#rationalizable

[sivavakkiyar]

I’m confused, if Rushdie was so close with Said why did he go to the right? Said was against the fatwa

Well, yeah. Most people were against the fatwa, often they get kind of quoted out of context to make it look like every single person on the Left was cheering on Khomeini at every possible chance. Not everyone was Cat Stevens, who had a lot going on I guess

To be clear Rushdie didn’t exactly go ‘to the right’, he’s a liberal of a certain era. That’s not a defense, I just think refusing to recognize this kind of involves absolving that kind of liberalism. He just kind of abandoned much critique of US hegemony & empire; and if I’m being honest, you have to remember Said passed away in 03, and Rushdie really made his strongest changes in this direction around then. I’m not trying to put too much on their friendship, I’m just saying I can see how for him this would have been rationalizable.

The standard Rushdie story is that the fatwa happens, it understandably devastated his life, he felt abandoned by the Left and the left literati, he emerges defending US ‘anti-terrorism’ (‘let’s think rationally—-if we’re spreading freedom from Islamicism, aren’t we the good guys?’)

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Left and Returned: Definitely Nothing Wrong

Danny Phantom x Supernatural Crossover

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Ao3 (includes additional notes)

Chapter 5: Strange Music

"So, what happened when was dead?" Dean turns the wheel, leaving the Montgomery house behind.

Sam sighs, "A lot... I wasn't handling things well, trying to bring you back, trying to get revenge, even if it killed me."

"Sammy,"

"I know, I know... I got too close and I couldn't win, couldn't get out and Ruby—"

"Ruby! ?"

"Yes, Dean, Ruby. She rescued me and convinced me to do some f-ed up stuff. You need power to go after something like Lilith. She had ways to get that power..."

"Sammy..."

"I don't want to tell you what I did. I will, if you really want me too..."

"I don't... how bad, Sam? Like bad bad? Like killing babies bad?"

"Like, rationalizable bad. Sort of bad that seems okay when you're not thinking super clearly. Not like killing babies bad."

"Alright... that's... I mean it's not good, but..."

"Yeah, and well, I was there, doing that for a few months, then... I got in over my head again. I don't know where Ruby was, she didn't show up. I got out, but it was close, and I was hurt, bad.

"Hospital bad, and that's where I met Jazz."

"You met your girlfriend in the hospital."

"We haven't labeled anything, Dean, she's not my girlfriend."

"Suuure she's not."

"Anyway the demon wasn't done with me, and showed up there and Jazz exercised it from her coworker and,"

"And a new woman saves you from yourself again."

Sam scoffs but doesn't deny it. "It wasn't just her. One day she insisted I take someone with me."

"Danny?"

"Sam."

Dean turned to look at his brother. 

"First it was Samantha Manson, don't call her Samantha, then Tucker Foley, Valerie Gray. Then Danny. They all work differently, but all really differently than Dad. It was... something new, something interesting enough to distract from my suicide mission... and then they found out what I was doing…”

Dean can imagine it, even without specifics, he'd be furious.

"The first question was if I was okay.” Sam continued. Oh. “If I needed it to survive... Like I was Jack Montgomery, another monster trying my best to stay human... and they were only half wrong."

"Sammy… you're not a―"

"You said Mom made a deal, that actually makes a lot more sense than anything I could come up with..."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm not human in the same way I used to be..." Dean isn't sure how to respond to that. He wishes he wasn't driving so he didn't have to watch the road.

"What does that mean..."

"The" Sam sighs, "The ESP stuff, it was stronger then, because I was pushing it to be stronger. But when I stopped... it was like a combination of withdrawal and starvation… They wouldn't let me go cold turkey, the first attempt nearly killed me."

"So, what? You're dependent on some witchcraft now, Sammy?"

"Not witchcraft, no. And we're figuring it out."

"Figuring it out how?"

"Tracking and experimentation. They've got this whole lab thing,"

"You're you, Sam! You're not Jack, you're human!"

"I'm not, Dean. They did a DNA test and everything.” Sam snaps. “And maybe, maybe, if I'd been smarter back then it never would've manifested, maybe it started with the visions, I don't know! I just know that I have to live with it, okay?!"

Dean sighed. "You're not a monster."

"I'm a person." Sam asserted. And of course he is, but Dean doesn't like the way he said it, like one doesn't undo the other… But at the same time, he remembers holding the knife in his hand, he remembers using it. He remembers the screams, the begging. He remembers justifying the action because his victim was in hell too, and they must've done something to deserve it. Rationalizable bad, not like killing babies bad, but that didn't make it right.

"You are a person." Dean agrees.

---

The apartment building Sam has Dean park in front of is normal, sickeningly normal, the kind of normal that Sam's last girlfriend dripped in. Dean doesn't make a face. He knows how his brother gets about normal. 

Somehow it didn't occur to him that he should worry about what it would be like if Jazz hung onto the same fantasy? Did she forbid talk of hunting at the dinner table and try to pretend, just like Sam had, that her past was a fiction? 

He stepped towards the building.

"Dean." Sam asked, "Where are you going?"

