#glad i never have to talk to him again

[queer-coded]

Absolutely a thing that happens, and it sucks. I've called Microsoft support several times in my career. When I call, it's because several very smart people have already not found a solution. Usually it takes a couple escalations to resolve our issues. There's just no predicting how quickly your issue will get resolved based on the name or accent of the person you're working with.

People are so fucking cruel for no reason.

[s0fter-sin]

one of my favourite aspects of supernatural that you very rarely see in paranormal shows is that sam and dean are already versed in the world they live in. there’s no sudden discovery of ghosts and demons and now they have to learn about them along with the audience; they are born into it and already know all about it. it allows the audience to follow their personal story instead of also trying to figure out this new world and its rules

the first season is full of knowledge we never see them learn; “w*ndigoes are in the minnesota woods or- or northern michigan. i’ve never even heard of one this far west.” […] “great. well then this [his gun] is useless.” (1x02), “you don’t break a curse. you get the hell out of its way.” (1x08), d: “it’s a god. a pagan god, anyway.” […] “the annual cycle of its killings? and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. like some kind of fertility right.” […] s: “the last meal. given to sacrificial victims. d: “yeah, i’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god.” (1x11)

almost every episode in the first season is a monster they’ve faced before that they then explain to the audience in a way that should feel patronising; like it’s the same speech given over and over again but instead, the audience almost feels included in the knowledge. it’s stated with such an innate confidence and comfort in said knowledge that it feels like we already knew it too; “spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. if they want inside, they just go through the walls.” […] “the claws, the speed that it moves; could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” (1x02), “it's biblical numerology. you know noah's ark, it rained for forty days. the number means death.” (1x04), “no no no, not the reaper, a reaper. there's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names.” […] “you said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? reapers stop time. and you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why i could see it and you couldn't.” (1x12)

they already know and, at least in the first season, already have what they need to kill whatever they’re hunting; already know to salt and burn bones for spirits, fire for a w*ndigo, exorcisms for demons, a silver bullet to the heart for shapeshifters. there’s only three times in the entire first season that they run into something new to them; 1x14 when sam gets his first vision that leads him to another psychic, 1x16 when dean calls caleb for help on the sigil he put together and he tells him about daevas, and 1x20 when they find out vampires are real- and they only don’t know that bc john thought they were hunted to extinction and not worth mentioning

(there’s also technically two half instances if you count one of them knowing something the other doesn’t - sam figuring out the tulpa in 1x17 and dean already knowing about the shtriga in 1x18 - but those still rely on sam and dean having prior knowledge)

even when they’re uncertain about facing something, it’s not bc they don’t know what it is; it’s precisely bc they know what it is and acknowledge that it’ll be a difficult hunt (“i don't know, man. this isn't our normal gig. i mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. this is big. and i wish dad was here.” 1x04)

so much of the tension in paranormal shows typically comes from the main character(s) not knowing what is happening to them/the people around them and having to find out how to resolve it. supernatural is unique in that it operates more like a police procedural. the tension comes from solving the clues and identifying patterns to figure out who (what) the killer is and intercepting before they can take another victim

it’s such a different tone to go for when compared to other shows that came both before, during, and after its run. it sets sam and dean on even footing with each other since they both have the same knowledge going in, and it puts them in a place of authority usually reserved for an outside character

the shows i compare spn to most is charmed, buffy and teen wolf; every main character in those shows are brought into the paranormal world knowing nothing, putting them on the same level as the audience, and they have their mc interact with others already knowledgeable about that world in order to overcome their problem/monster of the week. the audience organically learns about this new world as the characters learn about it. it’s a sound writing strategy that prevents “as we already know”-style exposition but something that complicates it is if your world building isn’t unique or intriguing enough, this slow introduction can become boring

we’ve seen shows like these before; sitting through the same tropes of characters learning to use their powers, struggling with no longer feeling normal/relating to the regular world around them, and not knowing how much they can trust the people already involved in this new world gets repetitive. all three shows eventually reach the same level of comfort with their new world that spn starts with but if the characters aren’t enough to draw you in, you can end up dropping it before they reach that point (and often, before the overarching plot can really kick in and evolve the show beyond the villain of the week format)

it’s the superhero origin movie in tv format; dragged out and overplayed. dropping the audience into an established world of course comes with its own problems but you also have the benefit of pre-existing established character dynamics that let the audience slot in like they’ve always been there instead of just getting to know all the characters while the characters also get to know each other

sam and dean already knowing about the supernatural lets the audience immediately get to the core of the story; the conflict between sam and dean, the search for their father, and the mystery of what killed their mother

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I keep coming back to one question: does Izzy know how cruel he's been to Ed?

