#maybe they made caine and just... let him steep

[wackywatchdotcom]

sometimes i think about the idea that the digital circus is JUST caine. its all what hes made. i mean he named himself, whose to say the circus isnt his own creation, an extension of himself

[crabcanwrite]

In the Jungle

Requested by DaSmolKiri

Words: 1k

Fandom: The Amazing Digital Circus

Ships: Jax/Reader

Warnings: arguing, near death situations, lava

Drops of water splattered onto your forehead as you pushed through the dense jungle.

A wet leaf smacked into your face, and you could hear laughter from behind you. “Jax!”

“What? Can’t handle a bit of water?” Shoving you into a bush, Jax doubled over with laughter. “What are you? Made of sugar?”

You threw a stick at his head for the umpteenth time, which he dodged expertly.

Groaning, you shook yourself off and walked back over to the path. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Aww, you wanna leave so soon?”

You shoved him to the side, ignoring his yelling until it faded back into silence. “Hurry up, we still have to find the stupid temple.”

No reply, only rain starting to pour down on you again. “Jax?”

Looking around, you found yourself alone, next to a steep hill. That you had pushed Jax off of. “Great”

You took one step down the hill before slipping, sliding through mud, and landing on top of a purple pile.

Jax groaned underneath you and pushed you away, shooting you a glare. “Get off me.”

“Gladly”

He scoffed and stood up, dusting off his now-ripped overalls and staring down at you. “Get up.”

“Ugh,” reluctantly, you stood up and shook yourself off, getting mud on him in the process. “Come on, I think I see the temple.”

“Oh, joy.” He wiped his hand on your side and followed you over to the stone pyramid.

Centipedes scuttled away from you as you kicked the door open. “Ladies first.”

“Go [____] yourself.” He poked a stick inside before taking a step forward, slipping on a banana peel and grabbing the hem of your shirt.

A net came down from above, and you ended up pressed on top of him. “Jax!”

“Get off of me!” He flailed in what little room you had, elbowing you in the face.

Groaning, you elbowed him back and grabbed his arm as he tried to punch you. “Cut it out!”

Huffing, he set his arms back down and glared at you. You glared back. “Why didn’t you check for traps?”

“I did!”

“Not well enough.” You tried to pry the net up. “Any idea how we get out of here?”

“Uh, here, let me—” He rolled over and tried to grab the top of the net, ending up smacking his face into yours instead. “Ack! Y/N!”

“Oww… warn me next time,” you groaned, turning your head to the side and laying your head on the cold stone. “What are you even trying to do?”

“Will you just give me a second?” He sat up, pulling you up and into his lap in the process.

Vibrations ran through your body, and you looked up to find Jax gnawing through the rope until the net broke.

You stood up shakily and helped him up. “Thanks.”

“I’m more than just a pretty face, you know?”

“A pretty face?” You laughed and followed him into the temple, earning yourself a shove into the wall and a centipede in your hair.

Torches illuminated the dim corridor, not doing much good, as you could barely see two feet in front of you.

“Hey,” you elbowed him and pointed to the carvings in the wall. “Any idea what that is?”

“Is that…Caine?”

“I’m gonna choose to ignore that…” You cringed and pulled him away. “How do we even get out of here?”

“Maybe try the glowing door?” He pushed you through the doorway and onto the ledge, overlooking a lake of lava. Carefully, he walked up next to you. “That’s not good.”

“Really? I had no idea.” You rolled your eyes and jumped onto the first platform. “Come on.”

“Are you kidding? This could ruin my fur!”

“Jax!” You grabbed the strap of his overalls and pulled him next to you. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Stop grabbing me…” He brushed your hand away and looked over at the next platform, cringing before jumping over.

You followed suit, landing next to him. Lava bubbled around you, and you stepped away from the ledge. “Tch”

Groaning, you scrambled up onto the next ledge. Jax jumped up but missed, ending up hanging off the edge.

Bubbles burst underneath him, burning through his clothes and singeing his fur black. “Ow!”

“What?” You didn’t look back, already sizing up the next jump.

“My pants are burning over here!”

“Huh? Is that some sort of—” looking back, you found him grasping up at the stone ledge.

Rushing over, you scrambled to grab his hand. “Geez, are you always so sweaty?”

“Y/N!”

“Calm down, let me—” 

Then he slipped and you lunged, grabbing his wrist. Jax gasped and grabbed at your arm.

Whimpering—was he whimpering? Never mind.

Grunting, you pulled him back up and wrapped your other arm around his waist. “You okay?”

“...I think so.” He mumbled, shaking as he grabbed onto your arms, “Thanks.”

“Y-yeah.” Awkwardly, you pulled him into a hug. “Sorry for not noticing.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine.”

“Everything is fine,” you nodded, squeezing him before pulling away slightly. “We’re okay.”

“Okay?” Jax leaned in and you followed, kissing him gently. “More than okay.”

“Heh, I guess we are.” He grinned and kissed you again. “Maybe you're not soo bad.”

“Wow, high praise.” Wrapping your arm around his waist, you pulled him towards the exit, which had materialized behind you. “You’re pretty not bad yourself.”

Everyone stared as you walked over to the group, who were all significantly less injured. Pomni frowned. “What took you guys so long?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You let go of him and grinned. “Ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah.”

~

“How long do you think it'll take them to figure it out?” Jax laughed as you hid behind some blocks.

You shoved him before kissing his cheek. “At this rate? Not very long.”

“We’re being discreet!”

“Ah, there you are, my scrumptious sugarplums!” Caine yelled as he floated over, Bubble in tow.

You scrambled away from each other, red-faced and wide-eyed. Jax glared. “Caine!”

“It’s good to see you finally getting along! Looks like my adventure worked!”

“...What?” It was your turn to glare as Jax growled and pulled you into his side. “How about we get rid of Caine for our next adventure?”

“I heard that!”

[astermacguffin]

Society if Dean came out of Purgatory a demon. You're telling me he spent an entire "year" in there, steeped in all that violence, and it didn't activate any latent demonhood he was on the process of becoming back in the Rack?

He's not only the first demon to ever have been in Purgatory, but he's also the first demon made in Purgatory. I bet there's stories that monsters pass around about the Demon of Purgatory, searching tirelessly for his angel.

Maybe he doesn't have all the powers of a demon. But Dean carefully avoids their demon traps now. He handles the demon blade with more care. He excuses his new low-sodium diet to Sam by saying that salty food reminded him too much of what he had to eat while in Purgatory. Sam immediately shuts up about it.

Dean hides it from Sam, of course. If the trials are completed and he gets slammed back to Hell with all the other demons, well. That's just the Winchester way, isn't it? But then he finds out what the trials would do to Sam, so he pulls that card at the end to convince Sam to stop. Let's be real, would Sam really willingly do something that would put Dean back to the place that permanently scarred his brother? (This, in turn, complicates the entire S9 drama even more. How would Dean react if Sam outright said to him that he'd rather be dead and Dean in hell rather than being tricked into being violated by another angel ever again?)

When Dean gets the Mark, what it does is exacerbate his demonic qualities. Getting resurrected by the Mark fully activates his demonhood into Knight-of-Hell levels like Cain. Super strength, telekinesis, teleportation, and most importantly, the ability to smoke out of a body. I deserved to see a scene where Sam and Cas had to stare in horror at Dean's lifeless body as he smokes out of it.

And most importantly, this would make Cas and Dean's return to Purgatory waaaaayyyy more spicy. They still call Dean the Demon of Purgatory even though he's (partially) cured of demonhood. This perfectly ties into my AU where Dean DOES confess about his feelings during his Purgatory prayer (and isn't that such a potent concept? A demon on his knees, praying to a fallen angel?), which in turn prematurely activates Cas' Empty deal.

