#for what purpose would laying their lives on the line serve???? is that something about them that needs to change or do they embrace it???

[akkivee]

[st-whalefall]

I’m taking a big ol’ swing with this one so everyone please keep your limbs inside the vehicle until we reach our destination (let me cook)

So, what happened here? For this to go from-

Goofy ass grin <3

Summer: “Trust me..”

To this-

Raven: “The creatures of Grimm have a master named Salem. She can’t be stopped, she can’t be reasoned with, and she will not rest until humanity crumbles at her feet.”

Raven: To Ruby with disdain, “You sound just like your mother.”

Let me lay some of my cards on the table. I’m in the “Summer is still alive” camp and I got thoughts on: if Summer is still alive, why has she not been in Yang and Ruby’s life?

Not even a peep? For 14 years?

Something BIG had to have happened to her to keep her away from them.

Now, a lot of folks will go straight to where Ruby jumped to: Summer got Grimm hound-ed by Salem

But I think that’s takes a lot of agency away from Summer and the building revelation of her character and the purpose she serves in the narrative.

If Summer has been grimmified, I posit it was by her own doing, by choice. And her choice alone.

Qrow: “You’re special the same way your mom was…The creatures of Grimm were afraid of those silver eyed warriors.”

Salem: “Do you feel it? Don’t fight it girl. It can sense your trepidation. You must make it dread you.”

How does Salem illustrate the melding of Cinders flesh with the Grimm arm and mastery over it?

In the few instances we get, how are silver eyes described in their effect on Grimm? Obliteration, yes. Resistance to their influence? Possibly (see Ruby & the apathy). But command over them? Let’s explore that.

We are working with a pretty small dataset here, so you’ll forgive me for mostly drawing from Cinder for this (separate post I think the hound is a reanimated corpse and so different from true living hybrids like Cinder (& hypothetically Summer)).

Grimm evolve and Grimm hybrids, like Cinder, adapt.

From vol4 to vol8, Cinder’s Grimm arm grows. It spreads. And she becomes more comfortable with it as time progresses.

Cinders Grimm arm has become an integral part of her and, side note, I dislike theories that revolve her hypothetical redemption around her being purified of evil (Grimm) by silver eyes.

[But that’s just me, I want the monstrous to stay monstrous rather than erased or watered down for easy digestion. Let the monster stay a monster in its appearance and still be worthy of love, and so on and so forth.]

So, we come back to Summer Rose.

Summer confronted Salem, learned something earth shattering, destroyed Raven’s faith and trust in her, and did something that prevented her from returning to her daughters for more than a decade.

What did Summer do? Agency, we’re thinking strong choices here.

Choices that are radical but in line for a character with strong convictions, an alluded to pedestal she stands upon and all the complexes that comes with, perhaps a little self destructive, and a big heart. Big enough to sympathize with the devil and do something about it.

The thing that could be preventing Summer from returning home could be as simple as:

After she learned the truth about Oz’s shadow war, she joined Salem’s side, and won’t return until she’s seen it through to the end.

But I want to put some spice on there because what if:

After learning whatever it was Salem told Summer, that turned her world upside down, Summer looked down into the pools of black and took the plunge

To understand Salem on a molecular level

To be Grimm as Salem is Grimm

To be a world changer

In the world of Remnant, that’s what the Grimm are. A force of destructive change, like hurricanes and wildfires, they shape the world through calamity. Disaster doesn’t feel any one way about you, it just is. It is devastating, but it doesn’t hate you. And it doesn’t love you either.

So, what would that make Summer?

How do you think that’s changed her, fundamentally?

Bloody evolution indeed.

And that’s why she stayed away. Summer changed, and now she looks a little more on the outside how she feels on the inside. But to the rest of the world, she is something horrifying. Unspeakable.

She didn’t want to give her girls nightmares.

Yeah, Summer was the inspiration for the Hound, and Cinder’s Grimm arm. But not in the way Ruby thinks.

[chloessleepystories]

Reckoning Day

Male/female, female/female, female domination, mind control

It was a typical quiet day on my typical quiet suburban street. Birds singing, a lawnmower somewhere. But there were two things that were not typical.

In my driveway, at a time when there’s usually no one home, there were two cars. One, my wife’s.

And one, my girlfriend’s.

I barely had the engine off before I was leaping from my car and sprinting toward the front door. It was either that, or head for the hills, which was frankly tempting.

I paused on the doorstep, getting my breathing under control. Was this “Honey I can explain” or simply “Hi, ladies, whatcha talking about?” After all, my wife knew Sam – they weren’t friends, exactly, but they knew each other. I couldn’t think of a reason they’d be hanging out, or anything, but this wasn’t necessarily the “Do you know what your husband has been up to” moment.

I opened the door gently, walked in, made a tentative “Hello?” No answer. Nobody in the living room, which was very surprising.

“Honey?” I called, gently.

Nobody in the kitchen.

“Baby?” I whispered.

Suddenly, a noise upstairs – it sounded like ... a moan?

I hurried upstairs, confused, trying to shift mentally from one TV cliché to another. What was happening? Down the hall, quickly but silently, toward the bedroom. Burst through the open doorway ...

And stopped dead.

My girlfriend was lying in the queen sized bed, the bed where I’d repeatedly cheated with her – propped against the pillows, stark naked. Her long red hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, her legs were spread, and her oversized breasts stood high and mesmerizing on her chest. She was a vision, to captivate me all over again.

Between her legs ... lay my wife. Also nude. Her pert ass raised in the air, her blonde head down, buried in Sam’s pussy – she was gorgeous. My cock twitched, wanting to fuck her in this position.

“Rebecca, what the – what the fuck?? What’s going on?”

My wife ignored me, sucking and slurping on my girlfriend’s cunt. I could see Rebecca’s fingers working in her own sloppy pussy, between those beautiful upturned ass cheeks. Rebecca seemed oblivious to me ... But Sam didn’t. She smiled at me wickedly, as she had been since I walked in, and her eyes seemed unusually dark.

“She can’t hear you right now, Roger. Her mind is ... elsewhere, I guess you could say. She’s discovered her True Purpose.”

“trrue purfpofse” Rebecca murmured into the folds that had apparently trapped her tongue.

“What the hell is going on, Sam?” I shouted, as I kicked off my shoes.

“Quietly, love.”

“Is she drugged or something?” I hissed. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing she didn’t want me to do,” she said, and grinned. “Well, eventually, anyway.” Sam stroked the blonde head slurping at her juices, then moaned, convulsing a bit. “Oh, she’s good at this. I wonder if it’s not her first time after all ... Your wife is learning that it Feels Good to Serve.”

“feellss g’d tuh serff” came the muffled words.

I pulled my sweater over my head, angrier than ever. “But why?” I whispered. “Why would you do this?”

“Because I got tired of waiting, Roger! You said you wanted me and only me. You were going to dump this bitch, who nags you and never puts out, who thinks she’s so much smarter than you, and you were going to be mine. Well, what is taking so long!” Sam humped her clit repeatedly against my wife’s mouth.

Rebecca’s fingers worked harder at her drooling cunt as she whimpered at the pleasure of serving. The mindless pleasure of being used ... For a moment I could almost imagine the blank-minded bliss of feeding from Sam’s exquisite pussy while stroking myself stupid ...

I shook myself mentally, as I unbuttoned my shirt. There was no doubt that Sam was hot. And I really had been thinking I preferred her to my wife. But this – whatever this was – was unconscionable. This was over the line.

“You are crazy!!” I said in the loudest whisper I could manage. “You really think I could be with you after you – you did whatever to my wife?? Stop this now, please, I – I’ll do whatever you want.”

Sam just smiled. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want to release such a Dutiful Hypnoslut.”

“dooful hypofflut”

“Dutiful Hypnoslut,” I murmured, taking off my pants.

Look at them, I thought. The two most beautiful women in the world to me. Naked. One in thrall to the other. Helpless ... It was so ... arousing ...

I fought down that train of thought as I worked my underwear over my erection.

“Rebecca! Rebecca honey! Listen to me! We’re leaving! Snap out of it!”

“Roger ... “ Sam purred. “Sshhh.”

My mouth snapped shut.

“And relax. It’s not a big deal.”

My body relaxed, tension easing. I was still angry, still confused, still scared ... But I couldn’t access it now.

“Your wife is going to serve me. I’m quite – mmmm – enjoying what she’s doing, and I don’t want it to stop. And you should have figured out by now that I get what I want ... So you have a choice. You can leave, or you can stand there quietly while she brings me to an orgasm.”

Well, what could I do? I couldn’t leave. Who knew what might happen? So I convinced myself that it was best to stay.

You know, just for a little while.

Til they were done.

I watched my wife’s beautiful bottom as it swayed, watched my girlfriend’s full breasts bounce as she got closer to cumming from my wife’s tongue ... I was harder than I ever had been in my life. Sam, opening her eyes as she gasped, noticed.

“Mmmmm look how big and hard you are. Go on, look.”

I looked down. I was naked except for my socks, and my erection was pointing straight out at the two women on the bed. The information seemed to come from a long way away – I’m naked. When did that happen. Was this important information? I couldn’t decide.

Sam grinned, reading my mind. “Don’t worry about it. You like watching us, don’t you.” I nodded. “You need to stroke it while you watch, don’t you.” I nodded again. But I didn’t touch my cock yet. Something was missing, but I couldn’t remember what.

“You have my permission.” Ah yes, that was it. “Go ahead and jerk it to the sight of your stupid cunt of a wife in thrall to my pussy. She’s my pussy slave, isn’t she, pet? And that’s sooo arousing ... “

It was. I mindlessly grasped my throbbing cock in my fist and started stroking. I was getting close, almost as close as Sam, from the sound of it. And Rebecca, too, come to that – she seemed more aroused than I had heard her for years, just from the privilege of slurping on girl juices.

“Roger ...” Sam gasped out. “Why don’t you go fuck your wife from behind.”

That sounded like a great idea. I shuffled toward that pert ass, following my cock like a dowsing rod. I was almost touching her when Sam snapped her fingers and said “Bad boy.”

My boner instantly deflated – it went completely limp and small in seconds. Sam cackled with laughter. “I didn’t say Simon Says!! Hahaha ... Oh I love doing that. Oh poor baby ... Look at your face. OK.” She snapped again. “Good boy.”

Within seconds I was hard as a rock again. “Go ahead,” she said. “Stick it in.”

I laid my hand on Rebecca’s ass. The head of my throbbing, dripping cock barely touched her soaking pussy lips ... And Rebecca screamed and pulled away. Her first sign of even being aware of me since I walked in!

Sam howled with laughter, rolling around on the bed as Rebecca sat back on her haunches, her shiny face slick with drool and pussy juice and her expression one of anger and confusion.