In s1e3-s1e4, we're shown that Izzy has made a habit out of controlling Ed's perception of situations, demeaning and insulting him to the crew and monitoring his social interactions to isolate him from everyone except Izzy himself, and insulting Ed to his face in order to make him think he needs Izzy around. Ed is clearly desperate for human connection, but Izzy shuts down any topic that isn't an Izzy-Approved Blackbeard Topic, not letting him talk to him about what he's excited about. Izzy is frequently shown lying to Ed in order to get what he wants out of a situation. His behavior is manipulative and controlling from the start, and it only gets worse once Stede enters Ed's life and Izzy tries to pressure Ed into killing him, going as far as to attempt to kill Stede in front of Ed after Ed's told him explicitly to back off. If we're being charitable, we can say Izzy doesn't know how much pain he's causing Ed because he's too focused on trying to "protect" his lifestyle and control Ed's behaviors, so he never really thinks much about Ed's feelings - but, even then, he says in s1e6 he knows Ed "adores" Stede, so he has to know how much killing him will hurt Ed!

And in s1e10, the way he talks to Ed genuinely still gives me goosebumps. He tells Ed he's better off dead than behaving the way he is, painting his nails and writing songs and telling everyone to call him Ed. Izzy goads Ed into reacting with violence by refusing to back down and continuing to mock and berate him, and reacts with glee when Ed chokes him, laughing at Ed's horror once he gets him to respond with violence.

As Izzy himself tells us on his deathbed, the reason for this behavior is clear: he felt like he needed Blackbeard. But how much did he understand what he was doing?

Given how Izzy tends to shut Ed down when he's talking about topics Izzy doesn't think are important, I like to hope Izzy doesn't actually know Ed very well at all. I like this interpretation becasue it makes it a lot easier for his s2 arc to sit well with me.

Because if Izzy really understands how much violence is a trigger for Ed, then his actions in s1e10 move from simply cruel to downright despicable. He would be actively using Ed's trauma response to get what he wants. Izzy's behavior is manipulative, but I like to think he doesn't understand how deeply he's really hurting Ed, because that makes it easier to stomach.

I think it's clear that, even on his deathbed, Izzy doesn't seem to really get it. He admits he's been awful to Ed, saying he "fed your darkness." But he's spent the whole season understating his role in triggering Ed's self-destructive spiral and misunderstanding what caused some of Ed's reactions (like saying Ed shot him because Izzy said he loved him, which is just not what happened).

Izzy says he understands Ed, and I think we're meant to understand he doesn't know jackshit about Ed. Even if Izzy really meant to do everything he did out of "love" for Ed, it wasn't about wanting Ed to be happy, it was about controlling him.

Izzy is, I think, at his most sympathetic when he has absolutely zero emotional awareness. I find his s2 arc much easier to be satisfied with when I assume Izzy still has no idea how much he hurt Ed, because although that still sucks and it makes Izzy seem like a controlling, abusive parent who wanted to ""protect"" Ed and deeply hurt him in the process, it at least doesn't mean Izzy knowingly and willingly took advantage of Ed's trauma when he was in a deeply vulnerable place. It's a lot easier to sympathize with Izzy when you assume he knows as little about Ed as it's possible for him to.

[iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid]

having a really old dog is just repeating the mantra to yourself "i am grateful for the time i've been given and when it comes time to let him go i will do so gracefully. i am grateful for the time i've been given and when it comes time to let wait why are you not pooping normally WHAT IS GOING ON WHY WON'T YOU POOP ARE YOU DYING" and then calling the vet in a panic, being told actually he's fine but give the probiotic some time to do its thing and then let us know if anything changes, and then you take a deep breath and go "cool. yeah. obviously he's fine. anyway. i am grateful for the time i've been given and

[tangledinink]

i want desperately for you guys to know that this is how swanatello was born. he was designed and drawn in a span of approximately 30 minutes at work and made originally with the only intention being "pun." thanks @actuallynobutwhynot for getting me to make him lmao i gotta draw him and your sona together sometime.

[rebelpeas]

a few words from me real quick.

the last few days ive been trying to post and reblog support for shubble first and foremost. no fandom, no music, and no fictional comfort character or story is as important to me as supporting someone who was abused. that being said, i don’t think it’s wrong to be upset, questioning, and angry at wilbur right now. of course it’s not. it’s not wrong to post expressing it either. i personally have decided not to post anything about him, and to keep my processing private.

so in case that has caused any confusion on my stance: you will never see or hear about wilbur soot on my blog ever again. not his characters, not his content, not his name. this is the last time i will publicly mention him. i hope he fades into silent obscurity, and i’m going to do my part on bringing that about as quickly as possible.

the last few days, ive felt betrayed, angry, devastated, and most acutely, reminded of my own trauma and experiences. shelby talked about silence being peace for her, about her silence becoming his peace, and that resonated with me a lot. as an abuse survivor, one of the things that has brought me the most peace is silence regarding my abusers - to never speak of them, think of them, to live a life without any trace of them in it. for shelby to disrupt that kind of peace and bring this to light is an incredible act of bravery i can barely fathom, and i dearly hope she regains a peaceful life without mention of him again.

all my love to shelby. please continue to support her, and remember to show kindness and grace to one another as we all are still truly reeling from this. take care of yourselves.

[theirloveisgross]

.

[desire-mona]

can someone please come over and braid my hair and talk about fnaf like im 9 again thanks. can someone please come over and pretend like its all ok thanks.

[myimaginationplain]

imagine: professor utonium mentoring dexter vs professor membrane mentoring mandark

[theyarebothgunshot]

.

[aromanticasterisms]

man.

[yutamayo]

omg the cute autistic/mutual friend at the party I was talking ab way back just moved into our building!!! I legit ran into him omw in and exchanged instas he is SO adorable and cute and I love him like I just wanna be around him so like tf I am SO HAPPY

[the-casbah-way]

i found loads of pictures of my uncle i am going 2 cry

[priestfrommidnightmass]

my best friend i was in love with all of last year broke up with his girlfriend a few days ago and my past self would be SO pissed that i’m actually being the biggest wingman for him right now. i would be shaking myself screaming WHY AREN’T YOU TRYING TO FUCK HIM WHILE HE’S VULNERABLE!!!!!!!!!

[seokmattchuus]

the amount of people i saw saying "oh bc i have this view/bc i voted for xyz i can't engage with your content?"

the play the victim

someone who welcomes queer, poc, disabled, etc different types of people on their account would not want to associate with someone who sides with an old man who doesn't see the above mentioned as his equal

that's like keeping a friend around who keeps twisting the knife in your back 🤷🏻‍♀

No because I'm so SICK of people babying theses shitty ass SNOWFLAKES. They want to be catered to after throwing us to the curb? We need to be meaner to them. We need to be vocal about how horrible they are. So many of them have gotten so fucking comfortable being horrible on main and I'm so done just letting shit like that slide. They're so self-centered and used to receiving no consequences and it needs to change.

If anything's radicalized me overnight, it's this. Fuck being the bigger person. I'm 5'1 anyways.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 64

Chapter; Highlights

Hours later, Yrene was still shaking.

At the disaster they'd narrowly avoided, at the deaths she'd witnessed before that wave had struck, at the power of the queen on the plain. The power of the prince who had prevented the ensuing steam from boiling alive any caught in its path.

Yrene had thrown herself back into healing during the chaos since. Had left the royals and their commanders to oversee the aftermath, and had returned to the Great Hall. Healers drifted onto the battlefield, searching for those in need of help.

