#i'm not saying one tiny thing can set you up for condemnation

[isekyaaa]

Reading Novel Updates spoiler forums makes me so sad bc you see how bland and boring some people are in that they only want to read novels with perfect male leads that treat the main character with 100% politically correct and Twitter feminist approved respect. Flawed men are morally reprehensible in their eyes and are deserving of judgment and death.

[stobinesque]

phryctoria | chapter 6: four by one (delta)

Sometimes your gay awakening is just having someone to show you it’s possible. Steve realizes there's a whole gay world out there, waiting for them.

Now Complete!

[1][2][3][4][5] | [Read on AO3]

"Robbie, honey, is that you?" Mrs. Buckley calls out as the front door swings shut behind them.

"Yeah, mom!" Robin shouts back as she toes off her shoes.

"Is Steve with you?" Robin claims her mother has some sort of sixth sense for Steve's presence in the house. Steve thinks it’s just a safe bet to assume he’s there, seeing as that's the case more often than not.

"I am!" Steve affirms, as Robin grabs his hand to drag him up to her room. The staircase has a direct line of sight to the living room, where Robin's parents are curled together on their squashy couch, watching something Steve can't make out on the tiny television set.

"There are leftovers in the fridge." Mr. Buckley says as they pass by.

"Thank you, sir." Robin tugs at Steve’s wrist impatiently. "Uh…we’ll grab some later," he says, tripping up the stairs after Robin.

"Ugh, you're such a suck-up!" she declares as she flops back onto her bed.

"I have to stay on their good side! They’re both half-convinced I'm one step away from stealing your virginity."

"Eugh, please don't say that." Robin pulls open her bag and starts dumping the contents onto her mattress. "Besides, they wouldn't have any room to talk. I was conceived in the back of my dad’s Volkswagen."

Steve hops up onto the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him. He picks up his pamphlet from the books and 'zines strewn across Robin's bed, and rolls it up to point at her. "Now, how—and why, exactly—do you know that?"

"Remember what I said about my parents and boundaries?"

“Okay, sure, that tracks.” Steve flips open the booklet with a little flourish. “So, wanna learn about how to fuck without dying?”

Robin arches a brow at him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“No? What would I—?”

Steve flinches as something hits his chest and he looks down to see the reading glasses he’d bought earlier. “Really?”

“Yes, really! Put them on!”

Steve rolls his eyes, but puts them on. “Happy?”

“I am,” she sniffs with haughty self-satisfaction.

Steve pulls a face and mouths a mocking “I am!” as he picks the pamphlet back up and flicks it open. He skims his way down the table of contents—there’s a foreword, a preface, and an introduction for some reason—and his eyebrows start creeping up his forehead as he goes. Sucking, Fucking, Sadism & Masochism (S&M), Fist Fucking…mixed in with things Steve doesn’t even recognize (what the hell do “water sports” have to  do with sex?)

It's all a little daunting—like he should have started with a basic field guide to Sex With Men before jumping into figuring out how to do it safely.

But he’s here now, so he takes a deep breath, flips to the next page, and begins.

Barely three paragraphs in and he's right back to feeling in over his head. Is he supposed to have opinions on the causes of AIDS? He can count the number of times he’s heard or read about it in a context that wasn’t riddled with disgust and condemnation. All he really knows is that a diagnosis is as good as a death sentence.

He shakes his head, frustrated. "Hey, do you have a highlighter or something?"

Robin doesn’t say anything, but when Steve looks up to ask her again, something smacks him on the head—Robin having chosen to answer by way of lobbing a highlighter directly at his face. He's grudgingly impressed by her aim.

"Stop throwing things at me!"

Robin ignores him. "Careful, Stevie, you might turn into a nerd if you're not careful."

"...shut up." He uncaps the marker with a bitchy flourish to highlight the sentence “Sex doesn't make you sick—diseases do. Gay sex doesn't make you sick—gay men who are sick do.” It settles something in him that's been strung tight since Monday. Even if some part of him knew that he wasn't sick just by existing, he couldn't shake the memory of kids asking anyone they thought might be gay if they knew what it stood for, before shouting “Got AIDS Yet?” down the hall after them.

Steve grimaces at the memory, and carries on reading until he’s reached the end of the introduction, highlighting a sentence at the end there

Our challenge is to figure out how we can have gay, life-affirming sex, satisfy our emotional needs, and stay alive!

He's never really thought of sex as anything more than a kind of fraught balancing act between performance and pleasure—let alone “life-affirming.”

Except...that is kind of what it was between him and Nancy right? It's why they'd drifted back together after everything. They'd both only had each other—well, Nancy had Jonathan, too, kind of. But Steve had lost his two closest friends, and even if he hadn't, it’s not like he could have shared anything that'd happened to him without putting them in harm’s way.

(There had been a few times early on when Steve had considered reaching out to Tommy or Carol. But even without the worry that he might revert back to a version of himself that he was all too eager to leave in the rearview, he also didn't know what the point of trying to maintain a relationship with them was, when his entire understanding of the world had turned on its head.)

So Nancy and Steve had become NancyandSteve—not so much in deed as in perception. After Barb, after…everything…they'd both been hesitant to have sex again for a while. Steve didn't want to push Nancy into doing anything that would make her uncomfortable (and if Steve benefited from not having to perform quite so much, all the better). And Nancy always seemed like it was something she felt guilty for even wanting.

And then one night Steve had just kind of snapped and asked her outright “Do you want to have sex?”

It was like a dam bursting. As if all Nancy had needed was for someone to ask her what she actually wanted, instead of thinking herself in circles around what she should want.

"Penny for your thoughts, Fen?"

Steve doesn’t look up from where his eyes have lost on the words swimming in front of him. "Just…thinking about Nancy."

"Oh?" Robin’s voice is cautiously curious.

"Yeah, just like. I don't know. We didn't have sex all that often when we were together, but when we did, it was like…" Steve trails off, struggling to find the words.

"Like what?”

"Like…I don't know. Like us?” He says, finally looking up at Robin and gesturing between the two of them. “Like when we sleep together?”

Robin doesn't wrinkle her nose like he expects her to. Instead she tilts her head and gives him a considering look. "Like…comforting?"

Steve snaps his fingers and points at her. "Yeah! And it was fun, too, I guess. But it was mostly just…it was the one time where I felt like I could actually give her what she needed, you know?”

Robin shakes her head with a little frown. "I don't. That sounds…really sad, actually."

Steve huffs and drags a hand through his hair. "I'm not explaining this right."

"No, I think you are!" Robin reaches out to take one of his hands into hers. "Look, you don't really talk about Nancy, and I'm not asking you to do it now anymore than you already have or want to. But, the silence kind of speaks for itself, you know? I don't know what happened with the two of you, but I…I don't know, I'd see you together, sometimes, after Barb, and you both always seemed so sad. But you never really seemed like you were sad together, you know? You didn't even look like you were causing each other's sadness, you just…you looked like you were on these parallel tracks of grief. So…so maybe, when you were having sex it was like the one time where you both actually were on the same track? And that's…"

"Fucked up, because I'm gay, and her best friend died while she was losing her virginity? To me? A gay man?"

"Well, I wasn't gonna put it like that."

"Sure."

Silence falls between them, and Steve stares at the Ripley poster hanging on Robin’s wall. Thinking about Nancy has left him unsettled in a way he wouldn’t have expected it to. Not that realizing he’s gay should suddenly erase all of the heartbreak he’d felt at the end of things. But he thought he’d moved on. Come to terms with everything. But now, recontextualizing their relationship, and realizing how much it had really just been a means of survival than anything else for both of them…it leaves him feeling a little sick.

Robin cuts into his thoughts. "Okay, enough wallowing about shitty exes—"

"Nancy wasn't—”

"Shhhh,” Robin says, waving a hand in his face to get him to stop talking. “Let me be dramatically overprotective of you about this."

"Fine,” he says, even though something about it doesn’t sit right with him.

"Back to my point: stop wallowing, and get back to reading about how you can have hot gay sex safely, so I can live vicariously through you!"

Some of the tension bleeds out of him. "Okay, first of all, I don't think you want to be having the same kind of hot gay sex as me, and second of all, you’re coming with me! You can find a hot girl to bang!"

"I thought we’d already established that I don't want to have sex for the first time with a stranger!"

"Oh.” Steve falls back. Even having just talked about it earlier that evening he’d kind of…forgotten that other people might prefer to know the person they lose their virginity to. He hadn’t really had a choice. “Right."

"I think I'd be okay with kissing a girl that I don't know yet. But, like, how do you even tell if someone's interested in you?” She tangles her fingers in her hair and starts tugging at the roots. “And how do you flirt?"

"Okay, okay, one thing at a time.” Steve reaches forward to pull her hands from her hair, holding them to his chest. “You don't have to rush anything, you know—”

"Steve! It's not rushing things if I've…if I've known this about myself for years and I'm still just a clueless virgin!"

"Okay, well, I don't think me not being a virgin means I have any more of a clue about things than you do. It's just…” Steve gestures in the space between them. "It's just bodies! And, like, hearts and guts and brains, or whatever—but that's still just bodies! And if we're going to a gay club you'll have to exert a lot less effort into trying to figure out if someone likes you. You can just ask!”

"'You can just ask' he says.” Robin scoffs. “Have you ever 'just asked' a girl if she likes you?"

"Well, no, but that's because they're supposed to act like they don't."

"What?" Robin yanks her hands out of Steve’s grip with a violent jerk backwards.

"Yeah! Girls are supposed to act like they're all bashful or whatever about a guy liking them. So you have to come at it sideways, give them a little opening to sneak through." He holds his hands a couple inches apart and makes a little snaking motion in demonstration.

Robin gapes at him. "Straight people are fucking weird."

"Yeah, it's exhausting." There was something of a thrill to a successful seduction, though. It was a game Steve had been good at playing, once upon a time. It had just lost its appeal somewhere along the way. Maybe in a new context he'd find a way to make it fun again. "But there aren't any guys in the equation for you, so you don't have to do any of that."

"Okay, yeah, but what if everyone does still act like that, but because there's no men to do the asking everyone is just like! Awkwardly hovering around each other!”

"I literally just told you to do the asking."

"Yeah, well, what if your advice is bad! I've seen you try to flirt, Steve!"

"Yeah, you've seen me try to flirt with girls who I am not attracted to,” he argues back, gesticulating wildly. He slumps back and bites his lip, considering. "Okay, how about this,” he starts, leaning forward again. “I bet you that if you ask, you can get a girl to kiss you."

Robin narrows her eyes, "What's the winner get?”

Steve thinks for a second. "Full control of the stereo on the ride back."

"Deal." Robin spits into her palm and extends it to him. "Shake on it, Harrington."

Steve grimaces, but spits into his own palm, before grasping her hand in his. "Deal"

Steve returns to reading, but a few minutes later tosses it aside again with a frustrated huff, pressing the tips of his fingers into his eyes, as though that will chase away the budding headache.

“…you good over there?”

Steve drops his hands and blinks rapidly. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Robin snorts. “Liar. What’s up? Why do you look like you just got your head shoved in a toilet?”

“Nothing, I just—it’s dumb.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And—I don’t want to bore you with stupid questions.”

“I’m pretty sure the no-stupid-questions rule is still in effect.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t a gay question or whatever—I just don’t know how to fucking read.”

