#and its really emphasized by the fact that crowley does start to say that he wants something!

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH07

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

WC: 4405

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean floors the Impala, somehow wishing that he had let Cas taken another car, a fucking fast SUV for example, but he’s stuck with his Baby now. He swears loudly at all the other cars on the highway, why are there so many cars at this time anyway? And why are they all in his fucking way?

    *

The lights are out at the front of the Roadhouse but when Dean parks his car, he sees a flicker of light on the inside. Glancing back through the lot, he could spot her car, his heart is still racing. 

Technically, she could be here. He fucking hopes she is.

He hurries out of his car and goes straight for the door. He can be glad that it’s unlocked when he bursts right in; wouldn’t actually have cared if it was locked at all because he was ready to kick that damn door down.

Dean exhales the breath he feels like he’s been holding since he embarked on the drive out here. Was worried sick of where she was, hoped that she didn’t go somewhere with Crowley, fucking prayed that Lucifer didn’t get to her. He doesn’t even know if Lucifer knows about her, wouldn’t surprise him if Lucifer did, because that dude is always ahead of him, and Dean still hasn’t figured out the rat in his own goddamn organization.

Y/N’s here. Had been here probably for a while already by the looks of it. 

She’s standing behind the bar and knocks back the remains of a drink from a tumbler upon seeing him. The bottle next to her looks awfully familiar to his brand of whiskey. The very Glengoyne 30 years single malt whiskey that costs about $700 a bottle, and she just knocks it back like it’s some fucking dollar store liquor. 

Dean chuckles to himself at that, knowing that he would be fucking mad if it was someone else but right about now, the joy of seeing her unharmed and well — and a bit drunk, as she knocks back shots after shots of expensive booze — is a sight for his sore fucking eyes.

“There you are,” He breathes out and there’s a shy smile from the chuckle that tugs away at the corner of his lips. 

He can’t lie, he’s relieved but also he desperately tries to will his heart to fucking calm itself down — the drumming in his ear is getting annoying — which is irony on its own, he reckons, because his heart can never still down when he’s around her.

Y/N makes a snorting sound as she refills her drink, “Well, here I fucking am, aren’t I?” 

Dean eyes widens at the remark and he blinks. She’s feisty, how could he forget.

“How did you get here?”

“Took an Uber,” She shrugs and puts her hand that’s holding the glass up, takes an aim at him and Dean ducks in time to hear it smash against the door behind him, droplets of liquid spill onto his head.

“What the fuck was that for?” Dean snarls in bewilderment, wonders if she did miss him deliberately because he actually thinks that if she really wanted to, she could have hit him square in the face with it, and maybe, it's even what he would deserve.

She takes another glass and pours herself a shot while she chuckles, “Oopsie, it slipped. My bad,” She shrugs and grins darkly before she knocks back another mouthful of drink and then she swallows and pauses to think, placing her index finger to her temple to emphasize it before she speaks, “You invited me to a party, Dean. And, and, and— and then, you left me alone!”

Y/N takes the glass and holds it up, aims it at Dean. He has no problem ducking one more time. Her movements are slowed under the influence but again, he thinks that she doesn’t really want to hit him.

“Hey!” He shouts, taking a step closer. “What happened?” 

He knows that she’s right. He did leave her alone and he’s still fucking sorry, but there must have been something else going on because it can’t be that she’s so upset about him not being by her side for the evening. It can’t be. He refuses to believe it. She had Sam and Jess, and even Cas as company, which, he knows, was still a dick move of him but there was business to be talked through and he hates it as much as she probably did. 

Nonetheless, yeah, he should have been straight with her about the evening. But what could he have told her? 

Sorry, I will be mainly talking business with my illegal business partners because we’re a bunch of gangsters? 

I really want you there but you gotta let me go and take care and discuss about how I gonna fucking move 20 tonnes of narcotics and illegal firearms across country? 

Because that would have gone down fucking great, wouldn’t it?

“What happened? Oh, nothing,” She drinks straight from the bottle now and brushes away the alcohol from her upper lip with the back of her hand, smearing the little lipstick that’s still left on it around her mouth. It’s pink and swollen and he would love to have a taste.

Dean knows that he can’t say it loud, because she’s distraught enough as it is, but she looks fucking cute when she’s upset. Instead of saying anything, because he doesn’t want to anger her more, he sits on the stool and takes the bottle from her and rests the bottle head to his own lip to take a large swig himself. He feels the liquid burn down his throat, warming his stomach, and he squints at how good it feels. He had missed that the whole fucking night. 

“So, you wanna tell me what got you so mad, sweetheart?”

“Don’t sweetheart me,” She hisses and Dean’s trying hard not to laugh, instead he just stares at her, raising his eyebrow in question and waits for her to talk.

She rolls her eyes after a while and sighs audibly, “Oh… I don’t know, maybe just fucking people putting me down all night? And one of them wanted to get in my pants is what happened!” 

Y/N reclaims the bottle and almost drains it in one go.

“Hey, sweetheart, easy on the booze,” Dean pulls the bottle from her hands, spills a little of the brown liquid. She fucking pouts, and it distracts him but he has no time to dwell on that. Not yet. He walks around the bar to stand next to her, “Who did put you down?” 

“Oh, you know, your girlfriend,” She starts and stops when she sees Dean frowning at her, “The tall one? Long beautiful hair, kissable red lips? Tight fucking dress, long legs to die for, come on, don’t tell me you forgot how your girlfriend looks like?” 

He doesn’t answer, instead he keeps on staring, the frown lines getting deeper as he does.

Y/N looks down to her hands that are picking at something invisible on the counter, “Anyway, she said I shouldn’t try so hard because you're way out of my league anyway,” 

Dean reaches out a hand to brush at the loose strand of hair that falls around her face, tucking it back behind her ear before he leaves his hand at the base of her neck. He lowers himself a little, to be able to look her in the eye. Can’t stop staring at her quivering lips, at the pink of her cheeks. 

He smiles a little before he says something, “First of all, she’s not my girlfriend. And second of all, you actually believed her?” 

Her eyes shoot up to meet his, as if she’s challenging him, “So, your girlfriend is the other one then? The one who said that I’m nothing special?” 

Dean is taken aback and frowns some more, for good fucking measure.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N. You believed them?” The pressure of Dean’s hand on her neck gets slightly harder.

“Why shouldn’t I?” She takes a step back, walks back out of his grip, “All I know is that I don’t fucking know you.”

“So? You don’t know them either!” He tries to counter but he knows deep inside that she’s right. But also, there’s the fact that he doesn’t know her either. He knows though, that he wants to fucking change that if she gave him one fucking chance.

“I just don’t get it, Dean.”

“What are you not getting into that pretty head of yours?” 

“You have two, stunningly beautiful women swarming around you, who would — and I have no doubt about that — do anything you tell them to, without fucking question. So, tell me. Tell me why did you want me around when you know that you won’t have time for me anyway?” 

He smirks, wonders a little if he reads her right. He thinks he does. 

“Sweetheart, are you jealous by any chance?” 

“No?” It comes out faster than he expects but then she looks away. He chuckles as she squints her eyes and lets out a frustrating throaty shriek to admit defeat, “Yeah, maybe? I don’t know!” Y/N folds her arms over her chest and pouts again.

That damn fucking pout!

Fucking adorable.  

Dean can’t stop grinning. Thinks that he’s not the only idiot here after all. Is relieved that she might be feeling all the things he feels, too. Kind of hopes that she does.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” He chuckles at all the cuteness and takes a step closer, grins some more when she stays rooted and doesn’t back away.

“I don’t get what?” She mumbles angrily and adds, “And I mean, if anything, I am out of your league, it’s not the other way around!” Y/N’s slurring her speech a little too, and Dean thinks it’s damn fucking adorable, wants to actually launch forward, kiss her stupid, and make her stop talking, make her feel what he really thinks of her but —

—he doesn’t. 

Not yet. 

He doesn’t want her to think he’s only interested in one thing. He’s not that shallow, at least not anymore. Even though he wants nothing more than to feel her. Feel her skin on his skin, feel her heartbeat underneath him. Wants to hear her moan his name, wants to see the pleasure in her eyes, the glow on her face, wants to hear her beg for more.

He throws his head back upon hearing what she said and laughs loudly, making her punch him in his chest and Y/N’s giggling, too, “Yeah, you are.” He agrees with the biggest of smiles. 

“And who wanted to get in your pants?” He raises an eyebrow, because that’s the real question here, hopes it’s not one of his men because he’d rather not kill one of his own. 

His heart is thumping in his chest as he watches her frown and bite down on her bottom lip. Someone clearly has an expiration date coming up. Fucking hell, Dean’s hands balls into fists at the suspense.

“The mayor,” 

Well, he can’t kill that one either, sadly, even though he fucking wants to.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Dean feels agitated. He’s not surprised by the revelation, because Crowley is known to hit on anything on heels, “How?” He can’t help but ask, even though he’d rather not know the answer to his question.

“He said he thinks that I’m very cute and he’d like to offer me a job. Asked if I wanted to go to his mansion upstate with him tonight, he’d like to show me how good a real man could make me feel.”

That sneaky little motherfucker , Dean thinks, and he feels the urge to leave, to drive back and give Crowley an earful for hitting on—

—on what ? 

His girl? She’s not even his. Dean would love to call her that one day though, there’s no denying. Can’t possibly deny that he would like to claim her, mark her as his, so that everyone fucking knows and nobody wouldn’t dare to try to mess around with what’s his .

“Wow,” Dean huffs out, takes a step back from her as a precaution because suddenly, he very much wants to punch something, or shoot someone, “Straight down to business that man, huh? And what did you say?”

He closes his eyes, kind of fears the answer, but he knows that she’s here now so she didn’t go back with that dick. Still, it upsets him very much.

“Said that I liked my job and that I have STD. He backed off right away. I could literally see him walking backwards.”

Dean snorts out a laugh. He laughs louder than normal, probably. But he doesn’t really care because he’s so fucking relieved. Y/N laughs with him. The sound of it is sweet and warm, smooth like honey, something he’d love to hear more often.

They both need some time to calm down after.

“So, can I ask you something?” He’s standing right in front of her again and waits for her to look up to him. His heart is doing somersaults and it’s a weird thing to be feeling, “How much did you eat tonight?” 

“Ugh,” She squints her eyes to think and Dean’s having a hard time not to laugh at the drunk girl in front of him, “I don’t think I did eat anything.”

“Not even the little bits and pieces that've been served tonight?”

“Nope,” Y/N shakes her head, “Too busy drinking my frustrations away,”

“Ah,” He grins, “Understandable. So, let’s go get something into your belly to soak up all of that booze you drank, shall we?” He takes her hand and pulls her along with him. He looks back to see her puzzled face, laughs because she’s wobbly on her feet, “I know the best burger place in town.” Dean winks and smiles brightly before he pushes the door open into the night.

“But, I gotta clean up the mess!” She exclaims, pulling at his hand and already wants to run to the back to probably get the broom and shovel, Dean assumes.

He let out a hearty laugh, holding her hand a little tighter not letting her go, “Y/N, let it go, take the stick out of your ass. You don’t always have to be good, alright?”

She blushes at that.

*

Dean parks his car when they arrive and walks over to her side to help her out. The night’s chilly and she didn’t have the time to get a coat as he practically dragged her out of the bar. He notices her shivering, so he takes off his jacket, drapes it over her shoulder, which earned him the sweetest of smiles from her. One that makes his heart flutter in his chest.

It’s weird but he slowly gets used to it, gets used to the constant fluttering and beating of his heart. He still doesn’t like it, though.

“Come on,” He says, offering her a hand and holds on to her when she places her hand in his.

He threads his fingers through hers, his thumb brushing over her wrist, painting figure eights on her skin as they walk towards the little shop.

“Wow,” She lets out when she sees the queue of people. “It’s way past 2am and they are still queueing?”

“Don’t worry, I get special treatment,” Dean winks with a cocky smile.

Y/N rolls her eyes and he huffs out a laugh. 

He holds her tighter when he pushes a way through all the people queuing and waiting, “The best burger in town,” He turns his head back to tell her and wiggle his eyebrows and she raises hers, as if she wants to say that the jury’s still out on that one. 

Dean ignores the shouts from the others who told them to get in line, as they walk past that said line, and he only glances back to shoot them a mean look. Sure enough, nobody said another word to him after. 

He pushes his way into the small burger shop. The interior is lined up by only a couple of seats in the front next to the counter and a long bar to stand and eat your burgers. Dean looks around before he sees a big bulky man in a baseball cap coming towards them.

“Dean!” The man pulls Dean into a hug. Dean’s hand is still holding Y/N’s and it makes the hug super awkward but Dean takes it, relishes himself in the familiar feeling.

“Hey Bobby, you got a table for us?” 

“Of course, I do. For you always!” Bobby’s as cheerful as ever. 

He takes them to the back where there are a couple more tables set up that are not occupied. Dean knows that Bobby keeps this space especially for Dean’s people and the people Bobby trusts. 

It’s simple, easy and, in Dean’s opinion, that’s the charm of the whole place. Dean likes being here. It always feels like coming home.

Bobby finishes cleaning the table for them and braces his hands on his hips, his belly standing out a little. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

“Bobby, that’s Y/N,” Dean introduces her, “Y/N, meet Bobby. He used to feed me when I was younger.” Dean says and he actually wanted to warn her, wanted to tell her that Bobby’s a big hugger but it’s too late. Bobby scoops her up in a big bear embrace and she squeals a little while Dean couldn’t hold back, throwing his head back as he holds his belly laughing.

“So lovely to meet you!” Bobby almost shouts, “You know, Dean here, all you see, that’s my doing. He was so thin the first time he walked in here.” Then he turns to Dean, “You should have told me you’re bringing a lady around. You never bring ladies! I would have cleaned up a little more!” Bobby’s eyes trail to the empty boxes and cartons that are standing around the empty tables.

“Bobby, it’s fine, you’re doing good,” Dean pats Bobby’s shoulder and the older guy nods.

Dean waits for Y/N to sit down before he takes a seat himself. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Can I get you the usual?” Bobby asks and Dean opens his mouth to say something but Bobby doesn’t even wait for Dean to answer, already knows that whatever he brings would be alright for him. So Dean closes his mouth again, fully aware that Bobby just made a goddamn fool out of him. Dean raises his eyebrows and laughs it off.

“I’m sorry, I should have warned you.” He’s still grinning and she’s still out of breath from Bobby. He can see, even in the dimly lit space, that her cheeks are flushed and she’s clutching at her chest. 

“It’s okay. What does he mean he fed you?” She asks and Dean knows that the part didn’t slip her mind. She’s attentive, even when she’s slightly drunk. 

Dean’s mind races, wondering how much he can tell her. How much he should tell her.

“Bobby’s been like a father to me,” He explains, “My dad died some years ago, before I went to Afghanistan. Long story short, I didn’t really take care of myself because I had new responsibilities and was engrossed in my new position at a job I didn’t really want in the first place and frankly just went for days without eating properly because there was simply no time.” Dean could see the frown on her face and pauses before he tries to smile, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, look at me, I did alright, didn’t I? Bobby delivered food every day after he saw me at dad’s funeral, the old man wanted to make sure that I didn’t waste away.”

Her face falls, creases are showing between her brows and dammit, he wants to ease them away, preferably with a kiss. 

He stares at her, watches as her face softens, “Y/N, I didn’t tell you tonight when I saw you, but you look lovely.”

