I told her that she is the future, she teared up." You can make the case that the real stars of the day were handmade signs--and the handmade hats. "We saw so many creative signs--people actively complimented each other on originality and execution," wrote Lucie Vagnerova, who attended the Washington march. She also met a woman who sculpts medical-grade silicone vaginas for surgical practice, and she had glued a few anatomically-diverse ones to signs staying "Stay out of my vagina," "Grabs back," and "Not Yours to Grab." And so many in the crowd wore hand-knit hats based on a pattern shared before the march. "There were thousands, maybe tens of thousands of pink pussy hats. This is what the patriarchy gets for committing women to arts and crafts for centuries: we really brought it!" At her Phoenix march, Beth Weinstein was moved to see Canadian women marching. "To know that the world is concerned and wants to lend their voices is truly heartfelt," wrote Weinstein. "It also scares me. If they're as concerned as I am, then the administration must be as bad as I anticipate it to be." In Jacksonville, Holly Masturzo simply wanted to listen. Part of their march day was at Suffragette Mary A. Nolan's gravesite. "People were greeted at the gates of the cemetery and given pledge cards for the local Democratic party - a practical gesture, yet not one that felt like the call I wanted to respond to most that moment," wrote Masturzo. "It wasn't a moment to sign for next actions in my view but rather for listening, for tending to the layers, intensely complex ones at that, of the journey of women's suffrage in this part of the world." Photo by Emma-Lee Signs (A Selection) Take your broken heart and make it art! / These are not tears. This is the Sea. /Thinking Women Against Trump (TWAT) / RBG, stay alive!/Black Lives Matter (carried by more than Black people) / Cheeto in Chief / My daughter's more afraid of intolerance than cancer / Women are Literally the Best / Grumpy Cat saying "UGH" / So bad, even introverts are here / Build a wall between church and state / Do the Most Good/ Love trumps hate / They tried to bury us but they didn't know we were seeds / Women's rights are human rights (with the W on Women replaced with a pair of breasts) / RESIST / The revolution starts here (with a diagram of a uterus) / Make America Think Again / Did you assume that I'm wearing my dad's (Navy) hat? Or my brother's maybe? Then YOU are the reason I'm here /Less suffering, more grace / #FreeMelania / Can't believe I have to protest this shit forty years later / Toddlers Against Tyranny / Your guns will have no animals left to kill if you don't take care of the environment / [Signs in Russian] / Show us your taxes / (Caricature of a sad Paul Ryan) Paul Ryan Can't Find the Clit / Excerpt of June Jordan's 'Poem About My Rights' / We Shall Overcomb / America Is Already Great / Don't Forget: White Women Voted for Trump / I'd Call Him a Cunt But He Lacks Depth and Warmth / Never Underestimate the Power of a Fag with a Tambourine / Resistance is Fertile! / Lesbian Moms on Fleek. Stay Woke! / Thou Shalt Not Mess with a Woman's Reproductive Rights. Fallopians 1:21 / Hell hath no fury like 157 million women scorned / Viva la vulva / I will NOT go QUIETLY back into the 1950s / Respect existence or expect resistance / If you build a wall, I will grow up and tear it down / History has its eyes on you / Planned Parenthood saved my life / I'm NASTY AF / Bully Culprit / Oh Hell No What Now? I asked the marchers what they will do next. "What won't I do now is the question," wrote Beth Weinstein. "I'm making calls every day to (Senators) McCain and Flake. Today's calls are regarding (Cabinet nominee) Betsy DeVos." Other marchers pledged phone calls and visits to elected, actions encouraged by the Indivisible guide and congressional staff advising constituents on most effective lobbying techniques. "We must call, email, and write our representatives relentlessly," wrote Dawn Tarney Brunner. "So they never forget what the majority wants." "I'm getting involved with the local Democratic organization," wrote Dr. Boxer, "and using my position as a college professor to educate and guide others to effective actions." Laura Miller Tomaselli, a Brooklyn mother, is busier than ever: "Lots of conversations, social media posts, poster parties, fundraising dinners, rallies, picket lines, voter turnout efforts. Lots of listening, lots of comparing notes." But Miller made a point about current political leadership. "The grassroots certainly showed its stuff last Saturday. Now we are waiting for the Democratic Party to do more than send us daily solicitations. Where are they, I wonder? Is there anything left of that billion we raised for Hillary?" All respondents had some kind of action plan, though some marchers were focused more on personal interactions: "I want to be a force of positivity, to be everything Trump is not," wrote Sirin Thada. "To speak from the heart, but with wisdom, clarity, love and respect. To End with a Beginning When Shari Berman shared her story, she wrote of her group's walk from their parked bus to the Washington march site. I thought it was beautiful. Please allow me to end this piece with a beginning: "Our bus parked three miles from the staging area and, to our surprise, the Metro was at capacity. So we decided to walk the three miles - a sea of pink pussy hats making its way through the streets. And for a day that was filled with inspiration, the three-mile journey was perhaps the most inspiring experience of them all. All along the way we were greeted with lawn signs set in front of private homes not promoting a particular candidate or political agenda but instead featuring spiritually-lifting quotes from Dr. Martin Luther King. The DC police and the National Guard were kind, polite, and welcomed us to their city. A few even applauded us. We passed an African American church where several older people were leaving a religious service. They cheered us on and said that they were with us in spirit. We encountered neighbors handing out free water or playing music to spur us on. A beautiful little girl not more than seven years-old dressed in a Disney Princess stood on her porch and waved to us. It was her future we were marching for and we all waved back! All along the way people took a moment out of their day to thank us for being there and I couldn't have been prouder to be American."

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2kc8d5O