Robin frowns, leaning forward to look at him more closely. “Okaaaaay, but clearly you do—you’ve been highlighting up a storm over there.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I understand anything!” Steve snaps his mouth shut and looks away. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

Robin plays with her hands, expression nervous. “Why does it matter if you don’t understand it?”

“What’s the point in reading any of this if I don’t know what it means?”

“No, no, I get that, I just mean—why are you acting like not understanding something will matter to me?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, it has before.”

Robin stares at him, mouth agape. “What are you—are you talking about what I said about Click’s class?”

Steve doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, well, if it is, then you are an idiot, if you think literally any of 15-year-old me’s thoughts about you still apply now.” Robin shakes her head sadly. “Steve, you could ask me what color the fucking sky is—and I’d probably lie first, just to fuck with you a bit—but I definitely wouldn’t judge you for asking. I literally don’t care whether you’re a genius, or-or if you don’t know what two plus two is! The stupid little thoughts of a jealous teenager are entirely irrelevant to what we have here,” she says, gesturing between the two of them.

Steve is quiet, assessing her for even a bare hint of insincerity. There’s none to be found. Maybe he can hazard a chance at trusting someone again. As though he hasn’t been doing that this whole time. He sighs and hands the pamphlet over. “It’s not even that I don’t know what it’s saying, I just…every time I get to the end of the page it’s like everything I’ve just read falls out of my head.”

“Okay, well, maybe between the two of us we can get it to stick.” Robin holds her hand out and makes a grabby motion until Steve drops the highlighter into it. She skims through the whole section, humming occasionally as she underscores something.

A couple minutes later she looks back at him with a smile. “Okay, well, first off: this was also kind of dense for me. There’s, like, a lot of information here and it’s all presented very argumentatively and kind of assumes the person reading it knows more about the debatable causes of AIDS than I think either of us do. But basically it’s arguing that instead of AIDS being caused by one virus, it’s instead caused by a build-up of CMV, which is a totally different virus.”

Steve nods along. He does follow that. The foreword, preface, and introduction had all alluded to it, but once the authors got further into the details they’d started to lose him.

“Second of all, I don’t know if it really matters. I mean, obviously it matters that, like, scientists and doctors and whoever know the exact cause. But from what I can tell, it seems like regardless of the exact cause, we still have a reasonably good understanding of how it spreads—namely, sperm and blood. So I think as long as you understand everything else in here about how to prevent spreading or catching things, you’re probably good not to understand all of the science behind it.”

Steve nods and takes the pamphlet back from her. “Okay,” he says. “Uh, thanks.”

Robin nods. “Anytime, Steph.”

Steve blushes and smiles at her.

Reading the rest of the pamphlet gets much easier from there. He skims over the sections specifically covering CMV, figuring that he can return to them later if needed, but that they probably aren’t strictly relevant to him just yet.

About halfway through reading, he realizes that despite the heavy subject matter, he’s actually kind of enjoying reading it, in a way that’s unfamiliar to him. He’s always enjoyed having sex, but he’d never considered that he might also like learning about it. It’s a similar sort of satisfaction that he found in learning first aid for his lifeguard certification. But most of that was a hands-on kind of learning. Steve can’t remember a time he’s been anything other than frustrated while reading.

The writers talk about sex with an unrelenting frankness that is completely foreign to him. And they don’t limit themselves to the mere mechanics of the act. They dive into ethics and philosophy, and by the time Steve has made it to the last section, he finds himself highlighting whole paragraphs.

Gay men are socialized as men first; our gay socialization comes later. From the day we are born we are trained as men to compete with other men. The challenge facing gay men in America is to figure out how to love someone you’ve been trained to “destroy”

It knocks Steve off his feet. Like someone has held a mirror up to his life.

He remembers the adrenaline flooding him when he pinned Jonathan to the ground in that alley—and again, when Jonathan took him by the wrist and pulled him to safety hours later.

He remembers the jealousy and fear of losing to a boy he felt the need to prove himself better than.

But what if there had been love there all along? Buried deep beneath the pain and self-loathing.

The goal of gay male liberation must be to find ways in which love becomes possible despite continuing and often overwhelming pressure to compete and adopt adversary relationships with other men.

Steve traces over the lines of those sentences like they’re precious. Robin is the only other gay person he knows, and she knows only fractionally more about this world than he does.

And it is a world. There’s a whole history here. Beyond the scientific analysis of disease and recommendations for safer sex, that is what he’s found here. A community. A lineage. There’s a culture there lying in wait of discovery for the both of them. There are men who have walked the same gauntlet that Steve is just beginning to—and who have emerged on the other side. And maybe they’re all in peril together. But at least it is together.

If you love the person you are fucking with—even for one night—you will not want to make them sick.

Steve doesn’t know what he and Robin will find when they go to Indy. The world is larger and more complex than anything he’s going to find in a 40-page pamphlet.

But who knows, maybe he will find love there.

Maybe affection is our best protection.

Bonus! Chapter 7: Erratum & Appendices

Annotations to the text “How to Have Sex in an Epidemic” by Michael Callen and Richard Berkowitz, intro by Dr. Joseph Sonnabend - Spring 1985

[A/N: full text can be accessed here]

ANNOTATION, pg 9, following the section “WHAT CAUSES AIDS?”

While the multifactorial theory behind AIDS was already unpopular in the medical community at the time of this pamphlet’s initial publication, a greater preponderance of medical and community health experts now agree that the recently discovered virus HTLV III is the virus responsible for the development of AIDS. However, there is still much we do not know about the virus’ transmission. That said: the guidelines for safer sex outlined by Callen and Berkowitz, and supported by Dr. Sonnabend, are still likely to greatly mitigate the risk of transmitting or acquiring the HTLV III virus and, subsequently, AIDS.

While most professionals agree that CMV is not the cause of AIDS, CMV remains a disease that MSM should be careful to minimize their risk of transmitting. The risks and effects of CMV as highlighted by the authors in this pamphlet—excepting its connection to AIDS—remain sound; as do their recommendations for mitigating transmission.

For individuals interested in getting tested for the HTLV III virus, an Alternate Test Site has recently opened opened at the Indiana University Medical Center. This testing site, unlike others in the area, guarantees anonymity and privacy for those who wish to get tested. A positive test for HTLV III does not mean you have AIDS, an AIDS related condition, nor does it mean you will develop AIDS in the future.

For further information about the HTLV III test, call the Indianapolis Gay & Lesbian Switchboard at (317) 543-6200. They have a 24 hour answering service, and make calls back between 7 and 11PM.

ANNOTATION, pg 24, following “KISSING”

While HTLV III has been detected in saliva, there have been no reported cases of AIDS transmitted via kissing, or shared foods or utensils. Community health experts are in near unanimous agreement that kissing bears no risk of transmission of HTLV III/AIDS.

ANNOTATION, p. 20, following “FUCKING”

Studies are inconclusive as to the effectiveness of natural condoms for VD prevention. But as the authors state, natural condoms have a lower risk of breakage to their latex counterparts.

ANNOTATION, p. 21, within the section “GETTING FUCKED”

The importance of lubrication during anal sex cannot be overstated. Lubrication decreases the chances of condoms breaking, and of microtears of the rectal lining.

ANNOTATION, p. 22, following “GETTING FUCKED”

Always be sure to carefully follow the instructions of use for any prophylactic. Condom wrappers should always be opened carefully, with ones hands.

Appendix: STEVE (and Robin's) GUIDE TO SAFELY FUCKING

CLEAR HEAD TO GET HEAD! If you’re planning to fuck, you can’t be drunk!

TALK IT OUT! Always be sure to talk to your partner about limits and safety before getting it on

KEEP IT CLEAN! It’s important to wash up before and after sex to limit the spread of bacteria and germs

WRAP IT UP! If you’re going to fuck someone, or have someone suck you off, make sure you’re wearing a condom

Always open condom wrappers CAREFULLY with your HANDS—ripping wrappers open with your teeth stops being sexy the moment the condom tears

If you’re not going to wear a condom, make sure you don’t come anywhere inside your partner (especially their ass!!!)

KISSING: ✔️✔️✔️

GET CREATIVE There are lots of things to do that pose no risk at all!

GET HANDY: mutual masturbation is a completely safe way for two (or more) to get it on. Throw in some dirty talk to add a little extra HEAT!

IT’S ABOUT LOVE, even if only for a night

***

Authors Note: please keep in mind that everything in this chapter reflects what was known of HIV/AIDS c. 1985! Please do not take safe sex advice from a fanfic!

[wildechild17]

Mag 7 wip

something I'm working on as a side project for NaNo, decided I'd share a little (not really) excerpt here, just because i could

Sam Chisolm wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but as he stood in the sparsely decorated apartment in London, it wasn’t… this.

It was, in fact, sparse. There was a small kitchen, a couch with a pullout that looked slept in, a bathroom, and a tiny closet. It was by no means a luxury place, but it was just one level above being condemned, if you asked Sam.

The man’s heart broke a little as he took it in. There was no sign of the occupant he was looking for, not that he knew who he was looking for—his boss had simply given him this address and said the person who lived here would be a good addition to the team if Sam could convince them.

Given the fact of who the rest of the team was made up of, Sam had two guesses as to whose place he was standing in. Past experiences told him one was more likely than the other.

Something caught his eye, a leatherbound book sitting among the blankets on the pullout. Curious, Sam wandered over, reaching for the book. He flipped through it, noting it was some mix between a journal and a scrapbook. The first entry dated back to just over eleven years ago, and Sam couldn’t help but read.

9-29-12

I’ve always known my family had powers… how could I not, when mom uses hers to heal those in our family, and when both she and gran have told me about other members of our… bloodline? Apparently, the blood is important… and their abilities.

I just assumed, like everyone before me, that it skipped generations… Instead, I woke up this morning with my own abilities. Powers… magic? I like the idea of calling it magic. Who knows, I may have them sooner and didn’t realize it… Skipper had died during the night, and when mom and Aunt Elenore asked who I was greeting this morning because to them it was empty air… I told them Skip, and I was then informed he’d passed in his sleep, so how could I be seeing him?

One quick test later, my mom declared that a) I had magic, and b) it could be classified as necromancy. That’s… a terrifying, truthfully, prospect, but… I can handle it. I hope.

At least it’s the weekend before fall break, so mom can help me figure out how to start managing it. I’m in senior year, so it’s not like I’ll have to hide it from the others as school for long. If I go to college, I can get by with strictly online classes, I think.

Mom suggested I use a journal to track my progress, but I’ve never been the best at keeping records, even school wise. Hopefully with something to keep track of, that’ll change.

I’ll make another entry when something of importance happens, I guess.

10-10-12   10-9-12/10-10-12

What the fuck is my life, truly?

With the influx of my powers, came something else… my memories. I guess necromancy and reincarnation can go hand in hand, because this isn’t the first time I’ve lived. I started having dreams and flashbacks during break, of an older version of myself set back in the Wild West. I thought it was just some weird dream/fantasy thing since… well, since I’m sort of obsessed with that era, anyways, but… no. It all came rushing back to me, today, during fifth period, which is my study block this year.

We got a new student… which, in a small town like Salem, is kind of a cause for chatter, and I wasn’t really paying attention until the guy sat next to me. When I finally looked at him…

Son of a bitch… it’s Vasquez. It all came back to me—Sam Chisolm, Rose Creek, Bart Bogue…

I’m… sort of embarrassed to say that I had a total breakdown right then and there. Mom actually had to come and pick me up early, it was so bad. It’s super late (early?), right now, almost three in the morning, and I’ve been catatonic all afternoon, according to her. So, I guess all these events really happened yesterday?

