“don’t Project YOUR Issues Onto That Fictional Man” I’m Not Even Doing Anything. He’s Doing

Halloween Surprise

Pairing :  (Former) Dean x reader

Summary: You're out trick or treating with your son when you run into someone from your past. Someone with the same green eyes as your son.

Warnings: Feelings of betrayal, secrets, breakup and heartbreak.

Word Count: 5081

Y/N = Your Name | Y/L/N = Your Last Name

“Lucas! Are you ready to go?” You called up the stairs as you frowned down at your wristwatch. It was already getting a bit late, and you didn’t want to be out when it was dark outside. You’d long since learned what was lurking in the darkness, but ever since you had your son you’d grown even more wary of the lengthening shadows that came with twilight. 

Yet, though you were on a pretty tight trick or treating schedule, the little rascal upstairs remained nearly suspiciously quiet as you tapped the boot of your Wonder Woman costume impatiently. 

“Lucas (Y/L/N)!” You called up again, channeling every ounce of strict motherly love you could into your voice as you debated going up to check what the cheeky little five year old was up to. The beginning of fear and panic rearing its ugly head as your carefully developed hunter’s instincts always went to the worst possible outcome.  Yet, the little giggle that easily reached you from the top of the stairs quickly calmed your frayed nerves and reminded you that you were no longer a hunter. You’d left that life behind you nearly six years ago. The moment you realized you were pregnant. 

“No Lucas up here mommy!” Your son’s cheeky little voice called back, the poorly concealed giggles drawing a smile out of you as you rolled your eyes at the little guy. His love for the dramatic was clearly something he’d gotten from his father. Though the man in question would probably disagree and say it was a trait your son had gotten from you. Swallowing down the bittersweet feeling that always followed any thought of the man you’d loved and lost, you took a deep breath before calling back up to your little man.

“Really? Oh, that’s too bad, but… Does Batman wanna come trick or treating with mommy then?” You called back with a small smile. One that only grew from the happy squeal leaving your little vigilante as he bounced into view. Before carefully taking the stairs the moment you reminded him not to run down the carpeted staircase. 

“Yes! Batman wants candy!” His young voice was still high pitched and innocent. But Lucas still tried to mimic the deep, whispered voice of Batman as he hurried down the stairs. His Batman mask was slightly crooked on his freckled nose as he came to a full stop in front of you with green eyes looking up at you in anticipation. 

“Alright then Batman. It’s just you and me today then. We’ll have to bring some candy back for Lucas too,” You said with a soft laugh as you kneeled down to fix his crooked mask and smooth his slightly tousled nest of hair. 

“It’s me mommy!” Your little guy whispered as he lifted the mask, showing you his best conspiratory look as he gently placed the mask back on, just as crooked as it had been before you initially fixed it. 

“It’s a secret, hussssh” He continued as he let you fix his mask for him once more. 

“Mommy won’t tell anyone. Promise. Now, are you ready to go trick or treating pumpkin? Remember, we have to be back before it gets dark,” You asked your little superhero as you reached out for his Batman windbreaker and helped him put it on. 

“Yes! Trick or Treat!” He called out loudly and cheerfully, just like you’d practiced. Giving him a warm smile, you grabbed his little bucket in one hand, before reaching out to put his small hand in your free one. Ready to go door to door in search of treats, and hopefully no tricks. 

--- 

Halloween had never been your favorite time of year. Which was understandable, given how you’d grown up. But Lucas had given you a newfound appreciation for the day. And though you were still slightly on edge as you scanned the busy crowds out in your little, safe, cul de sac, you were much more at ease than you’d been when you first left the hunting life behind you. 

Which was probably how you missed the two men mingling with the crowds dressed in suits, stopping parents to show off fake FBI badges as you focused on getting your son from one house to the next. Along with a few of the other neighborhood moms. 

Hell, you even missed the clearly lustful looks thrown their way by Sharon, your neighbor three houses down from yours. Even though she was barely watching her own little monsters as they tried to steal an extra chocolate bar from the bowl, choosing instead to oogle the two agents as they quietly questioned parents a bit further down the road, making their way up towards you. 

Honestly, even if you had noticed him before Tara had leaned over to you to whisper some not so child friendly words into your ear, you weren’t sure what you would’ve done. Would you have ran away? Maybe… Frozen in place? Probably. 

Considering that was exactly what you ended up doing. Your hand squeezed Lucas’ a little as you gently pulled your little superhero behind you and let your eyes follow Tara’s down the street, just a little past the next house your route would take you to. Where a face you thought you’d never see again was looking back at you, green eyes wide and FBI badge lowered from where he’d just raised it to interrogate yet another thirsty soccer mom. 

“Dean,” The name that once had tasted sweeter than pie on your lips came out as a broken whisper as you tried, and failed, to tear your eyes off of the devastatingly handsome man. 

“Wait, you know him? When did you meet an FBI agent (Y/N)? And can you introduce me to his partner?” Tara asked, a little too loudly for your liking, next to you as her excited eyes went from you and over to Dean before coming right back to you again. 

“I… Yeah, I know him. Look, Tara. Could you take Lucas to the next house? I should… Say hi?” You managed to push the words out as you fought against the nearly nostalgic cotton mouthed feeling Dean Winchester always left you with. Though you were still not sure you had what it took to speak to him after… What had happened. You really had no choice. Not only because he’d spotted you. But because he was there. On your street. 

And when a Winchester came to your street, it was usually not just for a friendly visit. 

But still, you couldn’t bring Lucas with you. Not when the bright green eyes and dusting of freckles over a button nose easily betrayed whose son he was. A son Dean had no clue you’d been raising for the last five years ever since he pushed you away. 

“Only if you get me the number of that tall drink of water over there,” She shot back, already undressing Sam with her best bedroom eyes as you rolled your eyes at her. 

“Tara, you’re married. Happily at that,” You reminded your best ‘mom friend’ as she grinned back at you. 

“A girl can dream (Y/N),” She laughed, before shooting you a small cheeky wink, and dropping down to speak to Lucas instead. 

“Lucas…” She started, before your little guy shook his head quickly, still hidden from Dean’s view behind you. 

“Batman,” Lucas corrected as he clutched his bucket of sweets. As if he was afraid his aunty Tara was planning to steal his hard earned loot. 

“Alright Batman. Do you wanna come with aunty and Robbie to the next house? Your mommy needs to go talk to someone,” Tara said as she reached out her free hand, patiently pretending she couldn’t feel her own one year younger kid pulling at her other hand for her to hurry. As if the little ninja turtle next to her thought the houses would run out of candy if they didn’t hurry. 

“Can I mommy?” Lucas looked up at you through his little Batman mask. Puppy eyes fully engaged as he looked from his bucket of treats and back up at you, as if to stay he still didn’t have enough sugar to last him till next Halloween. 