She blushes visibly, mumbles a thank you without looking him in the eye as a small smile tugs at her lips. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and Dean can’t stop staring at her, she’s definitely the prettiest thing he ever did see. 

Bobby arrives with burgers and fries, interrupting them and Dean laughs, telling her to dig in. 

What Dean learns during the meal is that she doesn’t share fries. Well, she doesn’t share hers but she wants him to share his . He laughs when he tells her that it’s not fair until Bobby overhears them and brings another big tray of fries, she grins brightly at Bobby and thanked him.

Bobby also keeps beer and drinks flowing, which Dean thinks, is counter productive, since he actually brought her here to sober up, not to get her more wasted, but he can’t find it in his heart to tell the old man off, so he kind of tries to get as much food into her as possible.

“Why did Sam introduce you as a war hero?” She asks and he looks up to see her taking a bite out of her now second burger.

He swallows down the bite he just took and licks his lips, “I came back unharmed.” 

Y/N raises an eyebrow, knowing that there’s more to it and Dean doesn’t really know if he should tell, or rather, what he should tell her.

He inhales and exhales audibly before he talks, “I wasn’t on duty that day, meaning that if you’re not on active duty, you’re supposed to help supply the battle positions with ammunition. It was before 6.00AM when it all started,” Dean tries to keep his voice low and calm because his heart is picking up speed again when he thinks back, “We were attacked by around 300 enemy fighters, which is not really a lot but considering that we were only a little more than 50, that’s quite a fucking lot,”

Dean closes his eyes just briefly, the image is right behind his eyelids. It’s like a fucking bad movie that keeps on playing on replay.

“I ran, or sometimes, crawled from one battle position to the other supplying them with what they needed to keep on firing and defend our position. Ran yards across open ground, and it rained fucking bullets, until I got into the Humvee for shelter. We’ve been shot at though.”

He can see the frown on her face but she doesn’t say anything and she stops eating to listen to him, so he goes on.

“They went out to look for the others and that’s where Milligan got shot. I couldn’t leave him there so I ran to him, brought him back to the Humvee and somehow, I managed to get him to the aid station where the doctors were working on the other injured already.”

He reaches out for his beer and takes a large gulp, his throat feels awfully dry all of a sudden. 

“They started to work on Milligan right away,” Dean chuckles but it’s not a happy kind of chuckle, “All he did was ask me over and over again if I had a cigarette, which of course I didn’t. I went right out there again though, and started to supply the gunners with more ammo. Somehow, we managed to push them back and there were choppers flying in to bomb the enemies after a long and loud day. They also flew Milligan right out as soon as they could.”

Dean takes a break to drink again, swallowing the tears in the process.

“I came home and received a Medal of Honor, still didn’t think I deserved it though. And for Milligan, he didn’t make it,” Dean’s voice is small, “Can you believe that the last thing he asked for was a goddamn cigarette and I couldn’t even give him that.”

Y/N reaches over, covering his big hand with her small one, drawing lazy circles on his skin with her thumb and Dean likes that. Likes how it soothes him. “It’s not your fault, Dean.”

“I know,” He nods. 

“You did the best you could. And you deserved it. You’re a hero, Dean,” She squeezes his hand and he can see in her eyes that she really means it.

Dean changes the subject pretty fast after that, not really wanting to tell her about what came after. Doesn’t want to tell her about the nightmares, and the depression that followed.

But still. 

Still, he hasn’t felt so relaxed and free in a long time. Has never felt like himself more than tonight. He wasn’t Dean Winchester, the mob boss. He doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to play a role. It’s easy, talking to her, watching her, getting to know more about her, even if she does not reveal a whole damn lot.

It’s so easy being around her that he begins to think of what could be. And it’s a dangerous thought that he shouldn’t be thinking, he knows, because honestly, he doesn’t want to drag her into this life. Into his life. It’s not exactly a nice one.

He likes how she listens to him, how she’s taking everything in and gives him honest thoughts and opinions. How she doesn’t try to impress him at all (she wouldn’t have to anyway). 

The easiness, the laughter…  that’s good, isn’t it?

It is. Dean decides. 

But also it is kind of terrifying, he can’t lie about that. The real question here is, Dean thinks, can he afford to let himself fall in love? Is he willing to risk everything for a woman?

 *

 “‘M not druuunk,” Y/N giggles and almost stumbles over her own two feet as they are getting up to leave.

Dean lets out a soft chuckle, “Who would dare to think that?!”

“I’m—”

She trips, and Dean’s there to take the fall, placing his hand around her waist and holds her upright.

“Just toptipsy,” She laughs and leans in, buries her face into his chest and closes her eyes.

“Yes, you are,” Dean grins, strokes her head with one of his free hands, “Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

CH08

#something just like this #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #mobster!dean #nathalie writes

[good-omens-classic]

Hi Good Omens fans, ever since making this blog, and trawling through the archives for old art, I have been thinking again about trends from before the TV-show, and the way people draw Aziraphale and Crowley.  I wanted to make this post addressing it but this is not “discourse” or to start a fight, in fact I would be perfectly content if all I did was make people think critically about what I am about to say and not even interact with this post at all, but I feel like I need to say it.

Talking about any racist undertones to the way people draw our two favorite boys usually makes people dig their heels in pretty fast.  This is not a callout post for any artist in particular, this is not me trying to be overly critical of artists especially since they have more talent and skill than I do, and I’m going to address some common counterpoints that I frankly find unsatisfactory.  Let’s just take a moment to set aside our defensiveness and think objectively about these trends.  It took me a while to unlearn my dismissive attitude about these concerns so maybe I can help others get over that hurdle a little faster.  Now let’s begin.

I’ve been kicking around the Good Omens fandom since maybe 2015 and for art based in book canon, whether it was made before the TV show came out, or because the artist is consciously drawing different, original designs, I’m going to estimate that a decent 75% of all fanart looks like this

Aziraphale is white and blonde and blue-eyed while Crowley is the typical “racially ambiguous” brown skin tone it’s become so popular to draw podcast characters as nowadays.

And the question is why?  With the obvious answer being “it’s racist,” but let’s delve a little deeper than that.

A common thing I hear is that people get appearance headcanons fixed in their mind because the coverart of the book pictures the characters a certain way.  My first point is this only shifts the question to why the illustrators drew them that way, when there aren’t many physical descriptions in the book.  My second point is that while there definitely are cover arts that picture Aziraphale as cherubic, blonde, and white and Crowley as swarthy, dark-skinned, and racially ambiguous...

(side note: why is Crowley’s hand so tiny?  what the hell is going on in this cover?)

It’s much more common for the covers to simplified, stylized, and without any particular unambiguous skin tones

I don’t know about the UK but the most popular version in the United States is the dual black and white matching covers

And while you could make an argument that the shading on Crowley’s face could suggest a darker skintone, it seems obvious to me that lacking any color these are not supposed to suggest any particular race for either of these two, and the contrasting colors are a stylistic choice to emphasize how they are on opposite sides.  If anything, to me it suggests they are both white.

In short I simply do not buy the argument that people are drawing Aziraphale and Crowley this way because that’s how they were represented on the cover art of the book.  If you draw them the way they are on the cover then whatever, I don’t care, but I don’t believe that’s what’s driving this trend.

The second thing people will say is that Good Omens is a work of satire, and it’s based in Christian mythology which has this trend of depicting angels as white, and it is embodying the trope of a “white, cherubic angel” paired with a dark-skinned demon for the explicit purpose of subverting the trope of “white angel is good, dark demon is bad” since Aziraphale is not an unambiguous hero and Crowley is not a villain.  “It’s not actually like that because Crowley isn’t a bad demon, and Aziraphale isn’t actually a perfect angel” is the argument.  This has a certain logic to it and allows some nuance to the topic, but to this I say:

Uncritically reproducing a trope, even in the context of a satire novel, is not enough to subvert it.  Good Omens is not criticising the racist history of the church, and while the book does have some pointed jabs at white British culture (such as Madam Tracy conning gullible Brits with an unbelievably ignorant stereotype of a Native American) it is not being critical of the conception of angels as white and blonde or the literal demonization of non-white people.  That’s just not what the book is about.  So making the angel white and the demon dark-skinned, playing directly into harmful tropes and stereotypes, is not somehow subversive or counter-cultural when doing so doesn’t say anything about anything.

Please consider fully the ramifications of the conception of white and blonde people as innocent and cherubic and dark-skinned people as infernal and mischievous, especially in modern contexts...

Black people are more likely to be viewed as violent, angry, and dangerous.  Priming with a dark-skinned face makes people more likely to mistake a tool for a gun.  Black people are viewed as experiencing pain less intensely by medical professionals.  Black men are viewed as physically larger and more imposing than they actually are.  The subconscious racial bias favoring light skin is so ingrained it’s measurable by objective scientific studies, on top of the anecdotal evidence of things like news stories choosing flattering, “cherubic” pictures of white and blond criminals while using unflattering mugshots for non-white offenders.

This is why I say that if you’re going to invoke the “whites are angelic” trope, you better have a damn good subversion of it to justify it, because this idea causes real harm to real people in the real world.  And Aziraphale being a bit of a bastard despite being an angel, I just don’t see that as sufficient.  I am especially cautious of when it’s my fellow white fans that make this argument, not because I believe they do this out of any sort of malice or hatred of people with dark skin, but because I know first-hand it stems from a dismissiveness rooted in not wanting to think about it for too long because it makes us uncomfortable.  Non-white people do not have the luxury of not thinking about it, because it’s part of their life.

Now the strongest textual evidence people use, in the absence of much real descriptor, is this:

"Many people, meeting Aziraphale for the first time, formed three impressions: that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide. Two of these were wrong; Heaven is not in England, whatever certain poets may have thought, and angels are sexless unless they really want to make an effort" 

This piece of art has circulated in the fandom for so long I don’t know the original artist and it’s been used for everything from fancovers to perfume.  This is where I found it and it’s one of the first things that come up when you google this quote about Aziraphale.  

Doesn’t it just feel like this is the man that’s describing, some blonde effeminate gay man?  Well guess what, there’s the “blonde as innocence” trope rearing its ugly head again, because the stereotype of gay men and effeminacy as being a white and blonde thing is--ding ding ding you guessed it--racism.  And why would intelligent suggest a white and blonde person, except if the stereotype of a dark-skinned person is less intelligent?

Now the point of “people assume Aziraphale is British” is another sticking point people will often use, claiming that the stereotype of a British person is white and blonde.  I guess this has some merit, since the British empire was one of the biggest forces behind white colonial expansion, and it seems disingenuous to assign “British” as “nonwhite” as soon as we’re being satirical, in the same way I found it distasteful that the TV show made God female when so many of the criticisms of the church are about its misogyny and lose their teeth as soon as God is no longer male.

However consider that 1.4 million Indian people live in the UK.  I heard a man say aloud once that the concept of a black person having a British accent was a little funny, as though Doctor Who doesn’t exist and have black people on it.  And I’m not overly familiar with the social landscape of the UK, but I understand they’re experiencing a xenophobia boom and non-white Brits aren’t considered “really British.”  The stereotype of non-white people not being British only exists because of reinforcement in media.  If you really want to be subversive, drawing Aziraphale as Indian goes way further than drawing him as white IMO.

Now let’s talk about Crowley.  He is almost always drawn with a darker skin tone than Aziraphale, even when they are both white, and while I’ve outlined above how this is problematic on terms of linking light skin with innocence, I think it does have an extra layer.  I think it also has to do with the exotification and fetishization of brown skin and non-white people.

This artist’s tumblr is gone now but their art is still on dA and while it’s definitely beautiful and well-done, I think this is a very good example of what I’m talking about.

Crowley and Aziraphale necessarily contrast each other, so describing Aziraphale as “British” might suggest that Crowley is “foreign-looking.”  I also know *ahem* that the fandom generally thirsts over Crowley to hell and back, so making him a swarthy, tall dark and handsome is not necessarily surprising.

An interesting thing happened when the TV show came out, and everyone started drawing Michael Sheen!Aziraphale and David Tennant!Crowley more and more often:  It’s not ubiquitous, but it does happen that sometimes artists will draw David Tennant’s skin darker than it actually is.  The subconscious urge to see Crowley with dark skin is for some reason that strong for many people.  And I really encourage people doing this to think about why.  Not naming any names but I’ve working with fanartists before for collabs who I had to ask to lighten “bad guy” demon’s skin tones because it looked like they were making the skin darker on purpose to make them look scarier.  This person is a perfectly pleasant person who tries not to be racist!  And we both still fell into it accidentally, and it took me a while to notice and point it out, because the ingrained stigmatization of darker skin is pervasive yet often goes unnoticed.

What is the solution?  I don’t know, and as a white person I’m not really qualified to make that call.  Do we draw them both with the exact same skin tone?  Is it better to make them both white?  Should we make both of them non-white?  Should we only make Aziraphale non-white?  I am consciously aware of the fact that the Good Omens fandom is mostly white people, so most of the art we make is being both made by and consumed by white people, so I don’t feel comfortable saying “draw these characters of color specifically” because that can also veer into fetishization territory very quickly.  This is not specific to good omens but I think we should pay attention to what fans of color say in all fandom spaces and weigh our choices even if they seem insignificant.  And it’s important to realize that fans of color will not be a monolith in their opinion either, and it’s our responsibility to recognize that everyone can be affected by racism and social issues differently, the same way all women are affected by misogyny differently so just because one woman says such as such is misogynistic and another says it’s not.  I’m sure there are non-white fans who think it’s perfectly fine to draw Aziraphale as white and Crowley as ambiguously non-white.  I’m not saying they’re wrong.  And I’m not saying you can’t reblog this kind of art, or that people who make or made it should feel bad about themselves.  But so often this sort of thing goes unaddressed just because people don’t like thinking about it, and well, avoiding hard questions never really goes well I think.

#? #voice of mod #?????

[crossyourheart-twff]

Chapter 1

Edit: Here’s a link to Ao3 in case the visibility is bad:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23812213/chapters/57212440

Edit 2: Edits and formatting has been fixed! 

The Mirror asked for a name. It was a simple enough question under normal circumstances. The problem was, these weren’t normal circumstances, therefore the person standing before it had no idea what to say. Not when the Mirror was talking, not with a room full of robed strangers craning in for a better view, and definitely not when a name could reveal so much…

“State thy name,” the Mirror droned again.

A name.

The figure considered giving a fake one, but if the mirror was magic, would it know? Would it sense the lie and expose them for what they truly were? The seconds tick-tick-ticked away at the audience’s patience. It was late and the already antsy students couldn’t wait forever. Even the more dignified ones that stood to one side of the mirror shuffled about. One rolled his eyes, another examined the moon out the window. State thy name…

Thy name...

Huh. Now that’s an idea.

The figure before the mirror cleared its throat. In a voice they hoped sounded appropriate, they answered, “Parker.”

There. Their name.

Their surname.

One of the students by the Mirror gusted out a sigh of relief. Parker suspected it came from one of the shorter ones, the red head, perhaps.

“Parker,” the Mirror repeated, not a hint of suspicion- or of any emotion, really- passed across it’s pallid face as it spoke, “The nature of thy soul is,” the Mirror closed its eyes. Parker didn’t breathe. The chamber was so quiet, the only sound was the creak of wooden benches as the other students leaned forward. At last, the Mirror opened its soulless eyes, “unknown to me.”

A wave of chatter broke through the hall. Parker swallowed. This couldn’t be good.

The Mirror was not finished. It spoke louder as if to compete with the flurry of whispered speculation, “I sense no magic from this one. There is no color, no shape. They are not suited to any dormitory.”