I’m getting distracted… I told her what had happened, what’s been happening, and she… didn’t seem totally surprised. Fact is, she’s the one who gave me the idea that my reincarnation ties in with my powers. Something about death being involved, which… makes sense, in a weird way.

Mom offered to keep me out of school for the rest of the week, so I can recover, but… I don’t want to do that. Maybe a day or two, but not a week. I want to talk to Vas so I can Vasquez, so I can sort of explain things to him. Hopefully, it’ll go well…

10-13-12 Update: It… I didn’t explain the powers thing to him. I didn’t want to freak him out, but I did tell him why I had my breakdown on Monday. He understood, because when his memories came back to him, he was a wreck for a while too.

He came over for the afternoon, and mom and Aunt Elenore absolutely fell in love with him. Bastard put on the damn charm. We didn’t get any schoolwork done, not like we really planned to, but we did catch up on things. What’s been going on in our modern lives, and he told me a little about what happened after I died in Rose Creek… His family travels a lot in this life, for his dad’s work. He’s got two siblings, an older sister and younger brother. I couldn’t resist and had to make a crack about his ‘three Maria’s’… he asked where mine was.

… I told him Maria died when we were kids. He sobered up pretty quick… guess he could tell it was a sore subject.

Anyways… my magic practice is progressing well. Right now, I can just see spirits, which is weird because they look like just regular people—for the most part. I’ve seen a few grisly sights, but I’m learning how to pick their energies apart from the living, so I don’t make a fool of myself in public.

Oddly enough, Vasquez has a couple ghosts hanging around him…

Sam flipped through the journal, heart twisting in his chest as he noticed a few entries more prominent than others. One, over Christmas break, detailing why Vasquez had ghosts—his father was a hunter of the supernatural, and the revelation apparently caused a rift between the two boys before Vasquez’s father himself had put things to right. He’d put the hunting behind him and was trying to settle down with his family… he could have never expected his son to befriend a witch—which, that had led to Joshua admitting about himself…

Prom. They stopped dancing around their feelings for each other and became official, and that entry made Sam smile, as well as the photos of that night that accompanied the entry. They did make a handsome couple. That was where Vasquez’s writing started slipping in on a few pages, offering extra insight or his own commentary to whatever Joshua was writing.

Graduation. Maybe too quick to those who don’t know about… us, but Vasquez gave me a bloody promise ring tonight. (you’re not actually complaining, are you? Fuck you, I’m keeping it forever thought so) and detailing a rough plan of the future. Plans to stay in Salem long enough to get through college, before moving. Maybe they’d find where Rose Creek was, if it was somewhere they could move to, settle down there. Ideas about where the rest of their motley crew were…

College. Joshua went into Anthropology and the Occult (seriously, guero? Bite me, texican), and Vasquez Art and Architecture (you know there’s a joke about cliches in there somewhere, right? Don’t you dare). Joshua seemed to develop a minor side hobby (?) in helping people with their dead loved ones, the spirits who hadn’t crossed over because of unfinished business (Jennifer Love Hewitt, who?) When they’d both finished their studies… Joshua was the one who proposed.

There were photos of various moments, in those early years. High school included prom, graduation, senior trip, homecoming week. After high school showed moving into their first apartment together, as they worked through college, domestic moments, moments with their families, college graduation, of the proposal, and later, multiple photos from the wedding. Tickets to various date locations, movies, and festivals, were taped in as well. It seemed Joshua (and by some small extension, Vasquez) was eager to keep track of everything.

But just after their return from their honeymoon in August of twenty-fifteen, the entries stopped. The next one wasn’t dated until January of twenty-sixteen. Reading it, Sam felt his heart stop and blood run cold.

1-13-16 I’m sorry, Ale… I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t… couldn’t save you. If I was faster… maybe you’d still be here. Maybe I could have… God, I’m crazy for thinking it… brought you back. If you’d wanted it… if maybe I’d seen you… your spirit, at least, maybe one more time, to ask…

There are limitations to my abilities… I can bring people back from the dead, but only within a set time… I didn’t make it with you… And I’m so sorry.

You must have crossed over. That’s the only reason I can think of to not see your ghost… it’d be just like you, too… you wouldn’t have wanted me to see you like that. I know you wouldn’t have. I know, but… goddammit it still hurts, you son of a bitch. If I could have just said goodbye…

… you were gone too soon. And those bastards… they’ll pay. Eventually, they’ll pay.

I’m sorry.

I… did find where Rose Creek is. It’s still a small town but thriving in today’s age. I’ll… I’ll go there. For us… for you.

Maybe I’ll find some sort of peace there.

Silence, for a few months, before another entry was made.

5-23-16 God, what have I done? I didn’t… I wasn’t… I didn’t mean for that to happen… I didn’t know I could do that.

I need to get away. From everyone. Anyone that I can hurt…

I’m so sorry Vas…

After that, there were no more entries. Sam flipped through the remaining blank pages and found nothing. Frowning, Sam went back to the last entry, and wondered what the hell might have happened for it to exist.

Actually, he wondered what happened in those last two entries in general—one was obvious. The other… not so much. He’d have to ask Matthew to investigate the dates mentioned, give or take a day or two. Surely, there’d be some sort of record online, somewhere—

“How the fuck did you get in here?”

Sam startled, the book falling from his hands and back on to the bed. He whirled around, coming eye to eye with Joshua Faraday. The first thing the older man noticed was how tired the redhead looked, with bags beneath his eyes, and skin pale. He stood as though the weight of the world was laid on his shoulders, but it didn’t distract from the, frankly, intimidating glare he was fixing Sam with.

“I know I locked the door when I left,” Joshua continued, and then his gaze flicked down to the journal on the bed, and his anger grew. He stood straight, and Sam swore the room grew colder and darker as Joshua set a bag of possible groceries on the floor, “You went looking through my personal things?!”

“Now, hold on just a minute, son—” Sam began.

“I’m not your son,” Joshua hissed, and there was no doubt about it—Joshua was altering the space around them. His eyes were beginning to glow, a toxic green that caused the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck to rise, “What are you doing here, Chisolm?”

“I came to offer you a job,” Sam said, quickly, and Joshua drew up short. A brief look of bafflement crossed his features as he stared at the older man, “That is, if you want it.”

The redhead crossed his arms, eyes narrowing.

“Explain,” he said, shortly, so Sam did.

He explained how he’d been tasked with bringing a crew together (yes, the rest of the Rose Creek bunch, for the most part…) and that while Joshua’s name hadn’t come up directly, Sam’s own bosses had suggested Joshua could be an integral part of the team. This team would be dealing with threats across the world, both natural and supernatural. Clearly, Joshua would be a good addition, if he wanted to join.

“But… I’m not pressing you to,” Sam said, quietly. He glanced down at the journal, then back to Joshua, “You’ve clearly been through a lot already.”

Joshua’s expression darkened, lips thinning, but he said nothing. Just stared at Sam with those eyes of his still glowing. But he was silent, and Sam took it for a good thing.

“… would you have come for me, if I hadn’t been brought up?” Joshua asked.

Sam blinked at the question, but answered nonetheless: “Eventually, yes. It wouldn’t have been fair not to include you and—” he faltered, only because Joshua pinned him with a venomous glare, “We want everyone we can get. We worked so well together, before.”

Silence, again, and Sam could tell Joshua was right on the edge of accepting the offer, he just needed one last push.

“Who killed him?” Sam asked, pitching his own voice low—after all, someone had mess with those he cared about. He was angry thinking about it; Joshua startled, so Sam asked again, “Who did it? We can go after the sons of bitches with you.”

Joshua’s jaw clenched.

“Hunters,” he ground out. “Ones who didn’t approve of his relationship with… with me. I don’t… I don’t have exact names, though.”

“Then come with me,” Sam offered, holding out his hand. “Together, we’ll help you figure out who did it, and we’ll see them get what they deserve.”

Joshua looked down at Sam’s extended hand, before he looked up at the man himself. The temperature returned to normal, and the shadows fell away. The glow in the witch’s eyes faded, but they still burned with anger and determination…

Joshua took Sam’s hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Chisolm.”

[manikas-whims]

A Place Good Enough

[Read on AO3]

Ship: Kaz Brekker X Inej Ghafa

Summary:

Kaz pays Inej's indenture at the Menagerie and she joins the dregs.

_

A short fic that adds a little more of what happens that night after Kaz takes her with him.

Note:

I'm a new fan and read the SoC Duology this Feb.

This is my first time writing these characters so please excuse anything weird, I tried my best.

Inej may seem a bit scared in this because she isn't the Inej we know in SoC. This will be the first fic of many where I'll try to show our Crows before the events of SoC. A look at their daily lives in the Dregs. And the slow development of feelings between Kanej.

Hope you enjoy this short piece ♥

Kaz

“Let’s start by getting out of here and finding you some proper clothes. Oh, and Inej,” he says, “don't ever sneak up on me again.”

And yet as he ushers the Suli girl out of the salon, the bustling streets remind him how foolish it will be to roam around the barrel at night. Ofcourse a mere glance at his cane and gloved hands is enough to ward people off. No one in Ketterdam dares crossing the young man that goes by the title of Dirtyhands. Even so, it won’t be good for his carefully crafted reputation to be seen limping around at indecent hours with an exotic girl in tow. Dirtyhands doesn’t waste time on frivolous things. He has vengeance to condemn and for that he requires proper focus and meticulous steps. Brick by brick. He reminds himself.

With a quick scan of his surroundings to make sure no one is looking, he removes the deep grey coat he’s adorning and hands it to the girl. He doesn’t miss the way she flinches at the action, probably just as scared of him as the rest of this city.

“Cover yourself.” He commands and continues walking. Thankfully, the girl doesn’t waste time being confused or shocked and quietly does as told. He also notes how she maintains a distance whilst following him but makes sure to stick close enough, her feet soundless despite the bells tied around her dainty ankles.

Inej

Kaz Brekker finally slows his walk as they approach a shabby building in the remote parts of the Barrel. Its lit and noisy but Inej can tell its definitely not a clothing store. And it is only moments later that cold realization dawns on her. There was no release from enslavement to begin with, just a deal struck between a bawd from the west stave and the lieutenant of a notorious gang in the east stave. It was a sham all along. Why wouldn’t it be? Why would one of the most sinister criminals in Kerch buy her out of slavery only to be shifted to an indenture? She should’ve been skeptical. Instead, she had been hopeful because the boy named Dirtyhands is after all, a young one like herself. She thought he may have empathized with her. He had even offered his coat to her. But oh what an utter fool she had been! Everything in Ketterdam comes with a price. Even something as natural as freedom.

Should she sprint away? She can take-off right now. He hasn’t looked back even once to check if she’s there. And he’s a cripple! She can easily outrun him. Yet all these plans formulating in her head are laced around a grim sense of fear. Kaz Brekker doesn’t need a reason. Or so she has heard. He has already earned an ill reputation for being whimsical. She mustn’t start giving him reasons to chase and drag her back down these dark alleys. So she quietly trails behind him as the door opens with a creak.

Men of varying ages who had been busy chatting and drinking, stare at them. His entry seems to raise everyone’s attention as they watch him walk by and approach the staircase. Although that’s all she sees as she continues after the uncaring boy, she does hear numerous brazen remarks.