“Yeah, I should have told you!” Sam wiped a tear from her eye. “Aaahhh heh heh ... Your wife belongs to me now.”

“What?”

“Tell him, Fuckslut.”

Rebecca’s eyes unfocused, and she spoke in a monotone. “My cunt belongs to Sam. I am a lesbian now. I hate the feeling of cocks touching my body.”

Sam grinned wickedly. “But ... ?”

“But I will happily accept cocks in all my holes if Mistress commands.”

My cock was throbbing harder than ever at my wife’s glazed expression ... And at her words.

“So, my pet,” said Sam, standing up gracefully and slinking toward me. “Here are the new rules. This ...” – she stroked my aching member with one finger, making me twitch and moan – “belongs to me, and me alone. I decide what you do with that. I may share it, but that is up to me. Understand?”

I nodded. She squeezed it, catching some of my dripping precum on her fingers. “Second ...” She walked to Rebecca, stuffing those fingers into my wife’s mouth, and smiling as she watched her eagerly, mindlessly suck. “Becca is my obedient slave girl now. When she’s like this, she does as she’s told. That means if I want you to never touch her cunt again, I can make that happen. But I can also make her insatiable for your cock, and need fucking every night.”

Sam reached down to stuff 3 fingers in her pussy, then fed her juices to my wife, all while she continued to look me in the eye. “I can hand her over to a motorcycle gang of lesbians and make her a titslave for a week. I can make her fuck 7 black guys, one after the other, while you watch, unable to do anything but stroke yourself, without cumming. Screaming obscenities at her weakling husband while she’s made airtight by gangbangers.”

She scooped out more of her own juices and smeared them on Rebecca’s right breast. “I can give you the doting, dutiful wife you always wanted, serving you and pleasing you and never jealous that you’re sleeping with me too.” She stuffed her fingers into Rebecca’s cunt, making her gasp, and almost fall forward ... Then smeared her juices on her left nipple. “I can make her a house slave for both of us, cooking and cleaning and serving our food, edging while watching us fuck but never, ever allowed to cum.”

I watched my wife’s face. Her mind was far away, but there was a tension behind her eyes ... And she was sweating.

“Come here, pet. Taste your wife’s tits and tell me which tastes better.”

I crawled across the bed, sucking on each nipple. They tasted about the same, but of course I picked the right breast.

“Good boy. Lie down.”

I lay on the bed, my throbbing erection pointing to the ceiling. Sam straddled me. “I can do anything I want to this bitch,” she said, taking my cock in her hand. “I can play with her, and then put her back, and have her not even remember what I did. Or what we did ... Wouldn’t it be nice to help me call the shots? Instead of being another plaything?”

She lined it up, then sank down on my rigid cock. My eyes rolled back in my head immediately as my senses went white from overload for a moment. “It all depends on you, my love,” she was saying. “Are you going to be my willing partner? Will you be mine? I’ll let you keep the cuntslave around, as long as you remember I’m alpha around here ... Cunt!” she barked. “Sit on his face. Feed him that delicious pussy, and dream of getting fucked by his cock ...”

My wife scrambled to straddle my face with more sexual enthusiasm than I’d seen from her in years. “Yes Mistress!”

“So ...” I gasped out, as her thighs cradled my head. “You can make her serve part-time, and give her back her normal life the rest of the time? Still be herself, with free will?”

Sam laughed her throaty laugh, and her cunt squeezed my cock as Rebecca’s engorged, dripping pussy slid onto my tongue. “Silly pet,” she cooed. “Haven’t I given you your free will for all these months?”

I could hear Rebecca moan as she – from the sound of it – sucked on Mistress’s full, beautiful breast. Sam started to move, riding my cock, and I somehow knew I would not be allowed to cum until she gave me permission.

“And you can’t imagine the things I’ve made you forget ... “

Hey folks - do you like those little notes at the top, labeling what's in this story, kinkwise? Like it, don't like it, don't care? Let me know - thanks!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Josh Kovensky at TPM:

Many MAGA influencers have an apocalyptic story to tell about the country, the political divide, and where we’re all headed, and they’re already using it to lay the groundwork for crossing what has long been a red line: deploying the military for domestic law enforcement purposes. In this MAGA fever dream, everyone has their part to play. They believe that they’ll be caught up in it; you might be, too. It goes something like this: If Donald Trump wins in November, people will protest. Riots will break out. The left, they theorize, will go all-out to stoke organized violence around the country, clearing the way for a newly inaugurated Trump administration to step in and make unprecedented, widespread use of the U.S. military to restore law and order.

This dark vision of the future draws on deeply pessimistic theorizing, on lectures about Marxist anti-government ideology seemingly ripped from the Cold War, on memories of the Black Lives Matter protests in 2020, and on claims that Democrats and the left will be unable to accept a Trump victory. It all comes against the backdrop of senior officials around Trump and Trump himself reportedly having been eager to invoke the Insurrection Act while he was in office, and mulling its actual use if he’s re-elected. In this situation, a second Trump administration would invoke the law to deploy the military to enforce immigration laws as part of a broader mission at the southern border — a proposal Trump has often spoken about publicly. But it would also make that invocation to do something far more extreme and at odds with American history: use the military against protestors.

[...] In the minds of Trump’s supporters, this planning is justified — in line with Trump’s promise of “retribution.” In their telling, he’s already borne those same slings and arrows that he envisions for his opponents: years of attempts by the “deep state” to thwart his administration, followed by supposedly unjust political prosecutions. He is punching back. It sets the stage, for Trump and those around him, to claim they are simply engaged in a tit for tat: using the machinery of the state to suppress his political opponents. And, in a stunning coincidence, those same opponents will happen to be violently rioting just as Trump takes office — at least in the fantasies of these hardcore supporters. Peter Feaver, a scholar of civil-military relations at Duke University, told TPM that the powers of the executive had “evolved” over the years, and that their responsible use had it come to “depend on electing a principled President.” Feaver served on the National Security Council in the George W. Bush and Clinton administrations. He added that the judiciary has long given the executive branch the power to use the Insurrection Act to override state law enforcement, in part out of deference to national security decision-making. Federal troops have been deployed domestically in dozens of situations; to quell the 1992 Los Angeles riots, to ensure desegregation efforts, to break up railroad strikes.

[...]

Higher stakes

For many right-wingers, the summer 2020 Black Lives Matter protests serve as a benchmark, often invoked when forecasting the kind of developments that they see as inevitable over the coming months, and requiring a tough response following a potential Trump victory. On the right, those protests are regarded as the high-water mark of recent left-wing violence.

As MAGA influencers tell it, the media and local, Democratic-controlled city governments ignored wanton lawlessness and violence, leaving shop owners and police squads to fend for themselves among violent mobs. The sense of grievance that’s emerged ignores the reality that many of the 2020 marches against police brutality were peaceful and managed to avoid burning down any police stations or looting stores. But the memory of that moment of activist mobilization remains powerful, among this set, and continues to inspire fear. Howell and others said that in their view, the November election would lead to a far greater level of chaos across the country than what was seen in summer 2020.

“Much more is at stake,” Douglas Wilson, a Moscow, Idaho pastor who has become influential in conservative circles, told TPM. “With the killing of George Floyd, it was simply an opportunity to vent, but no actual power was at stake. And with the presidential election, it would be actual power.”

Setting aside the crimped definition of “power” here, Wilson envisions left-wing self-preservation as further inflaming the imagined post-election violence. “If Trump wins, a lot of high powered, highly placed people are going to go to jail,” Wilson added. “They don’t want to go to jail.” Wilson has become increasingly influential among self-described Christian Nationalists, who see Trump as a vehicle to punch through an agenda that would try to reshape American society, bringing it closer to their hardline interpretation of Christianity. Wilson appeared last September at an event held on Capitol Hill called “Theology of American Statecraft.” He spoke immediately after a talk given by Russ Vought, a former Trump Office of Management and Budget director who has taken a leading role in developing policies for a second administration, including through Project 2025.

[...] A review of the paper that Vought referenced, authored by former DHS acting secretary Ken Cuccinelli and another staffer, shows that it answers an undisputed question: Does the Posse Comitatus Act, which blocks executive branch officials from deploying troops domestically, allow the president to use the military to defend the border? That part of the paper answers a question that’s long been settled: The Pentagon regularly deploys troops in support of protecting the U.S.-Mexico border, though not in a law enforcement capacity. But as the New York Times first reported, the document makes extensive legal arguments for using troops to arrest people as part of a domestic deployment.

[...] “This is actually the longest the United States has ever gone without an invocation of the Insurrection Act since the first version of the law was enacted in 1792,” Nunn, a fellow at the Brennan Center, told TPM. (The last time the Act was invoked was during the 1992 Los Angeles riots, when state and local law enforcement briefly lost control of sections of the city.) He noted that the Act is intended for situations in which civilian law enforcement cannot cope; thanks to heavy investment in state and federal law enforcement, Nunn said, those kinds of emergencies have become exceedingly rare.

Using the military against peaceful demonstrators would cut against a foundational element of American public life: the right to freely and peacefully make your views about the government known, absent government retribution. “To the extent that any candidate or person in the orbit of a candidate is suggesting a preemptive plan to invoke the Insurrection Act, that’s inappropriate,” Nunn said. “The purpose of this law is to respond to sudden emergencies. If you are planning it months in advance, that’s by definition anticipating an abuse of the law.” Neither of the two missions that the Trump team is envisioning — immigration enforcement or putting down protests — falls remotely within the ambit of why people join the military, Nunn added. “People who join the military don’t do so because they look to be deployed against their fellow Americans,” he said. Domestic law enforcement, among other things, is not seen within the military as its job. “It’s not what they want to be doing. They want to be focused outward, on defense.”

MAGA influencers are seeking to justify use of military force on domestic soil for law enforcement purposes if Trump wins to be used against anti-Trump protests.

[stainedglassthreads]

I feel like fandom would be better and calmer if we just... stop expecting canon to give us every single thing we ever wanted. 

Like. I really enjoy darkfic, and I enjoy seeing a character I love get hurt badly. I could eat up a hundred fanfics with that exact premise. But I don’t want the plot of the main canon story to grind to a halt so I can watch the lead get pushed to the breaking point repeatedly. 

The story should be the story. Fanfic should be all the things that don’t fit in the story that we want to see explored. And this is about a bunch of topics. 

I see people arguing about what ships ‘should’ be canon, but. Assuming that the author isn’t just pairing up characters at the last minute, usually they’re laying the groundwork for endgame relationships long before we reach the end. You ship doesn’t need to be ‘canon’ for you to like it or make content for it, and if the creator dropped everything to appease every shipper, they’d make a mess of their story. 

Likewise, a character doesn’t need to get what they ‘deserve’. Sometimes it’s bad writing. But also sometimes it’s because they wanted to make a message about forgiveness, or about atonement, or about the world being an awful place where people rarely get what they want, or because they want that character to do something in the future. 