No magic.

Well, Parker could have told it that.

In a rush of green flames, the Mirror’s face vanished and the glass went dark. Whispers moved throughout the hall, the sound made the skin on Parker’s neck prickle. It was like sound the wind made through a palm tree before a thunderstorm, only much less comforting. What happened now? Parker’s thoughts went into overdrive, searching the memories of the last half hour to see if, somehow, they contained the solution to their current problem.

It started with the fire. There’d been a burst of flames so hot they’d singed the hair on Parker’s arms… Wait no. That wasn’t quite right. The fire wasn’t the problem, it was the demon cat. What was his name again? Ah, right. Grim. He was, after all, responsible for the explosion that knocked the lid off the coffin In which Parker woke. He’d made sure they were well aware of that. Of course, it wasn’t quite as shocking as the fact the demon cat could talk. Oh! and what’s more, he had the audacity to demand Parker give him clothes!

“Give me your uniform,” Grim crouched low on Parker’s stomach, “or I’ll roast you!” The fire at his ears flickered a brighter shade of blue as if to emphasize his threat. A scream tore through Parker’s throat as they shoved the creature away before sprinting out of the room.

Then again, Grim didn’t have all the blame…

“No magic!”

Parker snapped out of the memories as a masked man strode down the aisle to the dais where the mirror stood. Headmaster Dire Crowley, right on cue. 

“Ahh, there you are!” He’d said just as Parker ducked behind one of the stone columns that lined the outer walkway. The stranger didn’t look any different than an average man, but what got Parker’s attention was the crow mask that hid the top half of his face. Like a fancy plague doctor. “I thought I saw someone come through here. Are you one of our new students? Honestly. The entrance ceremony is already well underway! You should be there with the rest of the first years and look at you! You’re not even properly-“ He rounded the column and stopped at once, “Oh. Oh, dear.”

Back in the present, Crowley reached the top of the dais.

“There is absolutely no way you were meant to be collected by a black carriage. Since the founding of this institution, there has not once been an error with student selection! How in the name of the Great Seven has a non-gifted-?” Someone in the crowd coughed and Crowley turned to the waiting students. As if suddenly remembering the sea of shocked faces gaping at him, he straightened. If they hadn’t known any better, Parker could have sworn he’d almost let the truth slip in front of the entire school. 

“Where are we going?” the hem of Parker’s new robe dragged along the cobblestone path. The bird man had done something with his hand (magic?) and transformed Parker’s casual attire into, well, the robe.

“To the entrance ceremony, of course. Weren’t you listening?” The birdman didn’t take his eyes off the path ahead.

“Entrance ceremony…” Parker had to jog a bit to keep up his long gait, “Where am I, exactly?”

This time the birdman did glance over, “Still dazed from the trip? Very well. This,” he gestured to the building around them, “is Night Raven College, the most prestigious school of magic this side Twisted Wonderland,” even through his mask, Parker sensed his pointed look as he added, “for young men.”

For young men… oh. Oh.

The birdman must have caught the understanding as it settled across Parker’s face, “Now you’re getting it.”

”Then why am I here?”

“Ah, now that’s the question, isn’t it?” he said, “ I’m afraid if you haven’t a clue, then neither do I.”

Parker almost tripped on the hem of the robe. With a huff, they hitched it to up to their ankle and caught up to the birdman, “So, who are you, then?”

“I am Dire Crowley,” the birdman gestured to the campus around them, “headmaster of this fine establishment.”

They stopped in front of another set of doors. Where the entrance of the library was massive, these doors were a more accessible size, with intricate details carved along the post. Parker managed to catch a scarab beetle and lion’s head amongst the ornamentation before Headmaster Crowley regained their attention.

“Now, keep your hood up and stay here while I wrap up the ceremony. Soon as the students have vacated the hall, I’ll come fetch you,” he instructed.

“Okay?” Parker frowned, “Why can’t I just go inside? What was the point of,” she gestured to her robe, “this?”

“Because,” Crowley said," if a young la-“

The doors to the ceremonial hall opened then. Another man, this one unmasked and much bigger than Headmaster Crowley stood in the thresh hold.

“Headmaster,” the man seemed relieved to see Crowley, he opened his mouth to speak when Parker caught his eye, “Ah! Looks like we missed one! Come on, then! We just finished the dormitory assignments.” The man grabbed Parker by the arm and dragged who he thought was a student inside.

Crowley straightened his mask and addressed the room, “Well. It seems we’ve had a rather eventful evening. Consider today’s entrance ceremony over. Students, please follow your dorm leaders to your quarters. I expect to see everyone ready for lessons in the morning.”

No one moved despite the dismissal.

“Not a minute to be wasted,” the headmaster clapped his hands, “to your dorms at once!”

“Yes, Headmaster Crowley,” the red headed dorm leader said, then went on to lead his dorm out of the hall. Parker ducked away as whispers washed over the room. Row by row, the students left, each trailing behind one of the figures that stood at the dais. Parker didn’t dare meet any of their gazes. A minute passed as they waited to be sure the room was empty. After all of that, they couldn’t risk slipping up now. Once they were both certain they were the only two left in the hall, Parker ripped the hood away.

Her long hair tumbled free down her back.

“What was that?” she cried.

Headmaster Crowley shook his head, “There goes my Diamond Crown Academy theory… Well. You have my sincerest apologies for the spectacle. I can assure you, it was never my intention to subject you to such humiliation. Either way, I’m sure you’re ready to be sent home. If you’ll just step in front of the Dark Mirror.”

Parker did as she was told. After everything she’d been through, she was ready to go. Never mind how she ended up in that coffin in the school’s basement. Never mind where that stupid demon-cat had scampered off to. Soon she would be home, Crowley wouldn’t have to worry about the consequences of a girl winding up in a magical all-boys school, and she could chalk this whole thing up to a bad pizza dream.

“Excellent,” Crowley nodded once, “Now, picture your home clearly in your mind.”

Eyes shut tight, Parker called up every detail of her apartment, from her roommate’s theatre mugs to the chipped paint on the bottom corner of their front door. It was all there. Now it was Crowley’s turn to address the mirror. In the same tone of voice he used on his students, he raised his hands.

“Dark Mirror!”

The Mirror sparked to life in a rush of green flames. Crowley continued once the face reappeared, “Guide this one back to where she belongs!”

Parker braced herself for the room to spin, for some wind, or a free fall. When nothing happened, she heard Crowley clear his throat.

“Once more!” he commanded, “Guide this one-“

“I cannot,” the Mirror interrupted.

What.

“The place where she belongs is nowhere in our world,” the Mirror said, “Her home does not exist.”

Parker’s face turned cold as her blood drained away. Her home did not exist? What did that even mean? Crowley frowned, a finger tapped his chin as he admitted, “This is quite unusual indeed. Tell me. Where exactly do you come from?”

Parker couldn’t help but feel like he was suddenly suspicious of her. As if she somehow had anything to do with this! “St. Augustine.”

The headmaster didn’t move. In fact, Parker swore he didn’t even blink underneath his mask. She tried again.

“I’m from St. Augustine,” she said, “Florida?”

Still, Crowley did not respond.

“In the United States?”

A beat. Two beats. Three.

“I have never heard of such a place,” Crowley said at last.

Something cold shot through Parker’s chest, “You’ve never heard of the United States?”

And that was when, for the first time since she awoke, Parker truly felt afraid.

Well, except for the stuff with the demon-cat. He was terrifying.

One important note! Diamond Crown Academy is used with permission from @phoenix-manga​, it is NOT my creation but it IS there’s!

This is a little slow, but it should pick up in the next chapter! Thanks for reading!

#crossyourheart-twff #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #dire crowley #grim #ace trappola #deuce spade #trey clover #cater diamond #riddle rosehearts #oc as mc #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech #jade leech #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #kalim al asim #jamil viper #floyd leech x oc #night raven college #nrc #leech twins #idia shroud #heartsabyul #octavinelle #savanaclaw #diasomnia #ramshackle #pomefiore

[hencethebravery]

TITLE: A Super Solid History of the “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy(s),” c. The Beginning (or There About) to Now-ish

SUMMARY: Human beings are absolute fools when it comes to love. It’s largely the reason why God, in all Her infinite wisdom, so cleverly decided that the beings in Her employ (and thereafter) would have nought to do with such petty, earthly matters. Not they had seen a memo or anything, but it merely seems obvious, does it not? (Ao3)

NOTES: Hello, hello! Here be my very first Good Omens fic. Please note that I have only just started the novel and so this is mostly a product of my having watched the series several times over.

. . .

+ Perhaps one of the cruelest tricks that God has ever played (and the list was indeed long) was in allowing angels to believe they were incapable of love. There is some amount of debate as to whether or not this was entirely by accident. She was a busy woman after all━perhaps that was why it, the question of whether or not angels were truly capable of love, had slipped through one of her metaphysical cracks (of which, admittedly, there were many). Those who managed to refrain from falling had quite an easier time believing this particular theory to be very much the case. A largely unspoken, slightly offended, “She would never,” followed by an affirmation of the belief in the long held assumption that they were above such things anyway, so really, what did it even matter, and can we please return to the task at hand?

Those who did happen to fall on the other hand, went in rather the opposite direction. In a somewhat convoluted fashion (they were technically still angels after all), demons argued that, no, celestial beings had never been capable of love, and, yes, this was done with abundant amounts of purpose. Not to mention the longstanding rumor that perhaps they were always capable, which served the purpose of both dividing and controlling the heavenly population by means of dispensing vague, unverified information. And to the more skeptical among them they might say, “Well, she’s God isn’t she? It’s not as if she lacks the ability.”

In point of fact, they were both wrong.

From the very moment they had begun their stint upon the Earth, Aziraphale had often pondered the nature of love. They had heard the rumors, of course, not that they held much affinity for such behavior. No good has ever come from a rumor, they thought, particularly when their mind was especially prone to recalling those terrible centuries of heavenly warfare. No taste for it━the whispering between nebulas; the speculating of who would be staying and who would be going. Aziraphale had often suspected that it was part of the reason why Crowley had ended up doing… what he did. That perhaps the assumption they would fall did more to provoke the descent than anything else. It was a shame, but it had been so long ago, and there didn’t seem to be much to do about it now, at any rate.

Regardless, the question of love as it pertained to earthly beings, that made rather a bit more sense. Not to the humans themselves of course, but to Aziraphale, and even to Crowley, the emotion was in fact easily explained and somewhat predictable when applied in almost every conceivable situation. Usually.

“There is no possible way that girl is worth so few goats.”

Aziraphale had never felt truly comfortable with early human rituals as they pertained to establishing their various relationships. The use of the dowry, for example, particularly when a father might value a herd of sheep over the life of his child (and at this point in time, rather too young, in their estimation), stirred something… untoward in their gut.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

Even then, Crowley had possessed the somewhat uncanny ability to speak the words that Aziraphale often thought but feared to say aloud, and while a part of them was grateful to hear them spoken, the other part was curious as to how their supposed enemy could be so well-attuned to their thoughts. Could be the point, I suppose, they thought, looking quickly away before Crowley could notice, to catch us unawares with their deceptive bouts of intimacy.

“Well there, Aziraphale, how ‘bout it? Can I count on you?”

“Oh, um, my apologies,” they stammered, unfamiliar fleshy fingers tangling together, “count on me for what?”

“Your discretion,” Crowley reiterated with an air of unrepentant espionage curling around the crown of their head, “she is worth far more goats than... that.”

Aziraphale envied the demon’s seemingly instinctive use of their own hands; tossed about in the air, waved vaguely in the direction of the unfortunate scene which played out before them. How did one use one’s own hands as a means of further emphasizing their point? Marvelous. They would have to spend more time working on that.

“ Aziraphale ,” Crowley repeated, one eyebrow raised smartly above their golden eye, “I know you can’t be a fan of this either.”

“Well, no,” they admitted, “but I am merely here to observe, and I did promise myself that last time would be the last time.”

Crowley hummed with a mildly infuriating tone of knowing skepticism (which Aziraphale didn’t much appreciate), “Alright, well, if you’re here to observe and all, I guess there’s nothing you’d be able to do about this.”

Aziraphale was, as it turned out, not quite quick enough in noting that, as a matter of fact, yes, they would be well within their rights to interfere when a demon was involved, but by that point Crowley had vanished from their side, and a slithering serpent had already begun making its way towards the feet of the large old bearded gentleman who had offered far too few goats for so young and bright a person.

. . .

It was right around the time human beings started getting rather more polite with their food that Aziraphale managed to develop a fair higher degree of grace with his own hands. Rather difficult to eat a steaming bowl of noodles without the use of… “chop-sticks.” Gracious, Gabriel would be horrified by the very idea. Not just by the “sullying of the vessel,” but the notion that one might do so with sticks? Unthinkable. Regardless, it all came fairly easy after that (the hands); throwing a pair of dice, holding a quill or a pair of knitting needles. After a time he discovered that he very much enjoyed the tactility━the variety of sensations felt on the surface of the skin he had been ordered to have.

He had also, around this time, begun to go about being referred to as “he.” Moreso to blend in than anything else. It was hard to pin down when exactly, but at some point humanity became far more reliant upon noting the difference. It made a certain kind of sense, he supposed, if they were going to insist upon such hierarchical-like systems to survive.

“They are Her creations after all,” Crowley reasoned, casually (almost certainly, casually) observing Aziraphale’s hands as they cupped his bowl of broth.

Aziraphale made a somewhat half-hearted attempt to cool his soup, lest the demon sitting across from him note his discomfort. In as polite a fashion as possible, so as not to rock any proverbial boats, he made the potentially ill-advised decision to be predictable and “play dumb.”

“And,” with a mild stutter, “and what is it you mean by that?”

“Oh, don’t be dense, Angel, you know exactly what I mean by that.”

He hated when their conversations took these kinds of turns. When their differences became undeniable and he was forced to reconcile with the truth of their circumstances: That all evidence to the contrary, the demon sitting across from him was supposed to be his mortal enemy━and for what? Some… pesky disagreement? An oversimplification to be sure, it must be conceded, but all the same, for… what, exactly? What had it all been for?

Having accepted the frequent refrain of Aziraphale’s silence in moments such as these, Crowley had returned to his own drink; a sharp yet sweet rice wine that Aziraphale had recommended. All the better for his own sanity, for his own return to his hot bowl of flavorful broth (with some kind of... fish base, in which large pieces of seaweed, accompanied by smaller cubes of to-fu floating alongside; absolutely fascinating, by the way), and unsettling, unwelcome questions that did little good for him to ponder over. But ponder he inevitably would, and he felt it prudent to admit that he had himself often wondered what might have happened if he had been more… present during the whole debacle (the war, as it were), or even if he had known Crowley at the time━would the outcome have been the same?

It doesn’t seem a particularly worthy avenue of thought to continue shambling down, especially if one were to consider the fact that it was all decided upon long, long ago; but as he sneaks a glance upwards, to the sight of a demon sat across from him at a table, taking careful sips of a rice wine he has no reason to drink (other than to acquiesce to Aziraphale’s own enthusiastic request) he does have to wonder, How bad can they really be?

It’s on this particular evening that Aziraphale and Crowley happen to “brush hands” for the very first time. Azirphale had, on occasion, been made aware of the concept, but had yet to fully partake in such an episode. Human beings seemed to make quite a to-do of the whole affair. He had borne witness to such things with his own eyes, and was rather struck by the intensity of something that seemed so bafflingly simple. But then again, that seemed to be the nature of love. At least as it pertained to human beings. Angels were immune to such things, clearly.