So when Dean sees the flower with Cas' bloodied trenchcoat bundled neatly around it, he knows what he needs to do. He brings the flower back to the bunker, leaves a note to Sam, and goes back to Purgatory with the trenchcoat. He goes back to the routine of violence and replenishes his demonhood. He reclaims his mantle as the Demon of Purgatory, eternally roaming the lands in search for his angel.

(And who knows? Maybe he finally encounters an ancient entity like Eve and gets some answers. Where do monsters go when they die in Purgatory? Maybe he carves a blade out of Eve's bones. Maybe he stabs himself with his own blade, knowing where he'll end up. And if he has to tear apart the Empty to get his angel, then so be it.)

[heartslogos]

mafia rewrite - the prince 2

“A shit, you brought the little prince.” The Black Mask visibly deflates. “Damn. I’d say that makes things harder, but what’s one more fucked up challenge on top of another? Don’t draw on me. I’m here to negotiate.”

“The little prince,” Jason repeats mockingly. “Jesus, you’re spoiled.”

Damian ignores Jason in favor of waving an imperious hand around the empty building lobby they’re in. “Warren.”

“Right. Any good businessman would want to see the goods before entering talks.” Mask waves his hand lazily and two of his goons peel off to fetch Warren from wherever they’ve hidden him. "I want to say it now. I didn’t have fuck all shit to do with this. Warren approached me for a loan and I gave it to him. He’s been paying the installments with the interest — steep, mind you. I gave him a steep rate. The two bit slipshod upstart piece of shit’s always been an embarrassment. Now, would I be lying if I said that I gave him the loan hoping he’d somehow piss you off and get you to whack the bastard for me? Yeah. But fuck. Didn’t think he’d have the balls to do a hit on Tim Drake. I mean. After the last guy who pulled it? You’d have to be a Luthor to think you could get away with that. And with this complexion? I’d look like a swollen grape.”

Damian’s face remains impassive and neutral as he stares ahead, waiting for Warren to be dragged out.

“Sionis, you rotten piece of garbage,” Jason says, “Of all the people to somehow survive being shot point blank it had to be you. The goddamned devil didn’t want any of your bullshit and he sent you back for the rest of us to deal with.”

“Death’s a condition that gets better with time, oh wonderful kettle,” Black Mask retorts. “Besides, what’s worse punishment than having to come back to crawl on my hands and knees to pay my dues to the Wayne family of Gotham? Fuck, I should’ve packed and left for easier pickings. I’m too attached to this shit hole.”

Jason puts his hands up, "Yeah. Fair’s fair. But there’s a difference between you puling a miracle recovery and me pulling it.”

“Yeah, what’s that Hood?”

“I’m a goddamn Wayne.”

Everyone’s heads turn as the sounds of muffled squirming starts to echo from the other side of the lobby.

Warren, the Great White Shark, himself is bound onto a utility dolly by several thick leather straps around his chest, elbows, thighs, shins, ankles, and neck.

“See the fucker chew his way outta that,” Mask muses as his men wheel Warren into the cavernous space between himself and the Waynes. “I’ve even had him muzzled for ease of handling. I could have him sedated if you want.”

“Being awful generous tonight, aren’t you?”

“I’ll admit that Warren is my fuck up,” Mask says, hands raised. “And you’d have found that out easy. Mea culpa. I’m owning up to my fuck up like a responsible adult. So. Can we talk terms?”

“You want to talk terms after you gave Warren enough money to organized that kind of blow out gunfight across a third of Gotham in broad daylight?” Jason rolls his shoulders, restless as he cracks his neck. “I’m going to rip that thing off of your face and beat you to your second death with it. The devil won’t even think about sending you back when I send you to him as pulp.”

“We’re taking Warren and I’m going to send you a renegotiated contract,” Damian says, checking his watch. “I’m increasing the cut we’re taking, you’re going to increase the amount you pay for the lease on your properties, and your warehouse space at the port is going to be reduced by a third until I say so.” Damian pauses. “I’ll also be replacing your CFO and all the lawyers you have on retainer with my own people.”

Mask gapes. “You’re gutting Janus?”

“You can keep Janus,” Damian’s eyebrows raise as Jason bursts out laughing, clutching his sides as he throws his head back. “It’s a pittance at best. What would we do with it? No, I’m talking about your real businesses. Also I’ll be taking the original records of all of your books of business. You will not be getting them back. Your funds are now ours until I see fit to return them. If you’re going to be giving out such irresponsible loans I don’t think you quite deserve them.”

“That’s too far, Wayne,” Mask says. “I’m offering you Warren. I’ve fessed up. I’ll help you find all the other guys. I can concede the warehouse space and the pay cuts and the increased lease. But you getting your hands into my businesses and replacing my people is too far. I don’t agree to those terms.”

Damian reaches into his coat and pulls out a slender rod. With a flick of his wrist it extends about another foot and crackles to life.

Jason whistles. “That’s a new one. Did your birthday come early? Shit. Missed it again.”

“Did you think you were the only one with a monopoly on testing out Drake’s latest instruments?” Damian asks wryly.

“And here I thought you said instruments of blunt impact were for the lesser persons,” Jason teases.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Any tool can be suitably noble enough in the right hands,” Damian lifts his chin as he advances across the lobby space. “Even something as crude as a stick.”

“Call Drake’s shit a stick to his face as soon as he’s lucid again, I dare you,” Jason says, cracking his knuckles as he follows after his younger brother.

“Ah, fuck, fuck,” Mask curses under his breath and then waves at Warren. “Look at what you’ve fucking done now, you pathetic — fine! Take him! I’ll sign the goddam contract. I’ll give you the books. Fuck! The building’s new, I just had the lobby fixed after the last time you lot came in here and decided to throw hands.”

Damian doesn’t smile as he flicks the stun baton off and collapses it again.

“Doing business with you is always an annoyance, Roman,” Damian says, “And the next time I have to come here I’m not going to be as understanding as I am now. I’ll be sending the Queen after you. She’s wanted to add you back to her collection for years.”

Mask stiffens, for once unable to come back with a witty rejoinder. He just glares at Damian, eyes burning out of the depths of their shadowed recesses.

Damian gestures for his people to take Warren. “Send Warren to the Queen. We’ll deal with him later. Let her know she can do as she pleases as long as he retains enough faculties to talk when we send for him.”

“You don’t want to keep him in house?” Jason asks, hands in his pockets as he stalks back towards the exit.  “We’ll owe her a favor.”

“No. Quinzel has a soft spot for Drake, she’ll do this one free,” Damian replies. “Besides, she’s never liked Roman or any of the ones who’ve used the Black Mask monicker over the years. And I’m sure that Warren’s made enough enemies with those under her care that most would appreciate a chance at him.”

Jason turns towards the car that’s being prepped to take Warren.

“Tell Quinzel that we don’t want Crane going near him,” Jason says. “We don’t need Warren hopped up on psychedelics or in the middle of a crash. We’re not going to be giving her enough time to play with him like that.” Jason turns to his own people. “Alright, call it in for the night. I’m not satisfied, but I gotta head back in or the old man’s gonna brood so hard over Drake’s unconscious body the man might just croak from the pressure of it.”

“Colorful,” Damian muses, “The rest of the night is Cain’s and Grayson’s, then.”

“You’re calling it quits already? I was joking about the curfew.”