Fiction isn’t just escapism central. Sometimes authors want to convey messages or themes. Sometimes authors need to set everything perfectly in place for a specific scene or line which is the point of the whole story. It may not always be well-written, but the story that’s going to be told is the story the author wants to tell. (Unless executive meddling occurs but that’s a whole other can of worms) 

If you see a different way the story could have gone, or a concept you want to explore more deeply, that’s great! That’s amazing! If you want to write a fluffy happy fix-it fic where no one dies and everyone lives, or where two characters who don’t canonically fall in love do, I wholeheartedly encourage you to do the thing! Write for your own enjoyment! I genuinely adore writing and reading horribly self-indulgent fanfic! 

But it just really annoys me when people say something ‘SHOULD’ have happened to a character, or that two characters ‘SHOULD’ be together. When I write, I’m very deliberate about when and how I include romantic relationships. I don’t need or want someone screaming at me to throw away all my characterization and plotting because two strangers ‘look cute together’. 

And honestly this goes for me too. I love reading tragedies where characters get horribly injured or even die, but I save that for one-off fanfics or even longfics that don’t effect the plot at large. The author’s got a place they want to take the story, and I want to see where they’re going with it and what the ending they had in mind was before I decree ‘okay but what if there was a needlessly angsty possessed fight here’. 

Just like. There is the story, and it serves one purpose. And there is fanfic, which serves another, equally important and fascinating purpose. This is not an attempt to decry one or the other, just pointing out that not everything you or I like NEEDS to be canon. It’d be like trying to make Goncharov real. :P 

[court-jobi]

Love found the Captain

Pairing: Captain Rex x Sawyer (Human!Slicer OC)

Words: 821

Ratings: Teen/Up Audience

Warnings: none

A/N: Love found Captain Rex, and it had no intention of leaving-- even the heart of a soldier like him deserves something to melt him. Slicer Sawyer Lyubava is cunning, and charming, and clearly caf-addicted, but no less loyal than her darling Captain deserves. She has plenty secrets of her own; but her feelings towards her hero in blue-painted armor is not one she hides easily.

Enjoy a taste of what's to come in Rex: Heart of a Soldier, coming soon to an A03 near you...

Summary:   Sawyer is spitfire in a cool, calm, collected shell... but whose patience only lasts for so long. If there's one thing she will not stand for, it's these cruel, stuffy politician types who don't respect the Clones or the Army they serve together. It's not just a sticking point for her sense of Clone activism, but also a point of contention between her and the Captain she's been helplessly pining for-- a matter that's not unreciprocated. This is the life he's used to and doesn't see another way for himself... but there may be one he hasn't thought of yet. If he'd only be honest about that warm feeling in his chest, and take the win that's offered to him-- in the form of the 501st's resident darling slicer who's laying her heart on the line.

Read on AO3

The Captain's love came in hot, no other words fit for that satisfying sensation that warmed his blood. It was not the same as the fire in his chest after a hard-fought advancement, or the swelling pride he'd feel after winning a wrestling match to burn off steam… but it was the invisible rush of soothing heat that sank into his muscles as she laughed deep in her chest at something that struck her funny. He counted himself lucky enough to hear it over the din of voices in the mess hall. It was the blue flame coming to life that rushed over him when she'd look his way, smile, and call him by name rather than rank. 

Rex's love came with unbidden strength, like the same practiced code to 'honor and protect' as any good soldier would. Though he was trained for calm, level-headed leadership on and off the field, he came to realize his strength could come from moments he'd taken with this newfound angel like it had in the first camaraderie of his brothers on Kamino. Unlike his Jedi counterparts, Rex viewed this strong feeling akin to passion and commitment. The supposed taboo label of 'attachment' inspired purpose for someone like him rather than manifesting an unhealthy fleeting distraction or weakness. What he felt for her was anything but half-hearted; it was fierce.

Rex’s love came steady. It grew with every day, an unmoving presence once it settled in his heart. This wasn’t a sparking, unstable live wire, or a flurry of emotions in the pit of his stomach– but a balm protecting a still-healing wound. An assurance of safety, a promise that kept him going when everything else around him was crashing to the Nine Hells. When everyday is a reminder of war, that anchor of her was a blessing.

Rex's love came softly. His steady, armored hands now sought after skin for comfort rather than the commando handguns he draws. He found himself sharing carefully chosen words spoken in tender confidence when they were alone. Gentleness seeps out from him as he takes her hand in his, bowing a head to hers after a hard day, and allowing himself this one joy the day she brought her lips up to his cheek. One soft, quiet thing in the midst of loud, chaotic war where he could just stand in her space and admire something so shockingly pretty and know that one moment was his.

Love found Rex, and had no intention of leaving. 

Running in the back of his sharp mind was the memory of the first and every time that he caught himself falling for her just a little bit more, keeping track of stolen moments like the tally marks he wore for his fallen brethren. Each time she’d call for him, he’d always answer- her name fast off his lips– in the same way he'd address his General out of rote habit or disassembling his blaster in record time.

He supposed he always loved her, just didn't have a name for it before. He’d not been brave enough to utter it yet...

Now, Rex wanted to kick himself because she kriffing beat him to it.

Sawyer Lyubava stands before the Captain full of righteous anger, breaking at the seams to make him understand exactly why she'd not held her quick tongue at the offending party in the other room, and begged to know why he stepped in as her restraint. Those beautiful eyes, now brimming with shaken tears, mirrored the storms he'd watched for hours from the safety of Kamino’s white hallways. Even now, he relished the look of lightning in them.

Ever the heart of gold in the midst of wartime, this brilliant girl before him ached when careless acquaintances took to demeaning terms for a man such as him... as a mindless clone rather than a living breathing soul, who happened to be one soldier among millions just like him. She’d fought this good fight for weeks now whenever ‘the talk’ came up in conversation, and was set to fight every day to make sure he knew his worth, and that the entire galaxy did, too- even if the protective outbursts would paint her in a poor light. 

//If someone ever talks that way to you again and I'm in earshot, I'm letting that bastard have it– and you're going to let me.//

It was what she believed at her core, and she made no effort to hide that declaration of love, how deeply she cared. The last thing she cared about was something so harmless as speaking out of turn.

And in that moment where staggered breaths left her in hiccups, laying out her loyalty for him to do with it whatever he would, Rex answered her without hesitation,

"That's exactly why I step in. There’s a reason why I stop you, Sawyer.”

 I love you too much for anything less.

[keepitdreamin]

Sometimes you don't write anything for months and then you bust out 1k about your tiefling character and his name (and love) in like two hours. Putting it under the cut in case anyone's interested

His name has never meant much to him. Kairon. It's a family name–infernal: eternal flame–passed down through his tiefling line, cropping up here and there in his family tree, and finally gifted to him at his birth. It serves him well for 20 odd years as he grows and learns and becomes Himself, but he never truly gives it much thought or consideration.

When he joins the Syndicate, he's also gifted nicknames and code names which, likewise, he appreciates but mean little to him. A signifier that he's "in," a bit of camaraderie with people who are flint sharp and dangerous, a whisper to scare outsiders. Curly, jokingly, and Viper, for his speed to lash out. They all combine to add another facet onto Himself, one that's cold and sharp and vicious. One that he polishes and nurtures and doesn't care to think too deeply about.

And then he meets Her. Celestria. A vision in white and gold under the flickering magic lanterns in the garden. Her costume wings spread behind her, and she is more beautiful and dangerous and holy than any angel. He has snuck into this masquerade with a purpose–a job, intel to gather, a noble to intimidate–but he is struck still and dumb at the sight of her. She catches his eye through the crowd and her lips turn upwards slightly, and he is gone.

He has never had a romance like this before. He's had partners and dalliances and flirting and single nights but never this, this all-encompassing, overwhelming pull of desire and affection. He sneaks around to see her light on his feet; he flirts with an earnestness and sincerity that had long been forgotten; he pours flowering words onto paper with ease, recalling stories and songs and legends of courtly love, of knights swearing oaths of devotion; and when he touches her, he carefully, deliberately, gentles his sword calloused hands–so accustomed to violence but learning a new language here in soft moments between the two of them.

One fine day, they've snuck off together in a garden, hidden among the trees and bushes and vines, away from their lives and duties that would keep them apart. Easier here to pretend for a moment, to believe that they are alone, the whole world shrunk down to this secluded grove. He's laying with his head in her lap, and she laughs at something he's said, responds with a brush of her hand through his hair, fingers delicately following the curve of a horn. "Darling," she says, the endearment falling easily from her tongue, and he stares up at her and thinks oh. Oh.

He's known other tieflings with virtue names of course. Some are descriptive, some prescriptive. Some aspirations, some condemnations. He has thought a little about how somebody chooses a new name. How do you know what value will be so important that it describes you wholly? How can you be sure? He has, on occasion, considered if he should take one for himself, but none had felt right so he had let the idea slip his mind.

But in this garden, in this cocoon of privacy and contentment, suddenly he knows Himself. Darling. He has never been this before, but he knows, deep in his soul, that this is who he's meant to be, what he’s meant to strive for.

That she would gift him this, even with his harsh exterior and bloodstained hands, is miraculous, but he knows that this cannot be enough. He has made himself hard and cold and cruel, but for her, he will remake himself soft and warm and kind. Worthy to hold and be held by her. Worthy to love and be loved.

He must admit, in this realization, he misses what she is saying, and she must realize this as well because she pauses and asks curiously, "What is it?"

He reaches out as if in a dream, himself remade and thus the world around him as well, bright and shiny and new, and takes her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss first her knuckles then the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist. "I will be that, if I may."

Her head tilts, and the light through the tree branches catches her hair like spun wheat and her eyes glitter like an emerald, bright and reflecting the bloom of nature around them, and he falls in love with her for the first time all over again. "What will you be?"

"Darling. To you and to myself." He pushes himself up, meeting her mouth in a soft kiss. "You have discovered me, named me anew. I would have everyone know."

Although they are not of her own culture, Celestria is not a stranger to virtue names and he watches as the realization dawns over her face. Confusion then understanding, eyes open and bright, mouth parted then curving upwards once again. "Oh," she breathes in wonder, and his smile grows as she mimics his own thoughts. "Oh, of course you can be. You already are." She raises their joined hands and presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles. "My Darling."

It sounds the same on her tongue but feels different in his chest, resonating through his body and soul. Yes, Darling thinks to himself. This is who I am. This is who I can be.

(Of course, this moment here cannot last forever. They must eventually leave this bubble for their respective duties. And love after all, cannot conquer everything. The Syndicate will not let Darling leave so easily, and Celestria’s betrothal cannot simply be broken.