They had both reached for the bottle at the same time, is all. Nothing to fuss over. It was bound to happen sometime━trapped as they were in these rather cumbersome… things; adjusting to the speed and the space of it all. Moving with both certainty and uncertainty, holding things too tightly or not tightly enough. Silly, unreliable things. You had to wonder what She’d been thinking (not that Aziraphale would ever say so, of course).

The poets will speak of a spark, but Aziraphale didn’t much know about all of that. He could acknowledge a warmth, perhaps even a… tingle? In retrospect he might even recall a raising of the soft hairs along his arms. But really, there’s not much to say about it. Other than the fact that from the perspective of an outsider there was perhaps an unnatural pause. A stiffness that mortal beings struggled to find. Most living, physical beings required breath you see━they are frequently at the whims of their world; it is, quite nearly, impossible not to be in motion for any extended period of time. That was just the way She wanted it. The unrepentant motion. The force. The push forwards. Don’t stop, never stop. Until, you know, She says so.

These two beings, however, they weren’t human beings. They were created by God, of course, but they were relatively new to this “body,” business, and as such they still seemed to be encountering the unfortunate and inconvenient side effects. Touch being just one of many. Angels didn’t really touch in the same way humans did. Their natural forms failed to really give them the ability. They did in fact… collide with each other from time to time, but it was limitless. There was no barrier. If anything, it was a bit unpleasant━the lack of boundaries. Something about “seamless teamwork,” is what Aziraphale could recall from his discussions with Gabriel, or Michael. It was difficult to tell the difference sometimes. Regardless (or perhaps irregardless), human touch would appear to be quite a bit different. Because there was a pretty significant boundary, and for whatever reason that Aziraphale had yet to identify, it felt somehow more intimate than the traditional, angelic “brushing of hands,” as it were.

Crowley, in a rare moment of clumsiness, must have felt similarly because in his shock had pulled his hand back so swiftly that he managed to knock the half-empty bottle to the table with a soft snick, with a gentle, rhythmic dripping of the remaining wine to follow.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale muttered, moving quickly to right the bottle and dab at the developing stain. Crowley had stood rather abruptly after that, and not in the smooth, serpent-like manner that Aziraphale had become accustomed to, and with hardly a “so long,” turned and fled the scene. They would never mention that particular moment again, but Aziraphale, to his great, great consternation, did struggle to put it entirely out of his mind.

. . .

Oh, centuries pass. Not entirely unlike an unfathomably long sigh, the world continues as the world often does. As do the angels and the demons playing their parts in some… hip yet indescribably vague off-broadway production (with no discernible plot) written by and for an audience of precisely one. Maybe. Probably. Over the course of The Great Exhale (™), Aziraphale observes. He learns. Which should be obvious, as that was something of the job assigned to him in the first place, but he really takes a genuine interest in the task. So much so that he keenly starts to observe other observers, humans who frequently come to be called “authors.” Authors are truly outstanding observers in their own right; even going so far as to record their observations in impressively long works of art━in letters and in image, the authors and artists in question lend a helpful amount of weightiness to a position he had come to doubt on occasion.

“They see things in ways we can’t, you see,” Aziraphale had tried explaining to Gabriel during one unexpected (and painfully awkward) meeting. As he had come to expect, Gabriel listened with a look of mild confusion (and pity), but it didn’t bother Aziraphale all that much. He had his books. “You can tell the others there’s no reason to worry,” he continued quickly, hoping their conversation had reached its conclusion, “I have all we need right here.”

“No surprises, Aziraphale,” Gabriel warned in goodbye, slipping out the door, “and remember, they can’t see nearly as well as we can.”

“Well, we know that’s not true.”

The surprising (yet unmistakable) tenor of Crowley’s voice echoed from the darkness of Aziraphale’s office, which had been empty the last he checked. The angel in question could do little to prevent the slight hitch in his breathing, concerned with not only the unexpected appearance of a demon, but so quickly after the departure of an angel that would certainly see said demon immediately and irrevocably smited.

“That’s cheeky,” Aziraphale mumbled as Crowley sauntered out of the back room, his hair in its usual impeccable coif.

Shortly after Aziraphale acquired the bookshop, and not without some degree of honest ignorance as to why, Crowley did what he unfortunately happened to do best, and asked Aziraphale precisely what was the point of it all? And as had become usual practice, Aziraphale had a maddeningly difficult time coming up with an answer.

“You know, I’m not quite sure,” he finally admitted, “as soon as I do I shall let you know.”

“With bated breath, Angel,” Crowley had responded in distraction, his own nose lost in one of Aziraphale’s many books that he had seemingly no definitive explanation for.

. . .

The thing about Aziraphale’s exchange with the archangel Gabriel, that is the somewhat truncated version of an answer to Crowley’s “why,” was much longer and perhaps more blasphemous than Gabriel wanted to hear. But it was, possibly, exactly the kind of thing a demon (or rather, this demon) would want to hear.

Though Gabriel’s visit made for something of a stressful few hours, it was a particularly lovely day nonetheless. The leaves had begun changing their colors, but it was still pleasantly warm when standing in the sun, and should he feel just a touch too warm, a perfectly timed (some might say, miraculously timed) gust of wind would breeze on through the open window. Despite the fresh autumnal air, the smell of the books often lingered; the unmistakable scent of old paper and ink blending seamlessly with the decaying leaves which wound through the air and along the pavement.

“Do you happen to recall,” Aziraphale began, pouring Crowley an exquisitely steeped cup of Earl Grey, “when I first acquired this shop?”

In so much as Crowley could be predictable, he did, quite predictably, feign forgetfulness (not that angels or demons could forget very much by the very fact of their design). “Not certain,” he pondered theatrically, his sharp chin resting in the palm of his hand. “About what century was this, d’you think?”

Making the conscientious decision to refuse to participate in Crowley’s strange theatrics, Aziraphale continued, adjusting his vest as if it had suddenly shrunk while he was wearing it (which was certainly possible, he supposed). “Well, you had asked of me an admittedly fair question as to why I had purchased the shop at all, and I had told you I wasn’t quite certain as to why, and━”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted, taking a sip of his tea, “let’s hear it then.”

“Well,” he began, somewhat taken aback by Crowley’s abrupt demand for an answer he had recently pretended to have forgotten, “I━I do believe it might have something to do with… love. Of all things.”

Crowley’s nose did indeed wrinkle, as if a bad sort of smell had passed beneath it from having even heard the word, but he did have a thoughtful look. If Aziraphale had to describe it, he might find himself comparing it to a rather more subdued version of the look that had passed over Crawley’s face subsequent to the infrequently mentioned Flaming Sword Incident (™). An expression of pleased surprise which, in retrospect, betrayed a yearning optimism that most demons should not, under any circumstances, possess.

See, as it happened, Aziraphale had been doing a lot of thinking as of late. Not a great habit, a stern-looking Gabriel would often scold in his head, It’s all been figured out anyway, no need to go reinventing the wheel. As it happened, Gabriel was quite unimpressed with the invention of the wheel. No great feat, in his estimation. Not that he found humans to be impressive in most cases. Aziraphale couldn’t blame him, he supposed. Gabriel hadn’t been tasked with the job Aziraphale had━maybe if he had been, he would’ve arrived at similar conclusions (likely not so, but it was hard for Aziraphale to deny giving others the benefit of the doubt).

If you were in fact playing one of the two roles assigned to you (that of Angel or Demon), you might be privy to something of a hotly debated topic. Love. What was it? Who was capable of it? Was it a uniquely human trait? Was it freely available to all beings? And of course, as was the question in most things, how in the world was God involved in all this?

“Oh, Angel, not this old… chestnut,” Crowley nearly spat. Despite the darkened frames over his eyes, Aziraphale practically felt his rolling of them.

“Now, hold on,” he continued, hoping to cut Crowley off at some self-righteous pass he knew wasn’t far behind, “just… wait.”

Obviously, it was rather difficult for anyone to speculate with any degree of certainty the true machinations of God’s mind. Whether God had designed everything (angels included) with the capability to feel and/or express love in its entirety or not, Aziraphale had begun to wonder whether or not it very much mattered (the debate, that is). You had to start with the Assumption (™).

“Which is…?”

A self-fulfilling prophecy. An angel such as Aziraphale, assuming that it didn’t much matter (whether or not God had given angels the capacity for love), which was the general opinion of the heavenly chorus━or Crowley and other demons similarly assuming it was all a vile manipulation borne of boredom and the Almighty’s irrepressible urge to have a hand (metaphorically speaking) in just about everything. All this and still the usual refrain from both sides: Humans and love, they know not what they do. As if the heavenly (or not so heavenly) were, at the very least, immune.

“It’s the isolation you see,” Aziraphale managed to somewhat tangientally conclude, “the being… trapped, as it were. In their bodies.”

It was in that moment that Aziraphale worried whether or not he had gotten a tad too close to the Spilled Wine Incident (™) which had occurred several centuries earlier ( long unspoken of). Wondered if perhaps Crowlely had, in his own time, reached a similar conclusion, and was in fact thinking the same exact thing. That of angelic… mingling and the somewhat invasive ability to see into the heart of someone’s soul, versus the perfectly human ability to hardly know a person at all except perhaps through a brief brushing of hands. The arrangement of words on a page. The splashes of color on a canvas. That perhaps God, in all her… strange, bureaucratic dereliction of parental duty had in fact given human beings one single instance of superiority.

“Love.”

In a limit imposed by God, human beings could only love one another given truly uncomfortable degrees of uncertainty, and what angel or demon had ever taken such a risk?

In case you (the reader) were wondering, interrupted God with a very gentle boom (otherwise one’s head was quite likely to explode), it’s them. The two of them. Idiots.

“So, the bookshop,” Crowley spoke, filling the void of Aziraphale’s silence, “you wanted to know more about this… Risky Business?”

There was almost certainly the undercurrent of a joke in there that Aziraphale would require an explanation for at some other juncture, but for now he merely nodded. “I believe so,” smiling into his cup, “for how valuable are our observations if we’ve only ever made them through our own omniscience?”

Long, long story, very much shortened to a far more reasonable and linear degree: Since The Beginning, angels and demons had largely felt confident in their belief that they knew far more than the average human (Agnes Nutter aside, of course); and Aziraphale, in the midst of an occasional crisis as to who knew what and how well, had, with the acquisition of his quaint little bookshop been unconsciously soothed by a truth several centuries in the making. That angels, like humans, did not in fact know everything. That they were not necessarily immune to what it was they had supposed, and that, quite blessedly, there was just… so very much to know. Even after all this time. Pages and pages and pages of things to know.

“It’s a fair point,” Crowley answered with a brief smile of his own, “never much cared for all the…” A signature wave of his free hand, bereft of his teacup, “...business anyway.” Referring of course to the traditional forms of angelic and/or demonic communication, which funnily enough, neither gentleman had experienced for quite some time.

And it was, during this particular turn in the narrative (quite nearing its conclusion, I promise you), that an angel and a demon would brush hands for a historical second time. Historic for the existence of hands, the fact of their briefly touching again, and of course the reality of their circumstances (which Aziraphale had become rather tired of noting). They both reached for the teapot at the same moment you see, which, if one were a betting man (or woman), they might imagine a divine hand or two, or several, or however many hands God might prefer to have, in the mix. 

What made this particular time so different from the first was not only the fact of their very recent conversation, but the privilege of having several hundred years to have a good, rational think on the matter. So rational, in fact, that the urge to spring violently apart and knock something over seemed to be entirely absent.

“You know, I’ve often found it rather funny,” Aziraphale began quietly, painfully aware of where their fingers touched, “that despite my theory, you have often been quite good at mirroring my own thoughts.”

“Ironic,” Crowley agreed, “though you are rather easy to read I’m afraid.”

The beautiful thing about a brush is the secondary movements that might come after━particularly when the brush might provoke a pause. Most anything can occur in the midst of a pause. One might move a finger, for example, which in turn might elicit a not unpleasant shiver down one’s spine. There’s also the accompanying sound, which, for all his talk of humans being superior, it was a shame that their hearing was so dreadfully ordinary. It would be rather difficult for a human being to hear breath in the same way Aziraphale or Crowley might, sitting apart as they were. The intake and the exhale, all occurring within a brief, blissful pause which, along with their shared breath and the clinking of china, was accompanied by the continued autumnal breeze, and the scattering of dried foliage.

“I think,” Crowley continued, his hand moving, ever so slowly, to fully grasp Aziraphale’s own, “that we should consider testing your theory again.”

“Q-quite,” Aziraphale managed to answer, wonderfully overwhelmed by all the knowing (and marvelous not-knowing) occurring within the tangle of their hands. “I do enjoy a thorough undertaking of the scientific method.”

. . .

They were both wrong (the gossiping, angelic and demonic masses) because, in an infuriatingly on point God move, they were both partially right, weren’t they? Yes, of course, angels were always capable of love, but God was rather busy wasn’t She? She’s a deity just like any other━lots to do. Being in charge while also doing Her best to refrain from micromanaging, which She’d been told employees didn’t actually like, so can you really blame her for being a bit aloof sometimes? An honest mistake, really. Nothing quite so sinister as the demons might like to believe, nor so benevolent as the angels would like to think. And besides, She’d given them humanity, and She did love a good game of risk.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #@hencethewriter #y'all it has been #about 5 months #working on this garbage #also i wish tumblr #would fix it's fucking formatting #but we know that'll never happen so

[go-diane-winchester]

New question:  Why do I dislike Misha and his fans?

@super-who-loser asked the following question:

Hey, I’m not trying to come across as rude or anything I’m just wondering why you dislike Misha so much? I know Jared and Jensen have been there since the beginning and yes, there have been times where his character has been pretty useless but I don’t hate him and you’re being really mean to some Destiel shippers and like I know that it’s obviously never going to happen and Cockles is a big no no for me but I am confused about why you really don’t like him? I’m honestly just curious

Thank you for the question.  Let me point out before hand, that my irritation towards Misha has nothing to do with a ship.  I used to read destiel slash.  I used to like Cockles AU.  I don't ship wincest.  I ship AUs.  Its my favorite slash subgenre.  So no, this is not a ship argument.  Ship whatever you want, but mind your manners.  There are many things that I don't like about Misha.  However I am choosing to answer only from a SPN perspective because that is the primary way that we know him. 

MISHA AND SLASH FICTION

You may not realize this but Supernatural has been on the air for so long that it, plus its fan base, has experienced and initiated a few changes and trends.  In the space of fourteen years, filming became digitalized.  Social media, which was a fledgling thing back then, is the norm now [I have a disdain towards social media].  To put it into perspective, the child actors that played Asher, the Antichrist kid [I forget his name] and Little Lillith from the early seasons are likely in their 20s now.  Trends in entertainment changed.  Hollywood seems poised to implode upon itself, geographically, with major entertainers moving house to outlets like Netflix.  Netflix, not bound by geography, is likely to become the next Hollywood.  Slash, too, has undergone change.  And as far as SPN is concerned, that change has not been organic.  It has been by design and at the hands on Misha Collins. 

When Castiel came on board, there were already two prevalent pairings in Supernatural:  Wincest and Bobby/John.  There were other pairings.  But these were the most prevalent.   So Supernatural had slash fans already.  These fans were already aware of what slash fiction was, and they were a self-monitoring group.  They realized that the actors were aware of slash and didn't want it to be the focal point of their con appearances, because they didn't want the fans to think they were hinting at anything.  The fans understood and ever since, they have respected the actor's wishes.  When some fans liked Dean's interaction with Cas, they started shipping destiel. 