Even though he already had plenty. 

“Go ahead, pumpkin. Mommy will be right there,” You nodded as you let go of his little hand and let Tara grab it instead. Somewhat reluctantly, as your hunting instincts always worried when the apple pie of your eye was out of reach. 

Giving your friend a grateful smile, you watched the three of them for a second as they walked up the path to the next house. Smiling slightly at Batman’s happy bounce up the footpath, before you turned back to look at Dean again. 

Only to realize he was no longer there. 

“(Y/N),” Just as you were about to scan the crowd for him, the sound of his voice to the left of you made you jump slightly as you cursed your rusty reflexes and pivoted to face him. Doing your absolute damndest to pretend his deep voice didn’t still send pleasurable shockwaves through your body. 

“Dean,” You whispered back as you tried to find your voice under the breathless vertigo that always took over whenever Dean Winchester was anywhere nearby. 

“Thank God. When we didn’t hear anything I thought you…” He said, relief evident in his voice, though you could also hear the early warning signs of worried anger brewing just under the surface. Though he had no right to be angry at you. Not since… 

Not after what happened that night. 

“I’m fine. I just… I quit the business,” You shot back, biting back the words you actually wanted to tack on to the end of your sentence… After you broke my heart. But by the way Dean’s shoulders fell, and the way his worried anger retreated behind a veil of sadness and regret in green eyes, you knew he’d still caught the silent addition to your sentence in your slightly narrowed eyes. 

“Oh…” Was all he managed to push out as he dug his hands into his suit pockets. Fidgeting in front of you in the same way Lucas always did whenever you caught him doing something naughty. 

Like father, like son. 

“Yeah,” You sighed, keeping back the many words you wanted to say as you threw a wary glance over to where Tara and the boys had just reached the next house. Though Dean’s next words forced your eyes back on him. 

“I missed you…” He started, before a quick shake of your head stopped him from continuing. 

“Dean… It was your choice,” You shot back, a small grimace of pain following your words as you remembered that fateful night when Dean Winchester broke your heart. For your own good, he’d said. But it had been anything but. 

You’d loved him, with every damn cell in your body. Hell, you still did. But according to him, six years ago, the two of you had been a liability. You were a weak spot he couldn’t protect. And that scared him. Enough to let you go. Even when you begged him not to.

“I know, and I’ve been regretting it ever since,” Dean broke through your trip down memory lane as he reached out to you in that achingly familiar way he’s done so many times before, to brush some stray hairs out of your eyes. Yet, before those slightly calloused fingers could reach you and burn against your skin, you sidestepped him and crossed your arms. Hugging yourself close as you suddenly felt very underdressed in your Wonder Woman costume. 

“It’s too late for regrets,” You whispered, unable and unwilling to meet his eyes as you instead looked around at the crowds or trick or treaters. More specifically their parents, your neighbors. Many of whom were looking your way. Or more like Dean’s way. Since his FBI outfit stood out among the costumes. 

“I…” Dean started, but you simply shook your head before cutting off whatever he was trying to say.

“Why are you here? Is there a… Anything I should be wary of?” You hesitated over your words. Keeping them vague enough to not arouse the suspicion or attention of one of your nosier neighbors as you felt your muscles tense. Still strong and lithe enough, even six years after your retirement. As you refused to rest on your laurels and kept up your training. Just in case your past caught up to you. If only to protect Lucas. 

“No,” Dean said as you eyed him warily. Not buying the single syllable answer. 

“I promise, there’s nothing here. We’re just looking for someone living nearby who can help us out on a… Case,” He explained, keeping his words equally vague as he let his eyes travel across the crowds that were all inexplicably slowing down when they got close to where the two of you were standing. Looking for the latest piece of juicy cul de sac gossip most likely.

“Alright, that’s good,” You said, a relieved sigh leaving you as your tense shoulders relaxed. Lucas was still safe. You both were. Which was all that mattered. It was all that could matter. Dean couldn’t. Not anymore.

“(Y/N)...” Dean tried. Though you knew what he wanted to say. And you couldn’t have that conversation. Not in the middle of the street with Mr. Brown, your neighborhood gossip, dressed as Frankenstein casting not-so-hidden curious glances in your direction. 

“Look Dean. I’ve gotta go,” You rushed out, avoiding his pleading eyes as you busied yourself with fixing the already perfect whip of truth replica on your hip.

“But…” Dean kept pushing, his hand once more reaching out for you, as if to stop you from slipping through his fingers. 

Yet, before he could continue, or you could think up any excuse, an excited little voice loudly called out to you from your right. A small little streak of black and yellow wobbling up towards you with one hand lifted high in victory. 

“Mommy! Look! They gave me a big chocolate!”

As you refocused your attention towards your little superhero, you barely caught how Dean’s eyes opened wide as they went from you over to the little Batman hurrying up towards you as fast as his little feet could carry him. Cringing internally, you still pretended you didn’t notice the look he threw you as you instead kept your eyes on Lucas.

“Is he…” Dean started, but you missed the question as you wiped the heartbreak from your eyes and focused your attention back on your son. Dropping down to his level, you let him run into your arms waving the chocolate bar in his little hand. 

“Wow! That’s great, pumpkin! Did you say thank you?” You said, adding a layer of fake cheer into your voice as you squeezed your little treasure closer.

“I did! And I said Trick or Treat too!” Lucas said as he wiggled slightly out of your arms without actually leaving the hug to look up at you with a proud beaming smile. Clearly wanting to show you how he was a big boy now. 

“You did great! Such a big boy!” You praised as you ruffled the little nest of messy dark blonde hair on top of his head. 

“Hey there Batman,” Next to you Dean had also crouched down to be at Lucas’ height as he shot him a small smile. Before looking over at you out of the corner of his eyes, making you freeze up as you held your son closer. 

“Who are you?” Lucas asked, suddenly shy as he half hid behind you, still clutching the chocolate bar in his small hand.  

“I’m a friend of your mother’s,” Dean said with a soft smile as he looked down at the full bucket of halloween treats. His eyes wide in admiration, though you could still see the hint of heartbreak and loss behind those green orbs as he clearly came to the wrong conclusion regarding your son. Imagining another man where there wasn’t one, and probably never would be. Yet he didn’t let it show to Lucas as he beamed at him. “Wow! You’ve gotten loads today, haven’t you?”

“Yeah! Mommy taught me how!” Lucas said proudly as he wiggled fully out of your arms now that he knew the man wasn’t one of the scary strangers you’d cautioned him of. Gingerly putting down his bucket, Lucas lifted his mask to properly take in his haul and show his new friend all his treats. 