All of them, every single person in the keep or the skies or on the battlefield, kept glancing toward the now-empty gap between two mountain peaks. Toward the flooded, decimated city, and the demarcation line between life and death. Water and debris had destroyed most of Anielle, the former now trickling toward the Silver Lake.

A vision of what would have been left of them, were it not for Aelin Galathynius.

She'd been asked to inspect the queen when she'd been carried in to a private chamber by Prince Rowan, the two of them borne off the plain by Nesryn. Yrene hadn't been able to stop her hands from shaking as she'd hovered them over Aelin's unconscious body.

There had been no sign of harm beyond a few already-healing cuts and slices from the battle itself.

Nothing at all beyond a sleeping, tired woman.

Who held the might of a god within her veins.

Yrene had then inspected Prince Rowan, who looked in far worse shape, a sizable gash snaking down his thigh. But he'd waved her off, claiming he'd come too near a burnout, and just needed to rest as well.

So Yrene had left them, only to tend to another.

—

To Lorcan, whose injuries ... Yrene had needed to summon Hafiza to help her with some of it. To lend her power, since Yrene's had been so depleted.

The unconscious warrior, who had apparently tumbled right off Farasha as he and Elide had passed through the gates, didn't so much as stir while they worked on him.

That had been hours ago. Days ago, it felt.

Yes, she needed to rest.

But a horn, clear and bright, blared from outside.

Everyone halted-then rushed to the windows. Yrene's smile grew as she, too, found a place to peek out over the battlefield.

To where the rest of the khagan's army, Prince Kashin at its front, marched toward them.

Thank the gods. Everyone in the hall muttered similar words.

From the keep, an answering horn sang its welcome.

Not just one army had been spared here today, Yrene realized as she turned back to the water station. If that wave had reached Kashin.

…

Lucky. They had all been so, so very lucky.

Yet Yrene wondered how long that luck would last.

If it would see them through the brutal march northward, and to the walls of Orynth itself.

Lorcan let out a low groan as he surfaced from the warm, heavy embrace of darkness.

"You are one lucky bastard."

Too soon. Too damn soon after hovering near death to hear Fenrys's drawl.

Fenrys's smirk was a slash of white.

"You've been out for a day. I drew the short stick and had to look after you."

A lie. For whatever reason, Fenrys had chosen to be here.

Lorcan thumped his head back on the pillow. "Elide." Her name was a rasp on his tongue.

The last he remembered, they'd ridden through the gates, Aelin Galathynius's unholy power spent. Then oblivion had swept in.

"Helping with the healing in the Great Hall," Fenrys said, stretching out his legs before him.

Lorcan closed his eyes, something tight in his chest easing.

"Well, since you're not dead," Fenrys began, but Lorcan was already asleep.

Lorcan awoke later. Hours, days, he didn't know.

The candle was still burning on the narrow windowsill, down to its base. Hours, then.

He didn't care. Not when the dim light revealed the delicate woman lying facedown on the end of his cot, the lower half of her body still on the wooden chair where Fenrys had been. Her arms cradled her head, one outstretched toward him. Reaching for his hand, mere inches from hers.

Elide.

Her dark hair spilled across the blanket, across his shins, veiling much of her face.

Wincing at the lingering ache in his body, Lorcan stretched his arm just enough to touch her fingers. They were cold, their tips so much smaller than his. They contracted, pulling away as she sucked in a sharp, awakening breath.

Lorcan savored every feature as she grimaced at a crick in her neck. But her eyes settled on him. She went still as she found him staring at her, awake and utterly in awe of the woman who had ridden through hell to find him ...

Tired. She looked spent, yet her chin remained unbowed.

Lorcan had no words. He'd given her everything on the back of that horse anyway.

But Elide asked, "How do you feel?" Aching. Exhausted. Yet finding her sitting at his bedside... "Alive," he said, and meant it.

Her face remained unreadable, even as her eyes dipped to his body. The blanket had slid down enough to reveal most of his torso, though it still hid the scarred-over wound in his abdomen. Yet he'd never felt so keenly naked.

It was an effort to keep his breathing steady beneath her sharp-eyed gaze. "Yrene said you would have died, if they hadn't gotten to you when they did."