Destiel's old fans were just like all the other shippers.  They were treating destiel the way it should be treated.  Like a fantasy.  They did artwork and literature about it and kept it to themselves, as they should.  Misha never knew what slash fiction was, until he looked on Tumblr and found Destiel.  In his words, he used destiel to ''keep this gig for longer''.  He kept talking about destiel even though he was instructed not to, and pulling the LGBT into it, to make it look like destiel was about gay rights and queer art, when it isn't.  There are various kinds of destiel written by different people, from different perspectives, for different reasons.  That is true for all pairings everywhere.  By making destiel about the LGBT and waving the ''no shipping question'' rule in convention panels, he did two things. 

He turned destiel into a vehicle for LGBT activism.  Instead of being a pastime, now destiel is used to fight for LGBT representation, even though, many of the LGBT people within my own circle despise him for it.  Most of the people fighting for LGBT representation are actually quite homophobic and insulting in their thinking and logic.  And they are not even LGBT.  They are just a bunch of straight girls for whom, their fantasy has become a drug, and they wont stop until destiel becomes canon. 

He turned Jensen into the bad guy.  Misha spoke openly about slash.  Jensen chose not to.  He didn't want any part of it, and this is true about all the pairings he is a part of, not just destiel.  Because of his choice, Misha fans make negative comparisons between him and Misha, even saying that Jensen is a homophobe/biphobe because he doesn't want to talk about destiel or make it canon.  They ranted about it on social media and mass media picked up on it.  The University Of Sydney has an academic paper, under Celebrity Studies, dedicated to Jensen's supposed homophobia.  The destiel shippers are literally Jensen's reputation. 

Misha should have left slash alone.  Any fan of his will know that he overindulges the slash fans.  And the one thing that I noticed about slash fans, is that you don't give them excessive attention, or they will go completely crazy.  It doesn't matter what they slash.

Harry Styles and Liam Tomlinson learned that the hard way, because the Larry fans destroyed their friendships when they over-emphasized the fan servicing.  They did the fan servicing because Modest Management told them to, they  ended up hating their fans for what the fans became.  They have since severed ties with Modest.  Even on a day when one of them was mourning the loss of a parent, the fans who pushing the other guy so they could have a ship moment.  These two boys were very young when they entered the band.  Harry was 15 years old.  They had youthful ignorance to blame for making the decision to blindly follow the manager's instruction.  Misha cannot make any of those excuses. 

Misha got into the show at age 35.  He was already a grown man.  He was not a pivotal part of the show and therefore the only notes he was getting, was for his acting.  He wasn't being coached by anyone as to how he should engage his fans.  He was too small a fry for that.  In fact, no one was sure how long he would last on the show.  So these notes were only acting, including one telling him not to adlib his lines.  Whatever transpired between him and the destiel fans, happened because he orchestrated it. 

MISHA AND SUPERNATURAL

When Cas came on board, he was fun new character.  By the end of season 5, he had run his course on the show.  The show didn't need his character because [and as a writer I understand this] the presence of Castiel hampered the progress of the story.  Sera Gamble dealt with that frustration during her tenure as showrunner.  Cas was an angel.  If he was an ally to the boys, the boys should have a more powerful nemesis.  After all, they have an angel buddy to help them.  Unfortunately, they couldn't keep coming up with more and more powerful bad guys and negative elements, especially on a show where the biggest bad guy, the devil itself, and the worst case scenario [the apocalypse] has already been dealt with.  

During 6 and 7, they had Soulless Sam, Sam's wall, the leviathans, Metatron, the demons, Crowley, Dick Roman and even the Alphas, if I am not mistaken.  So many bad guys and bad situations, because the good guys had a powerful angel.  They could make him lose his power, so he wont be such a powerful ally.  And they did exactly that.  But Misha has very few skills to show off.  Imagine if Osric was Cas.  Even without power, he would still be able to taekwondo the stuffing out of bad guys.  He wouldn't be useless.  Cas, without his grace, didn't help the story along.  He didn't bring something extra to the story.  He was pointless.  So they made him a bad guy and for the first time in a long time, Cas was pivotal to the story.    

Eventually, she got fed up of shoehorning him into the script and just did away with the character.  But, rumor has it that Singer brought him back.  And he was welcome by the worst Q score measurement ever.  That would tell you that he was not appreciated as an actor by everyone, just his shipping and cult fans.  Since then, Cas has done nothing important in the script until recently where he made a deal for Jack.  Other than that, he has been an add on, and that is Misha's fault.  Every time Jensen and Misha did a scene, Misha would overemphasize the destiel aspect, either via social media or during his panels.  And eventually Jensen got fed up and cut the scenes short.  Basically, Misha shot himself in the foot.  The DeanCas fan service made for annoying television for people who didn't want to deal with shippy nonsense while they were watching their favorite show. 

If they didn't add anything shipping related, the hellers screamed.  If they did, the hellers screamed canon and queer baiting.  Misha's interference did that.  All he had to do was stop talking, and he couldn't do that, because his fan base will lose interest in him.  In order to keep that one group of militants, Misha isolated all other fans and potential fans. 

MISHA AND THE DESTIEL FANS

Misha's fan have sent Jensen various death threats, the receipts of which are on my blog.  A few days back, a heller was setting Jensen's picture on fire because Misha tweeted a lie that there will be a turning point for Dean and Cas in the upcoming episode.  So even though Misha was the guilty party, this psycho is punishing Jensen.  These fans have also discussed kidnapping Jared's children.  When they bully Jensen and Jared, they tag Misha in many of the tweets.  Misha randomly does Q and A sessions based on his tweets, but he has never seen a single threat and bullying remark??.....in ten years??.....really??  Nah, I am not buying that.  Frankly, I think the man just doesn't care.  Acknowledging them will mean he will have to stop them which means he will eventually have to stop peddling destiel which means he will not have an audience which means SPN will kick him right out.  The funny thing is, I think he is wrong.  He might actually have more fans if he didn't alienate them with his special brand of shippy vulgarity.  I could fill a page with all the receipts of the death threats.  And Jensen doesn't deserve that. 

I also call out destiel shippers on Tumblr so that everyone else can block the problematic ones.  Have you noticed how many names there are for the destiel pairing?  DeanCas, CasDean, DeanxCastiel and recently I discovered Dastiel.  Have you ever wondered why?  It is because they don't want you to block them.  If you filter destiel, they will use another name.  Why is that?  That is not a ship.  That's a cult.  They want to indoctrinate.  They tag destiel in other fandom names.  They are trying to create more fans for a ship.  That is why I call out specific people.  Especially the ones that tag AKF in their destiel garbage.  I have no issues with the good shippers.  I have done posts about them.  The bad ones might do something criminal one day, which is why they bother me. 

This answer, only just scratches the surface.  I am not telling you everything.  I am not telling you about Jared, Robert Berens, Kim, Briana, Travis, Sera Gamble, Ben Edlund, Ty Olsson etc.  I am just telling you the brief basics.  I hope this answers your question.  Have a nice day.  Apologies for the inevitable typos.

#misha #jensen ackles #destiel #cockles #jenmish #jensen and misha #deancas #casdean #dean x castiel #castiel #cas #bi dean #dean is bi #dean and cas #jenmisheel #dean winchester #destiel headcanon #jdvm #misha collins #sam winchester #sam and dean #jensen and jared #wincest #supernatural #jared padalecki #padackles #performing dean #sabriel #sammy winchester #j2

[they-handed-me-the-moon]

Okay I’m gonna do the thing and just get my complaints with the show out, if you’re not interested in reading criticisms (half of which are just being attached to the way things were in the book) please ignore this, I’m going to say all sorts of nice things in a minute. Also please don’t rb this one. If we’ve talked before feel free to comment or disagree, if we haven’t please don’t just this once—I’m usually happy to have people jump off things, but I just got back and I’m not in the mood to start any Discussions just now. Cool thanks!

1. I’m not saying that the show going in for more angst and making some of the central characters more insecure and making Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship more tenuous and uncertain was *objectively* the wrong choice. I mean I could argue that it was but ultimately it’s probably more just different than right or wrong. But it did make me realize how much I had appreciated having a fandom that was built around material that for all its angst potential (which I also enjoyed) was so fundamentally cozy.

2. Yes I am of course going to take issue with Anathema and Newt. For the record I found Newt notably more likable in the show than the book, even if watching Anathema have sex with a guy she had shown no interest in just because a book told her to was even more uncomfortable than reading it. And there was more of a sense of mutuality in the show—partly because of Adria Arjona playing Anathema as genuinely liking and being charmed by Newt at times, and partly because Newt actually does offer her emotional support and contributes to decision-making at several points instead of only with the “do you want to be a descendent for the rest of your life” line at the end. And that’s nice—mutuality in a relationship is important! The lack of it is one of my biggest issues with their relationship in the book! What really gets to me here is that they got to that mutuality not through strengthening Newt’s character but by weakening Anathema’s—by making her more uncertain and insecure so that Newt could sweep in to support her. And look—obviously there’s nothing wrong with female characters having insecurities and needing support, like everyone does. But we’ve got an awful shortage of weird-looking female characters who swagger around with breadknives and bucketloads of well-earned confidence and decide to try and stop the apocalypse without being told because it’s worth a shot, and the fact that they seem to have undercut her confidence and independence specifically so that she would have to lean on the sub-par dude she’s saddled with as a love-interest reeeally rubs me the wrong way. (Shoutout to my brother for pinpointing this before I was able figure out exactly what was bothering me).

3. Okay and while I’m on the topic of Anathema, the way they played up the whole ‘professional descendent’ thing? Hmmmm, not a fan. I think I kinda get why they did it, (it makes her fit more neatly into the ‘people breaking out of their prescribed roles’ theme), but they make it into a sort of ‘chosen one’ storyline where she was ‘fated’ to help stop the end of the world, which is fine, I guess? But to me one of the central appeals of the book is a motley crew motivated not by duty or predestination but instead by love of the earth and plain old selfish, stubborn attachment to the lives they had built there going ‘okay realistically there is no way we, of all people, can keep the world from ending, but I guess we’re just gonna try anyway!!!’ Making Anathema some sort of prophesied savior sort of removed her from that narrative, and reduced the strength of that narrative thread overall.

4. Oh and I think I’m in the minority here but I also did not enjoy the kids getting stabby with the horsepeople. There were some great elements to the scene for sure, but that just didn’t feel good to me. The children felt a little more ... protected from enacting that kind of violence in the book, and while there could be legitimate reason for changing it, on a thematic level it also took attention away from the whole ‘power of human belief’ thing, so it felt unnecessary and weaker as well as harsher.

5. I’m not ... actually particularly bothered by any of the changes to Aziraphale? I mean don’t get me wrong I do miss him being a much more overt bastard who is comfortable in his own skin, who collects blasphemous Bibles and is rude to  customers and still walks around with his sanctimonious Holier Than Thou convictions because he is THE WORST. But tv Aziraphale is still a proper bastard, even if you’ve got to pay attention a bit more to see it, and I do rather like the way his softness is in itself framed as a rebellion against Heaven. So yeah, I think the changes they made worked and were compelling, and I don’t really have comprehensive complaints about his character. HOWEVER I did not like him indirectly killing the executioner. Having a scene where he indirectly but intentionally causes a death was a good idea in concept, but to my mind it was the wrong circumstances, wrong target, and wrong tone for the scene. Still, it doesn’t bother me that much because it just felt SO off that it feels kinda laughable and my mind just cheerily decided that the filmmakers were misinformed and that did not actually happen.

6. Crowley’s changes I’m having a bit of a harder time reconciling myself to, although I’m having a bit of a hard time pinpointing why? Some of the changes are of the ‘I don’t prefer the change but that’s more personal preference and attachment to my initial vision of the character than critique’ variety, like the ways in which his fear manifests less as anxiety and more as anger in the show. But if I had one central complaint (and this might sound weird at first) I think it would be the way that his world is reduced to Aziraphale. And okay, let me explain—I’m not complaining that their relationship was more emphasized in the show, which I actually loved, and also this is probably a bit hypocritical coming from me when 80% of my posts are about their relationship. The thing is, I find romances more interesting and compelling and moving when both parties have defined personalities and interests and attachments and character arcs outside of one another. And Aziraphale did have that—arguably he has a more defined and complete arc than in the book, in fact. And Crowley definitely has a defined personality. But besides the Bently, what does he love? What are his interests? How does he feel about humanity and the earth? Why does he prefer the earth to hell beyond ‘hell sucks’? How does he feel about his fellow demons? Why does he want to save the earth? Does he care about saving the earth, or is it really only about saving and being with Aziraphale? Idk, I’m exaggerating a bit here, and certain answers to these questions can definitely  be inferred. But I miss the Crowley who loves humanity in all its mess, who finds in it an alternative to the restrictive roles demanded by heaven and hell alike, and who has his own arc of going from knowing that he is harming humanity but not doing anything about it, to facing Satan with a tire iron because Aziraphale convinces him to face up to the harm he has caused and do something about it, even if the odds are impossible.

7. I cannot BELIEVE they took out Tim.

8. And I’m running out of steam here so I’m not fully going into it, but it did feel like the show lost a bit of its sense of the earth in all its disastrous glory. I mean, there are plenty of stories that compare Heaven and Hell, but part of what set Good Omens apart for me was the particular way it triangulates Heaven vs Hell vs earth. I haven’t read enough similar fiction to know if it does this in an especially complex or unique way, but what comes of it is this gloriously defiant optimism. The show goes further into Heaven vs Hell (which I enjoyed) but it felt to me as if the earth was a little (although certainly not entirely) lost in the mix.

9. Also definitely not a fan on how hard Crowley pushes for child murder as long as he’s not the one doing it, but so far as I’ve seen the fandom has chosen to collectively forget those lines in favor of ‘you can’t kill kids,’ ‘I’m not personally up for killing kids,’ and THE LULLABY, so I’m the end those lines aren’t anything like the disaster they could have been. Good going, folks.

10. There are of course big-picture things like racism and sexism and homophobia that are. there in varying degrees. Not necessarily more than average, though that’s an even more depressing sentence. But for some of those things I’m not the best person to dissect them, and for the rest I’m tired and I don’t wanna.

11. In conclusion I have a pithy line that encapsulates what I’m having a hard time adjusting to in the show, but I’m pretty sure the first clause would annoy one half of the fandom, and the second clause would annoy the other half, so I’m gonna to cut my losses and shut up now.

#don't rb #if people start reblogging this i will just delete it #also this is very long i don't actually expect people to read this #i'm just exorcising my annoyances all at once #because talking about them day-to-day makes me anxious

[berniesrevolution]

On June 26, few people outside New York’s 14th Congressional District knew who Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was. But by the next day, when news spread that she’d toppled her opponent, 10-term Representative Joseph Crowley, in the Democratic congressional primary, she was a national celebrity. She appeared on CNN, Meet the Press, PBS’s Firing Line, The Late Show With Stephen Colbert, The Daily Show, and MSNBC as the fresh face of a revived American left. Her lip color of choice—Stila Stay All Day Liquid Lipstick in Beso—sold out in several stores.

When she appeared a few weeks later at a rally near Wall Street’s Charging Bull statue in Lower Manhattan to endorse Zephyr Teachout, who was seeking the Democratic nomination to become New York’s next attorney general, a large crowd cheered—many of them clearly there to catch a glimpse of Ocasio-Cortez, not the candidate she was supporting.