Without the mask, there was no denying whose son he was. And as recognition flashed in Dean’s eyes, you knew he hadn’t missed the similarities between your child and him as he looked back up at you. An endless amount of questions painting his green eyes a deeper shade as he looked between Lucas and you. 

Wetting dry lips, you took a shaky breath as you gave Lucas a strained smile. Avoiding Dean’s eyes as you focused all your attention on your little superhero instead. 

“Mommy still needs to talk to her friend. Why don’t you go with Aunty Tara to the next house, alright Batman?” You finally managed to push out as you gently fixed your son’s mask and tried to soften the edges of your smile as you gave him a little nod towards where Tara was waiting when he seemed to hesitate.

“Will you come soon too Mommy?” He asked, his young little voice seeming a little dejected as he looked from his candy haul and up at you. 

“I will baby,” You softened as you placed a feather light kiss on his crown of messy hair.

“Promise?” The mini Batman asked as he set those big green puppy eyes in you. Eyes you could never resist. From neither of the two men to either side of you. 

“Pinky promise,” You swore, crossing your heart before stretching out your pinky and linking it with your son’s.

Giving you a sloppy kiss on your cheek, Lucas finally seemed happy with your answer as he grabbed his little pumpkin shaped bucket again as hurried back over to Robbie and Tara while loudly telling them both that “mommy said she’s coming soon”. 

For a second, Dean stayed silent next to you as you both got up from where you’d been crouched to speak to Lucas. The sounds of children’s laughter and hushed conversations between nosy neighbors filled the space between the two of you as you looked for a place to have the conversation you’d never thought you’d actually have to have. But as Dean grabbed your wrist, you were left stuck in place in the middle of the busy sidewalk. 

“Is he…” Dean started, not letting you move away from the crowd before he asked the question that had been shining out behind green eyes since he put two and two together. 

“Let’s go somewhere else…” You hesitated, throwing cautious glances at the crowds around you. Though most of them had seemingly grown bored of your conversation once they realized nothing juicy was being said.

“Is he my son (Y/N)?” Dean insisted, though he kept his voice low and his words barely a whisper. Keeping them between just the two of you. 

“... Dean,” You sighed, still not meeting his eyes as you looked around you. Making sure no one had heard his question. But Dean didn’t let you shift the topic as he shook his head and kept his hand circled securely around your wrist. 

“(Y/N), please,” He nearly begged, squeezing your wrist softly to make you look up at him. The fractured light hitting green eyes nearly took your breath away as you saw the desperate need to know shining back at you.

“Yes. He…” Swallowing heavily you took a shaky breath, before once more looking down the street to find your little Batman in the crowds together with Tara. 

“Lucas is your son,” You finally continued as you found him. Happily talking Tara’s ear off like the little ladies’ man he was. 

“Lucas,” Dean said carefully. Rolling the name around on his tongue as he followed your gaze down to look, awestruck, at his son. 

“Yeah, he’s just turned five not long ago,” You added with a soft smile. Remembering the late September birthday party. Which, no surprise, had been fully Batman themed. Just like everything had been lately. 

“Five… Not long ago?” Dean questioned. Brows furrowed as he did the mental math. Counting backwards to the cold January night when he broke your heart. 

“I found out I was pregnant shortly after you told me to leave,” Your words came out a bit more bitter than you meant for them to be. The sour taste of heartbreak still made it hard to sweeten the words.

“I never told you to leave,” Dean shot in, arguing semantics as his hand tightened slightly around the wrist he was still holding onto. Tugging your hand gently towards you, you shook your head at him when he still refused to let go. Biting back a bitter laugh and unwanted tears as you took a shaky breath. 

“You told me we’d never work out. Did you really think I’d stick around after that?” You whispered, still managing to keep your voice low, though your emotions were causing havoc within your chest. Making it hard to even hear your own barely even there words.

“I just wanted you to be safe! You kept…” Dean’s voice was loud enough to draw a few more curious glances  as you shot him a wide eyed, panicked look before shaking your head imperceptibly. Wordlessly reminding him to be quiet. Taking a deep breath, Dean shot your nosy neighbors a shaky smile before leaning in closer and lowering his voice.

“Look, I know I fucked up. But, even if I did, how could you not tell me I had a son?” His whispered voice muted the incredulity and slight sadness at the betrayal in his tone, but it was still painfully clear to you as you grimaced. You knew you should’ve told him. But your wounds had just been so damn fresh. So instead you’d relied on excuses. The same you leaned on as you finally looked back up to meet his green eyes.

“I tried… Your number was disconnected. The only number I had for you. And… Hell, I just didn’t want to hurt anymore,” You sighed. Some of the truth slipping out together with your practiced excuse from nearly six years ago. 

“It was? Shit… Damn it. I lost a phone during a hunt. And I would’ve done anything to have you back (Y/N). There’s no way I would’ve hurt you. Not when every day without you was hell. Still, you could’ve called Sammy. Or just driven up to the bunker. Or…” Dean was ranting as his hand finally slipped from your wrist to card through his hair in frustration. Though, from the way his eyes fell to the forgotten badge in his own hand, you knew he was mainly blaming himself as he cut off his words with a tired sigh. 

“Maybe I could have, but I just… Fuck. I just couldn’t. You hurt me and..” Cutting yourself off with a shake of your head you wrapped your arms back around yourself as if to protect your barely patched up heart and wet dry lips. Before squeezing your eyes shut, in a foolish effort to shut the world out. 

For a few seconds, you let the silence settle between you as you tried to find the words. Knowing Dean was doing the same in front of you. Though you couldn’t see him as you kept your eyes closed and let the bright dots floating in your cut off vision hypnotize you believing none of it had happened. That you were still just next to your son. Not being confronted with the ghosts of your own messy past. 

“Look Dean… I can’t do this. Not tonight. Not while I’m dressed as fucking Wonder Woman,” You finally said with a tired shrug of your shoulders as you finally opened your eyes and met Dean’s head on. You knew you couldn’t hide from your past anymore. Not when it had come nearly all the way to your front porch. But Lucas was waiting for you, and you needed privacy for the long overdue conversation with Dean. Something that was in short supply on the small cul de sac. 

“You look good in that…” Dean cut in, a small hint of his boyish grin and that trademark charm as he took you in, as if for the first time while you rolled your eyes at him. Though his attempt at lightening the mood still fell flat when weighed up against the heavy weight in your stomach from the many broken pieces of your heart that had dislodged from seeing him again. 

“I know I do. But that’s not the point. I can’t. Not now,”  You still let a small smile slip before you shook it, and the nostalgic emotions it was painted in, away and replaced them with tired resignation. As your own small smile that had temporarily brightened Dean’s fell away, so did his. Though his green eyes had softened slightly as he seemed to resign himself to not having all his questions answered by interrogating you on the sidewalk of your own street. 