The lovers will eventually be torn apart: Celestria to remain in high society with a husband, managing her family’s affairs; and Darling to strike out and seek something grand enough–power or riches or influence–that will allow him to return to her, and take up a place beside her (or perhaps steal her away once and for all). But here, in the dappled sunlight of a fine summer day, in their secret corner of this garden, they are together, and that is enough.)

[leonbloder]

When Accepting Defeat Is Winning

You get a feeling when you know that the challenge you have been facing may have gotten the better of you.  This may sound strange, but it's a feeling of resignation and relief.  

The resignation comes when you know that you can't win and that all of your striving up to that point, though admirable, was not enough to overcome the moment's challenge.  

You might find the courage and the strength to continue the struggle, but you know it's all but over.  It's time to retreat to your corner, head back to the locker room, lick your wounds, or whatever metaphor works for you.  

And that's when the relief washes over you.  

The relief is your mind's way of telling you that whatever futility you may have felt has served a purpose somehow.  You don't have to keep fighting.  You can surrender and let go of whatever has kept you in the fray. You can finally rest.   

But the relief can also help us another way that can get lost if we resort to focusing on the momentary defeat.  Feeling relief can teach us we aren't done; we just need a break.  We will live to fight another day.  

I recently read a wonderful quote from the poet Ranier Maria Rilke that served as the inspiration for this Devo, and I'd like to share it: 

The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.  

You might think, "That doesn't sound inspirational, Leon.  Why would you want to share a quote about being defeated?"   

Two things come to mind. First, defeat is a part of life. We all lose, and sometimes, we lose a lot more than we win. There are also times when we win and lose. Life is life-y, and all of this is complicated. 

This quote also has a subtlety that needs some unpacking. 

It all comes down to the word "greater." Wilke is working on a couple of levels of meaning here.  

There is the idea that if we are going to find our purpose in life, we will have to struggle, overcome obstacles, etc., and we won't win all of those challenges, but we keep striving, keep coming back, and keep being "defeated" by greater and greater things.  

In other words, this line can serve as a reminder that if you are dedicated to keep moving forward, you will discover more worthy adversaries as you go.  It's like a video game where each level has a boss you must defeat to move to the next level.  

Usually, on those levels of a video game, it takes a few tries before you can defeat the "boss," and you learn something new about how to beat them each time you try and fail. 

However, another less obvious layer of meaning could be even more powerful.  

If we are open enough to keep striving to find victory over life's challenges on our own strength, we might discover that we can be "defeated by greater and greater things" like love, hope, devotion, and grace, to name a few. 

This is at the heart of Wilke's quote.  It's the more profound meaning that hits the hardest.  

Are we really willing to be overcome by love?  Are we open to being overwhelmed by grace?  Would we lay down our arms to be defeated by peace?  

These questions get to the heart of what it means to be human and, even further, what it means for those of us who say that we follow Jesus and want to be more like him.  

When we give up our notions about what it means to win or lose, we often find that the journey of following Jesus is a race to the bottom, so to speak.  It's losing your life to find it.  It's not about being first or being in control.  

If we are willing to surrender our lives and our outcomes, we will almost assuredly find that we are more open and vulnerable. Still, that vulnerability will enable us to let what is eternal take root in our souls.  

May we all discover what it means to lose to win.  May we keep journeying after Jesus, facing every challenge with courage and hope  

And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us now and forever. Amen.  

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 3: Future

Narrated by no one.

Narrator: With Glow's guidance, Caprico arrives at Ringed Tower Lab Building in Ruins.

Narrator: Lab 0 is where major experiments take place in the building. In the lab, all the conveyor belts form an impressive assembly line.

Narrator: On the assembly line are countless experiment capsules that go through the sensor one after another as they have been preprogrammed to do.

Glow: This is where the future starts.

Narrator: Every capsule has its own neurological connection port, and every capsule is connected to another capsule by numerous wires.

Narrator: The countless pipelines reach into the distance and eventually disappear from sight.

Caprico: This is amazing.

Glow: This is just a prototype. Every single one of these people will be part of the blueprint that is the future and eventually connect to an even greater system.

Glow: A system like that will turn every single person into an efficient subpart.

Narrator: Taking a few more steps forward, Caprico spots something on a lab table... laying on the table disassembled, it's one of the gadgets that G purchased from him.

Glow: Some people think they have what it takes to change their lives when they don't even know where they're going.

Caprico: Most human beings just aren't smart enough.

Narrator: Caprico glances over the disassembled parts. They've already served their purpose, and the purpose they served isn't really something that deserves a mention.

Glow: Most people do as they please, which not only is a waste of their time but also makes a mess for themselves and the system. It's inefficient and boring.

Glow: I am the only being that is able to make the right plans and choices for everyone.

Glow: This world needs to be reset once and for all... and this is where your talents comes into play, Code-219, because you're a special human being.

Narrator: Hovering right before Caprico, Glow's hologram keeps her eyes on him, seemingly staring at the universe itself, all at once.

Glow: Do you still remember the last time we worked as a team?

Narrator: It was at that experiment from three years ago that he first saw machines surpass the human form.

Glow: Evolution is the only way to live on. Haven't you already figured out how you are going to evolve?

Narrator: Keeping her gaze on Caprico's prosthetics, she sounds sure and calm.

Glow: We both are ultimately after the same thing, Code-219... we want to go beyond the self and free ourselves of the unnecessary, be it physically or emotionally.

Glow: Which is why I'm sure I can count on you to understand my plan.

Glow: This is the only way to open the door to evolution. There is a new form of life behind the door that no one has ever seen. I'm sure you want to see it, too, don't you?

Narrator: When Caprico speaks again moments later, his voice, firm and passionate, travels through his mechanic mask and sounds through the spacious lab.

Caprico: Of course. I can't wait.

Narrator: Caprico quickly readies himself and lies down in one of the capsules. He appears so calm that one would be forgiven for thinking he is simply sleeping.

Caprico: You can use me as a guinea pig the way you did before.

Narrator: A syringe pops out of the capsule and aims for its mark.

Caprico: What is it?

Glow: It's an emotion suppressant that helps you better adapt to both the environment and the system.

Caprico: You know I don't need these things.

Narrator: Humming to a close, the capsule begins running.

System: Code-219, neurological connection 1 is launched and visitors are about to enter the beta version of the new world of alpha.

Narrator: The capsule does a real-time scan of Caprico's emotional levels, producing a stationary wave chart on the screen.

Narrator: Caprico's emotional wave doesn't change at all, reminiscent of the calm and rhythmical waves on a calm sea.

Narrator: Glow keeps her eyes fixed on the line that represents Caprico's emotional state, her eyes showing not a bit of emotion.

Narrator: Emotions are byproducts that need to be done away with if we are to evolve. Mankind's emotions are weak and useless, and bring about nothing but disaster.

Narrator: More and more wave lines start appearing on the screen, each of which represents an experimental subject... or perhaps it would be more fitting to call them experimental samples.

Narrator: The numerous wave lines then come together to form something three-dimensional, bringing to mind a sea that's raging under its water.

Narrator: And Glow plans to do just one thing with it... that is, eradicating the destructive energy, so that the fluctuations are neutralized.

System: According to an analysis based on current data, the probability of the experiment sample safely leaving "Ideal City" without the emotions suppressant is indefinitely close to 0.

Glow: He'll be an exception.

Narrator: Beyond the raging sea, a beautiful, stable wave line is calmly flowing through the screen, undisturbed by all the rising emotions.

Narrator: He's different from the other humans, which is something Glow has always known.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

[wolint]

OPPORTUNITIES!

OPPORTUNITIES

Ephesians 5:16

Opportunities they say come but once.

An opportunity is an occasion that falls in our way or presents itself during an event; an opportunity is a convenience or fitness of time and place for something to happen.

In the tapestry of life, opportunities weave their threads, creating moments that can shape our destiny. The Bible speaks eloquently about seizing these divine chances, recognizing their significance, and responding with wisdom and courage.

Life is defined by opportunities missed and opportunities seized. We must learn to take advantage of the right opportunities when they are presented by responding with bold action when we recognise them as God-given chances to participate in His purpose.

Redemption is the preciousness of an opportune season; the opportune time accorded every human by God. Opportunity in a narrower sense, is a special favourable season for good, occasionally presenting itself, which believers ought to diligently avail themselves of, Ephesians 5:15.

Like the sons of Issachar, we need to watch the time and make it our own to control it; as business-minded people lookout for opportunities, and accurately choose the best goods and services on offer; as believers, we do not serve time, but command it and appropriate the opportunities time gives, and it shall do what you approve.

We should always be ready to seize opportunities to witness for Christ. Sooner or later, that opportunity may come as a conversation in the office, through a discussion with the neighbour over the fence, or a chance conversation at the supermarket, bus stop, café, and school ground. For Philip, the opportunity came as the Spirit prompted him to strike up a conversation with a foreigner who happens to be struggling to understand the scriptures. Acts 8:26-38.

We should always be alert to seize the opportunities to share our faith with others, ask the Holy Spirit to open our eyes, heart and mind to the opportunities that lie ahead of us daily, just like Philip.

Paul says that a wide door of opportunity opened to him but with adversaries. It would be wonderful if he had left that part out. But he did not. The devil is not going to sit down, rollover, and play dead and let us seize any opportunity without a fight. 1 Corinthians 16:9. Every opportunity that God gives you demands a steadfast, persevering spirit. You must be willing to take risks, lay it all on the line, and even be willing to lose it all to seize an opportunity.

Every problem is an opportunity in the making! Christ helps us turn such problems into opportunities as He did with His first miracle of turning water into wine in Matthew 25:1-13.

Have you ever said, "I wish I would have thought of that?" That means you only recognize opportunity after you see someone else doing it first. We need to become more sensitive to the opportunities and the open doors that God presents in our lives.

When we seize opportunities and make use of the resources and tools available to us, we find satisfaction in our accomplishment and reward for our effort.

God has presented us with the individual ability and opportunity to invest for the good and growth of His kingdom, to this end we must take every opportunity to use our gifts for God.

Someone once said that if all you see are obstacles, then you have taken your eyes off the goals. You are no longer focused on your opportunities and visions if you’re not focused on Jesus.

Sometimes, turning an opportunity into a reality looks impossible to the point that it will keep you from even trying at all. If you do not try, then there is no possible way to succeed.

When God gives you a vision, do not quit until you seize it! To seize your opportunity, you must be willing to stretch yourself, take risks and aim high! Heed the wisdom of Scripture, recognizing that every moment holds potential.

PRAYER: Lord, God grant me the grace to see the opportunities before and the wisdom and strength to seize them in Jesus’ name, amen.