“Am I too drunk or has Brekker actually brought in a girl?”

“Ghezen! We all must be sloshed.”

“I almost believed something was going on between him and that Zemeni boy.”

“So…Suli huh?”

Some snickers follow this particular remark but the boy doesn’t seem to mind. Does this mean their assumptions aren’t wrong? A wave of panic courses through her but Inej tries to calm herself with deep breaths, tries to focus her mind on the stairs instead. She has faced all sorts of repulsive men in the sheets. Dirtyhands can’t be much different. And even if the rumors aren’t false and he’s part-demon beneath the façade of his sharp suits,  she can still push herself to handle anything. If serving as his mistress will warrant her safety from the likes of Tante Heleen, she can do this. 

A soft clicking sound pulls her out of her trail of anxious thoughts. She notices they’ve walked past several floors and are currently going up into an attic. The inside isn’t much special but appropriately furnished— an old door placed atop several crates acting as a desk, a big window overseeing the surroundings and a door separating what she assumes must be a storage of sorts or a bedroom.

When Brekker finally turns around, his expression as unreadable as ever, Inej shivers. She takes one last gulp of air in hopes of easing herself. She can do this. She just needs to leave her body like she always does. Let the little lynx take care of such matters.

She begins by discarding his coat. Her eyes are lowered to the floor but she can sense his unwavering gaze. Maybe he’s one of those who take pleasure in watching a woman undo herself for him. Or maybe its something else entirely. His stoic demeanor doesn’t provide much to guess. Her shaky hands reach for the hooks in the back of her purple blouse. I can endure this! She mentally assures herself.

“What exactly are you doing?” comes his low voice, like a rasp of stone on stone.

Her hands fumble and come to a halt. She raises her eyelids to find a barely visible, amused smirk marring his pale countenance. “I..thought..I just–”

“Inej, was it?” he interrupts, leaning his weight on his frightening cane shaped like the head of a crow. Did she do something wrong? Will he use it on her? Her shoulders hunch slightly in preparation of whatever is to come. She hears an audible sigh instead. “I don’t remember us agreeing to such terms back at the Menagerie.”

Now she does look up, eyes wide in disbelief. “Oh..”

He passes a hand through his hair. “But since you seem eager to–”

“I’m not!” she yells, her cheeks tinted a lovely shade of pink. Frankly she doesn’t know how to react. It’s her first time speaking to a man who isn’t demanding any sexual favors from her but isn’t being very nice either.

He hobbles over to the makeshift desk and settles on a chair behind it. “Let me guess,” he starts, resting his bad leg on the tabletop and the cane in his lap. “You didn’t trust me.”

“I did!” she protests like a child  falsely accused of stealing candies. However, the embarrassment of her response follows immediately and she tilts her head down again. “Not truly but–”

“Wrong answer.” His tone is even more gritty now. “Its good that you expected the worst. Never trust anyone in the barrel.”

Inej looks at him again. It’s far too late for that lesson now. She’s learnt it the harshest of ways.

“I may be many things but I keep my word, Inej.” He adds solemnly, then fishes out a lone key from his pants' pocket. “Here” he gestures for her to come forward and receive it.

She scurries to the desk and takes it, her fingers lightly grazing along his gloved ones. Is he sending her on an errand already? Is procuring something important going to be her first task for the Dregs?

“Head downstairs and unlock the room directly below this attic with the key.” He tells simply and starts working on the tall stacks of papers lying on the desk.

She waits for further details but when he says nothing more she inquires herself, “For what?”

He glances at her, a brow quirked as if mocking her obliviousness. “Its your room from now on. Go get some sleep.”

“What about my..services?” she asks.

“We’ll discuss all that tomorrow morning.” He answers and waves her off, willing her to leave already.

Downstairs, upon unlocking an old cream-colored door and switching on the light, Inej is greeted by a tiny room. There’s a window overlooking the barrel, a cot arranged directly below it and an empty trunk lying open. Fortunately, everything is clean and dry and without any trace of smells.

As she steps inside, memories of her old life flash before her bleary eyes. This place is not even close to the large tents she used to perform in with her parents yet for some reason, she feels warm. Its not home but it’s good enough.

Shutting the door, she turns off the light and drops unceremoniously onto the cot. Moonlight illuminates the room- her room- in a dim glow. And slowly it happens. Her tense body relaxes into the mattress and her unshed emotions are set free in the form of tears slipping down her cheeks. Loud sobs rack her small frame as her hands hug the grey coat close to her chest. Amidst her shock and disbelief at actually being saved from sexual exploitation, she must have forgotten to return it. Kaz Brekker’s statement was like a dream she’s had every night since being stolen and shackled. A dream of being saved from the hell that is prostitution. I keep my word, Inej. She giggles at the sound of her real name being called by this stranger, tears staining her lips. She hasn’t heard it in so long that she almost forgot who she was. In letting her body go so as to persevere everyday at the Menagerie, she hadn’t noticed that the lively girl called Inej Ghafa was also withering away. She clutches the coat tighter as if fiercely trying to hold onto her remaining self. And for the first time since an year, she sleeps without the fear of being hurt.

Hope it was enjoyable!

I'm thinking of writing a short sequel drabble where Inej just goes to return Kaz's coat in front of everyone at the Dregs xD

.

SoC Masterlist

( divider by @firefly-graphics )

[crypdoezoology]

ik you touched on it a little bit but i'm still like extremely curious about why you don't like hereditary and midsommar specifically? i can't say they're my favorite horror movies either but i do like them so i'm curious about your criticism!

i really struggle to be totally coherent w/ my complaints about these movies 😅 i mainly have just a very gut reaction to them. like i GUESS i can see why people like them, they both have some really well done effects and gore visuals, and they both have a pretty cohesive aesthetic style. but ultimately both of those things end up feeling rather hollow to me.  in hereditary’s cause i think when so much attention is put into the visual look of a film, and clearly had great actors and a good budget that someone would have edited the the plot (and i’ll struggle to stay calm about how frustrated that makes me). if a little indie B movie w/ unknown actors and a tiny little budget makes a somewhat slapdash movie w/ some plot holes but they blow some stuff up in the end or have 2 minute scene of someone’s face melting off you feel like yeah ok this makes sense it is what it is and i can really appreciate that. hereditary has so much going for it and yet it feels completely superficial. it’s all about looks and it has no substance when IT REALLY COULD HAVE. there’s just no excuse! the plot makes no sense to me, the whole cult this is completely convoluted and needed massive editing. nothing adds up and to me it really pulls away from what’s happening in the movie. it kind of seems like it jumps from shock value gore scene to shock value gore scene which is like FINE if that’s what the movie is SUPPOSED TO BE but hereditary parades around in the skin of a psychological horror film about family tragedy. AND IT’S REALLY NOT  ONE. the focus is massively pulled away from the family dynamics w/ all that fucking cult demon ghost shit going on and in the end neither the family drama OR the demon cult ends up being well fleshed out enough to make sense. it’s like they had two scripts lazily glued them together and then put a real expensive dress on it. i really. REALLY. don’t like it. to me it doesn’t feel organic or honesty or fun. i fucking hate every character they are so god damn unlikable there isn’t even anyone to hold on to or enjoy. it just makes every little annoyance stick out to me, there’s nothing to sooth it over and make me feel like the little faults are forgivable.  and that brings me to midsommar. which is a bloated, self important hell film. honestly i would just write it off as insufferably boring if not for how it was received by the public. the way audiences interpreted this movie have created so much loathing in me for the movie itself. which AGAIN comes off to me as being superficial. all flash no substance. again not really any likable characters! which WOULD AHVE BEEN GREAT TO HAVE SINCE IT’S A LONG LONG ASS MOVIE. jeSUS it’s so god damn long did i watch a directors cut by accident or is it really three hours long?????? EITHER WAY it needs massive editing, there is so much garbage in there, it wants to have this deep lore and everything but there’s just too much!! like fucking pick your set dressing!!!! it’s just exhausting and pretentious that a director would think the audience really needs to see every single little thing you thought up like you’re not the second coming man, get ur point across and get out. i just don’t feel a heart or soul in the movie, it wasn’t fun to me to watch, or even haunting or traumatizing. it was just annoying the reason i keep fucking thinking about it is because i hate that i wasted time watching it and every time someone brings it up i feel SO mad that people really think this is what is the pinnacle of horror media when it feels like a gentrification of horror media. dress it up make it glossy and pretty, it feels corporate and sterile. and what is it w/ BOTH these movies dragging mental illness into for no fucking reason?? w/ in hereditary saying the dead mom had schizophrenia and dani’s sister in midsommar having bipolar? WHAT did that add to the movies?? other than villainizing people w/ mental illnesses REALLY what was the point? like this is one of those little details i was talking about earlier, like the fact that it’s in both movies really makes me fucking wonder. like if this was just some stupid little b movie that no one watched it would barely matter to me, but the fact that these movies are so fucking popular and there are so many of these ~le problematique~ features in these movies that everyone is willing to condemn the genre for! BUT THEIR STILL. HERE. makes me feel like people only give a shit about advocating for the awareness of the demonization of the mentally ill in horror media when the movie can’t be turned into pretty aesthetic gifsets. 

i’m not going to say no one is allowed to like these movies, like i said at the beginning to an extent, i can see their appeal, i admire the gross shock value that hereditary kind of has, and i can dig the serene aesthetic of midsommar. and you’re allowed to enjoy a movie that’s problematic, we all do, i’m not trying to “cancel” these movies. i do think ari aster has some thing about the genre down and i’d love to see him make a movie i can really enjoy. but jesus i will never ever ever come to enjoy these films, the really rub me the wrong way and i think they’re both too big for their britches. 

[sophi-s]

Day 29 #Grief

Whoops. I actually ended up writing a short piece for this one as well and uh... I think I accidentally created a new ship... :O

To Mourn Together

By: sophi-s (me)

Franchise: Darksiders video games

Words: 1 961

Warnings: None

Characters: Uriel, Nathaniel, Abaddon (mentioned)

_________________________________________

With utmost certainty, one could say it was one of the brightest nights in the White City. Of course, with the buildings in the color of gilded snow, every night seemed bright. But that one particular night the full moon spilled its cold, silver light all over the angelic city, bathing it in a pale glow that reflected in the smooth surfaces and illuminated the warm darkness as the gentle gusts of wind blew through the quiet and empty plaza.

Aside from the sentries patrolling the streets, all of the Heaven's denizens were long asleep in their homes. All of them.

Except for one.

A figure of a lonely angel threads lightly through the city, grand white wings folded neatly at his sides, just like his hands behind his back. His golden battle armor is discarded in favor of a simple set of clothes. There's nothing threatening him after all. Lost in thought, he doesn't acknowledge guards greeting him as he passes by. He walks seemingly without purpose, reconsidering the not so recent events.

Your friend serves the Shadow.

The Archon? Corrupted?!

Impossible!

Leave me, Horseman. I must think of what to do now…

He shook his head with an exasperated sigh. One hundred years. It's been over one hundred years since all of this happened. And yet, all this felt far too fresh in his head. As though it happened merely yesterday. Sweeping his gaze over his surroundings, he realised he'd left for the outskirts of the White City, where the grand Tree of Life stands tall and magnificent as it has since the day Heaven was created. But to his surprise, he wasn't alone here after all. At the foot of the Tree, his keen white eyes spotted another angel. A woman. The same silver hair, any other angel possesses, fluttering on the wind, wings of golden, radiant feathers slumped sadly against her back as she stood there, gazing out at the locked gate to the Well of Souls. Strange. He assumed he would be alone.