“Just tell me one thing. Are you happy? Is Lucas happy?” Dean’s quiet voice asked after a beat or two of silence. His eyes slightly shrouded by enviably thick lashes as he kept them downcast and focused on the polished shoes of his FBI outfit. His words made you look towards the houses again, easily spotting your little man a few homes down as you smiled and waved in his direction where he was busy waving your way.

“We are and he is. We have a good life here. A safe home. He’s the smartest little boy ever. Just like his dad,” You finally said as you let your hand drop. Glancing Dean’s way, you caught him looking towards Lucas as well. His eyes watching the small boy wistfully as he once more stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

Wetting his lips, Dean seemed to hesitate for a second as he opened and closed his mouth wordlessly before finally tearing his eyes off of the son he hadn’t known he had to look at you instead. 

“Can I… Is it alright if I see him again? See you again?”

For a second, you hesitated. Your heart was stuck in your throat as you mulled over your answer. Thinking up and throwing away a million what ifs and reasons not to. But in the end, your heart won the battle. You could never forget Dean Winchester. And, no matter how he felt about you, and you about him, Lucas was his son. He deserved the chance to get to know the coolest kid you knew. 

“... Bring Sam over after 7 pm tonight. Bring candy. And change out of those stuffy suits. We’ll… Talk over dinner,” You finally sighed, losing the battle with your heart as you hesitated over every word, even as you’d made up your mind to invite him over and already started planning the night’s dinner in your head now that you’d have two more mouths to feed. 

“Yeah? Alright, yeah… Ok. Seven.  I’ll be there,” Dean was already walking backwards away from you, looking slightly hopeful and clearly itching to fill his little brother in to let Sam know he was an uncle. That bright boyish spark that you’d fallen in love with many years ago back in green eyes as he smiled cautiously at you. A slightly crooked smile that slowly grew warmer as your words sank in. 

Throwing you a little wave, he turned around, ready to hurry back to his brother and call off the search so he could go raid some stores for candy and change. Yet, before he could take another step, your exasperated laughter made him stop as you rolled your eyes at his broad back. 

“Dean!” You called out after him, a raised eyebrow paired with a small knowing smirk as you watched him turn around to look at you. HIs green eyes wide and looking more than a little frazzled as you melted at the sight of the gorgeous man you’d fallen in love with many years ago. The man you never stopped loving. Even if he broke your heart.  

“You need to know where I live first,” You called out to him. No longer caring about nosy neighbors as you warmed your words with a small laugh that only grew louder as the ‘FBI agent’ stumbled over his own feet in his hurry to come back over to you. 

“I’m just down the street, look for the white house with the green door. Down there,” You said, pointing in the direction of your small home. Next to you, Dean leaned in to see things from your viewpoint, carefully following your pointer finger as you felt your temperature rise from his proximity. Swallowing the cotton mouthed feeling, you found your lost voice between one heartbeat and the next as you let your hand fall and took a step back away from him to relearn how to breathe again. 

“7 pm,” You repeated. 

“7 pm,” He confirmed. 

Before quickly throwing you another small, hopeful smile. And hurrying away with a mumbled promise of talking later and bringing candy. 

As he walked down the street, looking slightly unsteady on his feet. You couldn’t help the soft smile that played on your lips. Though you didn’t know what would come from it. You couldn't help but feel slightly happy that he’d ran into you. 

Like your own special Halloween treat. One that definitely didn’t fit into Lucas’ plastic pumpkin bucket. 

And though only time would tell what would happen. You couldn’t wait to introduce the two bravest men you knew to the bravest, smartest little boy you knew. Casting one last glance at Dean, you quickly hurried after Tara and the boys. 

Now you had another reason to make sure Batman and you were back home before the sun fully set. At a distance, you swore you could hear Dean’s excited voice as you smiled to yourself. 

“SAMMY! You’ll never guess…”

Dean Winchester Tags: @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler  @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @starsandmidnightblue @screechingartisancashbailiff @septixtrash @punof-agun  @deandreamernp @justagirlinafandomworld @sexyvixen7 @justrealizedimmascifygurl @globetrotter28 @siospins2 @iprobablyshipit91 @mrsjenniferwinchester 

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @hobby27  @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sea040561 @donnaintx @alwaysdreamingforthebest  @thatmotleygirl @chocolateheart @superfanficnatural @flamencodiva @starryeyeseunbyul @waywardbeanie @supernaturalenchanted @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @the-lost-wanderer-of-the-night @strangersstranger @tatted-trina6 @jensengirl83 @whatareyousearchingfordean @jackandthesoulmates  @gh0stgurl @samsgirl93 @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @dainrumnaheim @440mxs-wife

When... when they... 10 years later...

Cillian Murphy for GQ México (2022)

Fellas is it gay to get grace refill in the back of an alley (click for HQ)

when destiel goes canon this thursday then you’ll all see

When you've already read all the good fanfics

Glossary of Quotes, References, and Allusions in 'And This, Your Living Kiss'

INTRODUCTION

I’ve put together this official glossary for my fic due to multiple requests. Please read the whole introduction before you explore it.

First and foremost, I am a lover of literature and music but I’m not an expert. Dates are mostly taken from Wikipedia; definitions are in my own words but whenever I doubted myself I confirmed and/or adjusted using The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, fourth edition.

What this glossary is:

A list, in order of appearance, of any reference I/the characters have made with links and receipts when necessary EXCEPT for Supernatural references. There are very many of those and are meant for fans of the show to enjoy. A handful of extremely obvious references (e.g. Moana) have also been skipped.

What this glossary is not:

—Me explaining why I/the character chose to make that reference

—Me either endorsing or condemning any of these works and/or their creators

However, in order for people to make informed decisions, I have added a few Caveat lector warnings (reader beware) wherever I am aware of egregious negative themes. Use your own discretion from there. Please also understand I may be ignorant of some things myself in which case no warning will appear.

I’ve tried to keep the editorializing to a minimum. That said, if you have questions or want me to expand on anything contained herein, drop an ask and I’ll do my best to answer.

To navigate:

Each entry begins with phrases copied as written from the fic in order of their appearance. Therefore this will probably be the most helpful to read if you have both fic and glossary open on your screen; otherwise use your browser’s “find” function for keywords. People/works that are mentioned more than once only appear in the glossary the first time. Likewise, if it is defined in the fic itself I generally did not add it here, so double-check if you think something was missed.

Lastly, please enjoy!

opal <3

TITLE

“And This, Your Living Kiss”: a line from the poem “If I Was Dead” by Carol Ann Duffy (Scottish, b. 1955) and included in her collection Rapture(2005). You can read the poem in full here at the Scottish Poetry Library.