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT’L PRAYER MIN

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[ilovetheseattlemariners]

"the worst part about being dumped is recalling the times you dumped other people, and realizing how little the person that just dumps you cares about you now"

i haven't used tumblr in so long and i was attempting to peruse the tumblr of a random youtuber i liked and while i was attempting to scroll a popup asking me to log in or sign up prohibited me from going further down this escapade and when i pressed the "sign up" button i was prompted to reset the password to an account i had completely forgotten i had made many years ago with the fake aspirations of creating some sort of roblox webcomic, which must date this account to being almost eight or nine years ago now. terrifying, especially since none of what happened then i can necessarily remember, nor will i be recollecting any of that on this blog now.

having been inundated with the urge to journal for a long time now, i feel compelled to have this here to fulfill that purpose. i guess i could talk about a lot of things here.

my most recent ex texted me for the first time in two months telling me they just tested positive for chlams and that i should go about getting tested for that too which sucks. i think a lot about that line from before sunrise where the douche guy character says some shit like "the worst part about being dumped is recalling the times you dumped other people, and realizing how little the person that just dumps you cares about you now." fucking shit man.

like there isn't a world where i would ever want to be with them again, but there is also a world where i was once a part of their life and the lives of all the people i befriended in the year i spent studying abroad in the city that i will no longer return to probably: the world in question is this one.

auden brings up in his preface to some trees that "what's real is sacred. and what's sacred is ritual. ergo, the moment something stops being repeated it is no longer real." so i guess that means the year i spent in that city i studied in is no longer real, yet it can also be surmised that my constant harkening back to those memories is evidence of their realness. i can't so much as blink without being transported to some moment in the past that only serves to perpetuate my condition. oh how i miss you. currently i try to remove myself entirely from the people i met there. self-amputation of the heart, to coin a phrase that i will almost undoubtedly look back on with chagrin.

anyways, chlams. went to the beach with my lesbian coworker the other day after telling her about that and how much it stressed me and we smoked too many darts and ate too much junkfood and kind of had one of those meandering conversations that aren't bad but just innocuous and sort of directionless. i had things to get off my chest but i don't think i unloaded it at all; i think i was still scared. the view from the beach was nice though. i wish mishima could've seen that. the way the summer sun lay across the waves in fading light the colour of autumn. the leaves appearing to wave overhead doubtfully. whenever i read a mishima depiction of a nature scene it is almost as though he lived on another planet with nature prettier than ours. now i have to fucking call around to book std clinic appts, cuz i guess getting tested for chalms is a fucking archaic ritual that requires supplicating to anachronisms.

getting a text from them is what really destroyed me, though. the contents of the text could've been fucking gibbergabber and in an instant a bottomless chasm would be made in whatever room i was in and i would be immediately hurdling down to its core. i don't know, maybe it's the thing of like "doesn't the thought of there being people out there who know all about you but you no longer talk to them and they have no presence in your life", except its me being that person for them and getting to vicariously live it out (though i also do live it out, god knows i do) is what is fucking me over so hard like this. not to boast, but i also did a really good job of wiping any sort of trace of them out of my phone; but now the absence has a bigger presence in my life than any old photo ever did.

anyways, i'm being incoherent now i know. tomorrow i go out with my gym bro for the first time since she's come back from vacation. that's exciting. another con about studying abroad in a foreign city and then leaving and never coming back is that it basically leaves you like a stray dog in a cold winter night with no support circle. it's gotten so unbearably tough and lonely at times and i've basically become hyper-attached to everyone i know and get super self-conscious about being overly-needy but i can't help it because of the crippling loneliness i've bestowed upon myself. i've been coping through this by saying that it would all get better in the fall, back when the turn of seasons was a far away and abstract concept. but now it's already august and it seems inevitable now. i mean, it is inevitable. and i don't know, the transition from chapters always fucks me over.

okay i don't know what else to say. cya

[townofcadence]

(( 👻 from @just-another-rhinestonecowboy Coincidentally my guy who is a rambling man decided to settle in/shelter for the night at what looks like just an abandoned house. He's not got a clue that it's haunted.))

👻 to enter a haunted house @just-another-rhinestonecowboy

Jace hums, bouncing on his heels as he follows Opal up the weather-worn steps. The house looms, an ancient dilapidated home of two stories. The walls and railing are coated in moss and fungus, where the paint has peeled and cracked, and they have to duck under a drapery of spanish moss where it's collected on the roof from the overhead live oaks. It's almost picture-esque-- if what you're looking for is a place that sent a chill down your spine. A haunted house, most locals swore up and down, where you could see a man's sillouette in the second story windows at night, or hear a woman singing and the sound of her weeping child she was consoling, if you were inside.

And that was exactly what Jace was here for; the Pigeon Residence was far from the most haunted place in the world, hardly even a blip on most paranormal investigators' radars, but that was what made it so perfect. It wasn't-- it wasn't fake, like you might see at some 'most haunted places in the world' where they were selling you a haunting. He wanted smaller cases, ones that others might not ever hear about. This was about the history, about sharing stories of those that came before, and maybe, just maybe, one of these days seeing something real, if he kept trying. It wasn't about treading the same ground for the attention, which was fine, but not what he wanted. This was.... hopefully a place for something real. Or maybe the next one might be-- or the next!

It didn't really matter, though; he loves these places, and the lives that lived here, or even looking into things for his community when it came up. He would happily spend the rest of his life researching and trying to understand, even if it never amounted to more.

Opal takes point, her short hair bouncing with her equally peppy steps, like a small cloud streaked with pink and blue. She has a bat nocked against her shoulder, her favorite wooden one with a few nails jaggedly sticking out, and a few little doodles he'd painted on the wood for her, including a bunny and a few hearts and stars. He's never seen her use it, but the sight of the weapon alone was usually enough to scare off anyone who might want trouble, so it serves a protective purpose, which works for them, for sure.

He slips the fabric handle of his camcorder over his palm, and records a shot of her bouncing her way down the dusty, rotting hall. "This is th' Pigeon Residence. Isn't it breathtakin'? Y'don't see paneling like this anymore in houses." He pans over the walls, carved delicately with small floral designs. A few petals are missing, but most remain-- he only holds back from touching them, to feel the raised wood beneath his fingers, when he considers how old the place is, and how delicate they might be. But even after so long in disrepair, they stand out, elegant and beautiful. "Th' owners of this place were Delilah and Dalton Carver-- the name Pigeon came from the work Delilah did an' what they became known f'r."

The two pass into a larger room, one with a skylight, long since opened to the skies above. Glass littered the floor and crunched with the dead leaves beneath their shoes. Cages line the walls as well, rusted on both hinges and delicately thin bars. Hanging rods were broken above them, and fabric tattered to pieces by moths and other insects as well as time lay in frumpy piles near where they might've been drawn. Inside the cages are, unsurprisingly, leaves, but also dozens of cobwebbed nests in the different enclosures; he's sure if he dug into the litter, he might find feathers and shells, too, if they survived. There's also a few cigarettes, evidence of newcomers who visited before them.

He lets his hand appear on the corner of his camcorder, gesturing around the domed room. "This is the aviary. Mrs. Carver kept birds-- pigeons-- which were sometimes trained as messengers. She was said t' have kept a variety of species, and her birds were considered the most well-trained you could get for at least a hundred miles. Whether that's true 'r not isn't really in any of th' primary sources, but a lot of accounts I've found adored her birds. She also sold some of the eggs as well, f'r pretty reasonable amounts at the time-- and it makes for a great cover too. If everyone has pigeons f'r small bird husbandry, it's a lot harder to tell when a pigeon is where it shouldn't be. And pigeons are great birds to use for 'n information network."

He pans the view up at the sky, moving so the moon was visible through the smudged glass and open, empty panels. He lets the camera slowly sweep its way down, to the pillars of the room, to the intricate decor of the walls, and even to the tiling on the floor. "Th' Carvers weren't wealthy, and looked after their own affairs between the both of 'em, as far as I've read. Dalton was a carpenter. The house is large and very specialized, for both his and his wife's work, because he built it himself, from th' ground up. Each intricate piece was hand-carved by Dalton himself. It's pretty amazing t' think about."

"Dalton, my man!" Opal grins, spinning in place at a snail's crawl, to see all the walls one by one. "That's one hell of a work ethic, gettin' this whole place here all spic and span."

Jace chuckles as he films her. "Definitely. They both worked very hard. We should see if we can find his workshop, I would love to see if any of his tools are left."

"Lead the way, sugar~." She gestures like a butler might offer someone an open door, and he lets out a breathy sound before taking point, moving further inside.

[zealctry]

send a ship and ♪ and I’ll post a mini playlist ( meme ) / @kinslain

i see we're playing in hardmode now, because their relationship is truly undefinable. but here, since you also asked for music recs, I've gone a different route, and this is now a full-blown playlist (you can find here ; listen to it in order or else). it's a bit funny. . . these two are incredibly different, personality-wise, but they have some strange parallels when you stop to think about it. I loved making this.

explanations of song choices & lyrics below the cut.

1. darkside by neoni.   there's parts of me I cannot hide. . .. I've tried and tried a million times. cross my heart and hope to die:  welcome to my darkside! take a step into the havoc, look around. . .. this ain't even the half of it. walking the line between panic and losing my mind. 

present time/Akatsuki timeline. applies to both, imo, and it makes for a nice opening song to the whole playlist.

2.  mad hatter by melanie martinez.   I'm peeling the skin off my face 'cause I really hate being safe! the normals? they make me afraid. the crazies? they make me feel sane.  I'm nuts, baby, I'm mad, the craziest friend that you've ever had. you think I'm psycho, you think I'm gone, tell the psychiatrist something is wrong. ( . . .. )  so what if I'm crazy? the best people are! ( . .. ) &I think you're crazy too, I know you're gone ; that's probably the reason that we get along.

present time/Akatsuki timeline. Hidan pov. I mean, I wouldn't trust him with this, but he does derive great enjoyment from pretending to be a little ( or a lot ) insane around Itachi. ( emphatic gesturing to our current thread. ) he finds the game quite fun. what, don't you pretend to be nuts and stab-happy around people?? hahaha I might stab youuuu: what better way to bond???

3. gasoline by halsey.  are you insane like me? been in pain like me? bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me? just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me? ( . . . )  and all the people say: you can't wake up, this is not a dream. you're part of a machine, you are not a human being.

timeline sort of jumps between the present and the past, highlighting cause and effect. general pov, but also Hidan pov. pretty self-explanatory, but here's where the parallels start.quite a few songs in this playlist are centered around how life as shinobi shaped them. this is certainly one of them. the last few lines above murder me, especially from a childhood perspective when the realization first hits, as they enter the system.