Damian shakes his head. “As Drake is out of commission I’ll be taking up his duties. I need to go back to his house to collect the materials necessary and get a grasp on his operations.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jason says immediately, slinging an arm around Damian’s shoulder, “With our luck as soon as he peeled outta the garage he armed the entire place to explode. We’ve got enough Wayne’s in the hospital for one night.”

“And you think you being there will solve that somehow, Todd?”

Jason taps his helmet where his temple would be. “I know how that twisted up nerd thinks. If he’s put up traps I’ll know what to look for.”

“Or maybe you won’t, because he’d have anticipated that and trapped it specifically against you.”

Jason gasps, mock hurt as he puts a hand to his chest. “Against me? His favorite guinea pig? Not a chance.”

[hazelenergy]

☕️ Gehenna

Sometimes y’alls ramblings about Gehenna feel like idiots online screaming the world was going to end in 2012. For some of you, its like how people freaked about computers exploding on New Years in 2000. You rush to unplug all your devices before it’s too late, only to realize nothing bad was going to happen- you just made everyone freak out or possibly destroyed your computer. 

No worries. I get it. The end of the world is terrifying to everyone. 

But, I found it a bit odd that immortal beings would have a doomsday story. But then again, no one seems to have read the fine print on immortality where it clearly says terms and conditions apply. Regardless, my actual feelings on Gehenna have always been pushed down because a lot of kindred acted as if I personally was going to bring about the end times. But I can’t deny, I have experienced some weird stuff besides my general existence. 

Living as the Tremere lab rat meant that no one would dare lay a finger on me directly without fear of Mary’s wrath. But it did mean I got subjected to their apocalyptic speculations. Most of the time I had no idea what they were talking about. Sometimes for fun, I’d just roll with it. 

Once, a kindred asked if I’ve ever been pregnant. Which first off, rude and invasive. Secondly, I’m a big lesbian. The likelihood of me being pregnant isn’t zero, but it is slim. But this Malkavian had my attention. She looked older, maybe in her 50s and had streaks of silvery hair covering her eyes. I laughed and told her no. She smiled at me and then asked if I liked the name Wendy. I spoke before I had a chance to organize my thoughts and said Wendy is a cute name. She looked at me gravely and said I knew the time of thinblood would be upon us again. She then said, “Keep your legs crossed, Daughter of Eve,” and then left Elysium. Needless to say, I went back to Mary’s Haven instead of home with a new partner. 

Within 24 hours of every Elysium we were ordered to spill our interactions and reveal any learned secrets to Mary. When I told her about this interaction she raised her eyebrow and got up to her filing cabinet. She pulled out a thin file labeled Dhampirs. The first article was a medical autopsy on an infant named Wendy- the research done by a Dr. Douglas Netchurch. Mary explained that it is rare, but thinbloods can and have carried children to term. And like the presence of thinbloods is a portent of Gehenna- their physical offspring is as well. She then laughed harder than ever before, wiping a bloody tear from her eye. I asked what was so funny. “You must forgive me, but the idea of you mothering a child is utterly amusing.”

I suppose this falls under the Gehenna where there’s too many of us and masquerade breaches are bound to happen. And when the mask is completely shattered, we are all in danger of humans destroying us. And I can’t imagine explaining to a toddler how to contend with the Beast and not hurt others with their powers. Seems like a recipe for disaster.

When I was much more settled in my Elysium routine, I had caught the attention of one of the younger Toreadors of Atlanta. Naturally, the Harpy made me extremely aware of everything about her and then Butternut, my nickname for the Nosferatu Primogen, told me everything else for 20 dollars. She was fond of the stars and their silvery light. I had offered to take her stargazing a little outside Atlanta in exchange for some vitae. This was a fairly normal transaction for me and I understood the price was steep for many. So I always tried to make it worth their while, with a nice night or a wild night depending on their tastes. She pointed out several constellations to me and their varying mythologies. I’ll admit, it was fascinating to hear what different cultures thought of different constellations. I could point out the obvious ones like Leo the Lion or the Little Dipper. She could point out ones that I could barely see, calling them things like Lyra and Crux. She told me of stories of constellations far beyond our sights, some of which can only be seen on clear nights in the Southern Hemisphere. That’s when I noticed it. A bright, gleaming red star in the center of the Big Dipper. It almost looked like an eye in the bright sky. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. But I willed myself to ask about it. She turned to me and playfully said, “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing there,” as she curled closer. I gently explained it was still there and asked her to tell me what it’s story could be. I think she thought it was some sort of game and made up some story to humor me. The rest of the night went as expected. I got to taste and temporarily brew Presence, she got the closest to Mary’s Haven without revealing her true intent and a one-night-stand with the Camarilla’s thinblood kitten. But I continued to see the star for several months. 

I finally got an idea of what I saw when I met with a Salubri by the name of Nils. He explained that he foresaw something terrible would happen in the city of Atlanta, but the only way to stop the Wyrm was to travel to a city with a Salted Lake. It took a while for us to understand what he meant, and we don’t know if he was successful. To show his good will, he offered us gifts for the night and hope for eternity. For hope. he explained how thinbloods from his domain could walk this path and return to being mortal. For kindred such as himself, the sun is no longer an enemy. When he took Solomon’s hands, he quieted his raging beast for the night. When he took mine, he flinched for a moment like he wanted to let go. He looked into my eyes and said, “You poor childe. You willingly accepted madness to keep your heart from being poisoned. My soul aches knowing you have suffered so much.” Its then, I swear, his forehead began to faintly glow in the shape of an eye. When it opened, it glowed with the same red of that star. I wanted to run away as fast as I could, it didn’t matter how far I had to run. I pulled against his hands, but couldn’t get away. Then, my mind quieted. The thoughts that raced around my head stopped...I didn’t realize how muddled my mind had become. I looked back to see his eye closing, the red starlight shifting to gold. He released my hands and said, “You saw Ixion, no? I think a fledgling like you shouldn’t be weighed with the powers of an Oracle, but I am not one to cast final judgement. The power will return when your mind is clean.” 

Turns out, in 2002, A red star was visible with a telescope and NASA named it Ixion, which is the Greek equivalent for Cain. I jokingly mentioned how Cain sightings are another portent of Gehenna but didn’t expect him to be such a star. Tommy and I laughed. Cass didn’t and then demanded to know how long I could see Wormwood. I explained that first saw it in early spring, 2019 and I haven’t seen it since October 1st, 2019. She made a series of frantic phone calls- I think she was checking up on kindred she used to run with. I’ve known for quite some time Cass used to be with the sabbat. I don’t know what happened between her and her pack. She usually is very willing to explain things to me, but her past is still a complete mystery- aside from her weird fling with Mary. ew. I can respect when she tells me to just drop it. But I can smell the strange shifting aroma from her resonance. She’s angry, then she is filled with sorrow, then she’s afraid. 

I think about Gehenna more than a fledgling probably should and more than is probably healthy. It does make me uneasy for reasons I can’t explain. I guess since everyone else is so afraid- I should be too. However, I am curious to a fault. I have done some research into our doomsday myth. From what I’ve gathered, signs have been occurring for quite some time. And, we are all still here. Bad things seem to happen regardless, it doesn’t mean its Gehenna. But it is a nice scapegoat when things go wrong. Blame it on inevitable destiny rather than cascading consequences of poor leadership. The world is going to keep turning with or without us. Simple as that. 

[silverquillsideas]

Hi:) May I ask what your personal interpretation of the Bf ending is? Did Ash chose to die or not? If he did, what do you think was the reason for his decision? And did he believe Eiji's letter? Sorry if this has been asked before and I bother you with these questions...