CHAPTER ONE: ARISE

He didn’t care where, just far. : A riff off a line from the song “Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)” by Deftones, off the album Around the Fur (1997). [youtube link]

The cheap perfume of the girls as they walk by, all dressed in their summer clothes… : A riff off a lyric from “Paint It, Black” by The Rolling Stones, off the album Aftermath (1966). [youtube link]

the usual oversold things like Patterson and Cussler : Bestselling American writers James Patterson (b. 1947) and Clive Cussler (1931-2020).

Dean scanned past Emerson and Erdrich, Ferlinghetti and García Lorca, until he paused on Allen Ginsberg. : Ralph Waldo Emerson, American writer (1803-1882); Louise Erdrich, Ojibwe/American novelist and poet (b. 1954); Lawrence Ferlinghetti, American beat poet and cofounder of City Lights, a San Francisco bookstore and publishing company referenced throughout this fic (1919-2021); Federico García Lorca, Spanish poet and playwright (1898-1936); Allen Ginsberg, American beat poet (1926-1997).

a book that just said Howl : Poem written by Allen Ginsberg and published in the collection Howl and Other Poems by City Lights in 1956. It’s made of four parts (three sections plus a footnote). Read it here, and don’t forget to click to the footnote at the bottom.

and it wasn’t the tiny black and white City Lights paperback : City Lights has a “Pocket Poets Series” whose design is pretty iconic. Read about it and see an example here.

HOWL, it read, Original draft facsimile…Facsimile? What did that even mean? : In the world of poetry a facsimile usually refers to a reproduction of a poem with all its extant drafts, including any markings made on them. They’re incredibly helpful in studying the craft/process of poets.

He wasn’t some elite sitting in his little Robert Frost cabin in the woods : Robert Frost, American poet (1974-1963).

discussion of the obscenity trial that nearly stopped it from being printed : Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Shig Murao were put on trial for publishing and disseminating Howl and Other Poems on the charge of the material being obscene. Obviously, they won the case.

Am I mad that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? / I will pluck it from my bosom, though my heart be at the root. : A couplet from the long poem “Locksley Hall” (1835) by English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892). Caveat lector: If you intend to read it, be warned it is an excellent example of his complicated legacy. That is, he has written some of the best verse to grace the English language, influencing it in many ways (“better to have loved and lost,” most famously), and yet he was a hella British imperialist with all the attendant racist and colonialist views. Arguably queer and proto-feminist, still some of the POVs he writes from, like the narrator of this poem, are very sexist and patriarchal.

Do I dare? : A famous quote from the poem “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” (1915) by T.S. Eliot (American-British poet, 1888-1965). Caveat lector: This poem is a fantastic read, but be aware that if you venture into his other poetry his anti-Semitism does make appearances.

was like a waking limb, pins and needles? : Another lyric riff, this time from “Nice to Know You” by Incubus, off the album Morning View (2001). [youtube link]

Courage, poor stupid heart of stone. : Another Tennyson quote, this time from his epic poem Maud: a monodrama (1855). Read it here. Click “next” at the bottom of the page for the rest of the poem.

CHAPTER TWO: JUVENILIA

Juvenilia : Term used to refer to the early works of a writer, generally unpublished until they’ve become established and there’s an interest/demand. From the Latin “of youth.”

Anne Bradstreet and Nathaniel Hawthorne and fucking Puritans : Discussion of American literature in classrooms usually starts with the Puritans. Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672), though born in England, lived most of her life in Massachusetts and is considered by some to be the first great American poet. Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864) was not a Puritan, but he was a direct descendant of prominent Puritan figures and his most famous book, The Scarlet Letter, takes place in those times/that culture.

discussions of The Scarlet Letter and Moby-Dick: For Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter (1850) see above. Moby-Dick (1851) was written by Herman Melville (1819-1891) and is another staple of early American lit.

It wasn’t until Dr. Moseley assigned Jack Kerouac’s On the Road that he paid a little more attention in class. : Jack Kerouac (1922-1969) was a major figure of the Beat Generation, writing both books and poetry. His most famous novel was a piece of autobiographical fiction called On the Road, published in 1957. Caveat lector: In the novel you’ll find general sexism throughout and a couple passages of ignorant (as opposed to malicious) racism.

“The Hobbit, that was written by the same guy as Lord of the Rings, right?” “J.R.R. Tolkien,” she answered brightly. : J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973) English philologist and writer. He’s most widely known for his book The Hobbit (1937) and its sequel, his masterpiece The Lord of the Rings (1954-1955).

“I keep meaning to because Led Zeppelin references it a lot.” : Two songs that immediately come to mind are “Ramble On” (1969) and “The Battle of Evermore” (1971). Youtube links here and here.

“Those were the days, man,” he said. “When a guy could just hop in a car and do whatever he wanted. A car, a destination, and a girl, in that order.” : A quote from On the Road: “It was remarkable how Dean could go mad and then suddenly continue with his soul—which I think is wrapped up in a fast car, a coast to reach, and a woman at the end of the road.”

“You named yourself after Ray Bradbury, of course I like you for you.” : Ray Bradbury (1920-2012), American writer, best known for Fahrenheit 451.

She was reading a slim volume called Wit : The play Wit or W;t premiered in 1995 and was written by Margaret Edson (American, b. 1961). It won the Pulitzer Prize in 1999. There was a movie made of it a while back starring Emma Thompson as Vivian Bearing, but definitely go see it in person at a theatre if you get the chance.

Shakespeare. Death of a Salesman. Pretty sure I’ve read The Crucible three times in three different states. : The plays Death of a Salesman (1949) and The Crucible (1953) were both written by American playwright Arthur Miller (1915-2005). Plenty of adaptations have been made of Miller’s work if you don’t get a chance to see them at a theatre; Dustin Hoffman is in a movie version of Salesman which I can knowingly recommend as quality.

a college professor specializing in metaphysical poetry : Basically you’re looking at a loosely defined English poetical movement in the 1600s. John Donne is by far the most famous of these poets.

“John Donne was the most famous practitioner…Hm, let’s see. You know the Metallica song, ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’?” “Sure, based on a Hemingway book.” : John Donne, English poet and priest (1572-1631). “For Whom the Bell Tolls” is a song by Metallica off the album Ride the Lightning (1984) [youtube link]. Ernest Hemingway, American writer and journalist (1899-1961). For Whom the Bell Tolls is among his most famous works. The quote is from “Meditation XVII” found in Donne’s Devotions upon Emergent Occasions (1623), which you can read here. The relevant and extremely famous part is “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”

The centerpiece is a poem by John Donne, ‘Death Be Not Proud.’ : Sonnet written in 1609.

Dr. Seuss. Shel Silverstein. Chicka chicka boom boom. : Dr. Seuss, American writer and illustrator (1904-1991); Shel Silverstein, American writer (1930-1999); Chicka Chicka Boom Boom (1989) is an American picturebook written by Bill Martin Jr. and John Archambault, illustrated by Lois Ehlert.

if it was good enough for Plant and Bowie and Queen : Robert Plant is of course the lead singer of Led Zeppelin; Bowie is of course David Bowie.