Since he wasn't trying to sneak up on her, she heard him approach quite early and whipped around to face him, her own robes billowing, but the moment she laid her golden eyes on him she simply sighed.

"Oh. It's just you, Nathaniel.."

"So it is."

Nathaniel murmured, silently wondering who she'd been actually expecting, and stood for a few long moments, looking at her. A black ribbon with a darkened feather tied around her right wrist caught his attention and something twisted painfully in his chest. Even blackened and bathed in Hellish corruption, the ribbon was unmistakable and the feather spoke for itself..

"What are you doing here, Uriel?"

He found himself asking nonetheless. It's been a long while since they last talked. After all, Nathaniel had been sent away from the Hellguard shortly after Uriel joined their ranks. And it was so long ago.. Humming quietly, Uriel turned away to look up at the Tree's tangled canopy of small fluttering leaves.

"A year…"

She sighed when Nathaniel came closer and stood beside her, watching her stare into the black sky where the moon gazed down on them like a gigantic, round eye.

"It's been a year since Abaddon died.. exactly a year, day to day."

Nathaniel nodded in agreement, looking at Uriel's fingers absent mindedly stroking the end of the ribbon tied around her forearm. Even though he'd been away from the White City for quite some time, rumours about the commander of the Hellguard reached Nathaniel even in Lostlight. If they were true, then no wonder Uriel takes Abaddon's demise so personally. He could only imagine what was going on in her head throughout this year. He wasn't going to stop her from spitting out what she'd been choking up inside of her.

"And yet.. I still sometimes wonder. If I should've done something. Stopped War… I don't know."

"He'd been the Destroyer, Uriel. As much as I disagree with it, you couldn't do anything else for him."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Uriel huffed and lowered her head.

"I know. But… I still have this in my head. The sight of him reaching out to me for help. What if…"

She hesitated, something that was very unlike her. Nathaniel raised his eyebrows curiously, waiting for her to speak up. He had his suspicions from the moment Death brought the news of Abaddon's fate and he couldn't help but wonder if Uriel thought the same way.

"I refuse to believe he'd planned it from the beginning. What if all of it wasn't his choice? He can't have been in his right mind! What if before War killed him, in his last moments Abaddon, the real Abaddon, came back? What if… there was still something worth saving in him?"

Nathaniel's suspicions turned out to be true. She thought just like he had. Now it was his turn to look up at the sky. Indeed, there was something so enchanting about this particular night..

"I wondered myself, Uriel. Many times in fact…"

The younger angel crossed her arms and glared down at her boots as though they'd done something wrong. The branches of the Tree creaked mournfully as the wind tugged on them and ruffled feathers of both angels standing below. Its gusts were getting stronger and its voice whistling against nearby structures brought to mind a sorrowful cry of a lost soul.

"Abaddon taught me everything I know. I had known him my whole life. It feels so… empty without him."

I can't believe he's gone. That's what she truly meant to say and Nathaniel knew it but said nothing of it. He knew that feeling quite well. Better than most. Abaddon had been his friend after all…

"Sometimes I feel like he's still here. Watching over me like he always has.."

Uriel chuckled humorlessly, as though she meant to laugh off the ridiculousness of her claim but Nathaniel didn't feel like laughing. He laid his hand on Uriel's shoulder, nearly making her jump in the process.

"Who says he isn't?"

He could clearly see her jaw visibly clench tightly at his assumption. Not that he could blame her. Nathaniel knew all too well what Uriel was going through. He didn't want anyone to feel like he does and he wished to offer her comfort, compassion. But it's not easy to do so while he grieves as well.

"Do you think I could've changed it?"

Uriel suddenly asked, making Nathaniel's eyebrow wander up.

"During the initial Endwar.. Do you think if I was a little faster back then…"

"Uriel."

The deep tone of his voice had just the result he was counting on as she cut off to finally look him in the eye. Nathaniel placed his other hand on her other shoulder and said sternly

"Even if so, it doesn't change anything. We can't turn back time. Thinking this way won't make you feel better."

"And how could you possibly know?"

It was just the matter of time before Uriel snapped and brushed Nathaniel's hands from her shoulders. There was fire in her eyes, burning like the hottest blaze of Hell.

"You don't know how I feel."

Frowning gently, Nathaniel heaved out a long suffering sigh.

"Quite the opposite in fact.. I know exactly how you feel…"

This seemed to have given Uriel a pause.

"I've known Abaddon even longer than you have. He was my close friend, one of the very few I had. When the news of his fall reached me I kept wondering if it would've been different if I was there. This one, wretched thought stayed with me for a whole century, like a festering wound that refuses to heal. If you seek understanding, I assure you, you will find it in me."

Would it have been different if I knew of the darkness that threatened Lucien? Sometimes he still has those doubts... In shock, Uriel opened her mouth a couple of times only to shut it again as she couldn't find suitable words. Until..

"I'm… sorry. I had no idea…"

With an unhappy smile, Nathaniel shook his head. He wasn't going to take offense. Grief does strange things to people. Uriel snapping at him wasn't the worst thing that could've happened.

"Past cannot be changed. Blaming yourself will not bring you peace of mind. We must march into the future."

Snickering quietly, Uriel looked away.

"You speak words of wisdom.. But I cannot decide if they help me either."

Humming thoughtfully, Nathaniel measured Uriel. Her heart was bleeding profusely, even though she kept it hidden away. He knew how to recognise inner turmoil. From his own experience.. Fortunately, he knew just the way. And honestly, after all this.. Abaddon's treason, Lucien's collapse into the hateful darkness.. he probably needed it as much as she did. Carefully, but insistently, Nathaniel reached out to Uriel and gently pulled her into his arms.

"Nathaniel? What.. are you doing?"

Uriel didn't stop him, probably because of confusion and surprise. Not getting pushed away was a small victory in itself. He was more than happy to explain it to her. Going back to memories of that peculiar human who accompanied Death everywhere always warmed his heart.

"A good friend of mine had told me once that embraces can bring comfort. Especially in sorrow. Does it help you ?"

For a long moment Uriel didn't answer. She was thinking. Up this close Nathaniel could feel her heart rapidly hammering against her ribcage. But then she finally returned the embrace and placed her head on his chest with a heavy sigh.

"It does. Even if a little.."

A tiny note of wonderment in her voice was barely perceptible but definitely there. For a few minutes both angels stood like that in silence before Uriel spoke again.

"Do you think he's at peace? Abaddon, I mean…"

Staring at the shorter angel in his arms, Nathaniel harrumphed. The Charred Council was surely bent on condemning Abaddon, sentencing him to damnation even after his death. He only hoped that the Horsemen made short work of them before they were able to fulfill their dire promises and cast the already tormented soul into Oblivion. Nothing was sure. The only way to confirm either was to travel to the Kingdom of the Dead. Nathaniel couldn't say for certain that Abaddon has his rest or if his spirit in this very moment wastes away in nothingness. The mere thought made his stomach churn. But he didn't speak his fears out loud. He didn't dare.

"I do sincerely hope so…"

An answer as good as any, he supposed. It wasn't a "yes" but neither it was a "no". Perhaps it would be just enough..

"Thank you, Nathaniel.. I'm glad you came here…"

Somehow, an odd, heavy presence lingering about was abruptly lifted from the air when Uriel whispered into the edge of his coat but stayed motionless where she was, unwilling  and not ready to pull away just yet. Mourning is always easier with a companion. For just a second Nathaniel could've sworn he saw something… someone… move out of the corner of his eye but just as suddenly as they appeared, they were gone. It was most likely nothing. Just a fleeting trick of his imagination. Nathaniel rested his chin on top of Uriel's head and closed his eyes, listening to the wind blowing gently overhead and to her heart beating right next to his own. Two different rhythms that seemed the same. He didn't wish to leave just yet either. Luckily, he didn't have to. There was no need for hurry. It was still the middle of the night. No one will see them here, vulnerable and weak, slowly mending their broken hearts from the pieces.

They still had time…

_________________________________________

Bear with me, I just wanted those sad dorks to lift each other's spirits up. It's not my fault that I'm so trash 😂

At least I drew Nathaniel properly, as I promised :P

Darksiders Inktober drawing prompts by @imagine-darksiders

[ruffsraven-writes]

Through the Odds | F.W. (The Hunger Games AU)

Based upon: The Harry Potter and The Hunger Games series

Pairing: Fred Weasley x OC (Autumn Rivers)

Era: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

POV: 1st person

WC: 1.6k

CHAPTER 2

“Hey, hey!” I snapped my fingers between his eyes. That's the only thing that I could do to keep him from plunging into a thought of nothingness.

“Right. Yeah. I'm sorry. Where were we?” he says, a trace of his previous screaming wounded his normal voice.

“About skinning the rabbit,” I say. “You could starve in hunger in no time. This place could be desolate to the untrained.”

It took seconds before his hand enclosed the knife and grasped the rabbit between his hands. I saw the wince in his eyes. Wherever he came from, the people there are not starving enough to kill creatures as much as rabbits.

I set up the snares, half-doubting if I could leave that boy alone in the camp without being killed. I decided he could.

I didn't even know his name. Maybe I was too cruel a while ago that I didn't handle his shock properly. His agonized scream and the way he was still holding that stick of his like it could save his life. 

Wisps of smoke met me as I journeyed back to our camp. Perfectly-skinned rabbits are laid above the fire, their juices making the coals hiss.

I sprinted back to the camp and stomped my boots on the coal, digging it on my heels as it died down the soil. I placed the cooked—almost burned—food aside and turned to him.

“Best way to get killed. If you want to, don't count me in.”

He realized what I'm talking about and began to apologize. He might be ruminating now how it would be different if I'm not the one who found him. Not surly, harsh, or indifferent.

“This arena is lethal, I'm just reminding you.”

“I know.”

This icy conversation is turning way more awkward on a silent night. I should remember that he came out of nowhere. No knowledge of Panem or the Games. He's not to be blamed for unconsciously putting a snare against him—or us, if he could endure me as an ally.

Why am I keeping him alive anyway? He's now playing as a fellow tribute. An enemy. Something to weed out of my path.

“I'll get you water.”

I left and made a mental note to ask his name when I came back. 

“Fred, I'll keep watch first. Here, take the sleeping bag and climb.” I tell him.

The sky was a deep black that signifies an evening of uncertainties. What all I had in mind is getting through with this until morning.

Fred settled on the branch lower where I'll keep watch, considering that his stature won't allow him on those fragile branches.

I positioned myself on a tree branch, watchful as my vision struggled to the dim.

Silence engulfed me like everything around me was lifeless, not even the rustle of leaves. So I strike up a conversation.

“I'm still clueless how possibly you end up here.”

He gave a hollow chuckle. “Neither do I. It's like falling in a dangerous portal of some sort. I would've asked you to shake me awake but everything's real enough to make me doubt.”

He paused for a moment, “Will I survive this?”

Words escaped me. I couldn't just tell him that he won't and I might be planning to get rid of him.

I pretend to be sleepy and yawn. “Just stay alive.”

“Want me to keep watch?” he asks. “I mean, I don't particularly know who to watch for but I'll inform you if something's off.”