Hello Anons! It’s not a bother at all! Thanks for asking! I’ll club these two together since there’s going to be a lot of overlapping parts.

I feel like the more I try to delve deeper into why and how the ending was written the way it was, the more number of interpretations open up. I’ve talked about my views on the ending in the above posts, and as for whether he believed Eiji’s letter, my answer is yes, definitely. I’ll elaborate why below.

First off, when I read the manga and later, GoL, it always occurred to me that Ash’s death wasn’t immediate, that he had time to drag himself back to the library and collapse slowly from blood loss, and the same is repeated by Sing in his musings in GoL “in the long long hours before death, as blood slowly drained out of your body”….so, I believe that the stab wasn’t lethal, and that Ash’s death was, ultimately, by his choice.

Now coming to why he chose what he did. These interpretations are entirely my own, and they are called ‘interpretations’ for a reason, there will be other equally valid points held by the fandom, and that’s completely okay. This is just how I see it. I re-read the manga recently, and this time, I tried to look closer at all the subtle hints at how the ending was kind of… foreshadowed in a way?

I’ll begin with the way Ash was constructed as a character : he was multifaceted, complex, a genius with superhuman reflexes and intellect, he rejected all kinds of authority and the law, since he never had reason to trust them all his life. Ash conditioned himself to be ruthless and put on a hard front at all times, since that was the only way he could have survived in the world he was thrown into from the tender age of seven or eight. He used his physical beauty as a weapon, a shield to disarm opponents, so that they never got any hint of his lethal side until it was too late; it was simply another tool in his fight for survival. Eiji is probably one of the first and only ones to get a measure of what Ash really is like, by the time we get to the arc of Shorter’s death. He comments on this :

Curiously enough, we, as readers get to know this along with Eiji, that Ash has this duality to him : on one hand, he is the cold and ruthless killer and gang-boss, the wild, untamable Ash Lynx. on the other hand, only with Eiji, he can be the carefree 17 year old Aslan, the little boy Griff loved, who’s scared of pumpkins and gets flustered when teased, and loves to bicker with Eiji over silly things.

Its this humane side of Ash we all latch onto. The facade of a killer that Ash has to put on for the rest of the world, falls apart when he’s with Eiji, and we can see that : we realise that it’s a shield he has to hold up for his survival so that the truly compassionate, softer side of him can survive. Eiji sees through it, we see through it. But does Ash? His self image is exceedingly negative.

This becomes a recurring point of arguments between Eiji and Ash throughout the manga. A constant pull and push of opinions on who Ash truly is, who he can be. Eiji tries so hard to pull out the humane side of Ash, the one who is Aslan, back to the surface, so that Ash Lynx may not forget who he really once was. Eiji lets Ash be vulnerable, he makes him laugh, allows him to be silly, he tells him that it’s okay to be scared, to be hurt, because Ash is deeply hurt, only he has trained himself to never acknowledge that even to himself.

Does Ash consider himself entirely worthless? I beg to differ. He relies on his intelligence, his skills and capabilities, and he had confidence in them. He has his gang members to protect and lead, even before Eiji shows up. He has his pride as a boss, and his constant refusal to be controlled by Dino or other characters who hold authority (and consequently, abuse their powers to further their own greed). 

But was that enough to hold out till the end? More than the battles with Dino or Mannerheim or Foxx, I think Ash had to fight bigger battles with himself, about his own perception of what it means to be accepting of who you are as a person, and what you choose to believe in within yourself. Throughout the manga, we see this constant warring : we have literally everyone telling him that keeping Eiji by his side, is him being selfish, that Eiji isn’t there to salvage Ash’s guilt, that letting him go would be better for both of them. And Ash is conflicted, he wants to have this connection, this friendship with Eiji above all else, it becomes his single motivator in the entire second half of the manga : to protect and keep Eiji safe

By the time Yut Lung manipulates Ash into giving up Banana Fish and go into Dino’s captivity for Eiji’s safety, Ash is already too far gone on his bond with Eiji. he pulls the trigger without a moment’s hesitation. If it meant keeping a loved one safe at the cost of his own death, Ash was ready to make that choice, perhaps for a very long time.

Ash was someone whose actions always did the talking. The fact that he had allowed himself to care, to demand or crave for himself the comfort of a selfless friendship, or even love, is more of an indicator of him slowly growing to value himself as a person, to try and love himself a little more. He acknowledges this openly to Blanca : that there is nothing that made him happier than being with Eiji, of knowing that at least one person in the world had tried to see himself for who he really was, had tried to make Ash see that too.

The conversation between Ash and Eiji about the leopard in the mountaintop, about Ash’s views on death and what it means to live, is one of my favourite moments in the manga. Ash had never feared death, but he had never wanted to die himself. Even though, at numerous points in his life, death had seemed like a peaceful, enticing alternative, compared to the hell he was going through. Ash states that he views himself as the leopard, trudging on and on upwards to the summit, until it collapsed. His conflict was on whether the leopard was facing downwards or up? Was he trying to came back home, or simply go on until he could no longer carry on?

The journey of the leopard paralleled Ash’s own. All his life, he had been forced to go on a steep, uphill climb, against whatever harsh trials his life threw at him. In the end, would he be too tired to carry on? Too tired that he would want to give up? Or Would he still have the strength to try and find his way back down?

Eiji pulls him back once more : he reminds Ash of his own humanity, that people were not obligated to remain as the leopard in the story forever. In the end, we are all human beings who can have a choice, to find our way back home. And Ash, after a thoughtful pause, agrees with him.

But agreeing with an idea on principle is a far cry from putting that into practice.

As the arcs progress, Eiji gets shot, and Blanca again harshly reminds him of what his reality was, that Ash and Eiji’s worlds were, as he saw, too far apart for them to exist together. And Ash is torn by guilt. His one objective, of keeping Eiji safe, had somehow started backfiring. He pleads with God, to take him instead, in exchange for Eiji’s safety. And that was when I personally got the foreshadowing, that maybe the ending could only be either one way or the other.

It’s interesting that Eiji voices almost identical words, that he’d take Ash’s place any day if he could, that he wished Ash would never have to hold a gun anymore, before he takes a bullet for Ash without a minute’s hesitation

There was always a residual sense of guilt with both Ash and Eiji about Shorter’s death. Eiji breaks down crying in front of Sing, and he wasn’t even an instigator in all the events that happened. I can’t imagine how much more Ash would’ve been carrying around with the knowledge that he was the one to pull the trigger, under extreme duress or otherwise.

That brings me to the involvement of Lao. Shorter’s death had triggered a mistrust between the Chinese gang and Ash. Even though Sing, because of knowing the truth, had ceased blaming Ash altogether, Lao didn’t go anywhere near. His only goal was to protect his brother, and his hatred for Ash magnified when Ash pointed a trigger on Sing in the mad rampage immediately after Eiji was shot. Sing understood Ash’s rage, and he apologized and desperately attempted to make up for what he saw as a ‘betrayal’ from the Chinese side. But Lao, stubbornly refused to acknowledge Ash, even though Sing tried multiple times to reason with him. Had Yut Lung’s childish grudge against Eiji not prompted him to abuse Lao’s familial ties with Sing, had Lao been more reasonable, had Sing communicated with him better after the end of all the fighting…. The list of ‘what ifs’ go on.

In the end, Ash’s decision was prompted by all these moments adding up together. He had vowed just the day before to Blanca, that this time, he’d never see Eiji again, in order to keep him from harm’s way. Did that mean that ultimately he never learnt to love himself? That’s difficult to answer.