Pulling them up from their dying bed : Here Dean is referencing Led Zeppelin’s version of “In My Time of Dying” (1975).

Just wipes us off his shoulder, dust to dust. : Naturally a reference to the famous line from many a Christian burial service, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

You told us that Kerouac wrote On the Road in one sitting. : A bit of an exaggeration; Kerouac reportedly typed up his “original scroll” in an intense drug-fueled haze in a relatively short period of time. This was eventually published long after the fact, so you can buy a copy if you’re interested.

What we read for class was highly edited : For coherency and subject matter and yes, changing the names of the real people involved. And it’s a lot shorter.

Well he and his friends were part of the Beat Generation. : Mid-century American art and counterculture movement.

One was titled Howl and the other, Kaddish. : Missouri is giving Dean the City Lights publications of Howl and Other Poems (1956) and Kaddish and Other Poems (1961), both by Allen Ginsberg. Kaddish is also considered one of Ginsberg’s masterpieces, written after the death of his mother.

If you like it, after we read Ralph Ellison I might squeeze in some poetry : Ralph Ellison, American writer and critic (1913-1994). Best known for Invisible Man (1952).

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness : This marks the first few lines of the poem Howl.

The Footnote with its orgasmic, nirvanic litany holy, holy, holy : The Footnote to Howl begins with fifteen repetitions of “Holy!” and contains many more iterations of the word thereafter.

Holy the cocks of the grandfathers of Kansas! : As written in the middle of the Footnote to Howl.

Eagerly Dean devoured the rest of the collection: “A Strange New Cottage in Berkeley,” “Sunflower Sutra,” and then, in the pinking dusky sky, “Many Loves,” : Indeed these are all pieces found in Ginsberg’s collection Howl and Other Poems. The italics in the paragraphs following this line are all lifted from “Many Loves” and not coincidentally, the phrases are in the order they appear in the poem, so even though you’re missing most of it, you are discovering those lines at the same time Dean is.

Oh god, they were together on a small cot. : Oh my god, there was only one bed! ^_^ Ginsberg and Cassady lived out the trope, y’all!! Icons!

Rufus Turner and his wife Gwen : Gwen is the only name in the fic not lifted from Supernatural, as no one in Rufus’s family is named in the show. Therefore I chose to name Rufus’s wife after celebrated American poet Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000).

you’ve never heard of Langston Hughes, one of the greatest poets this country ever produced? Harlem Renaissance? Nothing? : Langston Hughes (American, 1901-1967). The Harlem Renaissance was an African-American cultural movement (of which Hughes was a major figure) whose epicenter was in Harlem, New York City. It reverberated across the country and the world during the early 20th century. Hughes and jazz and all sorts of art from the Harlem Renaissance were big influences on Allen Ginsberg (and the Beats in general).

Eastern poetics had a big influence on Ginsberg. : Just like what was showing up in music by The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, Eastern art, culture, and religion were popular in a big way in Western literature during the mid-century. The Beat Generation was well involved. Ginsberg talks about haiku a lot when discussing his craft.

Japanese masters, like Matsuo Bashō : A Japanese poet (1644-1694) very famous for haiku. His Frog Haiku has been rendered in many ways, but of course Ginsberg’s is included here. For comparison, an older contemporary of the Beats named Kenneth Rexroth, who translated a lot of foreign-language poetry into English (thank you for your service, good sir!), fashioned it thus: An old pond— / The sound / Of a diving frog.

CHAPTER THREE: DR. NOVAK

The expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face—You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side— : Both lines are lifted from the second stanza of the second part of Walt Whitman’s (American, 1819-1892) poem “I Sing the Body Electric,” first published in 1855, but revised over the years. Read it here. Caveat lector: Slavery and auction block references.

Styles, forms. Sonnet, sestina, terza rima? : Style can refer to the common definition, but also specific characteristics that define an individual’s writing, or a poetic/literary movement. Its definition can change depending on type of criticism. The study of styles is called stylistics. Form refers to the structure by which a poem is composed or, more broadly, how lines are broken up in free verse, etc. Forms invented and/or made famous by a certain poet automatically invoke that poet when choosing to write within it. The following three terms are traditional poetic forms. A sonnet is traditionally a 14-line poem that often follows a certain scheme based on three different poets who perfected them: the Italian or Petrarchan sonnet, associated with Petrarch (Francesco Petrarca, Aretine, 1304-1374); the Spenserian, associated with Edmund Spenser (English, 1552/3-1599); and the English or Shakespearean associated, of course, with William Shakespeare (1564-1616). Originally a Sicilian invention from the 1200s. A sestina is a difficult form comprised of six stanzas with six lines apiece. Each line of the poem ends with one of six words, alternating by pattern. It ends with a final three-line stanza using all six words, three in the middle and three at the end. If this sounds confusing, read Elizabeth Bishop’s famous “A Miracle for Breakfast” (1937) to see the sestina in action. An Occitan invention of the 1100s, likely by Arnaut Daniel. Terza rima consists of tercets (three-line stanzas) interlocked by the rhyme scheme aba bcb cdc and so on. Developed by Dante Alighieri (Florentine, 1265-1321) for his masterwork la Commedia, best known as The Divine Comedy.

How about poetic elements? Chiasmus, anaphora? : Chiasmus is also a type of repetition. It can occur on the level of sound, word, phrase, idea, or structure, by reversing or crossing over two of these things. Example: “A and B; B and A.”

Dean was hardly going to tell him that his last collection had been shortlisted for the National Book Award. : A longstanding and important book award given annually in the United States. In addition to Poetry there are currently categories for Fiction, Nonfiction, Translated Literature, and Young People’s Literature. If you’re looking for poetry recs Wikipedia has a list of the winners and finalists here.

and popped Zepp’s Physical Graffiti into the player. : Led Zeppelin released their sixth album Physical Graffiti in 1975. [youtube link]

Honestly Dean wouldn’t be surprised if one of them had declared their love for Cas on their eyelids, Indiana Jones style. : See this short clip from Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) if you’re unfamiliar with Dean’s reference.

Paradise Lost : This epic poem was written by John Milton (English, 1608-1674) in 1667.

The Bible : Oldest extant written text from around a couple hundred years BCE, but presumed to have first been put together centuries prior via linguistics and historical considerations, etc. About a third of the Hebrew Bible is poetry.

The Iliad : Epic poem of Ancient Greece concerning the Trojan War first written down, and possibly composed, in the 8th century BCE. Popularly attributed to Homer.