4. warriors by imagine dragons.   as a child, you would wait and watch from far away, but you always knew that you'll be the one to work while they all play. in youth, you'd lay awake at night and scheme of all the things you that would change . . ..  but it was just a dream.  here we are, don't turn away now.  we are the warriors that built this town.

childhood retrospective. I think it's pretty self-explanatory but just want to highlight the disillusionment and mindfuckery they had to go through with the shinobi system. Itachi's.... is selfevident. but Hidan maybe not so. I'll say it here, baby Hidan was a good bean. he wanted to do right by his village and serve it properly; he had big, naive dreams. then they made him into a weapon and tossed him tothe wayside, erasing his whole sense of purpose. ( but a shinobi is a shino is a shinobi, y'know. . .. )

5. natural by imagine dragons.   that's the price you pay, leave behind your heart and cast it away, just another product of today ( . ..  )  'cause you're a natural. a beating heart of stone. you gotta be so cold to make it in this world. yeah, you're a natural. living your life cutthroat. yeah, you're a natural.

childhood retrospective.  ah yes, speaking of being made into a weapon. the fact that 'oh you're a natural' is being emphasized over and over in this song just kills me. they were children! they were beaten and forged and shaped into this! (especially itachi, oh god.)

6. end of the world by arcando.   and if we're going down, we're going down fighting. . .. like it's the end of the world. sleep when you're dead because we've come too far to waste it. hanging by a thread. time to rise! we cannot break so hold the line.

self-explanatory, just give it a listen~ 

7. in the army now by status quo.  you're in the army now, oh, you're in the army now. you'll be the hero of the neighbourhood . .. ..  nobody knows that you've left for good! ( you're in the army now. )  ( .... ) you've got your orders better shoot on sight, your finger's on the trigger but it don't seem right ( you're in the army now!! )

if i had to choose one song in this whole playlist, this would be IT, for both of them. . . ..  yes, again with the trauma of the shinobi life and the point of no return. just give it a listen. the vibes are frighteningly real.

8. blood / water by grandson.   we'll never get free, lamb to the slaughter. what you gonna' do when there's blood in the water...? the price of your greed is your son and your daughter . . .. .what you gona do when there's blood in the water?

general pov regarding the cost and consequences of the shinobi system and their fuckery. the song is too self-explanatory to warrant further blah blah blah on my part, I think.

9. angry too by lola blanc.  I don't know how to be just standing by blankly not getting angry! 'cause another and another coming up out of the gutter 'til I'm drowning in an ocean of entitled motherfuckers. and they're pushing all my buttons  ( ... ) does it get your blood boiling? does it make you see red? do you wanna destroy it? does it get in your head?  'cause it gets my blood boiling, and I'm coming unglued. it would eat you like poison if you knew what I knew. . .. you would be angry too!

present & past timeline, mostly Hidan's pov. you will have to tell me how much this applies to Itachi, but I can tell you that Hidan has a whole lot of built up anger and resentment towards his village, especially he village elders, the hypocrisy and mindgames and bullshit and pain they put him (and others) though for their own personal gain and political games.

10. savages by marina and the diamonds.   I'm not the only one who finds it hard to understand. . . .I'm not afraid of God, I am afraid of man. is it running in our blood? is it running in our veins? is it running in our genes? Is it in our DNA....? humans aren't gonna behave as we think we always should. yeah, we can be bad as we can be good. ( underneath it all, we're just savages. )

let's throw in a healthy dose of disillusionment with people and humanity, why not.

11. villain of my own story by unlike pluto.  fuck all the people sitting pretty with their sane minds. fuck, think I'm becoming the villain of my story.

and with themselves, how about that? but, of course, Hidan routinely circumvents facing this by dedicating himself to his god. y'know. purpose! doing the right thing. salvation is such a great thing!

12. killer in the mirror by set it off.  now I know.... there's no one I can trust. I used to think there was. tell me that I'm cutthroat, I think you got your eyes closed. feel the fear and swallow back the tears, let weakness disappear.  there's nobody but me here. . .. the killer in the mirror. (  'cause I used to believe in justice . . .. a place where there was better judgment. but now I'm feeling so disgusted. )

if I had to choose a SECOND song. . ..  the disillusionment, the realizations, the brutality of coming face to face with reality versus idealism. the slow murder of the self by others and themselves. I'm fine, you're fine, this is fiiiiine. ahaha. . .. :)

13. 8 legged dreams by unlike pluto.  when I go to sleep at night, eight-legged dreams arise. cobwebs in my eyes. never, never gonna wake up. stuck in a web of lies, paralyzed like a fly . .. . spiders don't sleep at night ( never, never gonna wake up. )

oh. this one... this one,  I will leave to you to interpret as you choose~  but I imagine it applies to both of them.

14. we don't have to dance by andy black.  you're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself. I'll break it to you easy: this is hell, this is hell. you're looking and whispering, you think I'm someone else . . . this is hell, yes I am in hell. we don't have to talk, we don't have to dance, we don't have to smile, we don't have to make friends. it's so nice to meet you, let's never meet again! we don't have to talk, we don't have to dance.

present timeline/Akatsuki. both of their perspectives. they don't have to talk, they don't have to dance, okay?? lol. but this is more figurative than literal, about keeping people at arm's length, about them not knowing you beyond a front despite what they might think, about never letting them close enough to form any genuine bond. about bearing the weight of life in silence, by yourself.

15. everything black by unlike pluto.  baby, you should come with me . .. . I'll take you to the dark side. me and you - you and me.  do bad things in the nighttime. baby, you should come with me. and we can kill the lights, hit the lights, let it blackout, blackout.

present timeline/Akatsuki, Hidan's pov. I can practically hear Hidan going 'yeah, let me teach you how to live a little, Red Eyes' at Itachi in this song. but also, given the whole black theme, this is... certainly a little sinister, isn't it. idk, enjoyment in murder? ffs.

16. animal impulses by IAMX.   there's a cold breeze blowing over my soul, shine razor eyes in delight. shine razor eyes before you die, shine razor eyes in this light. there's a cold wind blowing over my soul.

the whole song is a mood due to its melody alone, but especially its sweetly sad melancholy. 

17. anthem by yonaka.  if I told you that you could be anythin' you wanted. . .. would you take those words and make it mean something? ( . .. . ) well, I heard it on the radio that we could be somebody now and we could rule the world.

current timeline/Akatsuki.  if they had any actual friendship points, this is a conversation that Hidan would, in fact, throw at him, albeit likely under a very thick veneer of sarcasm.

18. thoughts & prayers by grandson.  no thoughts and no prayers can bring back what's no longer there. the silent are damned. the body count is on your hands. ( turn off all the lights, nobody make a sound. ashes to ashes. . . . we all... fall... down. )

and we're all damned (all the mistakes, all the irreversible changes spurred on by forced and willing choices. no spinning the clock backwards. this is it, and there is no turning back from all the mess you've made). cue closing curtain.

[lily-drake]

The Demon’s Queen

Chapter Eleven

First <> Previous

Marinette didn’t have a favorite trainer, she hated all of them.  But the one that she hated the least would have to be Hadid.  Don’t get her wrong, he was still as cruel and ruthless as the others here, but he was also far more patient and, for lack of a better word, kind than the others.  Though there was just something about his presence that always put her on edge.  She couldn’t quite place it, but when she walked into the room as saw Hadid just standing there, just his posture alone was enough to give her goosebumps.

“Find two weaknesses in your opponent.  Go after one, and when they think they know what weakness you are going for, strike the other.”

He had told her when she lay flat on her back, hand raised down to help her back onto her feet.  The contact was nice, it was a kindness she hadn’t felt in a long time, then it was gone, and she was flung across the mats.  

Gritting her teeth, she got back onto her feet, by herself, and got back into position.

“Your stance is good,”

Marinette smiled at that, she had been trying to get it right for weeks now.

“If you want to fall over and die a disgrace.”

The joy that was blooming in her chest died just as quickly as it came as she repositioned her footing.

She had finally been let outside for training only two days ago, and she nearly cried when she saw the sun for the first time in who knows how long.  It was cold, but she didn’t care, as the scent of the fresh mountain air filled her lungs instead of the stale musty air of the brick and mortar that lined the walls.  

Marinette hadn’t seen the boy in a little over a week, that is until he interrupted training that day, with his mother no less.  She honestly had no idea he had one, she would have thought that she was dead, and if he had killed her she wouldn’t have been too surprised.  But no, that was not the case and now his mother wanted her to have dinner with the two of them, she honestly wanted to die.

“Your defiance against your allies could lead to your demise.  Be careful of who you make your enemies.”

Was all Hadid said before she had the urge to duck and roll, and it was a good thing she had otherwise she probably would have been flat on her back as Hadid had moved to attack her.  There was an amused smirk on his face, but he didn’t say a word as he continued his swift movements of attack.

__________ Meals with the League were never anything special.  It often consisted of brown rice, beans, and sometimes there would be meat with a cup of water for nearly every single meal.  Damian often ate the same thing, never caring for other “grand dishes” that others of his station would indulge in.  But his mother was here, and Marinette would dine with them which meant that dinner tonight would be different.  There were many different curries, seasoned vegetable servings, a few different salad varieties and a few other smaller dishes that Damian had no care to think about.  His main concern was how this night was to play out, after all the only time his mother invited another to dine with them it was under special circumstances such as a new deal with many of their allies, a test of some sort, or to trick them to attending what will be the end of their lives.  There was always some sort of reason, a strategy, nothing was without a purpose.  So what was the purpose of this meeting, if he were to guess it would fall under the test category.

“Did you deliver the garbs Damian?”

His mother asked cooly as she approached him.

“Yes, I had a maid drop them off.”

Talia hummed, tracing a gentle finger down his face.

“You seem tired.  What has happened while I was away?”

Damian leaned into his mother’s rare gentle touch before it disappeared completely a few moments later.

“Father is searching for her.  I believed that my plan to remove her would work, but it seems that her mother did not believe it and called the Justice League.  My spies have reported that he has not found anything yet, but I know it is only a matter of time.”

Talia’s eyes seemed to spark to life at the mention of Father, even after all this time she still loved him deeply.  That or it was an obsession that he was unsure would ever leave her.

Before they could continue, the doors to the dining room opened to reveal Marinette in a dark form fitting dress that stretched all the way to her lower thigh that flowed gently around her legs.  The mandarin collar of the dress and the ¾ sleeves complimented her figure and would work in her favor if there was an attack from close range weaponry as he knew there were small pieces of micro technology sewn into the dress that would temporarily protect her.  If he remembered correctly, it should be made of material similar to her training garments.

Damian stared at her for a few moments, unsure of why the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end when he made eye contact with her.  He approached her almost cautiously, though he knew he had the upper hand even if she had somehow managed to sneak in something.  Damian honestly had no idea what to say, he had never been in a situation like this before, but he had observed others who had.  So without another word he offered his hand for her to take, and was actually surprised when she took it.  From her behavior in the past he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had slapped it away.  She never looked at him though, so the probability she was only doing this because his mother was watching was pretty high.