I believe that to some extent, he did realise how much he was valued as a person : by his friends, his gang, Max, Blanca, Cain, Shorter, and most of all Eiji. He never admitted out loud how much Eiji meant to him and vice versa, but it was always proven by their actions and confirmed by the words of those who were close to them. 

Ash knew how much it hurt him to see Eiji wounded because of him, and I get the inkling that he could at least guess that Eiji would be equally devastated if their places were reversed. But he ultimately chose to eliminate himself from the equation : the solution, according to him, that would keep all the danger away from everyone he wanted to keep safe. That is the dark side of love, of how far you’re willing to go to protect those you hold dear.

Just as Eiji took the bullet for him, just as Ash himself had no hesitation in pulling the trigger back then, I see this last choice also as a final act of sorts, keeping good on his prayer to God : Eiji’s safety in exchange for his own. It wasn’t a perfect decision by any means, there were n number of ways a different choice could’ve been as good, but I feel than in his final moments, Ash was really too weary to keep on pushing forward.

It brings me to your question, anon, in the end, was love enough to save him from himself? Did Eiji’s constant attempts to bring out Aslan, win out against the shackles Ash Lynx put on himself?

In those few moments immediately after reading Eiji’s letter, we see the way Ash reacts : his eyes fill with hope, disbelief, love, and a hundred other emotions as all thoughts other than Eiji’s words flee his mind. Eiji’s reference to the leopard was especially important : he gave Ash a reminder, once more, that even lost souls have a way of coming back home, and that one’s humaneness was something we discover throughout our whole lives, it’s not just expressed by a handful of actions. Eiji reminded Ash once more, that it was okay to hope, to dream, and to live for himself. And that was what prompted Ash to take off running. In those few moments, it really looked as if Ash had finally broken free of all that was holding him back.

But at the end of it all, I feel that Ash Lynx won out. The question of saving us from ourselves, of realising our self worth, is a complex one. Ash was happy in the simple knowledge that Eiji had loved him back unconditionally. All his life, it was the one thing he had never received, and in his final moments, that mere confirmation was like a closure of sorts for him. It wasn’t fair to either of them, but it was how things finally ended.

In an ideal world, we’d have no doubt seen Ash and Eiji having their happy forever after, given everything that happened, but sadly, the author chose to write in Lao, as if to prove a point : that more often than not, dreams and reality are separated by just one moment of carelessness, one second of letting your guard down, and for Ash, that moment was fatal.

[vicbartons]

Ohhh and for the prompt I sent could you maybe make it hurt comfort if that’s ok? Xox

#62 “please shut up. just shut up.”

They should have never let Cain talk them into this.

There are thousands of thoughts rushing through Robert‘s head a mile a minute, but that is the loudest one. A screeching alarm bell going off in the depths of his brain, overloading his senses.

Because they were supposed to be this sensible, grown-up couple these days, weren‘t they?

No more dodgy deals, no more lies and schemes. 

Just an average married couple, happy and loved-up. With nothing more to worry about than where to spend their weekly date night or whose job it was to pick up toilet paper from the shop this time around.

Only sensible grown-ups didn‘t run through the wad of cash they had made in what was supposed to be their very last heist within a year and a wedding. They didn‘t have to move into their little sister‘s spare room out in the middle of nowhere once their London rent had gotten too steep. Sensible grown-ups didn’t get turned down when asking for a loan, because neither one of them had a single steady employment to show for over the past ten years that was legal enough to mention on a CV. Sensible grown-ups didn‘t have rap sheets as long as their arms, clinging to them like a persistent rash and keeping them from ever making it through any landlord‘s rigorous vetting process without reverting to old tricks. Let alone the doors of an adoption agency.

Sensible grown-ups also probably didn‘t find themselves bend over their bed  midday on the regular, instead of out shopping for food at the local Tesco or job-hunting.

So maybe they weren‘t really ready for the whole responsible adult thing just yet anyway. If ever.

Still, they shouldn‘t have let Cain talk them into this.

Because they have only been married for ten months and there is still so much left that they want to do. So much more life to live together.

Only now Aaron is bleeding out on him on the linoleum floors of a nondescript corridor somewhere in the depths of the Tate‘s ridiculously massive headquarters and should and shouldn‘t haves suddenly aren‘t worth a damn thing anymore.

“Robert-” Aaron‘s voice is already far too small for his body and something in Robert threatens to break at the sound.

Robert has got his right hand on his left, holding them steady even with his trembling fingers as he presses hard against Aaron‘s middle. He tries to stop the blood from spilling, but Aaron‘s tight black t-shirt keeps growing impossibly darker despite his efforts, the edges of the fabric curling upwards around the wound in wetness right where the bullet cut through it. 

Cain had dubbed the bit of theft a no-brainer. A quick job; revenge and a big pay day all rolled up in one the way the older Dingle always likes it best. Well that and none of them had counted on Kim‘s bulldogged henchmen actually being willing to pull guns on them. Or catching them at all for that matter. They were RobertandAaron after all. They didn‘t get caught, did they? 

In retrospect, that way of thinking had been incredibly short-sighted. Naive even. 

But hindsight doesn‘t really help them now.

Robert‘s eyes keep flicking back and forth between his husband‘s face and the wound on his stomach and he can feel himself drowning in the impossibility of it all until Aaron speaks up again, his voice enough to drag him back to the surface. “Robert,” he whispers, but there‘s a strength to it Robert wasn‘t sure he had in him anymore with his lips as white as they are already. “You know that I-”

And Robert wants to hear him speak, because as long as he‘s speaking Robert can be sure he hasn‘t lost him yet, but he can‘t hear that. Doesn‘t want it.

“Please Aaron, shut up!” The words are loud and sharp and echo through the halls. Booming enough to make Aaron‘s eyes go wide and take even Robert by surprise. It makes him press his hands down a little harder on Aaron‘s abdomen and take a breath. Long and deep, hoping it will right whatever‘s trying to come undone inside of him at the sight of his husband in pain. “Just shut the hell up,” Robert says under his breath. “Will ya?” It‘s a plea more than anything else. 

“No.” Aaron has always been the more stubborn one out of the two and that‘s saying something. There‘s a shake of his head that makes him hiss in pain, but he keeps going anyway. ”I need you to know -”

And of course Robert knows, knows it deep in his bones.

In all his life, one spun out of lies and schemes and make-believe, there has never been anything more true to him than how he feels about Aaron. Or that Aaron feels the same for him in return. It had scared him to the core, the first time they‘d met. When Robert had walked into the Woolpack for a drop-off in search of Charity a little over six years ago now and found her sort-of-nephew with the permanent scowl etched on his face instead. The tug he had felt in the pit of his stomach the moment their eyes met had never disappeared again from there on out, no matter how much of a sour git the younger man had been.  

Want at first sight, they sometimes call it. 

And then so much more after that. 

“I know, okay? Of course I know,” Robert presses out between clenched teeth and he wishes that this stupid game of theirs didn‘t suddenly carry so much weight, “but I need to stop you from dying on me right now and get us out of here and that will work a whole lot better, if you stop trying to say goodbye to me, you muppet.” 

Aaron actually manages to smile a little at the all too familiar nickname and Robert can‘t help but mirror it, all be it a little crooked with his lips bitten and his eyes red raw from trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Bossy,” Aaron mutters between shallow breaths.

“You love it.”

Somehow Aaron gets his eyes to focus on Robert then. “Yeah, I do,” he whispers like he always does when Robert teases him like this, but it‘s lacking its usual levity. “Robert, if-”

The dismay on Aaron‘s face makes Robert lean down until their foreheads are touching and his full weight is pressing onto the wound with him almost lying on top of his husband.