“No,” I say. “I want you to keep talking. Just be quieter.”

He did. And I discovered that Panem was nothing like where he came from. At first, I thought we're nothing alike, not until he mentioned his brother. We exchanged conversations in hushed tones.

“I already miss home. It's not much of a thrill pranking people around but I'd like to tell them I've been here and seen worse.”

He tried to laugh or add humor in his voice. If a good laugh can help him cope up, who am I to ruin it?

“Speaking of worse,” I say, forcing a facetious tone. A silver parachute descended from where I sat and I grabbed it, knowing it came from the sponsors. Inside is a small can filled with ointment for burns and a letter from Haymitch. “Worse time to deliver this don't you think?”

Fred smiles and says, “You can use this to apply that.” He tapped that useless eyeglasses perched on his nose.

Taking my silence as confusion, he adds, “It lets you see in darkness. I've seen this in joke shops before. 'M glad this isn't a sham.”

“Why didn't you tell me earlier?” I laughed before snatching it from him. He's right. I can see perfectly like it's daylight.

“Dunno. I guess I'm scared because you could've eaten me alive earlier.”

“Sorry,” I say. “For how I acted. It's awful.”

“Don't mind it. I'm used to being scolded.”

We took turns using the night glasses and he continued talking while I dab generous amount of ointment across my burns. I let the coolness of night help the ointment seep through my skin. The ointment worked effectively that I couldn't help but think what convincing Haymitch did to give me this.

“I could've helped you heal those in a minute if I knew the right spell.”

Yes, magic spells. To levitate, yes. To conjure stuff, yes. To attack, very befitting. But to get us out of the arena? No. He told me he tried to apparate but the arena seems to condemn his magic.

He's still fiddling the wand between his fingers when I say, “Do you know how to perform a killing spell?”

“W-What?” His voice apprise horror like I've said something that could harm him.

The wand faltered from his hand and I found myself grasping for it in thin air with him. Too desperate. That wand could mean more than anything. 

“I'll get it,” he says.

“No, let me do it. ”

He's still lacking stealth and strategy. The moment his feet touch the ground, every creature would stir.

I secure my foothold on the branch where he's sitting on, prepared for a jump until his huge hands locked around my ankles.

“Autumn, stop!” he hisses and put a finger over his lips. My instinct told me to twist away from him but the loud scream resonating below us thwarts my impulsive actions.

More screams. Fred pulled me to his level. Arms circled around me as if he knew I'd jump at any moment.

I first saw the dying ember near the bushes before the screaming figure right beside it. A tribute.

One of the Careers, Glimmer, shot her in the throat. Her screaming ceased and the canon fired.

As if from a trance, I jolt involuntarily. Fred's body tensed, his hands around me felt rigid and mechanic. With his eyes wide, tiny blinks interrupting, shock and fear overlapped. The dying tribute's bloody corpse mirrored in his eyes and having the night glasses allow me to see deeper in the silent agony he must be experiencing right now. Stable reasoning stalled my emotions before I could throw my hands around his neck and hold him there and never let go. He has my brother's eyes.

A beautiful shade of brown, the color of warm earth, and the pigment of woods. It reminds me of home. And I might've been underestimated how clear this stupid glasses can be.

“Pathetic. Her stupid voice's still ringing on my ears,” Glimmer says as the hovercraft lifted the corpse. The others start restoring the fire she left and make a camp below us. Fred's fingers gave a slight tremble against my shoulder.

“Fred, come on, we have to go,” I say, squeezing his cold hands to life. “Fred!”

He didn't protest and listen to the plan I fabricated when the tribute got killed in front of our eyes.

Wait till they're asleep. Retreat noiselessly. The other has to distract, the other to kill.

From the beginning, I know it's ridiculous. Fred doesn't know well enough to distract them nor he could kill them without being reluctant.

Forget the plan. Fred escapes, and I'll kill. If I'd be dead by morning, I want him to stay alive until some shred of hope materialized and he could go back to his brother.

He has to go. He doesn't belong here. Not in this murderous place.

“Your spear was right there.” He points down the slender thing leaning by the tree and adds, “Do you want me to get their weapons?”

“No,” I say. “Wouldn't let you risk it. Just descend quietly. Don't let them notice you. Go to the woods and conceal yourself. Whatever happens, don't let them see you. Whatever happens. Alright?”

“Yes.” He wraps the jacket around himself and says, “You'll follow suit, won't you? I'll wait for you, Autumn.”

“Of course.”

Faint sunlight edges around the arena and sleep is almost impossible. The Careers hadn't seen us and now's the chance to perform the plan. Fred braces himself in each tree trunk, gripping hard and avoiding any sort of noise. In no time, he's on the ground, finally found his wand, and scurrying away with a last glimpse of me as if to say goodbye.

I ascend higher till a whistling perked my ears. My gazed roam around, did I rouse the Careers? No, they're still dead asleep. 

Then I saw her between the branches, body resting there with stealth as if the trees are her home and will always catch her whenever she hops. 

Rue.

She points above my head, and the buzzing starts, one of the tracker jackers flies around the nest, crawls on the entrance and disappears. I signal Rue through a sawing motion. She nods and hops from tree to tree, fleeing.

Fred and Rue are safe.

I grabbed the knife Clove used in an attempt to attack me and began sawing. 

***

Masterlist

[cliveguy]

okay maybe it's just the ppl i follow bc everyone's talking abt hating the les mis webseries so i checked it out and like, here's what i liked / what could be improved if the show gets picked up:

• the idea of having it be for a student project is p cute! and helps work around the fact that cosette wasn't in l'abc in the book

• i also liked eponine a lot, and can see that her story is going to develop a bit! and i liked that she was kinda opposed to the student group without being anti revolution or w/e?

• editing kinda stops any jokes from landing? the pauses in between lines that should have been cut make it seem like people are waiting for their cue to speak

• also sound editing makes it hard to hear things :( my brain is always a little fuzzy, so maybe it was just me - but i had no idea what half the people were saying bc they were just mumbling away

• cldve used closed captions right off the bat imo, ik they're working on them but

• also i personally think the shooting joke has been blown a tiny bit out of proportion? while there 100% should have been a trigger warning, and it did seem to be a little flippant, it's not the end of the world or a reason for something to be condemned (i wasn't a fan of it but it IS the kind of thing an edgy student would say imo, the way it was presented was just a bit weird)

• that being said, i don't like the way the trigger warning stuff was handled and dismissed - also, in future episodes i'd like to see the warning maybe put on the video before each episode? according to the writer, the episodes are going to get darker and, as someone with very bad anxiety who Has triggers, a warning tucked away in the description can be easy to forget or miss

• for a low budget production the set was p nice! i liked the lighting in cosette's room

• the makeup for grantaire wasnt great? i remember thinking it would look better in motion, after seeing it in a promo picture but ... no. i'm a trans guy as well and know the difficulty of a fake beard, but that combined with the red cheeks was messy

• honestly i was just generally a bit confused - it felt almost like a satire of a student group one minute then an honest tribute the next? having enjolras dismiss a nap room felt weird, as that would have been the kind of thing people advocated for, for the sake of mental health, back when i was in college (im not in uni lmao but it still applies)

• and deciding to protest the rise in tuition is also odd, unless it's mirroring the barricade from les mis and these students are gonna go die outside parliament or something, as small student group from bath (which has two unis, i'm guessing they're supposed to be from bath spa, going by which degrees both unis offer) it seems strange that they're focusing on a nationwide issue, especially something that many larger groups have failed to change over the years

but yeah! if u did enjoy it im not attacking you or the show, but pilots exist for a show to be commented on and improved - i hope the show gets picked up and the creators can take criticism on board to create something really good!

[kaz-foxsen]

I Asked DALL-E 2 and Midjourney to Show Me the "Meaning of Life"

As an illustrator, when I learned of the existence of art-generating AIs, I imagined two future scenarios: one of being caged in a giant sterile Walmart, cursing the robots who Terminated my reason to live and condemned me to endlessly shuffling inventory while muttering to anyone within earshot, "'They terk er jerbs!'"; and one of connecting my brain to a computer to spew out my every whimsical idea like an out-of-control printing press, never again stuck mourning good-but-half-baked concepts gathering dust on my shelf. Art isn't the kind of profession that first comes to mind when discussing human livelihoods on the chopping block of automation, but this new tech appears to have some wonderous and terrifying potential. I am a human, and humans are cats-- if there's a box, we must open it.

I've experienced the creative-block-busting power that generative art can have on the imagination when I used Mandelbulb3D to create fractals. These abstract images, evocative of otherworldly objects and settings (like the one above), tickled my brain, and I started imagining histories and purposes for them. My (The?) imagination hungers for meaning and compulsively seeks it. If it's served a pile of nonsense (like a dream), it'll cobble together something resembling a plot, or at least a description, whether or not you intend to.

Driven by curiosity (and some hope for a new perspective), I wondered how an art AI would respond if I fed it the prompt “the meaning of life”. Would it create something inspirational? A “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” joke involving the number 42 perhaps? A distillation of what the human race thinks is important in life?

Midjourney

First, I tried Midjourney in the Discord app. You type in a text prompt and get 4 variants. You can pick which images you want MJ to generate new (or higher resolution) variants of. It's possible to write prompts in a way to better control the results, but I kept the prompt simple because I'm new at this and wanted to see what would happen.

Ok, seeing a lot of water, but water has been used a lot as a metaphor for life stuff.

Upper Left: looks like a person contemplating their surroundings and something mysterious. Makes sense.

Sunsets: something about beginnings and endings-- that's standard "life" stuff. A transitional time of fleeting beauty, so be present if you don't want to miss it.

Lower Left Hourglass/Goblet: an hourglass is a classic symbol of impermanence. Also reminds me of tarot's suit of cups.

Lower Right: a figure ascending?

Upper Right: something I'm not sure I'd be allowed to show you, but could describe as a hot-dog-shaped cloud with an unfortunate water feature emptying into the ocean. Also, it's sunset. Then I had Midjourney create some hi-res versions:

It's a lot more interesting now. It looks like portal to a village bathed in golden light is trapped in some kind of tumbleweed-like ball of brittle dying vines. Good metaphor potential there. What the metaphor would say... hell if I know. ~shrug~ Near a glowing white mushroom-tree with tendrils of light appears to be a tiny grim reaper carrying a scythe on his shoulder. Perhaps he's the groundskeeper of the ball. Is it a window or a trap? I'm not sure what that slippery black whale-eel in the sky is, but it makes me think "Hieronymus Bosch tried to paint a jumbo jet." I like how there's random squiggles in the lower right corner reminiscent of a signature painted in a fantasy script.

Pretty. It's like the universe is reflected in the cup.

Definitely looks like the mystical ascension of a lightly robed figure now. Also, their head might be floating away. Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I had MJ generate variations on the cup-like image, which are pretty neat. They look meaningful.

Next up is DALL-E 2:

I signed up for the waiting list in June and got the invite in my email in August.

Oh look! More water and sunsets! I'm sensing a theme. Beaches seem appropriate-- they're a strange border where civilization meets the prehistoric abyss where life began. Grains of sand that might've once been boulders glitter at your feet. It's a magical place where you can take off most of your clothes and lie in the dirt without reproach. These give me an Instagram-filtered motivational post vibe. All they're missing is inspirational quotes. At a distance, they look just like photographs. You might even say that the first three look perfectly cromulent, but upon closer inspection, the illusion of sensibility can collapse in spots, like how the "plot" of a dream suddenly makes no sense upon waking.