Photographers—paparazzi?—shouted out, “Alex! Alexandria! Over here!” An “I Love NYC” tour bus pulled up alongside the statue. “Hey, I know her! That’s her!” yelled a guy in a baseball cap, standing and pointing from the bus’s top deck. Dozens of tourists began frantically snapping photos of the young woman whose face, if not name, they recognized—or assumed they did. Ocasio-Cortez waved, flashed a toothy grin, and shouted, “Vote for Zephyr Teachout in September!” Then she was hustled away by a staffer, to a chorus of disappointed groans. “Sorry, guys,” she said, sounding genuinely regretful. “I gotta go!”

Since the hectic days following her primary win, Ocasio-Cortez has only gained momentum. In November, she will face her Republican opponent, Anthony Pappas, in the general election. She’s expected to win, which would make her the youngest woman in Congress come January. Still, in spite of her star power, her staff and volunteers stress that Ocasio-Cortez is part of a movement in which no individual deserves sole credit. They emphasize building community and sharing power as the keys to an effective progressive movement.

Crucially, these supporters insist that the movement’s work does not end with an election. Alexandra Rojas, 23, a founding member of Brand New Congress and the executive director of Justice Democrats—two groups that supported Ocasio-Cortez—told me that the candidates her organization endorses know that it’s “not just about one election, but building a movement and helping one another.” Jeff Latzer, a campaign volunteer, praised Ocasio-Cortez’s skill in reaching out to the grassroots: “Alexandria is the perfect combination of an extremely grounded person who did not set out to get involved in politics, but just has this amazing ability to communicate issues for people on a level they can relate to.” Or as Naureen Akhter, Ocasio-Cortez’s 31-year-old director of organizing, put it: “It might sound corny, but she really does feel like one of us.”

Barring any last-minute surprises, Ocasio-Cortez won’t be the plucky wunderkind of the insurgent left much longer; she’ll be a sitting member of Congress instead. Given the pressures she’ll face from Republicans and establishment Democrats, it’s worth asking how she will square her democratic-socialist ideals with the politics of Washington. But it will also be hard for the grassroots groups that helped drive her candidacy to keep from being eclipsed in the political spotlight when the candidate herself is so extraordinary. That’s why members of the movement that got her elected must figure out how to support Ocasio-Cortez in achieving their progressive policy aims—while also holding her accountable for doing so.

Ocasio-Cortez’s life has changed dramatically since the primary. Forget free time, or even the luxury of scheduling interviews well in advance: It took three canceled meetings over the course of the summer before Jeff Latzer, my contact on her campaign, was able to slot me in. On the morning of our interview, he asked me to change the location and push back the time by an hour, because “she tries really hard not to be late.” And when we finally convened, Ocasio-Cortez was, in fact, 15 minutes late—though profusely apologetic about it—and arrived looking chic but tired, her hair pulled back tightly beneath wire-framed glasses.

Ocasio-Cortez’s demeanor was as warm as when I’d met her before the primary, if slightly more guarded. Over the past three months, she’d campaigned hard for several candidates, with mixed results. She stumped for Abdul El-Sayed (running for the governor’s seat in Michigan), Fayrouz Saad and Rashida Tlaib (for congressional seats in Michigan), Cori Bush (in Missouri), Kaniela Ing (in Hawaii), and Brent Welder and James Thompson (in Kansas). Tlaib and Thompson won, and Tlaib is now poised to become the first Muslim woman in Congress. Together, she and Ocasio-Cortez will also represent the Democratic Socialists of America on the federal level.

But before she heads south, Ocasio-Cortez says she wants to “get back to the basics” of working with the people in her district, which spans parts of two New York City boroughs: Queens and the Bronx. Before June, she points out, the only power structure in both places was “the machine.” That’s why she and her team are focused on building relationships with progressive community groups and leaders in her district. “People who were ‘just’ organizers two months ago are now very formidable community figures,” she explains, and “we’ve been keeping our ear to the ground.” Jake DeGroot, the 32-year-old deputy operations director for the campaign, told me they are corralling “people already doing organizing work: tenants, bodegas, food-cart workers. We want to [show] them this campaign is here to hear from them and promote their interests.”

Two key organizations to emerge from the 2016 Democratic presidential primaries, Brand New Congress and Justice Democrats, have been crucial to Ocasio-Cortez’s success. Brand New Congress, which recruited her to run, requires its candidates to reject money from corporate PACs and lobbyists. Justice Democrats advocates for a federal jobs guarantee, single-payer health care, and the abolition of the Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency (ICE). The groups share many of the same principles but employ different strategies.

While much of their energy comes from Bernie Sanders supporters with previous campaign experience, they are also attracting young people just getting involved in politics as well as people who supported Hillary Clinton but believe the Democratic Party should move more to the left. Ocasio-Cortez tells me she plans to join the Congressional Progressive Caucus, the Medicare for All Caucus, and “quite a few others.” In addition to her well-known talking points—single-payer health care, climate justice, criminal-justice reform, immigrant justice, rejecting corporate money, and taking on the fossil-fuel lobby—“we’re starting to see a little more of a galvanized anti-war movement [in the House], and folks like Barbara Lee have really led the way on that.”

(Continue Reading)

#politics #the left #alexandria ocasio-cortez #The Nation #progressive #progressive movement #DSA #democratic socialists of america #justice democrats #brand new congress #democratic socialism

[tipsycad147]

Wicca questions answered: Just the facts about Wicca and Paganism

by Michelle Gruben

Curious about Wicca and Paganism? You’re certainly not alone! In my almost 20 years as a practicing Pagan, I’ve met lots of people who want to learn more about this small-ish, little-understood religion. Some are interested in joining Wicca (or another Pagan tradition). Some just want to better understand their Pagan friends and neighbors.

Like many Pagans, I started my training under Wiccan teacher before moving onto my own personal path. I’m not a Wiccan myself, but I attend Wiccan rituals and count many Wiccan folks among my friend. This article is my attempt to answer some of the most common questions about Wicca, Paganism, and the relationships between the two forms of belief.

What is the difference between Wicca and Paganism?

When I tell someone that I’m Pagan, a typical response is, “Oh, so you’re Wiccan?” Wiccan and Pagan mean the same thing to a lot of people. They’re not synonymous, but there is quite a bit of overlap between people who identify as Wiccan and as Pagan.

Simply put, all Wiccans are Pagans, but not all Pagans are Wiccans. Wicca is a denomination or subset of Paganism. Many other religions have branches or denominations. If someone tells you that they are Presbyterian, you can safely assume that they are also Christian. But if someone tells you they are Christian, they may or may not be Presbyterian. The case is similar for Wicca and Paganism.

Wicca is probably the best-known of all modern Pagan religions, but there are many others. Broadly speaking, anyone who believes in more than one god can be classified as Pagan. Norse Heathens, Classical reconstructionists, and Kemetic (Egyptian) Pagans are just a few of the characters you may encounter in Pagan communities. Some people even argue that Hindus are Pagan—in which case, Paganism sheds its minority status among the world’s major religions.

Do all Wiccans practice witchcraft?

Some Wiccans practice witchcraft—perhaps most. But practicing witchcraft is not a requirement of the Wiccan religion. Also, not everyone who practices witchcraft is Wiccan.

Witchcraft is a broad term for a variety of practices, including spellcasting, divination, spirit communication, trance journeying, and many more. Some form of witchcraft has occurred in every known civilization since the beginning of recorded history.

At its heart, witchcraft is about using interactions with the unseen world to effect change on the mundane world. The Witch’s power comes from within his or herself, from Nature, or from allied gods or spirits. Witchcraft may be practiced or part of a religion, or independently—even by non-religious persons. Witchcraft is a morally neutral term. It encompasses hexes and curses as well as benevolent and healing magick.

Wicca teaches that every man and woman has the power to become a Witch through study and practice. Many people are attracted to Wicca because of an interest in witchcraft. I’d venture—based on purely anecdotal evidence, of course—that most Wiccans do practice some form of witchcraft.

However, the core rites of Wicca are devotional practices that are not necessarily witchcraft. Wicca emphasizes respect for Nature, connection with the Gods and ancestors, and ethical behavior over psychic training. Learning spellwork and divination are really a secondary part of most Wiccan paths.

Here’s where it gets complicated. Both “Wicca” and “witch” share the same linguistic root word, an old Anglo-Saxon term meaning “wise one.” Any adherent of Wicca may called herself a Witch—whether or not she practices witchcraft. (A male Wiccan is also called a Witch.) Some Wiccans capitalize the word “Witch” to emphasize that it is a religious affiliation, not just a description of their behavior.

Where did Wicca come from?

Wicca was first named and described by an Englishman named Gerald Gardner. In the 1930s and 1940s, Gardner began assembling a group of practicing Witches into what ultimately became the Bricket Wood Coven. He initiated several priestesses, including High Priestess Doreen Valiente, who collaborated with Gardner to develop the Wiccan liturgy.

Gardner wrote down the main rituals of Wicca in his published books, and in a collection of private papers now known as the Gardnerian Book of Shadows. Gardner claimed that his knowledge of the Wiccan tradition came from a group of witches known as the New Forest coven. He claimed to have been initiated into a British tradition of witchcraft stretching back to pre-Christian times. The tradition he called Wicca had supposedly been alive for centuries, kept underground by Britain’s anti-witchcraft law.

Some people buy this explanation, while some people believe that Gardner fabricated or embellished his stories about the New Forest coven. There is very little evidence for an unbroken tradition of British witchcraft before the 1930s. And it’s clear that the Gardnerian corpus is heavily influenced by English Freemasonry, the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, the field of cultural anthropology, and the famous magician Aleister Crowley (of whom Gardner was an associate).

Even if there’s no truth at all to Gardner’s claims of an ancient tradition, Wicca is now around 80 years old, at least, with many branches and offshoots. The oldest branch of Wicca is called Gardnerian Wicca. Gardnerians attempt to follow Gardner’s rituals and instructions as near as possible to how they were written down. Some Gardnerian groups claim a lineage stretching across a chain of initiations to Gardner himself.

Despite Gardner’s historical importance in the modern witchcraft revival, he does not occupy a lofty position in the Wiccan belief system. Wicca has no holy book, no prophets, and no written dogma. Gardner’s title within Wicca is simply “Witch”—the same as any other Wiccan initiate.

What do Wiccans believe?

Wiccan beliefs are so diverse that any list of Wiccan beliefs is certain to be incomplete. The following is my attempt to summarize Wiccan tenets in a few paragraphs:

Central to Wiccan beliefs is a reverence for nature. The Wiccan liturgical calendar is based on the movement of the sun and moon. Wiccan observe eight seasonal rites based on the annual cycle of the sun. They are called Sabbats, and are evenly distributed throughout the solar year. There are also thirteen Esbats per year, and these coincide with the lunar cycles.

Wiccan believe that human beings are not a separate creation, but an integral part of Nature. Wicca emphasizes connection with the plant and animal kingdoms, and with our human ancestors. Wiccans revere the life-giving power of the sun, the generative energy of sex, and the cycles of death and birth. Ritual offerings of food and beverage underscore our dependence on the gifts of nature. Future anthropologists might describe Wicca as a solar fertility religion—but Wiccans will certainly find that hopelessly reductive.

The central Wiccan deity is a Goddess, who may go by many different names. She is often described as a trinity—the Maiden, Mother, and Crone. In Her aspect as Maiden, the Goddess takes a male consort and together they bring forth life. In some versions of Wicca, the God and Goddess are co-equal. In others, the Goddess is clearly primary. The story of the courtship of the God and Goddess, His death, and His subsequent rebirth, is a solar myth tied to the Wheel of the Year.

Wicca has few behavioral codes. Wiccans eschew the concept of sin, instead focusing on ethical behavior and personal responsibility. The Wiccan “Rule of Three” posits that any good or harm released into the world will come back to the sender threefold. Whether they literally believe in the Rule of Three or not, Wiccans strive to heal the world, to grow in wisdom, and to live without harming others.

The Wiccan Rede, “An it harm none, do what ye will,” is sometimes cited as Wicca’s only binding piece of scripture. Not that these eight words are simple to understand. Wiccans can get into heated debates about what exactly is forbidden by the words “harm none.” And attempting to discover and follow one’s will is a magickal quest that can take a lifetime (or several).

While we’re on the topic, Wiccans also have varied beliefs about life after death. Some believe in reincarnation, others don’t. Some Wiccans speak of a heaven called the Summerland, celestial voyages, or journeys through the lands of Faery. (Wiccans don’t accept the concept of Hell or eternal punishment.) Some Wiccans claim to communicate with departed relatives and other spirits, while others don’t believe in the survival of individual consciousness after death.

All of this ambiguity makes Wiccan funerals veeeeerrry interesting. A “reunion with the Mother Goddess” may be the literal hope of the departed person, or just a poetic description of a dirt nap. It’s probably fair to say that Wiccans aren’t that fixated on the afterlife, because it can’t be known for certain. Most focus instead on honoring the gift of life while they’re alive.

Is Wicca an ancient religion? Is Paganism?

This is a question that is not easily answered. It is sure to spark a debate among any gathering of Pagans.

There is a certain perception that an older religion is somehow more legitimate than one that was developed more recently. Right or wrong, this bias affects the religious paths people choose to follow.

Interest in Wicca peaked in the late 1990s, and is now on the decline—that is, according to internet traffic statistics. The internet itself is probably to blame. As the 20th-century origins of Wicca have become more widely known, Pagans have tended to seek out other paths. It’s seen as more credible to be a member of a “real” ancient religion. Or at least, one in which ancient texts are available.

The truth is, there are very few (if any) unbroken occult traditions in the West. We have endured Inquisitions, Enlightenments, Dark Ages, and militant monotheism so widespread it has obscured any legacy of traditional witchcraft. (Except for a few Sicilian grandmas and, perhaps—if we’re feeling generous—a secret coven tucked away in southern England.) Any Western Pagan tradition that claims a continuous lineage of hundreds of years should be regarded with extreme skepticism. Some writers use the term “Neo-Paganism” to make it clear that contemporary Paganism is a revival and not a continuous tradition with the distant past.

Does that mean Neo-Paganism is a modern invention? Not necessarily. Many Pagan practices and beliefs are very old, even if the lineage is not. Pagans hold sacred the same things that would have moved our Stone Age ancestors: The movement of the sun and moon, the cycles of the seasons, the beauty of the natural world, sex, death, and harvest.

Some Pagan rites are inspired by centuries-old practices that we have records of. Some have to be completely re-imagined. The fairest way to describe Neo-Paganism might be to call it a modern religion with ancient roots.

Does Wicca require initiation? Is self-initiation allowed?

Wiccans believe that embracing the calling of a Witch is a personal choice. It cannot be simply inherited or conferred by another person. The power of the Witch is a birthright, but it must be claimed.

Dedication refers to the act of dedicating oneself to a path of Wiccan study. This “trial period” can last any length of time, while a person decides if Wicca is right for them. (A year and a day is the traditional interval.) Initiation is the more formal rite of passage, and involves full commitment to the path of the Witch.

Many Wiccans participate in a dedication ceremony sometime during their journey. Each coven, or group of Witches, may set their own requirements for dedication or initiation. For solitary Wiccans—those who practice without a coven—self-dedication is the norm.