“Shush,” he breathes out and his nose rubs along Aaron‘s with the slight shake of his head. “I‘m gonna get you out of here and then we‘re gonna drop half the cash at Cain‘s and drive right off to Paris with the other half like we planned to. And then we‘ll make a real go of it, all above board, right?” And Aaron just closes his eyes and nods, breathes his husband in. 

Feeling his shallow breaths against his cheeks as reassurance finally gives Robert a chance to think.

He only has a vague idea of where they are. The corridors underneath the building complex that were starting to bear a scary resemblance to an unsolvable maze, with their never ending white blank walls and headache-inducing neon lights had managed to disorientate him once he had gone rogue and just made a dash for the first exit in sight. Usually Robert was a by the book guy, as far as criminals go - always sticking to carefully mastered plans - but the reflex to get his husband to safety at any cost had overruled all that. 

It‘s how he‘d gotten them lost.

“Ace job, Robert,” he thinks to himself. “So much for criminal mastermind.”

He has seen them before though, the corridors, of course he has. In the back of Cain‘s garage on a blueprint spread across the hood of an old Chevy, a system of tunnels spreading across the entirety of the property like a spiderweb. It was too bad that with all of Robert‘s skills, a photographic memory had never been one of them. 

There is one thing he remembers though. It‘s the way all those endless corners end in a clean circle on the outer edge, connecting all the tunnels. Some sort of aesthetic choice on Kim‘s part apparently - the older woman enarmored by the symmetry - but all Robert can see in it is the system‘s fatal flaw. A weakness to be exploited. 

He is a conman after all.

“I know how to get us out of here,” Robert splutters and rights himself. He runs his hand through Aaron‘s dark curls once before busying himself with trying to untie his tie one-handed, determination finally making his fingers stop shaking.

His other hand never leaves its place on Aaron‘s stomach.

“Knew I didn‘t just marry ya for your looks, Dingle,” Aaron mumbles with his eyes still closed and Robert tries his hardest to ignore how every syllable keeps being cut short by haggard breaths.

His stomach grows warm with the epithet nonetheless.

“Then off into the sunset,” Aaron coughs hard and opens his eyes slowly. Looks up at Robert through this lashes, “like that old-timey movie?”

Robert softens at the age-old argument. Indulges it to stop the air around them from growing so heavy.

“I‘ll have you know that The Getaway is a classic.” 

They had watched it one night in the early days, curling up on Robert‘s sofa for what one could almost call a proper first date. Robert had fallen hard and fast for the story and also maybe Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw. 

Aaron on the other hand? Not so much. 

The fact alone that they have still made a habit of watching it at least once a year with only a minimal amount of grumbling from his better half makes Robert love Aaron all the more. ”But yes,” Robert adds on, his eyes no longer just watery, but a tear making its way down his cheek, “exactly like that. Because you‘re going to be just fine, Sugden.”

Aaron just breathes and it‘s all that Robert needs from him right now.

“So you‘re gonna hold on for me now, ey?” He asks anyway, more for himself than because he actually expects a response.

But Aaron has always been good at giving Robert more than he needs.

“Yes, boss,” he‘s barely opening his mouth now, but he‘s still there and that‘s everything. 

Robert presses one last kiss onto Aaron‘s forehead and then he gets on with it: Rips a strip of his dress shirt and ties it around Aaron‘s middle with the sage green necktie his husband hates so much, pulls him off the ground, throws an arm around his shoulder and just keeps walking until he notices a slight curve in the walls indicating that they‘ve actually reached the outer edge of the premises and his earplug crackles and shrieks as the connection builds back up, Cain barking at him through it soon after. Robert just keeps running and praying to whoever up there is willing to listen that they‘ll be okay.

(It‘s the last time the two of them get hands-on with a dodgy job. Not because Aaron doesn‘t make it. He does. Barely, but he makes it. No, it‘s because Robert makes it clear that the gashing scar on Aaron‘s abdomen that matches the one on his husband‘s chest all too much is the last one he‘s willing to bear. And the tired look on his face as he says it, the way his eyes go hollow like the thought alone is making him lose the will to live, is haunting enough that Aaron doesn‘t want to disagree.

Yet, Robert‘s still runs the odd con job out of the basement on the side even seven years later - with their little daughter perched on his lap - and Aaron might find himself laying out a classic thievery trick on deep web forums every now and again.

But that is all it is. Desk jobs, really. 

Aaron and Robert have grown sensible after all.)

[neotericbitch]

DarqAnon

I was raised a sun worshipper, but I definitely wouldn’t call myself religious now. My upbringing put a bit of a negative spin on how I view religion - actually, just sun worship. I’m totally fine with moon worship and the Church of the Faceless and any other kinds of belief, and to be quite honest most sun worshippers I know outside of my family are nice, it’s just - you know. Stuff they teach you, the way they get you to think, how you’re not supposed to question the whole thing where the rays give you cancer... They’re acceptable targets anyway, everyone makes fun of sun worshippers. 

And, I know there’s stuff in other religions that can be harmful to the people who belong to them, like the whole sacrificing thing that the Church of the Faceless has going on, but because I wasn’t brought up on it it’s not really my place to judge, and I don’t think they do it very often anymore, it’s just extremists now.

Anyway - I don’t think I’m religious, but I also can’t really help but believe in a bigger force outside myself, outside anyone’s control. A higher power. It’s probably just leftover brainwashing from how I was raised - sometimes when I’m annoyed I still curse the sun, it just slips out, haha! - but that’s really how I feel. I see my higher power on the horizon, where the ocean meets the blue sky. I hear it in the crunch of stones on a path, chosen for me to walk. I saw it in the burning rubble of Roarhaven six years ago.

I only started attending DA about three years ago, though, I think it was just denial I was in before then. But I saw a handwritten sign half-torn off the library noticeboard and I just thought, why not, and I showed up, and it went from there. I was so moved by everyone’s stories that I had to come back. And now it’s been three years and I run the Thursday and Saturday meetings!

The Thursday meeting used to go from 5:30 to 6pm, and I was going to that one for a few months and I made it work as best I could, but I noticed some people stopped showing up and others would make it late, and then one day Crandall tell us - Crandall chaired the Thursday meeting - that because of turnout they were going to close the Thursday meeting. And I thought, well that was stupid! It wasn’t that people didn’t want to come, it was because the time was inconvenient - we’re adults with 9-5 jobs, and I work at the High Sanctuary so my days can be long - and it being only a half-hour didn’t make it worth it, you know? So I stepped up and said I’d take over the Thursday meetings, and I’d change the time to 6 to 7:30.

And I love organising things, so I got right into it, and even after the first few weeks people would come up to me and say, “Isserley, that was a great meeting! You’re really good at putting things together! It used to be hard for me to make it to the Thursday meeting because of the time, but it’s much better and more worth it now!” And I felt really appreciated, it was so nice.

I like a project. I like organising things. I’m a secretary at the High Sanctuary, it’s required of me. I remember when I first got the job, taking over for the lady before me, everyone in the department was shocked at how well put together my work was, and I was in shock because, it just seemed normal to me! Did the last secretary really work so sloppily? So - yes, I think it’s fair to say I put a lot of effort into DA, maybe more than necessary. 

I do feel a bit like a fake sometimes. As I said, I’m not religious, I’m not an active Darquesse worshipper... The worst I could ever do was say a couple prayers to her at night, you know? Nothing worth worrying about, haha. I’m not really like the rest of these people, some of them are completely nuts. Salma Shelldon, well, she says she was dreaming of Darquesse when she was a child 500 years ago, and she comes in late every week with a bloody ball of yarn and she just sits there and knits these ugly beanies and I swear one day she’s going to walk in wearing one of them...