Beowulf : Written down around the turn of the 11th century CE, but possibly from up to a couple centuries earlier, this epic poem was composed in Old English aka Anglo-Saxon.

Gilgamesh : Some of the earliest surviving literature of the world full stop! Poems about the Ancient Mesopotamian figure first showed up written in Sumerian (possibly as early as the mid-2000s BCE???), but this student likely means the Epic of Gilgamesh, composed in Akkadian and written up to a millennium or so later.

They come from the oral tradition. : Billie and Cas remind us that just because a written piece of work is very old, it in no way means the culture it comes from is superior to others. All cultures had and have rich, beautiful, ancient storytelling traditions whether they’ve been written down or not.

driving in a car singing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ with our friends : “Bohemian Rhapsody” is a song written by Queen off the album A Night at the Opera (1975). [youtube link] Though I can guarantee you that the comment brings to Dean’s mind the famous opening of the movie Wayne’s World (1992). [youtube link]

the next person, who had chosen some Sylvia Plath : Sylvia Plath, American, 1932-1963. Caveat lector: If you explore her more famous poems you will find vivid Holocaust references that, though used as metaphor, are very arguably anti-Semitic. Also consider caution if you struggle with depression.

Yone Noguchi : Whether Noguchi can be considered American depends on who you ask, as he was born in Japan and returned there later in life, but he lived in the United States a good long while and wrote a lot of English-language poetry. Dean makes an erroneous assumption here without having read the full bio; Noguchi certainly wrote a lot in Japanese as well, but that’s outside the purview of Castiel’s class.

“Uh, Imagism?” “You know, early shit from Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot and whatever.” : Imagism was more or less the precursor to Modernism in English-language poetry and was, as you may guess, heavy on imagery. Ezra Pound (American, 1885-1972) was a huge proponent of Imagism and an important writer, critic, and editor such that he basically is the foundation of 20th century English-language lit. For all that, another Caveat lector: he was an anti-Semite and such a devoted fascist that he literally moved to Italy for love of Mussolini and was later tried by the States for treason (got out of it on the grounds of mental health). I don’t know how much of such views appear in his poetry because I’ve read little of it. However, for a small but famous example of his work that also demonstrates the influence of Eastern poetics, here’s “In a Station of the Metro” (1913): The apparition of these faces in the crowd: / Petals on a wet, black bough.

That attitude’s just a holdover from when Harold Bloom was talking about the ‘Anxiety of Influence’ that poets suffer : Harold Bloom (American, 1930-2019), influential critic, published his book The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry in 1973.

Jonathan Lethem, though? Him you should look up. : Jonathan Lethem (American writer, b. 1964) wrote an essay called “The Ecstasy of Influence,” published in Harper’s Magazine in 2007. Read it in full here.

There were some poets he vaguely remembered from high school, like Wilfred Owen : English poet, 1893-1918. Considered one of the great WWI poets, he was killed in action while in France, age 25.

Typographical, sonic, sensory, ideational, and—putting them all together—fusional. : Adapted and in widespread use based on books by Lewis Turco (American, b. 1934). Some basic definitions follow. Typographical: How the poem appears on the page. Sonic: Anything sound-related, from repeated letters (assonance, consonance) to rhyme, rhythm, meter, pauses, etc. Sensory: Things that evoke both physical senses (taste, touch, etc.) and emotions. Ideational: Thoughts and ideas; themes, morals, arguments, opinions, etc. Fusional: How and whether the other levels fit into a cohesive whole; is the poem more than the sum of its parts?

Maybe Dean was a little Hot for Teacher : “Hot for Teacher” is a song by Van Halen from the album 1984 (indeed, released in 1984). [youtube link]

singing the praises of poems that required fluency in five languages {…} “What, he can quote half an Eastern religion but he’s not quoting Tennyson?” : In T.S. Eliot’s long poem The Waste Land (1922) a few different languages make an appearance, including Sanskrit, as he pulls from Hindu scripture. Dean points out that one of the poem’s most famous lines, “I will show you fear in a handful of dust” owes something to a less famous line of Tennyson’s, also appearing in the aforementioned Maud, “And my heart is a handful of dust.”

CHAPTER FOUR: DINNER AT MISSOURI’S

and coax out her thoughts about Vonnegut’s short stories : Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007), American writer best known for his novel Slaughterhouse-Five.

You also might want to brush up on your MLA. : The Modern Language Association, an American organization that publishes the style and citation guide favored by literary scholars; in this context used as shorthand for how to cite references within a paper.

“Who hasn’t heard of Caddyshack?!” : A 1980 comedy starring Chevy Chase and Bill Murray.

“Exactly,” said Sam, laughing. “And he really loved Ayn Rand.” : Russian-American writer (1905-1982) best known for her novels The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged.

CHAPTER FIVE: JOHN WINCHESTER’S WALTZ

Beat Generation, Formalism, Surrealism, Confessional, Deep Image poetry, and many more : Formalism in this case refers to a resurgence of poetic forms and use of more stringent elements such as rhyme or meter after the recent dominance of free verse. Surrealism had of course been around for decades but saw new life through exchange of international styles and translations, and experimentation pushing boundaries of the traditional and the rational. Confessional poetry is taking the autobiographical style of poetry to the extreme. Very personal and subjective writing about oneself, especially illness and trauma, etc. Deep Image poetry is an American style influenced by the ideas of Carl Jung and especially Latin American surrealism, putting emphasis on archetypal and natural imagery to evoke thought, emotion, and connection.

‘My Papa’s Waltz’ written by Theodore Roethke : American poet, 1908-1963. He was born and grew up in Saginaw.

This next one was written in 1966 by Robert Hayden: 'Those Winter Sundays.' : American poet, 1913-1980. He was born and grew up in Detroit.

And they drank to all the man was, and all he could have been. : In retrospect, almost certainly inspired by lyrics from “The Great Below” by Nine Inch Nails, off the album The Fragile (1999). [youtube link]

So. : An echo of Seamus Heaney’s (Irish poet, 1939-2013) famous and highly lauded translation of Beowulf, specifically his interpretation of the first word “Hwæt” as “So.”

CHAPTER SIX: THE RETURN OF THE QUEEN

The Return of the Queen : Referencing the third part of The Lord of the Rings containing books five and six, The Return of the King.

My candle burns at both ends, the loopy part of his brain chanted over and over, like having a song stuck in the head. It gives a lovely light! : Lines from the short poem “First Fig” (1920) by American poet Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950). In full it reads, My candle burns at both ends; / It will not last the night; / But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends— / It gives a lovely light!

In the end he had to take notes from his man Harrison Ford and pull an Indiana Jones exchange with his wallet. : Another reference to Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. If you’re unfamiliar or need a refresher, here’s a clip of the scene on youtube. Relevant part about a minute in.