Wiccans disagree on whether self-initiation “counts” as a true initiation. Not all branches of Wicca allow self-initiation—though most Wiccans would grant that it is permissible if a suitable teacher cannot be found. In formal Wiccan traditions, there is a three-degree system, probably inspired by the Masonic degree system. The aspirant must be initiated by an existing priest or priestess. Once the candidate rises to the rank of third degree (High Priest or High Priestess), he or she is eligible to initiate others or to “hive” (form a new coven).

Many covens have secret teachings that are available only to initiates who have reach a certain rank. (As you progress through the degrees, more of the coven’s knowledge is revealed to you.) Others are more open to non-initiates, and some even host rituals for the public. You don’t need to be initiated to participate in an open Wiccan ritual.

What are some of the symbols of Wicca?

The most familiar symbol of Wicca is the pentagram, or five-pointed star.  In Wicca, the pentagram represents the four elements (Earth, Air, Fire, and Water) surmounted by Spirit. The pentagram is also a symbol of the microcosm, the human being. Surrounded by a circle, it is called a pentacle and stands for completeness, balance, and perfection.

The pentagram is used as both a symbol of faith and a protective seal. The Wiccan pentagram is usually drawn upright, with the single point at the top. (Despite its frequent appearances in horror movies, the Wiccan pentagram is not a symbol of evil or Satanism.) Many Wiccans identify themselves with a pentagram necklace or tattoo. There are different versions of the pentagram, from the very simple to the very elaborate.

The triple moon is another symbol of Wicca that you may encounter. It is a circle (the full moon) with a waxing and waning crescent, one on either side. The triple moon symbolizes the Triple Goddess, the Maiden, Mother, and Crone. The lunar cycle, in Wicca, is evocative of the cycles of life, death, and birth.

The triquetra and triskele are Celtic symbols dating to pre-Christian times. Wiccans have adopted them, though some Celtic Christians use them, too. Both symbols represent trinities, the cycles of life, and eternity. (The triskele is a triple spiral, and the triquetra is a three-cornered knot. Read more about their similarities and differences.)

The eight-spoked wheel stands for the Wheel of the Year, and the eight Wiccan Sabbats on the Pagan calendar. The eight-pointed star is a solar symbol dating back to ancient Sumer. Sometimes the symbol will have a solar circle in the center, representing the constancy of Earth’s sun.

The spiral Goddess is usually shown nude with her arms stretched over her head. A spiral at Her belly represents Her infinite power of creation. The faceless, bare-breasted goddess is an echo of the fertility objects that have been found at many archeological sites around the world.

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/7-questions-about-wicca-and-paganism

[danvssomethingorother]

@thatvinypotato

Past: The moon 

It has been said many times that things are not always as they seem, and in the influence of the Moon this axiom is particularly true.  In the moonlight, things that are benevolent during the day can suddenly seem dangerous and malicious.  The very term "moonlight" is misleading because the Moon does not emit light of its own, it simply reflects the light of the Sun.  Some people even claim to see the face of a man on the Moon's cratered surface, though of course such a thing is impossible and only an illusion.  A lot of people who look for that face in the Moon know it could not be there, but they look nonetheless.

This card is one of the few Major Arcana with important animal symbolism, and with no human figures in the majority of cases.  The Rider-Waite card shows a wolf and a dog; two members of the same genus, but the first is wild and the second has been domesticated.  Both of them are shown howling at the Moon, however, and if a human were present in this scene he would probably be affected somehow too.  Regardless of your place in the hierarchy of society or of evolution, you are still susceptible to illusions and deception.  The Moon shines the same light down on everyone, though what you see when that light reaches your eyes depends on who you are, not on what you see.

In ancient religions the Moon deity was often a Goddess with ties to female fertility, because there was a visible correlation between the cycle of the Moon and the female menstrual cycle.  While this association is still valid, the Moon of the Tarot tends to deal with fertility of imagination rather than fertility of body.  The crayfish shown regularly on Moon cards is a sign of the emerging subconscious and its influence over the conscious mind, and for a mind closed to the messages of its subconscious, there can be a lot of illusion and deceptions to face.  You can no longer tell what is real and what is just a manifestation of your fears and desires.

The ordeal of the Moon is the last challenge posed by the Major Arcana, in which you must travel in the dark, not knowing for sure if your path is the right one.  There is no sunlight to guide you, no distant landmark in the hills to direct your steps, no one to travel alongside.  This is a journey that must be made alone, in darkness and without a map or a compass.  You must learn to rely on your own inner light to lead you along the true path. Any hesitation, any doubt, and that light will be extinguished forever.  But if you believe, your light will shine forever, as brightly as the sun that will inevitably rise once this night has passed.

The Moon's appearance in a reading almost always means that something is not as it appears to be, and that vigilance and perception will be necessary to find that which is hidden before it is too late.  In a generally good reading the Moon shows that not all is as wonderful as you would think.  You may be idealizing the sitatuion, and ignoring the fact that potential for failure exists among success.  A negative reading that includes the Moon often shows that you are letting your imagination run away with you, and that things are not nearly as bad as they seem.  In both cases you must open your eyes and see what it really going on.

This card can also show times when you are not sure of your destination, or even of the path you are travelling - but you travel nonetheless.  It's quite possible that you have lost your way, and are stumbling around in the dark. If you wait until the sun rises again the path may have changed and the opportunity could have been lost.  So what should you do?  The Moon is a card of intuition and psychic forces, so let go of your conscious mental blocks and let your intuition guide you.  Not only will the way forward be revealed, but in a lot of cases you will learn lessons about yourself that will be valuable in later journeys.

Present: The hierophant 

Spirit is the final leg of the triad that has been previously seen in the Empress and Emperor; the archetype of the spiritual world is the Hierophant. This is the card of beliefs, both religious and otherwise, though it does tend to focus on the religious and spiritual aspects because the Hierophant himself is often depicted as a holy man.  Indeed, in some decks this card is known as the Pope or High Priest.  But in actuality, a Hierophant is a person who holds 'forbidden' or 'secret' knowledge.  While this could easily apply to the clergy, it has far greater scope than this. In a way it could be said that (with apologies to Crowley) every man and every woman is a Hierophant.

The Hierophant can even stand for groups of more than one person, and in the majority of cases he is better represented by an institution than by a single person.  This is because his is the power of the group and the society, who change the world to fit their beliefs.  The same theme of control and change that first appeared with the Magician continues here in its fifth iteration; now there is still a well-defined leader, but the people do not follow him because they are ordered to.  They follow because they are part of the group. The main philosophies of the Hierophant are that there's no "I" in "team", and that the good of the many outweighs the good of the one.

Such a philosophy may seem unnecessarily restrictive but, as the Emperor has taught us, restriction leads to order.  The Hierophant is charged with the maintenance and propagation of tradition and conventional beliefs, and anyone who goes against these beliefs is shunned.  Balance and conformity are the goals of the Hierophant, and neither positive nor negative is emphasized - only tradition matters.  In extreme cases, this can indeed have very negative effects (as Galileo found out) but in most cases having some tradition to follow is beneficial.  The traditions and ceremonies of the church, which are particularly strong in this card, are a prime example of this.

On a more personal level, the Hierophant is also a teacher or a mentor.  One major role of a spiritual leader is to initiate others into the community and teach them the ways of the group.  Obviously one who holds the secrets and is entrusted with the traditions of the group is a prime candidate to teach them to others, and the Hierophant plays this role well.  Though his approach to teaching is one that centers on conformity and shuns individual expression for the moment, this can be helpful.  Only once the student has mastered the ways of the group can he or she properly decide whether to remain or leave.

When the Hierophant appears it will often be in the form of a teacher or a mentor, who instructs you in the ways of his particular belief in the hopes that you will join him.  Such teachers do not have to be of a spiritual or mystical background; an employer training a new employee in the operation of a business is as much a Hierophant as any religious teacher.  If your current situation seems to require more experience then you can call upon, be open to the presence of a teacher or mentor in your life.  But do not make the grave mistake of openly seeking such a teacher - as the old proverb says, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.

The Hierophant can also represent group activities and beliefs, and in either case, support of the establishment and respect for the rules are emphasized. So if you are planning something revolutionary, the repeated appearance of the Hierophant is a good sign to forget such action and go with the flow for the time being.  The traditional way of doing things must work most of the time, or else it wouldn't have been around long enough to become tradition! However, when an idea is proven wrong it is certainly time for a change. The true Hierophant is one who has a deep respect for his beliefs, but who will not blindly follow them to his own ruin.

Future: Wheel of Fortune  

The Wheel of Fortune is a type of energy that stands beyond the realm of our understanding and control.  Certainly you can experience its effects in life, like you feel the pull of gravity on your body.  But just as you can see the apple falling but not the gravity pulling on it, so too are the works of Fate and Destiny invisible to us.  Only their results can be seen, and even then, only when Destny itself decrees that the time is right for its effects to be manifested.  Unlike the majority of the Major Arcana, the Wheel of Fortune hovers in the clouds, showing that you can try to reach it, but that you can never fully understand it.

The wheel is an apt symbol for the forces of Destiny and Fate because it shows how everything is connected in a cycle; some might call it the circle of life.  Everything happens in cycles; we rise and fall just as a spot on the perimeter of a wheel travels from the highest point, through all the possible points on the wheel, and then back to the apex.  However changes will affect you depends on where you are on the wheel.  If you are at the top then any change could throw you off, but if you are the bottom then a change could start you back up to the top.  And for one person to rise another must fall - everyone is connected.

Destiny seems to strike without warning, but often its effects can be seen coming if you know where and how to look for them.  This is the principle of the Tarot and divinatory systems in general; to see things coming before they happen so you can prepare.  Obviously if you see a wheel with the Sphinx on the top, Typhon the snake on the left, and Hermanubis on the lower right, and you know which way the wheel is turning, you can tell where each of the three figures is going - and you can also tell where they've been.  Through careful extrapolation the effects of Destiny become less mysterious, and someday everyone may grasp this idea.

This cyclical structure of Fate is perhaps the only way to really understand how Fate manifests.  The conclusion of a situation is found in its beginning, just as the number 10 of the Wheel of Fortune reduces to 1 by the addition of its digits.  When you can realize that each beginning leads to an ending, and that each ending is both the results of one beginning and the freshly planted seed of another, then you will have grasped the essential notion of the Wheel of Fortune.  And once that notion is grasped, the universe opens up to you, because you are ready to learn all its wisdom.  The first hurdle has been passed and greater lessons lie ahead.

The appearance of the Wheel of Fortune shows that change is not only likely to happen, it is certain to happen, and soon.  The nature of that change and the effects it has really depend on how much you understand the concepts of Fate, and whether or not you can prepare for it.  Generally the change shown in the Wheel of Fortune is a dramatic change from the established order.  So if you have been scraping along for a while, expect big changes in your favor within a few days.  But if you've been feeling on top of the world for a long time, batten down the hatches and keep an eye out for storms - one is bound to hit you sooner or later.

No matter which way the Wheel of Fortune throws you, it's impossible to try and change it, so you might as well try to live with it.  If a crisis seems inevitable, recall that in every crisis lies opportunity.  When you've been swept in new direction, know that every path leads somewhere, even if you don't know where it is.  When times are bad, or when times are good, always keep in mind that they won't last forever.  Such events are just out of your control, and if you can accept that then the ride gets a lot easier.  If you struggle against the Wheel it will crush you.  So roll along with it!

meanings

#Dan the sear #Dan's answers

[security-sic-blog]

Tantra Is Dependant On Sacred Texts And It Isn't Pretty Much Intercourse The concept of tantric sex has probably crossed your horizon more than once if you're interested in sexual practices. an expected ancient Indian training, it emphasizes extremely sluggish, intimate connections with yoga breathing and particular rituals, and is generally conceived of being a holy, religious kind of tradition built to help individuals achieve enlightenment by having a hefty dosage of pleasure on the way. Nevertheless, that will nearly be just just what its practitioners that are original in head. Once we'll learn, tantric intercourse is just a perfectly great way to invest your time and effort, however it's had a somewhat odd history fraught with colonial Western attitudes and debauched monks, and that which we see these days is certainly much a unique Age creation, perhaps perhaps not a tradition that is ancient. This does not necessarily matter. Tantric methodologies so you can get it in are pretty awesome: you are expected to give attention to intimate touching that is non-penetrative respiration while stimulated, preferably for quite some time, sufficient reason for specific actions included. The ensuing sexual climaxes, should you choose get around to penetrative sex, could be excellent, and there is nothing incorrect with awesome sexual climaxes or becoming near to your lover. But there is more to sex that is tantric simply incense and an effort at enlightenment. Here is the low-down regarding the stranger components of tantric intercourse's history and just how that which we understand today isn't exactly perfect social training. The essential thing to understand about tantric intercourse is it is centered on a free number of spiritual texts in Sanskrit called tantra that come from the non-mainstream of Hindu, Buddhist, and tradition that is jain. The tantra were truly, put simply, challenging normal spiritual training, and also haven't always had the most useful reputation in their presence. They truly are additionally greatly centered on a complete great deal of various things, from secret rituals to spells and mantras. Their general viewpoint is complicated, it is usually on the basis of the proven fact that concentration can evoke relevant deities inside individuals and unleash their religious power. Additionally they stress that the body requires to be utilized to achieve greater states of awareness, possibly through yoga, or through satisfaction. Sex, as Loriliai Biernacki records in "The Yogini and also the Tantric Sex Rite," is sometimes not a high concern in the tantra; people concentrated on yoga do not point out it at all, and it's really perhaps not almost as "ubiquitous" among tantra texts while you might imagine. It Is About deities that are embodyingAnd Sacred Flu > What is intercourse surely got to do along with it? Well, there are certainly an answers that are few this. One is that the discussion of male and bodies that are female supposed to represent and embody male and female gods, Siva and their Goddess, and through the entire process of sexy sex-times, individuals could focus on "being" these holy numbers, channel their power, and acquire closer to enlightenment and salvation. In a few very early tantra traditions, it gets pretty certain: it is about intimate fluid. " In these previous or peripheral traditions, it had been using a sexually transmitted flow or movement of intimate liquids that the practitioner tapped in to the way to obtain that flow, the male Siva. Siva will not, however, stay alone in this flow of intimate liquids. right Here, their self-manifestation is effected through their feminine hypostasis, the Goddess, whoever own intimate fluid holds their divine germ plasm." These times, many tantric intercourse emphasizes "semen retention," or the training of maybe not coming for a long time and many years to develop energy that is spiritual. It is a departure that is radical. Our Very Very First Descriptions Of Tantra-As-Taboo Result From Christian Missionaries The truth that we conceive of tantric intercourse being a sex thing rather than a religion thing comes from some things. One of these is without question the simple fact in the West from the writings of horrified Christian missionaries who witnessed practitioners doing rituals involving eating meat and other "forbidden" practices that we first learned about it. The French Abbe that is missionary Dubois whom published a novel on their travels through Asia and somewhere else in 1807, noted in disgust: "Among the list of abominable rites practiced in Asia is the one that will be just too distinguished; it really is called sakti-puja; sakti meaning power or energy. It is sometimes the wife of Siva to who this sacrifice emerges; often they pretend that it's in honor of some hidden power. The ceremony occurs at night with additional or less privacy. The disgusting that is least among these orgies are the ones where they confine by themselves to consuming and consuming precisely what the customized for the country forbids, and where people, huddled together in indiscriminate confusion, freely and shamelessly break the most typical regulations of decency and modesty." Other missionaries would compose with horror of other items of ritual Tantric training, all, needless to say, in comparison to the anticipated chastity and purity of Christianity. Our image of tantric intercourse as decadent and delightful most likely times through the horrified Abbe. Disapproving Scholars Thought All Of It Started From Degenerate Monks You need to keep in mind that the tantras were not traditional training, and had been frequently highly disapproved of or regarded as sacrilegious. One theory how they may have emerged arrived of this works of Sanskrit scholars like Benoytosh Bhattacharyya within the very early century that is 20th who thought that tantra techniques turned up because monks at the beginning of Buddhist monasteries had been degenerates. It had been a number of years: scholars of Buddhism thought that this extremely distasteful and subversive lot of practices might have resulted in because "official" Buddhism might not have been enough for quelling the urges of monks whenever it stumbled on intercourse and indulgence, so that they made their very own "rites" to pay. We are no longer entirely certain that's the scenario, but it is a theory that is hilarious. It Had Been Popularized In Western Society By Way Of A Victorian Occultist Need to know exactly just how tantra landed within our awareness? The clear answer is, well, a little odd: a Victorian-era occultist once called "the wickedest guy in the whole world." Aleister Crowley ended up being the essential notorious figure of Victorian Europe and dabbled in virtually any mystic tradition he could easily get their fingers on, including, this indicates, tantra and sex that is tantric. Crowley, this indicates, saw intercourse being a source that is supreme of energy, though he might or might not have known a whole lot about tantra in general. It really is probably through him (he had written about this a great deal) that the relationship between intercourse and tantra became so firm within the Western imagination. (The Sanskrit texts had earlier been translated by Sir John Woodroffe, an Orientalist, whom for whatever reason decided he could just compose them beneath the title Arthur Avalon.) since that time, and even though numbers like Alexandra David-Neel, a formidable French traveller who became a specialist in tantra within the belated nineteenth century and lived an eccentric life in a Tibetan monastery, attended and gone in tantra's history, the legacy of the existence within the Western imagination is just a Sting estimate and a number of sexual satisfaction articles. A Lot Of Today's Tantric Sex Practices Have Absolutely Absolutely Nothing To With Tantra Whatsoever We now view as "tantric sex," and Tantra in general, is pretty different from what's actually in the texts and how it was practiced as you may have picked up, what. "as soon as the intimate period, the "mystic Orient" happens to be thought whilst the exotic globe of forbidden sexuality and dark sensuality," Hugh Urban records in Tantra: Intercourse, Secrecy, Politics, and energy within the research Of Religion, including that the majority of our interpretation associated with tantras arises from our personal strange material about intercourse under western culture, especially in the Victorian age, once they first showed up via colonial translations. David Gordon White goes further. He notes in Kiss regarding the Yogini that today's tantric intercourse industry is simply a "funhouse mirror-world," by which "Indian practitioners and gurus just simply take their tips from Western scholars and offer them to Western disciples thirsting for initiation in to the secrets associated with East." The difference that is fundamental he highlights, is the fact that tantra, when it relates to sex at all, is approximately the sexualization of ritual, perhaps perhaps not the ritualization of intercourse. It absolutely was usually supposed to make rituals that are certain for specific reasons in context, never to result in the work of intercourse itself somehow religious and awesome.