She annoys me, actually. Quite a few of them do. At the end of every meeting there’s a little tray I take out, and it’s not mandatory to donate but I always put in a five euro note, it’s just polite. But some of them just toss in a twenty cent coin and - and - well, what’s the use in that? Is one euro too steep? I know I shouldn’t judge, I can’t speak for anyone’s personal situation but my own, and I know for some of them it can be hard, not always able to hold a job, Darquesse interfering with aspects of their life........but STILL!

And that just reminds me of the man who used to come in, I miss him. I never properly spoke to him, unfortunately. I was never certain of his name. Well, Crandall said it was Steven and someone else - Feat, I think - said it was John but neither of those sound right to me. He looked in his 400s to me and I can’t imagine anyone during the war against Mevolent calling themselves anything so boring. Well, take me for example. 349 years ago I was born and 12 years after that I was called Isserley Lox.

Oh, but - the man, right. He appeared not long after I took over the Thursday meeting, just came in one evening and didn’t miss a week for the next two years! I didn’t like him at first, I asked him to speak on the night of his arrival and he declined, and I found that rude because it’s customary for you to speak on your first night - and he never did share his story after that, not in a group or one-on-one, but he came to be a sort of stable, comforting element in the meetings, I suppose. And - and! At the end of every meeting, he would put a twenty euro note in the tray! Why, I started getting anxious thinking I should do the same!

So he was a positive little influence. That’s why I ended up liking him. He had a very plain-looking face, not attractive to me, certainly, but he had this look to him as if he was always paying very close attention - even I drift off sometimes and I’m the one in charge!! And he wore these beautiful suits. I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what he did for work, though Salma once asked him if he was a model - hah, as if he’d ever want to wear one of your hideous creations, Salma! But, yes, I knew very little about him... I don’t even know what magical discipline he practised.

Oh, me? Exclusively a pyromancer. Tradition in my family.

Last year he was absent for the first time, and there was some discussion between us regulars while we were packing up about where he could have been. As it turned out he was waiting right outside, for me! It was the most words he’d ever spoken to me at one time - in the most wonderful voice, too. It was terrible news. Something he couldn’t specify had come up in his life, he was shuffling things around and could no longer fit the meeting into his schedule. I told him how sorry I was to hear it! And I offered him my number to call me if he ever needed to talk - but of course, he never did.

Then last year, I experienced such an amazing shock. I was preparing a folio for my superiors and came out to the hall, and who was coming down it with the Administrator - of the time, not the new one - but Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain! I’d heard she was back, though having not seen her myself I was quite afraid to believe it. But there she was, walking by in brand-new clothes - not very Darquesse in style, sadly, but we can forgive that - and as she came she actually noticed me looking at her, and, how stupid of me, I was standing too far out from the wall so they all had to squeeze by me - and she mumbled, “Pardon me,” as she went! 

Me! Pardon her? My higher power? My sun? It was fabulous, it was fantastic. I had a big smile plastered on my face for the rest of the day.

Actually though, I mustn’t forget to mention. Detective Pleasant did nod at me and say my name, and that was very strange, but I didn’t think too much of it. Fellow like that, a know-nothing know-it-all who sticks his lack of a nose in everyone’s business...I’m surprised he didn’t address everyone in the department by name. I suppose he would know, then, that I run two DA meetings a week. Well, let him. Doesn’t bother me. In fact, I feel a bit sorry for him.

He doesn’t know what it’s like to love a god, now does he?

[gracewithducks]

An Inch of Grace (Genesis 37:1-4, 12, 18-27)

When I was preparing to become a pastor, we did all the things that you’d expect budding pastors to do: we studied the bible, and theology, and church history, and pastoral care, and prayer practices. We even, eventually, learned a little bit about how to make a budget and how to run a meeting and how to get your church conference paperwork done without losing your religion. But one of the things that surprised me, that I wasn’t really expecting to do, was some very interesting work in family systems theory.

 Family systems theory says, basically, that your family of origin shapes who you are, and by examining your family’s systems and stories, you can better understand who you are and decide who you want to be. Your family of origin is the family that you come from: your parents, and step-parents, and grandparents, your siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles: the important people who, for better or for worse, have helped to shape your life and make you who you are. What might it mean for you to have grown up as the oldest or the youngest or the only child, to have been close to your cousins or estranged from your parents, to live through divorces or deaths, to consider patterns of mental health problems and addiction and all the other pieces that come together to shape our stories.

 The conversations surprised me because, by the time we’re adults, we like to think that we’ve made ourselves who we are – that we’ve outgrown the baggage of being the punchline for our brother’s jokes or listening to our parents fight. But the reality is, while we can grow and we can heal from our hurts, we also carry them with us… and when we sit through a meeting where conflict escalates to fighting, or when we are hurt by an offhanded comment by someone we trust, all those old insecurities can come rushing right back in.

 When I sit with couples who are preparing for marriage, I always ask them: tell me about your family. Tell me about your parents. Not because we’re destined to become them, but because what we’ve seen, what we’ve experienced, shapes and impacts who we become - for better and for worse.

 Every time I open my mouth and my mother comes out – or, for that matter, every time Michaela opens her mouth and I hear my own voice come out – I am reminded just how true it is. Our families shape us: our expectations, our traditions, our legacies are powerful indeed.

 Today we continue the story of the first family of family, the family we meet in the book of Genesis. And today we are reminded that family traditions transcend generations… and unfortunately, in this family, the legacy that’s handed down is a legacy of rivalry, and scarcity, and competition even to death.

 Today we meet Joseph, whose grandfather Isaac was pitted against his half-brother Ishmael, until their parents decided there was room for only one son in their hearts and in their homes… and Ishmael was sent into the wilderness to die, never spoke of again.

 Joseph’s father, Isaac’s son Jacob, was one of two brothers, twins, who were at war even in the womb. And as they grew, each parent picked a favorite twin; the family was split in half, taking sides, and Jacob tricked and stole from his brother, and his brother plotted to kill Jacob, and Jacob had to run away to survive.

 And Joseph’s mother, Rachel, was one of two sisters, each pitted against each other, constantly being compared to each other, always wanting what the other has, neither one ever being content or ever feeling safe and secure in her own self.

 These are Joseph’s parents: two people whose sibling rivalries destroyed their own lives. You’d think that Jacob and Rachel would know better, that they would be able to look back at the devastation that their parents playing favorites had wreaked in their own lives. You’d like to think that they’d be determined to do better by their own kids – and maybe they were, but it was just too hard for them. Or maybe they couldn’t even recognize how they were repeating their parents’ and grandparents’ mistakes; they were so steeped in the old family ways, so steeped in that climate of competition, that it was impossible for them not to pass their rivalries and jealousy on to the next generation.

 By the time Joseph is born, Jacob already has ten sons: most of them by Rachel’s sister Leah, the unwanted wife, and a few through Rachel and Leah’s surrogates, who were drawn into the sisters’ rivalry. Rachel was always jealous of Leah’s sons; Leah was always jealous because Rachel had Jacob’s heart… and the two women used their children as pawns, as markers on the scorecard where they were both trying to win.

 Finally, after years and years of desperation and disappointment, finally, son number 11 is born: and he’s Jacob’s eleventh boy, but he’s the first from Rachel’s womb. And because he is the son of his most beloved wife, little Joseph becomes his father’s favorite, too.