Talia watched both the girl and her son.  It was obvious that Marinette was not happy with her predicament, it was obvious that she had a strong dislike for her son especially.  Her eyes flicked down to the girl’s left leg, she had watched some of her other sessions with the trainers Damian provided her.  In a match with Ruta they had been using sworded canes and Ruta had gotten the curve around Marinette’s leg and pulled.  Studying the girl she could see the slight limp, though she hid it well especially as she let Damian lead her to her seat at the long table, a seat on his left where Talia would be sitting at his right.

“Hello Marinette.  I wish to discuss the time you have spent here so far.  You will not be punished for anything you say, so you may speak as freely as you wish.”

Marinette raised a brow, though she appreciated that they had cut right to the chaise instead of starting with pleasantries.

“I hate it here and I want to go back home.”

Marinette stated firmly, her back straight and her eyes a hard determination.

Talia made a small humming noise, leaning onto her closed fist as she stared at the girl in front of her.

“Unfortunately for you, that is not a decision I am able to make,”

The only tells of disappointment on her face were a small twitch in her brow and a slight dimness in her eyes.  Silence filled the space for a few moments, though Talia and Damian seemed unaffected by it as they placed food onto their plates. 

“What is happening in Paris?”

Marinette asked, finally breaking the tense silence that had filled the room.  

“Yes, I was wondering when you would ask.”

Talia replied almost dismissively as she dabbed her lips with a napkin.

“Your city is perfectly fine.  I’ve read the reports and it seems that because your magical terrorist no longer exists, only petty crimes line Paris’s streets.  Your parents and friends do not seem to be worried for your safety, they believe that you are partaking in an exchange program.  Of course emails in your name are being sent to them, and since we have access to your voice and face, facetimes and phone calls are easy to manipulate.”

Her voice was casual, her face an impassive stone wall.  Marinette couldn’t tell if she was lying or telling the truth, but she was not inclined to believe this woman.    Marinette watched the woman until she too made direct eye contact with her,

“I can see that you don’t believe me, but it is the truth.  The League of Assassins do not do things halfway.  I have read through your file Marinette. I know why you are here, and I agree with it.  The League could use someone like you, you have great tenacity, you have the mind of a great tactician, and from your training I’ve witnessed I can see the potential.  I know that you do not wish to be here, but the League can make you into something more than you ever thought you could be.”

“What if I do not wish to be like you?  What if I wished to live a normal life when Hawkmoth was defeated?”

Talia didn’t laugh, but the amused smirk on her lips might as well have been her version of the sound.

“You are the Grand Guardian of many magical creatures, lived with magic as a part of your being since you first began your teenage years, and finally you have been parading around your city as a hero for that same amount of time.  You will never be able to live a normal life, others will find out who you are and they will take you for far more nefarious purposes.  Here we offer you training for proper protection, a chance to continue to use your skills, and you are given the opportunity to have power that few will ever be able to hold.  I can see the fire in your eyes, I can see that you crave the opportunity to constantly prove yourself, to better yourself.  Nowhere else can offer you this, but we are.  When we are certain that you are fit, you will be given the opportunity to travel the world, to protect and save others from the darkness that oozes from the darkness, you will be a leader that seeks no praise, but will receive anyways.  It is wholly up to you whether or not you will accept this offer, but in order to escape here, you will either have to grow or die.”

With that, Talia finally began to eat her dinner.  Once she began, Damian followed, after all it is rude to start before his superior.  Marinette bit her lip in frustration.  On one side Talia was right.  She was the Grand Guardian, she also knew that it would be hard to give up being a hero after so many years.  But she could do it, the magic prevented others from knowing her identity, but…magic didn’t solve everything and there were other more powerful magic users around.  Her city was apparently safe, her family and friends weren’t in danger anymore, and nearly all of the Miraculous were here, the others hiding in her room.  She would need to find a way to get those back sooner than later, but if everything she said was true, which she doubted, then the only problem was that she needed to retrieve the jewels.  

“Please eat Marinette, it would be best for you to keep your strength up.”

Damian quietly said, the first he had said to her all evening.  It wasn’t strange per se as he wasn’t very social, but it was still a little off as he probably would have asked her how her training was going despite already knowing from the meetings he had with her trainers.  Giving him a side eye, slowly she began to dish food onto her plate and eat with them.  She hated to admit it, but this was the best food she had eaten in a long time.  Talia’s words continued to echo through her mind, and though she loathed to admit it, parts of what she said were right.  She would never forgive Damian for dragging her into this against her will, but maybe, maybe she could do something good here if they let her.  Just maybe. 

Next

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[mishasminions]

Here’s why the Supernatural Series Finale Sucked

(AND IT REALLY ISN’T JUST BECAUSE CAS/MISHA WASN’T IN IT)

First of all, I’d like to state, that this perspective is coming from someone who has watched, invested in, and dissected this show for 15 years. I’ve tried to rationalize and justify every single decision each of the main characters made throughout the years, and I’ve always tried to make sense of each of their story arcs from a “bigger picture” standpoint as each season progressed.

Anyway, before I can properly explain why the finale sucked, let me quickly take you through 15 seasons by segregating them into 3 eras, because you can’t really comprehend what Supernatural is about and what it’s become without going through how it tried to expand its universe.

SEASONS 1-5: THE KRIPKE ERA

Now, we all know that Kripke was always set in wrapping up Sam and Dean’s story in 5 seasons, and he did just that.

So, in this era, Supernatural is about two brothers who set out on a journey to fulfill “the family business”. They hunt mythical monsters that terrorize the world, while battling the monsters within themselves. Their ultimate “big bad” is an apocalypse.

Towards the end of this era, we find out that Sam and Dean are actually a parallel to Biblical characters who are brothers turned rivals. And that Sam and Dean’s destiny is to go up against each other.

However, as a dynamic, they have always been about making their own choices, choosing free will, and having a brotherly bond that can power through against any obstacle at any given day.

So, this era is neatly wrapped up with its finale. The characters grow, and get justified endings.

Dean, a man who thinks of himself as two things: 1. Sam’s older brother and protector; and 2. Daddy’s blunt little instrument.

He’s spent his whole life believing that that was his only purpose, and he knew that the only ending he’ll get would either be a bloody death fulfilling his duty to the family business; or laying his life on the line to save his brother.

Dean gets the ending he thought was never possible for him, something he thought he could never deserve. After years of living and dying for his family, he gets a shot at having an apple pie life--to settle down with a nice girl, raise a kid in a house with a white picket fence. With Sam gone, Dean’s responsibility now is to himself.

Sam, on the other hand, never wanted any part of it, because he wasn’t groomed the way Dean was, and because thanks to Dean, Sam wasn’t traumatized or forced into growing up too quickly the way Dean was.

So Sam aspires for a normal life, and works the cases with Dean so he can maybe get some semblance of it, when everything they set out to kill are laid to rest.

Ultimately, Sam performs a selfless act for his brother, who has given up everything for him, and for their cause--to save the world.

The journey is this: Dean sacrifices everything to save Sam, and Sam sacrifices himself so Dean could live.

Apart from being Dean’s “savior” and guardian angel, Castiel’s role in this era is to serve as a mirror to Dean’s journey. Castiel goes from being heaven’s foot soldier, following “God’s orders”; to an angel who learns to choose and feel for the first time in his existence.

After they realize that they’re both daddy’s blunt instruments, Dean starts choosing his own path for himself, and convinces Castiel to join him. Castiel stops following heaven, and starts following Dean.

In the end, with his newfound understanding of the world thanks to Dean, Castiel goes back to heaven to reform it.

We’ve resolved the biblical arc, and the character journeys.

SEASONS 6-10: THE SPIN-OFF ERA

So this is where the show realizes how vast its universe can be, so it tries to expand it by tapping into uncharted lands and experimenting with it.

They take on heaven, reform hell, explore purgatory, have the angels fall, turn Dean into a demon, and kill Death.

Dean and Sam recognize their codependency, and try to rise above it.

They go back and forth between which brother will risk it all for the greater good every other season.

Dean and Cas strengthen their relationship by recognizing the impact they have on each other’s lives.

Cas structures his life and decisions around Dean (Seasons 6-7), and Dean learns to trust and fight for Cas (Seasons 8-9).

Sam and Cas bond (mostly over Dean) because of their shared rationales in decision-making.

Dean, Sam, and even Cas also forge relationships with the people they work with. The concept of “found family” is introduced here.

This era was heavy on the plot while establishing, reinforcing, and solidifying relationships and dynamics.

At this point, it wasn’t just about the brothers anymore.

If Supernatural had ended in Season 10, the logical finale would’ve been Team Free Will, along with the family that they’ve found, going up against the latest big bad (Death or whoever). Maybe they lose them along the way, maybe they all make it out alive, or maybe they go down swinging, but at least the show recognizes and supports the message they keep saying, “Family don’t end with blood”

SEASONS 11-15: THE REWRITE ERA

This is where the show runs out of ideas and decides to invalidate the seasons that came before it.

From bringing Mary back (basically rendering their whole journey pointless because they’ve literally started hunting because of her death), to changing the stipulations in being Michael and Lucifer’s vessels (another character struggle rendered useless), to God himself breaking the fourth wall by saying that the Winchesters get away with everything because “they’re the main characters in his story and everything they’ve been through was just part of a badly written narrative”.

But what we’re getting from this era is that Sam and Dean, along with Cas (who has also deviated from the story) ARE trying to escape a badly written narrative.

That’s the “big bad” in this era. The writer.

At this point, the characters have picked up so many strays (including those from alternate universes), and have settled into their roles in their “found family”. Dean, Sam, and Cas all become surrogate dads and uncles.

They’ve also graduated from the whole “we’re on different sides” and “going behind each other’s backs” drama. And they just want the whole family together.

They’ve all resigned themselves to the cause, but they’re also tired. Dean allows himself to contemplate about wanting more out of life or at least getting a vacation. Sam, on the other hand, realizes his capabilities as an effective leader. Castiel learns to love another being that isn’t Dean (spoiler: it’s Jack).

However, they also realize that they’ve just been puppets on a string all this time.

So what they want now, is to write their own story, and make their own choices knowing that God/the writer isn’t the one fueling their narrative.

So here’s why the finale sucks:

Andrew Dabb, the current showrunner, said that there would be two finales.

15x19 - The finale to wrap up Season 15, and 15x20 - The finale to wrap up the series by “resolving the characters’ journey”

In 15x19 the boys find a way to de-power God/the writer. For the first time in their whole lives, they are free from the story. Their lives are completely theirs now. They can make their own decisions. There are no more “big bads” to fight

And here’s what happens in 15x20:

Immediately after being freed from their story arc, Dean and Sam go back to hunting the monster of the week.

Dean eats pie, gets nailed (literally), makes a 10-minute speech to Sam because he knows he’s dying, then he goes to heaven.