Dean had spent too long guarding him like Smaug and his golden hoard : Another Tolkien reference; Smaug is an infamous dragon from the book The Hobbit.

There’s a Whitesnake quote? From their song ‘Here I Go Again.’ : Originally off the album Saints & Sinners (1982), but the more widely known version is the later cut from 1987. [youtube link]

“I love you.” / “I know.” : Infamous lines from Star Wars: Episode V – The Empire Strikes Back (1980) [youtube link].

Elizabeth Bishop : American poet, (1911-1979).

Emily Dickinson : American poet, (1830-1886).

Oscar Wilde : Irish writer, (1854-1900).

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE BRIDGE

and then Billie had mentioned that if Robert Hayden grew up in Detroit couldn’t “blueblack” also be a reference to the local music scene in his childhood?: This wonderful observation is cribbed from the Poetry in America series, as described by poet Elizabeth Alexander (American, b. 1962) in the episode for Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays.” Watch it here.

And wasn’t there a Muddy Waters song : Muddy Waters, American musician 1913-1983. One of the greatest bluesmen to ever live, and a huge influence on rock’n’roll.

while everyone else was bringing in Frost and Dickinson and Keats : John Keats, English poet, 1795-1821.

or ones who drank themselves into the grave like Dylan Thomas, or were going crazy all the time like Lowell : Dylan Thomas, Welsh poet, 1914-1953. Robert Lowell, American poet, 1917-1977.

These poets for social justice, like Dennis Brutus. : Dennis Brutus, South African poet, 1924-2009.

“Warmgold folds,” he said. “Silkchill skeins. That sunlit sensuous voluptuousness / of luxurious indulgence in lush-ripe flesh.” : Phrases from an untitled poem [“The sand wet and cool”] written by Brutus in 1970.

“Milkblue.” : The beginning of another untitled poem by Brutus written in 1970 [“Milkblue—tender the moonlit midnight sky”].

Like Byron did both, right : George, Lord Byron, English poet 1788-1824.

“He said, if he had spent more time on poetry, he would have been a better poet. But working to end apartheid and other injustices in the world was more important work. And that is how he chose to spend his time.” : “And it seems to me that if I ever made such a commitment—to be a craftsman in poetry—inevitably, the other things I’m doing would suffer {…} In order for me to make a total commitment to poetry, I would have to remake myself. This is not impossible, in the sense that I could wholly shut out, say, my political activity, my organizing work, my sports, the kind of chores which I do from day to day with this and that committee, and so on. I think it would not be impossible, but I think it would be immoral. This is what really stops me: that a total commitment to the craft of poetry, with the kind of integrity which that implies, would do damage to what I now regard as essential to integrity for me. Which means social concern.” Dennis Brutus, as quoted in Poetry & Protest: A Dennis Brutus Reader (2006) pg 177.

This idea that poets and other artists should self-destruct for our amusement is a rotten romanticism. : Credit for calling this oft-criticized phenomenon ‘rotten romanticism’ must go to Elizabeth Bishop, as written in a personal letter to a friend. From Megan Marshall’s biography Elizabeth Bishop: A Miracle for Breakfast (2017) pg 130: “Elizabeth had been distressed, she told a friend, by the way so many in [Robert Lowell’s] inner circle, like [Dylan Thomas’s], seemed to “really just love the spectacle of the poet destroying himself and they’re filled with rotten romanticism about it.””

Dean took it hesitantly. “A River Dies of Thirst,” he read. “What is this?” “Mahmoud Darwish. Read ‘The essence of the poem.’ Near the end. Okay?” : Mahmoud Darwish, Palestinian poet, 1941-2008. His collection A River Dies of Thirst was published in Arabic in 2008; the English language edition was translated by Catherine Cobham and published in 2009. Find “The essence of the poem” pgs 119-120.

Dean didn’t hear him. After Mary Oliver and Maya Angelou, there he was: Jack Allen. : Mary Oliver, American poet, 1935-2019. Maya Angelou, American writer, (1928-2014).

and unforgiving lights all / Left up bright, : This line owes something to a lyric from “The Last Time I Saw Richard” off the album Blue (1971) by Joni Mitchell. [youtube link]

Is there life? / Is there life on Mars? : From the song “Life on Mars?” by David Bowie, off the album Hunky Dory (1971). [youtube link]

Getting crushed by a unicorn, hello Freud! : Sigmund Freud, father of psychoanalysis (Austrian, 1856-1939).

Please. That’s exactly the kind of plain guy name a girl would use for a pseudonym. George Eliot-style. : Mary Ann Evans, English writer, better known by her nom de plume George Eliot (1819-1880).

Dean bit his lip, fighting not to snap out that he quoted David Bowie because sometimes it’s kinda funny, you know, what you think when you’re doing things like that : This line riffs off of lyrics from the song “Me and a Gun” by Tori Amos, off the album Little Earthquakes (1992). [youtube link, but trigger warning for rape]

and sometimes a song was just a damn song. : Dean recycling a quote popularly attributed to Freud, “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar” (sometimes there is no symbolic meaning).

“Nights in Pink Satin”: A Reference Playlist

“Nights in White Satin” by The Moody Blues, from Days of Future Passed (1967)

“Lola” by The Kinks, from Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround, Part One (1970)

“Hoochie Coochie Man” by Muddy Waters (1954)

“I’m a Man” by Bo Diddley (1955)

“Mannish Boy” by Muddy Waters (1955)

“I’m Eighteen” by Alice Cooper, from Love It to Death (1971)

“Don’t Let Me Down” by The Beatles (1969)

Referenced in spirit:

“18 and Life” by Skid Row, from Skid Row (1989)

“Pink” by Aerosmith, from Nine Lives (1997)

Accidentally referenced: “In My Time of Dying” by Led Zeppelin.

Nonmusical reference: Allen Ginsberg’s Footnote to Howl.

“If he’s so uncomfortable, I would very much like to read out Sharon Olds’s ‘The Connoisseuse of Slugs’.” : Sharon Olds, American poet (b. 1942). Find “The Connoisseuse of Slugs” in her collection The Dead and the Living (1984), or read it here.

As it should be, padawan : A Jedi apprentice from Star Wars.

The chrism is on thine head,—on mine, the dew,— : From the third sonnet in Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s (English poet, 1806-1861) masterwork Sonnets from the Portuguese (1850). Read it here, though I have used the adjusted punctuation by EBB from later publications.

He showed me how to live. : “Show Me How to Live” by Audioslave, off the album Audioslave (2002). [youtube link]

Lazarus Rising : Just a quick note to say the poem is simply using a terza rima rhyme scheme, since I’ve come across people wondering what form it is.

I hope this glossary was both helpful and interesting! Feel free to drop an ask if you’d like.

on today’s episode of “Elon vs. the Internet”, Misha Collins enters the chat