 How quickly Jacob forgets! How quickly he forgets how much it pained him when his father favored his brother and ignored him; how quickly he forgets how his mother’s preference for the younger son had torn the family apart. He forgets how he had to run for his life, because when he was growing up, his parents did not have enough love to go around.

 Jacob forgets. Jacob forgets, and he starts down the exact same road: he is so taken by Joseph, his miracle son, the son of his favorite wife, son of his old age… that he showers gifts and favors on Joseph, much to the pain and frustration of the ten forgotten older boys.

 It doesn’t help matters that Joseph really does seem to be special. He’s a dreamer; just like his father once met God in a dream, Joseph starts to have dreams of the future, and the way that things one day will be. But he’s young, and he’s spoiled, and he’s as oblivious as his father to his brothers’ resentment… so he uses his dreams, his gifts, to beat his brothers down even more.

 And they start to hate him for it.

 And then Jacob gives Joseph a coat. It’s a new coat – which is really saying something, because in a family with ten older brothers, you have to bet that hand-me-downs are the norm. Joseph should be running around in patched and threadbare clothes, but instead, his father gives him something entirely his own, a coat that’s brand new.

 And this coat is special: different translations give us different reasons why – perhaps it’s a coat of many colors, a beautiful piece of artwork, a coat that is meant to be admired, to draw attention to its wearer; a coat that is so lovely it certainly can’t be worn out to work in the fields. Or perhaps it’s simply a long coat, a coat with long sleeves – which may not seem so special, except that you would never wear a long-sleeved coat to do an honest day’s work; it would be ruined. Colorful coats and long sleeves were for those who were privileged or pampered enough to avoid hard labor…

 …and for Joseph’s brothers, who have spent their whole lifetimes in hard labor for their father’s sake, this coat is salt in their wounds; it’s the last straw. They’ve had it with this spoiled little brat of a brother; they’re done.

 Cain killed Abel; the relationship of the two first brothers in history ended in death. And Ishmael was sent to die, and Jacob had to run from his brother’s murderous plot… and the story repeats itself again. Joseph’s brothers start looking for a chance to get rid of him.

 Another generation turns to violence and death, because of jealousy, because of sibling rivalries, because there just isn’t enough love to go around.

 This is the generation that will either make or break Abraham’s family story. God called Abraham, and promised to make his family a great nation, and through them, to bless all the families of the world. God called them to look beyond themselves, to trust in God’s abundance, and to be a part of making a world full of justice and compassion and grace. But so far, all they’ve managed to do is turn on one another; instead of abundant and overflowing blessings, they’ve fought for scraps which never seem to be enough. We’re getting close to the end of Genesis: this could be where it all ends. This messed-up family is running out of time.

 When Joseph comes out into the fields in his fancy coat, his brothers are enraged, and they throw him a pit. This, I think, has to be where, for Joseph, it all comes crashing down. This is where he realizes that all his dreams, his comfortable and sheltered life, are in fact incredibly fragile, nothing but a house of cards on a foundation of clouds. As he sits in the pit, hearing his brothers up above debating how best to get away with his murder – it has to feel, to him, like the end.

 He has fallen, in an instant; he has reaped what he didn’t even know he was sowing; he has come into the family inheritance of bitterness and pain. And all his dreams: his dreams of power and glory and changing the world – all his dreams are going down the drain.

 Meanwhile, Joseph’s brothers are debating, trying to figure out what to do. And interestingly enough, it’s Rueben, the oldest son, Leah’s firstborn, who speaks grace and encourages his brothers to show some restraint. Rueben is the one whose inheritance and place in the family is most threatened by the blatant favoritism his father shows Joseph, but Rueben is also the one who says: wait. Let’s not kill him.

 Rueben shows grace. I don’t know why, but I find a lot of hope in this fact: we always remember Joseph as the hero, but it’s Rueben, in this moment, who starts to turn the family story around. He starts looking for another solution than violence and death. He starts trying to figure out a way that all his brothers – even the one he hates – that they all might prosper and live.

 Rueben shows grace… but he is surrounded by nine other angry brothers hungry for vengeance. While Rueben is trying to figure out how to get his brother out of the pit and back home safely, is brothers come up with another plan: Let’s not kill Joseph, they decide; what’s the gain in that? Let’s just tell dad he’s dead, and let’s sell him as a slave instead.

 Not exactly a resounding and shining moment, but it’s a start, and in this case, it’s enough mercy that God can work with it. The story isn’t over yet.

 To Jacob, I’m sure, it still seems like his dreaming his over. And in truth, his life will continue to be a cycle of up and down, rising high and falling low, rising higher only to fall farther still. It isn’t the first time it feels like everything is lost, and it won’t be the last time he watches it all slip away - - but the story isn’t over yet.

 And that’s the thing about God’s dream, to bless all the families of the earth, to create a new community built on justice and grace – it’s a fragile one, and there are times it seems like it’s a pipe dream, a hopeless fantasy, slipping through our fingers and drifting away.

 There are times when we know how Joseph must have felt in that pit: hopeless and lost, sure that it’s all over. This is where our story ends.

 But consider the power of one person willing to speak mercy, even just a mustard seed of compassion, an inch of grace – enough to open the door to hope once more, enough for God to creep in and remind us: it’s not over yet.

 We can be that person. We can be that voice of compassion; we can be the one who says, don’t let it end here, not like this.

 And we may not get it all right. We may not be perfect. Rueben wasn’t. He was still hurt by his father’s preference for his brother, and he was also too afraid to speak the truth, willing to let his father believe that Joseph was dead rather than let their father hate all the brothers all the more for selling Joseph away. Rueben wasn’t perfect. But let’s not belittle what he did do: he did what he could. He offered enough mercy to keep the story going: and sometimes, by God’s grace, that’s enough.

 We are all shaped by our family traditions: from grandfather clocks to casserole recipes and Christmas stockings and stories we tell over and over again, we are shaped by our families; there is so much we do in our lives just because it’s what we’ve been taught, what we’ve learned: “This is who we are, and this is what we do.”

 We are shaped by our families, but the very impact that our heritage has on us means that we are powerful, because what we do can shape generations still to come. Our decisions, our actions and our choices, can make new traditions; we can be the ones to teach future generations, “This is who we are, and this is what we do.”

 There has been a lot of talk about heritage and history lately. And we need to know our history, we need to have our eyes opened to what we’ve inherited – so that we don’t just keep repeating it, over and over again. We can make a new future; we can make a new way. In our homes, in our families, in our church, in our nation – we can be the ones who speak grace. We can be the ones who offer compassion. We can be the ones who open the door for God to turn it all around.

 It’s not over yet. Thanks be to God.

  God, you know how our families and our stories have made us who we are. For all that has blessed us, we are so thankful. We thank you for favorite recipes, for jokes that still make us laugh, for traditions and stories that keep us grounded, that keep alive our connections with family members who have passed away and those generations still to come. But God, you also know that our heritages and stories aren’t always good ones. We carry in us the weight of the choices our parents have made, the baggage of their mistakes as well as our own. And sometimes we find ourselves, without even realizing it, repeating the same old mistakes over and over and over again. Help us to believe that you really are a God of resurrections, of transformations and new beginnings: and if we let you, you will help us write a new story. Give us the courage to speak as much hope, to offer as much mercy, as we can – to choose who we will be, and begin to create traditions and a heritage of grace. In Christ’s name we pray; amen.

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This sermon has marinated in Jessica LaGrone’s reflections on Joseph in her book Broken and Blessed: God Changes the World One Person and One Family at a Time. Though some readers may be distracted by the consistent male language for God, LaGrone nevertheless offers great depth of insights in the lives and lessons of the first family of the bible, and I am grateful for her work.