Dean is greeted by Bobby, his surrogate Dad who he hasn’t seen (fully alive) since Season 7. Bobby’s expository dialogue comprises of him explaining that he got out of heaven’s jail, that John and Mary are next door, and that Jack and Cas fixed the dynamics of heaven off-screen.

The first thing Dean decides to do is go for a long drive in his Impala (as if he hasn’t done enough of that already).

Meanwhile, Sam decides to stop hunting after Dean dies, he gets the apple pie life he hadn’t wanted since Season 8 (while Dean was in Purgatory), and names his kid “Dean” for effect. He grows old and dies.

Dean drove around in heaven for so long that Sam catches up to him.

They hug. The end.

Great, right?

After 15 years of struggling to battle their own respective destinies, going up against big bads and even bigger bads, then finally being able to take charge of their own stories, Dean and Sam regress to hunting the monster of the week, and get killed off by a nail and old age. Okay.

Sam gets to retire and have a family, sure, but they still focus on him and the kid he named after his dead brother. Still just “Sam and Dean” through and through. Nothing to do with found family. Just lineage. Just blood. And it ends there.

See, the problem here is that this ending would’ve been passable in The Kripke Era. But we’re 10 years down the road since, and while Sam and Dean are the original main characters, the show isn’t just about them and their codependent relationship anymore.

So you see, even if you take out the whole “Castiel deserves to be in the finale because he’s also a main character with an unfinished story arc” argument, the finale still does no justice to the series it tried to “wrap up”.

But anyway, now I’ll make the case for the problem with Castiel not being in the finale:

In 15x18, we get a 5-minute rushed confession from Castiel to Dean. The context of which are as follows:

1. Earlier in the episode, Dean had wounded Death with her scythe. We later find out that this wound is fatal.

2. Their friends start to “blip out” in a Thanos-like snap, and Dean thinks that Death is causing it, so Dean seeks her out, and Cas goes with him.

3. Dean and Cas anger Death, apparently for no reason because she didn’t even do the thing they thought she did. She chases them to try to kill them

4. Dean and Cas lock themselves in a room. Dean starts a pity party.

5. As Dean goes through hating himself out loud, Cas decides to inform Dean of the deal he made with The Empty. He then proceeds to explain the stipulation of the deal (that he would get taken once he experiences a moment of true happiness), then discusses his newfound happiness philosophy. Dean is getting whiplash.

6. Cas goes on to imply that the one thing that he wanted that he knew he couldn’t have is Dean Winchester reciprocating his romantic feelings for him. (Don’t even try to fight me on this because Cas already has Dean’s platonic love, and he knows that Dean thinks of him as a brother, so if he really meant this in a “familial” way, then why would he think that he couldn’t have the thing that would make him happy?) So Cas’ realization is that telling Dean about his feelings is enough to make him happy.

7. Cas tells Dean all the reasons why he loves him (thereby combating Dean’s self-deprecation tirade), and all the reasons why he’s worthy of his love. Meanwhile, Dean is still winded from the fact that Cas is about to sacrifice himself for him again.

8. Dean never gets to process anything, because Cas is shoving him out of the way, as he and Death (who busts through the door) get taken by The Empty.

After this episode, Dean never speaks of it. Misha Collins supposes that Dean doesn’t reciprocate. Jensen Ackles says that Dean didn’t really get to process it because it was too much, too fast, and that Dean, still dense as ever, thinks that Cas, a celestial being, doesn’t interpret human feelings the same way.

So what was the point of this confession?

Politics and sensitivities of a 2005 network television aside, what does this do for the story?

Cas proclaims his romantic feelings to Dean, but Dean never acknowledges it, doesn’t even give it a passing thought afterwards. So Cas’ big declaration goes unheard.

Cas cashes in on his Empty deal to kill Death (who was dying anyway), in order to save Dean who dies two episodes after.

Dean makes no effort to save Cas (despite being really broken up about his previous deaths, or even spending a whole year in Purgatory looking for him), even after they’ve beaten God, not even asking Jack (who has all the power in the universe) to bring him back (when Jack has already done it before, with less mojo).

Dean moves on to fight the monster of the week. Somewhere off-screen, Jack rescues Cas from The Empty, but Cas uncharacteristically doesn’t even bother to go to Dean? (Every single time he comes back, Dean’s always the first person he goes to)

And Cas, who apparently helped craft and reform the new heaven, isn’t the one who welcomes Dean and explains the new dynamics of it?

Sure, Jan.

Supernatural, you’ve created a finale that only your casual viewers and people who dipped out after Season 5 can appreciate.

Just goes to show how much you actually valued the people who actually invested in your story and characters, and consistently helped keep your show on the air.

[RT this on Twitter]

[writingwithcolor]

Black woman saves and houses abused white woman and child

@dykecalianna asked:

Greetings! I follow this blog whenever I can and I recently came out with something in my story that I wanted to inquire about:

There’s a white woman in her late 30s, let’s call her “Vicky”, who (along with her daughter) is a victim of domestic abuse, and another character, a Black woman, “Cherry”, is made aware of this after a change encounter the two have at a café. She helps Vicky flee from her husband and lets her stay in her home - later, the two fall in love and get together.

I’m very aware of the White Saviour trope, and do my best to stay away from it. This is nothing like it, but does this fall under some sort of negative stereotype for Black women, like “saving the fragile white woman”? I should note that Cherry and Vicky are the exact same age, only Cherry is single and living alone. She is described by many as being very cute, and she is also secretly a well-renowned writer (she uses an alias when writing, so she kind of feels like a super heroine, which then ties with her storyline about Vicky). Also, I think it’s pretty clear, but the abusive husband is also white like Vicky.

I think it’s touching that Cherry saves this woman and her child from this abusive situation. I would like to discuss some areas that may help you explore if there’s a mammy / strong black woman / sacrificial negro dynamic here.

The chance encounter

Did Cherry (Black woman) meet Vicky (white woman) for the first time and instantly decide to get involved? I feel that it’s a bit sacrificial for Cherry to place herself in the middle of what could be a potentially deadly situation, as domestic abuse too often leads to, for a perfect stranger. 

This level of involvement would not align with how much one might put on the line for someone they do not know at all. Cherry is now at risk of retaliation from Vicky’s abuser if he finds them, or Vicky allows him back into their lives and lets them know where her home is / they make up and he learns about Cherry’s involvement etc. 

Their relationship prior to Cherry helping Vicky

The risk might feel worth it for someone you know, but it’s a lot to ask of a stranger. In the case of a “chance encounter becomes savior” situation, she also doesn’t know anything about Vicky and is letting a perfect stranger into her home. Of course, everyone is different and based on her personality and experiences may be willing to assume these risks. The child being involved might also influence that. Cherry might be one of those people, but it’s worth acknowledging as a big undertaking in the narrative. Her actions should not be brushed aside as nothing or just “her duty”. Too often servitude is just assigned as natural for Black women. Their own lives take a back seat and to take care of other people / ensure their well being comes first.

Suggestion: built a history between the women

A better fix might be to develop some level of a relationship between the two before Cherry risks so much to save them. They could even just be acquaintances. It helps if they know each other on some level,  at the least. Even if it’s strangers that see each other often at the cafe and strike up small talk all the time but never speak outside of that, old high school classmates that ran in different groups, friends of friends. This creates some sort of relationship where Cherry feels she knows Vicky “enough” to assume the risks, especially as a child is involved. 

Without knowing the exact circumstances, I’ll pose a few scenarios and explore the pitfalls.

If she witnesses the abuse

Witnessing the abuse and getting involved as she sees it happening - I wouldn’t fault her for that. I’d instinctively get involved too!

If something happens in the public eye, it would help if other bystanders get involved too; Cherry just happened to take it to another level and offered her sanctuary.

Again I’m still having a hard time figuring out why Cherry has been placed in this situation before proper authorities, women’s shelters, etc. if she doesn’t know her at all. As I’d suggested, it might be best if they had some sort of relationship prior, no matter how subtle.

The escape from the abuser

What role does Cherry play in the escape?

Physical strength / sacrifice 

Is she expected to use brute force aka be “Strong” to physically save Vicky or fight off her abuser? I would avoid that, as you will have a Strong Black Woman on your hands.

Must Cherry put herself in direct danger with the abuser to save Vicky and the child?

It's asking a lot for Cherry to storm into the home, potentially get harmed or die for a stranger in a domestic abuse situation that she does not know a lot, if anything, about. For example, what if  there’s deadly weapons in the house? 

Could Cherry involve others to help?

Maybe Cherry could call authorities and possibly show up alongside them.

If authorities aren’t involved, perhaps she waits outside to drive the getaway car as the friend and child escapes (I’m 100% inspired by Enough with Jennifer Lopez). Even better, if she could bring along someone else, preferably non-Black, who could help in the situation.

Emotional strength 

The Strong Black Woman is often about being forced into emotional labor.

Is Cherry allowed to react with fear, sadness and anxiety about the situation? Or must she keep it together for the sake of the White woman? Perhaps it’s triggering based on her past; she should be allowed to process that.

Allow Cherry to deal with her own wave of emotions. Even better if she has an outlet for that. She might not lay them on Vicky, but she also shouldn’t be expected to be a perfectly composed rock whose purpose is to comfort and support Vicky. 

Vicky shouldn’t rely completely on Cherry for emotional support. She needs other sources to expel her own fears and emotions. Whether a therapist, parent, other friends, chat forums, journal, or a dog!

Mammy (dynamic between Cherry and the white woman and child)

Given the other factors in the story, I would stay away from Cherry being asked or offering to care for the child. Vicky should take primary care for her child or get help from others besides Cherry or other Black women, as this would give their dynamic mammy and servitude vibes. 

Same applies to Cherry physically taking care of and serving Vicky - avoid it. Also, once Vicky is up for it or she has the means, they can split the chores or Vicky does the majority or contribute to housing expenses (again, if she has the means) but in some way she should pull her weight, so all the domestic care does not fall on Cherry. 

It’s all about avoiding putting Cherry, the Black Woman, in the position as savior of white woman and child + servitude role any further than the implications the first incident creates. Initial comforting and support is fine, but the rest of the white woman and child’s world shouldn’t continue to rest on the Black woman’s shoulders.

Explore Cherry’s life outside of the white people

A very important aspect that will keep this away from SBW and Mammy tropes; give Cherry her own life. Cherry absolutely needs to have a plot line that does not revolve around Vicky and child. She needs to talk to other people, and about other subjects, besides those two. Her main problems, drama, and highlights of her life shouldn’t revolve around them. 

Give her emotions, weakness, and vulnerabilities. She needs other friends and/or family, interests, and a little romance absolutely helps too. She is this amazing writer, so you’ve got something to work with right there! Ultimately, she needs her own life, things going on that have nothing to do with them.

Good luck with your story!

Colette