"I would have died," he said, voice like gravel, "if you hadn't braved hell to find me." Her gaze lifted to his. "I made you a promise."

"So you said."

Was that a hint of color stealing across her pale cheeks? But she didn't balk. "You said some interesting things, too."

Lorcan tried to sit up, but his body gave a burst of pain in protest.

Elide explained, "Yrene warned that though the wounds are healed, some soreness will linger."

Lorcan gritted his teeth around the sharp stab in his back, his stomach. He managed to get onto his elbows, and deemed that progress enough. "It's been a while since I was so gravely injured. I'd forgotten what an inconvenience it is."

A faint smile tugged on her mouth.

His heart halted. The first smile she had given him in months and months. Since that day on the ship, when he'd touched her hand as they'd swayed in their hammocks.

Her smile faded, but the color on her cheeks lingered. "Did you mean it? What you said." He held her stare. Let some inner wall within him come crumbling down. Only for her. For this sharp-eyed, cunning little liar who had slipped through every defense and ironclad rule he'd ever made for himself. He let her see that in his face. Let her see all of it, as no one had ever done before. "Yes."

Her mouth tightened, but not in displeasure.

So Lorcan said softly, "I meant every word." His heart thundered, so wildly it was a wonder she couldn't hear it. "And I will until the day I fade into the Afterworld."

Lorcan didn't breathe as Elide gently reached out her hand. And interlaced their fingers. "I love you," she whispered.

He was glad he was lying down. The words would have knocked him to his knees. Even now, he was half inclined to bow before her, the true owner of his ancient, wicked heart.

"I have loved you," she went on, "from the moment you came to fight for me against Vernon and the ilken." The light in her eyes stole his breath. "And when I heard you were somewhere on that battlefield, the only thing I wanted was to be able to tell you that. It was the only thing that mattered."

Once, he might have scoffed. Declared that far bigger things mattered, in this war especially. And yet the hand grasping his ... He'd never known anything more precious.

Lorcan ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "I am sorry, Elide. For all of it."

"I know," she said softly, and no regret or hurt dimmed her face. Only clear, unwavering calm shone there. The face of the mighty lady she was growing into, and had already become, and who would rule Perranth with wisdom in one hand and compassion in the other.

They stared at each other for minutes. For a blessed eternity.

Then Elide untangled their hands and rose. "I should return to help Yrene."

Lorcan caught her hand again. "Stay."

She arched a dark brow. "I'm only going to the Great Hall."

Lorcan caressed his thumb over the back of her hand once more. "Stay," he breathed.

For a heartbeat, he thought she'd say no, and was prepared to be fine with it, to accept these last few minutes as more of a gift than he'd deserved.

"Say it," she whispered, fingers stilling in his hair. Lorcan opened his eyes, finding her gaze. "I love you."

"Yrene said you might always have this," she said, her hand mercifully falling away.

"Then it will be the scar I treasure most."

Fenrys would laugh until he cried to hear him speak this way, but Lorcan didn't care. To hell with the rest of them.

Another one of those small smiles curved her lips, and Lorcan's hands tightened in the sheets with the effort it took not to taste that smile, to worship it with his own mouth.

But this new, fragile thing humming between them ... He would not risk it for all the world.

Elide, thank the gods, had no such worries.

None at all, it seemed, as she lifted a hand to his cheek and ran her thumb along it. Every breath was an effort of control.

Lorcan held absolutely still as she brought her mouth to his. Brushed her lips across his own.

She pulled back. "Rest, Lorcan. I'll be here again when you wake."

Anything she asked, he'd give her.

Anything at all.

Too shaken by that soft, beautiful kiss to bother with words, he lay back down.

But until then, he wanted her here. Sleeping at his side, where he might watch over her. As she had watched over him.

Elide seemed to read that on his face, and her cheeks reddened further. "Later, then," she breathed, limping to the door.

Lorcan sent a flicker of his power to wrap around her ankle. The limp vanished.

A hand on the knob, she gave him a small, grateful nod. "I missed that."

He heard the unspoken words as she disappeared into the busy hall.

I missed you.

Lorcan allowed himself a rare smile.