Tantra Is Dependant On Sacred Texts And It Isn’t Pretty Much Intercourse The concept of tantric sex has probably crossed your horizon more than once if you’re interested in sexual practices. an expected ancient Indian training, it emphasizes extremely sluggish, intimate connections with yoga breathing and particular rituals, and is generally conceived of being a holy, religious kind of tradition built to help individuals achieve enlightenment by having a hefty dosage of pleasure on the way. Nevertheless, that will nearly be just just what its practitioners that are original in head. Once we’ll learn, tantric intercourse is just a perfectly great way to invest your time and effort, however it’s had a somewhat odd history fraught with colonial Western attitudes and debauched monks, and that which we see these days is certainly much a unique Age creation, perhaps perhaps not a tradition that is ancient. This does not necessarily matter. Tantric methodologies so you can get it in are pretty awesome: you are expected to give attention to intimate touching that is non-penetrative respiration while stimulated, preferably for quite some time, sufficient reason for specific actions included. The ensuing sexual climaxes, should you choose get around to penetrative sex, could be excellent, and there is nothing incorrect with awesome sexual climaxes or becoming near to your lover. But there is more to sex that is tantric simply incense and an effort at enlightenment. Here is the low-down regarding the stranger components of tantric intercourse’s history and just how that which we understand today isn’t exactly perfect social training. The essential thing to understand about tantric intercourse is it is centered on a free number of spiritual texts in Sanskrit called tantra that come from the non-mainstream of Hindu, Buddhist, and tradition that is jain. The tantra were truly, put simply, challenging normal spiritual training, and also haven’t always had the most useful reputation in their presence. They truly are additionally greatly centered on a complete great deal of various things, from secret rituals to spells and mantras. Their general viewpoint is complicated, it is usually on the basis of the proven fact that concentration can evoke relevant deities inside individuals and unleash their religious power. Additionally they stress that the body requires to be utilized to achieve greater states of awareness, possibly through yoga, or through satisfaction. Sex, as Loriliai Biernacki records in “The Yogini and also the Tantric Sex Rite,” is sometimes not a high concern in the tantra; people concentrated on yoga do not point out it at all, and it’s really perhaps not almost as “ubiquitous” among tantra texts while you might imagine. It Is About deities that are embodyingAnd Sacred Flu > What is intercourse surely got to do along with it? Well, there are certainly an answers that are few this. One is that the discussion of male and bodies that are female supposed to represent and embody male and female gods, Siva and their Goddess, and through the entire process of sexy sex-times, individuals could focus on “being” these holy numbers, channel their power, and acquire closer to enlightenment and salvation. In a few very early tantra traditions, it gets pretty certain: it is about intimate fluid. ” In these previous or peripheral traditions, it had been using a sexually transmitted flow or movement of intimate liquids that the practitioner tapped in to the way to obtain that flow, the male Siva. Siva will not, however, stay alone in this flow of intimate liquids. right Here, their self-manifestation is effected through their feminine hypostasis, the Goddess, whoever own intimate fluid holds their divine germ plasm.” These times, many tantric intercourse emphasizes “semen retention,” or the training of maybe not coming for a long time and many years to develop energy that is spiritual. It is a departure that is radical. Our Very Very First Descriptions Of Tantra-As-Taboo Result From Christian Missionaries The truth that we conceive of tantric intercourse being a sex thing rather than a religion thing comes from some things. One of these is without question the simple fact in the West from the writings of horrified Christian missionaries who witnessed practitioners doing rituals involving eating meat and other “forbidden” practices that we first learned about it. The French Abbe that is missionary Dubois whom published a novel on their travels through Asia and somewhere else in 1807, noted in disgust: “Among the list of abominable rites practiced in Asia is the one that will be just too distinguished; it really is called sakti-puja; sakti meaning power or energy. It is sometimes the wife of Siva to who this sacrifice emerges; often they pretend that it’s in honor of some hidden power. The ceremony occurs at night with additional or less privacy. The disgusting that is least among these orgies are the ones where they confine by themselves to consuming and consuming precisely what the customized for the country forbids, and where people, huddled together in indiscriminate confusion, freely and shamelessly break the most typical regulations of decency and modesty.” Other missionaries would compose with horror of other items of ritual Tantric training, all, needless to say, in comparison to the anticipated chastity and purity of Christianity. Our image of tantric intercourse as decadent and delightful most likely times through the horrified Abbe. Disapproving Scholars Thought All Of It Started From Degenerate Monks You need to keep in mind that the tantras were not traditional training, and had been frequently highly disapproved of or regarded as sacrilegious. One theory how they may have emerged arrived of this works of Sanskrit scholars like Benoytosh Bhattacharyya within the very early century that is 20th who thought that tantra techniques turned up because monks at the beginning of Buddhist monasteries had been degenerates. It had been a number of years: scholars of Buddhism thought that this extremely distasteful and subversive lot of practices might have resulted in because “official” Buddhism might not have been enough for quelling the urges of monks whenever it stumbled on intercourse and indulgence, so that they made their very own “rites” to pay. We are no longer entirely certain that’s the scenario, but it is a theory that is hilarious. It Had Been Popularized In Western Society By Way Of A Victorian Occultist Need to know exactly just how tantra landed within our awareness? The clear answer is, well, a little odd: a Victorian-era occultist once called “the wickedest guy in the whole world.” Aleister Crowley ended up being the essential notorious figure of Victorian Europe and dabbled in virtually any mystic tradition he could easily get their fingers on, including, this indicates, tantra and sex that is tantric. Crowley, this indicates, saw intercourse being a source that is supreme of energy, though he might or might not have known a whole lot about tantra in general. It really is probably through him (he had written about this a great deal) that the relationship between intercourse and tantra became so firm within the Western imagination. (The Sanskrit texts had earlier been translated by Sir John Woodroffe, an Orientalist, whom for whatever reason decided he could just compose them beneath the title Arthur Avalon.) since that time, and even though numbers like Alexandra David-Neel, a formidable French traveller who became a specialist in tantra within the belated nineteenth century and lived an eccentric life in a Tibetan monastery, attended and gone in tantra’s history, the legacy of the existence within the Western imagination is just a Sting estimate and a number of sexual satisfaction articles. A Lot Of Today’s Tantric Sex Practices Have Absolutely Absolutely Nothing To With Tantra Whatsoever We now view as “tantric sex,” and Tantra in general, is pretty different from what’s actually in the texts and how it was practiced as you may have picked up, what. “as soon as the intimate period, the “mystic Orient” happens to be thought whilst the exotic globe of forbidden sexuality and dark sensuality,” Hugh Urban records in Tantra: Intercourse, Secrecy, Politics, and energy within the research Of Religion, including that the majority of our interpretation associated with tantras arises from our personal strange material about intercourse under western culture, especially in the Victorian age, once they first showed up via colonial translations. David Gordon White goes further. He notes in Kiss regarding the Yogini that today’s tantric intercourse industry is simply a “funhouse mirror-world,” by which “Indian practitioners and gurus just simply take their tips from Western scholars and offer them to Western disciples thirsting for initiation in to the secrets associated with East.” The difference that is fundamental he highlights, is the fact that tantra, when it relates to sex at all, is approximately the sexualization of ritual, perhaps perhaps not the ritualization of intercourse. It absolutely was usually supposed to make rituals that are certain for specific reasons in context, never to result in the work of intercourse itself somehow religious and awesome.

Tantra Is Dependant On Sacred Texts And It Isn’t Pretty Much Intercourse<

The concept of tantric sex has probably crossed your horizon more than once if you’re interested in sexual practices. an expected ancient Indian training, it emphasizes extremely sluggish, intimate connections with yoga breathing and particular rituals, and is generally conceived of being a holy, religious kind of…

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JACOBIN MAGAZINE

The more you know about New York politics the more surprising Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s victory over Joe Crowley is. Crowley wasn’t merely the fourth-ranked Democrat in the House; he was the dominant force in Queens politics for a decade, the king of the Queens machine. The extent to which Crowley and “county” exerted power over every race in Queens and over New York politics more broadly is hard to overstate; only six months ago, Crowley minted a new city council speaker — the second-most-powerful position in city government. The fact that he got taken down by an outsider is nothing short of breathtaking; the power centers of New York politics are reeling. If Crowley can be beaten, no one is safe.

I’m a member of the New York City Democratic Socialists of America and do electoral work in Brooklyn. I did very little work directly on the Ocasio-Cortez campaign but watched it closely.

You should respect my views on New York politics a little less from now on because never in a million years did I expect this to happen. I started out thinking, “This will be cool because she’s surprisingly good, she’ll get 30 percent which will dent Crowley’s aura and loosen the machine’s grip, and most importantly it will build capacity for DSA.” I had a post ready to go for when she lost about how it had built capacity for DSA (which it did, enormously, as electoral work so often does). It was only in the last couple of weeks that I started dreaming of 40 percent. When she won I was blown away.

So it was a shock to the machine and it was a shock to us. But there are still lessons we can take from it now.

Machines, Money, and Media

So, ex post facto, why did it happen? How did it happen? I mean again, don’t listen to me, but:

I’ve been saying for a long time that the “machine” terminology is a source of confusion. Historically an urban political machine doled out huge amounts of patronage directly to large numbers of people and therefore had the allegiance of large numbers of people. This was good, actually: delivering jobs to the working class in exchange for political allegiance ain’t socialism but it’s better than what the reformers were often trying to do. But in the course of history the machine lost its capacity to deliver that kind of patronage, and currently “the machine” as it exists at the county level doles out things like judgeships to a small number of people behind the scenes and that’s it. For that reason its interest in turning out votes and capacity to turn out votes has declined massively, and it has developed a strong interest in suppressing turnout and driving disengagement from politics. This makes it vulnerable. “Double turnout and win” may not be a plausible strategy in a presidential general election where 60 percent of people are turning out, but when you’re dealing with a primary where 3 percent of voters (10 percent of Democrats) are turning out, well, there are those people who are close enough to being politically engaged that you can push turnout up to 15 percent. And if you can do that (by knocking on doors) you’re in a position to dominate elections.

Crowley was very powerful but “powerful” meant “holds the strings of power within the party,” not “magically capable of turning out votes.” These things aren’t unrelated — Crowley could and did control money, endorsements, etc. — but they’re not identical. It was foolish to think, as I did think, that just because Crowley was the most powerful Democrat in Queens he was the most invulnerable electorally. There was a tendency to think that no one could challenge him when in fact it was the case that no one (no sitting politician with a career to think about) dared challenge him.

Candidate quality, man. If you’ve ever been in a room with Ocasio-Cortez, you know what I mean. She has the thing. You don’t need the thing, lots of sitting politicians don’t have it, but when you find it — it’s something else.

White people representing majority-minority districts are intrinsically vulnerable. There are more of them in Queens. Make a list and come at them.

The Democratic base is consistently and almost universally to the left of the Democratic elected party. Well to the left. Not just DSA people but lots of Indivisible people are to the left of their reps. There’s a real gap between the politicians whose instincts were forged by Reagan-Clinton and the rest of us whose instincts changed with 2008 and changed more after Trump. Extremely favorable national press coverage gave Ocasio-Cortez a certain amount of credibility and a vast amount of money. It’s very hard when you’re a political outsider to separate yourself from the dozens of cranks who run for office and get 5 percent every year; getting covered in the Intercept matters for that. It also matters for attracting small-dollar donations. This element of AOC’s campaign isn’t really systematically reproducible, however: if we want to run not one but dozens of socialists for Congress (and boy do we want that), they can’t all be the focus of media attention or viral small-dollar donations. We need to think more systematically about where the money will come from.

Speaking of money: AOC raised more than $300,000, concentrated heavily late in the campaign after she went viral. However, she was outraised and outspent roughly ten-to-one. That might convince you that money doesn’t matter, which would certainly be the wrong conclusion to draw. A version of Ocasio-Cortez campaign without staff, an office and campaign lit (without well over $100,000, in other words) wouldn’t have gone anywhere. What her win illustrates, instead, is the diminishing utility of campaign money: your first $100,000 gets you the absolute essentials, your thirtieth $100,000 just buys you another couple of TV spots. We can win when we’re massively outgunned, but we can’t win without a serious fundraising infrastructure to buy the basics.

Something I can’t emphasize enough: There is no replacement for strong volunteer canvass. $3 million dollars is not a replacement for volunteer canvass. If you’re wondering what you can do to change the political situation right now, the answer is “volunteer canvass.”

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#politics #the left #jacobin #jacobin magazine #alexandria ocasio cortez #progressive #progressive movement