Is that a human, or did a mage order a shambling driftwood elemental for delivery? What appeared to be a group of people walking and chatting on the beach turn out to be bundles of sticks and cloth lashed together into crude effigies. Perhaps the Wet Bandits are trying to steal the beach from the youth surf club and need to be scared away. One of the "scarecrows" appears to have a white ball for a head, so I'll name that one Wilson. 😄

"Cromulent" is the perfect descriptor for this effect. If you're not familiar with "The Simpsons", it looks legit. It has letters like a word should. When used in a sentence, its apparent meaning is "to be legitimate", but it's a fake word made up for a joke.

This one's pretty amazing. I'd just airbrush out the 2 stray fibers on the right sleeve.

This one got a cynical chuckle out of me. The world's crappiest jigsaw puzzle seems like an apt metaphor for life's messiness. You have this image of what a jigsaw puzzle is supposed to look like-- all the pieces should fit together into a shape with smooth edges, no gaps, and when you step back and look at it, you see a complete picture, maybe a pretty painting of dolphins or something. But this monstrosity? What is it even supposed to be? Any toy designer attempting to hand this crap in to their boss would be immediately fired for coming into work high on every drug in existence because clearly, there was no end product nor user experience in mind. Yet, somehow... there sit the pieces, linked together and arranged in a basic order that forms a complete... something. From an overall perspective, it's a very pleasant image. I like the warm, but calm colors and the sense of realness that the textures lend it. It evokes the desirable imperfections of homemade crafts-- a sense of folksiness and of upcycling something out of common, overlooked resources like cardboard. I feel like trying to read meaning in these AI images is like a Rorschach test that probably says more about the viewer than the creator. The TLDR conclusion: Life = sunsets, beaches, and the world's most disappointing jigsaw puzzle. Maybe AIs can understand what it means to be human!

Additional info (in case I need to include it):

Midjourney's Terms of Service: https://midjourney.gitbook.io/docs/terms-of-service. It says, "If you are not a Paid Member, Midjourney grants you a license to the Assets under the Creative Commons Noncommercial 4.0 Attribution International License: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/legalcode"

[neven-ebrez]

So a few random things: When you talked about how the potential and the possibilities hurt more for never knowing them, it reminded me of an episode in Doctor Who, which... I don't know if you watch that show or not so to be vague just in case, there was an episode that dealt with the power of possibilities. Not super relevant, but it reminded me of it. Also, I'm running out of room so I guess this'll be multiple messages. (Sorry, especially since I'm rambling.)

(2) Next, I know you said your intent isn’t to give hope, but honestly, so far it feels like a lot of meta is being confirmed. After the first episode there were all sorts of meta about how Dean was grieving Mary but Cas even more, and then how he was mirroring John who had a tough relationship with Sam after he learned Mary died protecting him, then negative space, etc.. And then we see Dean admitting his grief regarding Cas, and then this one had Sam telling Dean he was acting like John.

(3) Then, your meta had the Cosmic Entity telling Cas there was no chance, no hope of Dean loving him. But Cas persisted. He persisted his way out of the Empty by holding onto that tiny hope even knowing that possibility. You asked people whether they’re Sam or Dean in your tags, but what about being Cas then? Neither questioning the belief there’s a chance nor bitterly fearing there isn’t, but holding onto hope for the possibility even if there’s the chance it’d be subtext?

—-

I don’t watch Doctor Who.  I tried to watch it, starting with the Ninth Doctor but it was just a little too weird for me.  I like a certain structure, mystery and meaning to be behind the things I watch and I just couldn’t understand that show!  It just kinda felt like a mess. Nothing against those who like it, of course!

As for the rest, I’m trying to be honest here in how people are approaching what I write (because I’ve experienced more backlash than most meta writers due to the nature of the exact meta I write).  I’m writing meta towards my own view and in regards to my own hopes and expectations about the show (and its efforts, which may be intentional or not but if there’s a consistent PATTERN it’s more likely that its the former) and I’m definitely not to trying to convince anyone of anything, to try and make people have hope.  I’ve been down this road before.  

I’m not sure how long you been following me (sorry!) but I’ve been in the meta community for a long ass time.  I’ve witness the golden age of meta, the fall of meta (the exodus of so many meta writers who had many diverse specialties) and the rebirth of it (among people I don’t really know).  Now, what I specialize in writing, what I call “structural meta”, deals a lot with guessing what is going to happen by examining what narrative moves the show is doing and extrapolating what therefore, must happen eventually.  Some is obvious (God had to show up once Amara’s entire drive was to confront him) and some is not.  I’ll use this as an example: my meta on Supernatural’s structure through the years, written a day before the S13 premiere.  Excerpt:

A reason to live.  

This is what Castiel needs to be given once he comes back. Not just a reason to die, but a reason to not leave Dean.  Dean telling him he’s “family”, that he’s their “brother”, that Dean simple “needs” him… none of this has worked, has been enough to get Cas to stay.  The effective elimination of “guardian” saw Cas throwing himself into another guardianship role upon the rejection of the label by Dean.  For a long time now, Supernatural structure has been crafted around the parameters which would make Dean happy, condemning all actions by characters that go against this and helping Dean eliminate the roadblocks to his own happiness.  Mary and Cas made the wrong decisions to save Dean from pain and are thus punished by the narrative for such actions.  It is here, in Dabb era, that the Winchesters are finally made to contemplate the actions of others towards their survival and they are made to suffer for it, Dean more than Sam.  

This is the clarity of structural meta.  This is exactly what Castiel faced in 13x04.  If they were going to keep him on the show, it simply had to happen.  But I didn’t know how or where it was going to happen because you can’t predict pacing. Cas has been going on mission after mission TO DIE to keep trying to make up for his debt he feels towards Dean for going on the past 6 seasons .  He has kept trying to spare Dean pain (starting in 6x20), sacrificing his own kind in the blunder (and the guilt that came with that), over and over in new and more painful ways.  All of the “Cas’ greatest failures” flashbacks with the Empty highlight this.  This… “debt that can never be repaid” got so bad in S10 that I stopped shipping Destiel in show.  S11 didn’t get better honestly (with Cas saying “yes” to Lucifer), but at least the show was showing Dean realizing all this, worrying over Cas, so I felt okay shipping it again because Dean was wanting things to be okay for Cas.  And so through S12 we continued, with Cas still trying to clean up his mess with Lucifer, even if it killed him.  Everything peaked in 12x19, with Cas spelling out how he felt he needed to bring Dean a win, and then Dean understanding this motivation (even explaining it to Sam who seemed oblivious) for all of Cas’ actions.  Dean KNOWS Cas feels this insurmountable debt and, keeps trying to spare him doing things that could hurt him.  Dean also knows this is what Cas will continue to die for and it kills him in turn, because Dean CAN’T say (isn’t to that point, emotionally) what he doesn’t know Cas wants to hear (that Dean loves him as more than a brother). We can then tell that Dean is going to feel that guilt going into dealing with Cas’ death, because even though it’s Cas’ new mission (useless, right down to a truck full of useless diapers) with the nephilim that brought Cas to his death, Dean knows it’s really his “your our family but only like a brother” that truly sealed his fate.  It’s 9 years of history together and Dean still not making Cas feel like he belongs.  It’s the show highlighting this over and over again (every ”I’ll hold him off”, GOD).

Knowing all this, I can guess where the show is going to go even before the season starts, what simply must be addressed.  And I can be right because to me there’s only one way for it TO GO because of how they’ve tied Cas’ development so intimately with Dean’s.  It’s not fortune telling.  It’s me seeing that the show has pulled out two pans, some eggs, a box of cake mix, a mixer, and that they’ve definitely started mixing everything together to bake a cake.  I can tell what KIND of cake it is by looking at the box (all the structural points), but I can’t tell you what kind of icing they are going to use.  This is the limit of structural meta.  Now as for the type of icing… I can see a certain theme being repeated, specifically, “clarification”.  It’s all over 13x01 to a most alarming degree (Jack likes “it”, he likes “nougat”.  He’s on a chair, on the floor, on the planet Earth.  He’s looking for his father, he’s looking for Castiel. There’s more but you get the picture) and this episode was penned by showrunner Andrew Dabb to set the tone of the entire season (and then this theme has carried on into every proceeding episode).  As I said before, if it wasn’t for this specific theme against how Dean telling Cas, “You’re our family.  You’re our brother. I need you.” hasn’t made him feel like he belongs in 9 years, then I wouldn’t be even discussing the possibility of Destiel getting text again.  

A lot of structural effort is being put forth here, like, a fuckton.  I don’t know what other structural meta writers (I’m not even sure who in the community would call themselves such) are saying (you say a lot of meta is being confirmed and I don’t really know what this means because meta and speculation are different and I’m a stickler for what constitutes “meta”) because I’ve been apart from the community for years now and most of the people I used to write with (collaboratively) are simply GONE.  Comparisons of Dean to John are just kinda a given imo for a variety of Dean-related discussions.  That’s not what is telling.  The theme of “clarification” (and how Dean is being slowly crafted into being able to tell Cas something specific, something that resolves Cas’ developmental journey) is what is truly telling. The discussion of negative space is also old, like season 8 old.  The show is just putting a bigger emphasis on it now, but back then, just like now, that alone doesn’t really mean anything.  Alone none of these things mean much, but together, together they personally make me believe some kind of text is coming because of the specific picture they are painting.  

So, in answer to your final part.  I’m Sam.  I believe in the hope of something, but I know from being around Dean that I might be wrong, that everything might be for nothing.  I know so many people that are Dean, people that believe all hope is lost or foolish, that text is never coming.  The thing is tho, none of us actually *can* be Cas, because in my analogy, Cas is the writers, the narrative itself.  It is fighting to leave the narrative space, to hope against hope that a chance at love exists.  No, we can’t be Cas.  I’m afraid we can only be Sam or Dean.  I’ve recently decided to unfollow some Deans and it’s nothing personal.  I understand why they feel the need to tag everything “never gonna happen”.  For my personal relationship with the show, however, I have to eliminate that sentiment once it presents itself in a certain tone.  I’m fully aware text might not ever happen.  I personally don’t need the constant reminder.  It doesn’t change my mind, only the narrative can do that (and, in fact, has changed my mind plenty of times before).

The takeaway is this: yes, my meta has a hopeful tone (and you’ll often find it “right” due to its predictive patterned nature), but no, it’s not trying to convince you what you should believe.  I’ll always be compelled to write out the show’s effort here (regarding Destiel), especially when it’s as deeply layered as it is now, but I don’t want anyone hanging onto my every word, no matter how many times I’m right and to what degree.  Nothing I write is ever going to be able to tell you definitively that Destiel is going to get text.  I can only show you why there’s a good possibility, because as of right now, I believe there is.  I, more than any other meta writer, will tell you, please follow multiple opinions (and not the same echo chamber) if you truly care about using other opinions to decide your own hope for the possibility of text.  I’ve been here a long time and I’ve been on both sides of the discussion.  I’ve been hated for both and loved for both.  I’m not interested in anyone thinking I’m right about everything or that meta (especially my kind of meta) can somehow tell them the future.  The show can, and has, gone against its structure many times before.  And above all, Supernatural comes from a time when queer subtextual stories were perfectly fine to never get text.  It’s an old show.  It’s best never to forget that.

[a-path-beyond84]

Hey I'm the anon from a while ago that commented on the shunning people who support abortion thing. As answers to your questions 1) I mean, I try to maintain a consistent standard, but I'll have to be honest, I've never met anyone irl who advocates for legalizing pedophilia (and as I'm a minor, that wouldn't be the safest situation for me to be around a person like that, so not really for that one). However, quick note on this, pedophilia is different than people who support abortion... (part1)

(part2) Pedophilia is not common, and it's not something that a ton of people support. It's a radical, disgusting minority of people, and also it's illegal and extremely frowned upon. Pedophiles and pedophilia advocates are told all their life that pedophilia is wrong, and yet they abuse children anyways. That's a lot different than people who support abortion, or have abortions, who oftentimes grow up in cultures that say that it's ok to have an abortion, and sometimes may not know any better

(part 3) If I were to shun everyone who supported abortion, I would have to cut off contact with half of my relatives and virtually everyone except a handful of people at my school. I would have to shun my teachers, administrators, childhood friends, and nearly everyone in my classes. All of these people don't understand why pro-life people think abortion is wrong. They only see pro-life people screaming at women at abortion clinics and holding up bloody pictures of dead babies.

(part4) This is the culture in my region. If I were to shun these people who support abortion, they may never talk to a pro-life person who is kind to them and who will calmly explain their beliefs for years. As for the question if I would shun a white supremacist, the answer is probably not, and here's why. I have a couple of friends who don't like white people very much. There are countless stories of racists who changed views after meeting someone who will talk with them, and listen to them.

(part5) I have had friends who tell me that white people are responsible for every bad thing that has happened in the world, in complete seriousness. I listen to them, I let them talk, and I show them with my actions and words that white people aren't all terrible. I would do the same thing for a white supremacist. Listening to what people have to say and being rational and kind does more to change bigots than shunning ever does. Even the most disgustingly racist person can be eventually change.

(part6) So yeah, I try to keep a consistent morality. But keeping a consistent morality means not refusing to listen to people who oftentimes have been hurt in the past by members of groups that they hate. Just because someone doesn't repent right away doesn't mean they won't in the future. Abby Johnson said somewhere that she was considering leaving PP because of a kind advocate, but she changed her mind when people showed up condemning & screaming. It look her a lot longer to leave after that

(part7) In Paul's time, the church was young, it was persecuted, and it was new. They were also in a much different culture then. Their culture was focused on honor. Reputation was extremely important. It mattered to almost everyone what the community thought of you, so if you were excluded from the community, you'd get the message real fast to change or lose your reputation. Not everyone knew where the church stood on different issues & had to publicly say who they were/weren't affiliated with

(part8) In our culture, it's almost admired to be disliked by a lot of people. Rebellion is seen as cool, so when people see that christians and catholics are shunning them, they think "oh hey, look we're making them mad! reblog to piss off a christian!" and stuff like that. By giving a huge, dramatic reaction like shunning, you're pretty much just fanning the flames and encouraging them. It isn't encouraging them to change their minds, it's making them more set in their ways.

(part9) Also, might I add that you don't seem to be sticking to your rule of shunning people who support abortion? I mean, you're still talking/arguing with people who are clearly very pro-abortion, shouldn't you have blocked them if you really believed that? Of course we want people who support abortion to repent, but shunning them won't help. And women who have had abortions are oftentimes desperate and misled, and if you go straight to attacking them they'll automatically go on defense.

(part10) Condemning and attacking others doesn't help change minds. Especially people who have had abortions. Yes, it's terrible and tragic, but you have to understand that for many of these people, literally everyone and everything around them was telling them that abortion was the right choice. It's the same with racists. These people are often raised in cultures that tell them that their terrible views are right. You don't know the future. You don't know if they'll repent eventually.

Thank you for your comments.  I’ll do my best to address them, and express agreement where it can be found.  I’ll admit I haven’t fully formed this view - I’m sort of testing it out via Tumblr.  

Pedophilia is admittedly not common, and one of the major reasons for that is that people react viscerally against it.  There are people who advocate for it - I would suggest Googling it, though that probably isn’t the most wise thing to do.  Trust me on this, rather than searching for that on the internet.  I must say I doubt by mid-century that will be the case that pederasty will face the scorn it does today.  The animus against pederasty is a holdover from a previous Christian culture and has no intellectual foundation in the current culture which focuses on consent.  In our time, the culture rationalizes its animus against pederasty by presuming a person under age 18 can’t really provide consent, but I fully expect this to be successfully challenged.  In cultures without Christian influence, such as ancient Greece, pederasty becomes more or less a fact of life the way abortion is with us.  Recall that only 44 years ago, abortion was a crime in the United States.  Anyway, the point being is that abortion, which is murder, is at least as bad and arguably worse than pedophilia/pederasty, and thus we should have similar attitudes towards both.    

I agree with your comments about screaming at women at abortion clinics as being ineffective.  Being shouted at by strangers rarely changes minds and so I wouldn’t recommend it either.  In like manner, I would counsel discernment generally speaking, and if you are in a tiny minority shunning would not be effective at all - you’d be more or less shunning yourself.  Especially in your situation as a minor, I wouldn’t recommend it.  

I do speak about the subject with supporters of abortion on Tumblr, but keep in mind that we are personally anonymous to each other and thus shunning isn’t a live option.  Moreover, I wouldn’t advocate shunning without patient dialogue preceding it, and being clear about the reason for shunning when it occurs.  The point also is to reject the most serious advocates - it really isn’t directed at women who have mixed feelings about what they did.  I would not condemn a woman who committed five abortions but regrets it (or is even uneasy about it), whereas I’d have serious problems with a person who never had an abortion yet strongly and publicly affirmed it.  The point is not to cast stones at sinners but to help reduce popular support for an evil practice, thereby protecting people from ever considering committing abortion in the first place.  

I don’t agree that our culture isn’t as focused on honor and public status as it was in the past.  Our culture is quite vain and people want to be seen as virtuous  - hence virtue signaling.  This is why there are public campaigns to eliminate shame in certain circumstances (with abortion, fat-shaming, slut-shaming), and why words are created specifically to shame political opponents (homophobia, transphobia, etc).  And yes, it’s easy for a person to ignore the shunning of a complete stranger, such as on Tumblr.  It’s another thing entirely when people close to them IRL refuse to associate with them.  

Some, like Abby Johnson, take a long while to repent because they consider their opponents too harsh.  Others take a long time to repent, like me, because they don’t consider Christians to take their own views seriously.  

[procyonvulpecula]

I'm in full support of refugees but the other day a republican was civil and asked me a question that struck me and I didn't know how to answer: Why do refugees only come to the west and not the east? Why aren't they being accepted into Saudi Arabia and Dubai and so many other Muslim based countries? They have similar culture and speak similar language so why is the refugee crisis only in the west? I'm in full support of refugees coming to America but it makes one wonder why.

There’s a lot to unpack here, but the main thing is your Republican friend’s implication that “refugees only come to the west and not the east” is almost completely wrong!

1) Refugees are going to other nearby Muslim/Arab countries! In 2015 there were over 1.9 million Syrian refugees in Turkey, 1.2 million in Lebanon, 375,000 in Jordan,250,000 in Iraq, and 130,000 in Egypt. 95% of the refugees were in those countries. (This is coming from a 2015 video, so I’m not sure about the current situation, but it must be something similar!) So the idea that they’re “only coming to the west” is blatant nonsense. We in Europe, the USA, Canada etc. only see what’s happening in our own backyard on the news. Much has been made of the “European refugee crisis” - we’re almost never told that the vast, vast majority of the refugee crisis is taking place in the Middle East itself.

2) The nearby Middle Eastern countries that are taking in refugees can’t handle an influx of refugees. The USA and Europe can - their economies are far stronger. Jordan has taken in over 650,000 refugees, while the UK, which has 78 times Jordan’s GDP, has only committed to allowing 20,000 Syrians from the period 2015-2020. Our economy can certainly handle this - many of the neighbouring states to Syria can’t. The entire population of Syrian refugees is a tiny fraction of the total US or EU population - it’d be a significant chunk of Jordan’s (or Iraq’s or Lebanon’s).

3) The wealthier nearby countries like Saudi Arabia, Qatar and the UAE aren’t taking any refugees. I’m not sure why, but some of them have pretty despotic governments so I don’t really expect their governments to respect human rights… Amnesty International has condemned them for this. They’re the closest countries that are wealthy enough to handle this crisis and the international community should be putting more pressure on them to take their fair share of refugees. That still doesn’t mean western countries shouldn’t take their fair share, too! Saudi Arabia and the UAE may be rich, but they’re still not as developed as the EU or USA. And what kind of example are we setting if we urge them to take in refugees without taking our fair share ourselves?

4) In any case, with despotic goverments, some of those countries aren’t really suitable homes for certain refugees. Would you send people from the persecuted Christian minorities in Syria to the religiously strict Islamic Qatar? Would you send an independent Syrian businesswoman to live in Saudi Arabia, one of the most misogynistic regimes in the world? Syrians are a very diverse people, with Muslims and Christians of different sects, Arabs and Kurds, secularists and Islamists, men, women and children of all social classes and all ways of life. 

Even Muslims aren’t a homogeneous group, as the word encompasses a whole range of people from Bosniaks who go to the mosque every now and then for cultural reasons and celebrate Eid for fun through to religious extremists, taking in Sunnis, Shias, Sufis, Alawites, Wahabbists and others along the way - much the same way the word “Christian” encompasses Catholics, Protestants, Orthodox Christians, Anglicans, Coptics, Quakers, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Mormons, Unitarians, Amish and everyone from people who celebrate Christmas for fun but don’t really believe in the whole Jesus thing through to the Westboro Baptist Church. Saying Saudi society would suit many Syrians because “they’re both Muslim countries” is a bit like saying Argentinians would feel at home in Russia because they’re “both Christian countries.” And of course, many Syrians aren’t Muslims! Many aren’t even Arabs!

A strict religious society like Saudi Arabia (like the society Daesh wants to impose!) may not suit the majority of Syrian refugees. Sending them there may be an “out of the frying pan and into the fire” situation! Of course the nearby Gulf states need to take in more refugees. But for the sake of human rights, for this whole thing to work, diverse countries with a history of multiculturalism and religious tolerance need to take their fair share too - like the US and western Europe.

5) Western countries have been bombing Syria to get rid of Daesh and other extremist groups, as well as the US-led and Russia-led factions bombing their preferred sides of the Syrian civil war. Western powers have become factions in these wars. If our intentions really are to make things better for the Syrian people in the long run and not just to prop up our own strategic interests, I think we have a duty to take our fair share of Syrian refugees while we’re bombing their homes. The neighbouring wealthy states like Saudi Arabia don’t share that obligation (although I still think as nearby states they should take in some!)

So in conclusion:- The refugee crisis IS mostly in the Middle East. The western refugee crisis makes western news, but it’s a small part of the whole situation.- Western nations are better equipped to take care of the refugees, may be a more appropriate home for some of them (religious minorities and so on) and have much better infrastructure and support than neighbouring countries, so it’s little wonder that some refugees would rather settle in Europe or America. - Western nations have an obligation to take in more refugees, both because they’re the only nations on Earth who can handle it well and because through bombings and political power playing they’re partly responsible. This is true regardless of what’s going on with other Middle Eastern countries.

Hope that helps!