He turns... he realizes they're just parking here because the world's most butchered RV is taking up the entire driveway. The building proudly labeled 'FENTONWORKS', the building with a friggin spaceship-satelight-bunker thing on the top of it, was obviously where they were going.

Dean looks up at the thing, wondering how in the world their neighbors haven't thrown a fit.

"Sammy, what. is. that?"

"That's the Op's center. It can be deployed into a blimp in emergencies."

" Really ?" What emergencies would require a blimp? How do you protect a blimp against the supernatural? 

Sam sighs, "That's what they tell me, I am not entirely certain they aren't just messing with me."

"Uh-huh," Dean says, because if anything could deploy into an airship, it would be that. But a blimp ?

Sam pulls him along, insisting that they'll be more than happy to show him if he's interested. Dean wants to look at the RV, which up close looks more like it's been armor plated. And that can't be street legal, but it does look useful!

Sam doesn't bother knocking, and Dean's about to make a joke about how he and his girlfriend ‘haven't labeled anything,’ but then he realizes they're walking into some kind of weird lobby, not Jazz's house.

Okay, so they take the FentonWorks stuff seriously. Good to know... 

"Welcome to FentonWork's how can I— oh, hey Sam. Glad you're not dead." He doesn't think the dark skinned woman at the counter is Danny's older sister. Like yes, adoption is a thing. But also her hair is short enough and the tank top and the durable looking jacket with a burn mark... the whole look screams 'I don't date men.' Which maybe could explain the not labeling… Yes, Dean knows this as a form of self defense. Yes, he did deserve it.

His first theory is confirmed when Sam greets her. "Hey, Val."

"Who's your friend?" She asks as they make their way to the counter.

"My brother."

"Dean? Or do you have more than one."

"Yeah, I'm Dean." He leans against the counter, testing his second theory. She spritzes him with water, from a squirt bottle, like he's a cat. He hasn't even said anything yet!

"We already did that." Sam tells her. Ah, holy water. This again. That made more sense.

She spritzes Sam for good measure. Was this just going to be their life now? 

"Danny gave his stamp of approval." Dean tells her.

"Where is he then?" 

Dean looked at Sam, Sam looked at him. Probably shouldn't mention the Coconut Vampires, right? Or did she already know about them?

The silence ticked past acceptable and into awkward. Dean wasn't answering this, Sam opened his mouth and closed it. 

"Correct, answer." Val tells them, "It's not a great test, telling me isn't telling somebody else, but still, right answer."

"Right... is Jazz here?

"Upstairs,"

"Thanks Val,"

"Yeah, thanks Val," Dean smirks at her, she rolls her eyes. Turns back to... assembling a really big gun behind the counter. Huh.

Photos line the walls of the stairs. Childhood's of people Dean has never met... Sam points out some pictures, little Jazz plays with little Ellie, Danny with friends. It's sweet, and Dean wishes he could turn off the hunter in his mind, but he can't.

There is not a single family portrait. Sure there's a dozen group sibling photos, a lot more as they get older, there's a lot with friends, but there are no photos with their parents. There are several that look like the parents may have been physically cut out of the pictures. Again, Dean can't help but think of Sam, and his rocky relationship with Dad. They don't have a pretty wall of memories, but if they did... which would Sam remove? 

The other thing is more subtle, and he only catches it because he's looking for things to make fun of the kid for. There are very few pictures with Danny and Ellie together. When he looks again its more obvious that something's off because Jazz ages consistently across the stairs but when he looks back it's like the middle child barely existed and when he does appear Ellie's pictures fade out. Until their early teens when all three show up.

There's a thousand possible explanations. So he doesn't ask, but he does wonder if changelings ever take the forms of entirely new kids. If Danny had fed from his parent's synovial fluid until finding some substitute and releasing the kid he'd replaced... Dean hadn't been around adult changelings enough to know if they could change the vibes of a room, but the younger ones could certainly be unsettling... 

If he asked, would Danny tell him?

But Dean is sidetracked by the handful of pictures as they approach the top of the stairs. Sam is in the next few, grinning wide and happy, looking disgruntled over a card game, pointing a shotgun at a Thanksgiving turkey— Wait. What?

He looks to Sam who shakes his head with a laugh. 

"They're going to get you with that prank too."

"What prank? It's a turkey!"

Sam laughs harder and tries to leave Dean in the stairway. "That doesn't make any sense. Sam! Get back here."

In the struggle, because he. did. Not. want. to fall for whatever the turkey prank was, he sorta forgot why they had come up the stairs... like he didn't forget forget. He just forgot enough to try to wrestle his brother to the ground in a strangers house and not see anything wrong with it until Sam says "Hi Jazz,"

She's tall, while her brother was a half-head shorter than Bobbie, Jazz is just slightly looking down on Sam. Even after he stands. Dean's brain sticks on it for a long moment. Enough time for her to hug Sam, kiss him on the cheek and turn to Dean.

"You must be Dean, I've heard a lot about you,"

"And you're Jazz," he greats, "I have not heard nearly enough!"

Jazz laughs, invites them over to the couch and puts away her book. And they talk, and they don't talk about hunting but they don't have to dance around it either. He can tell embarrassing stories about Sammy without having to explain why they were making their own silver bullets, and she can match them with stories of her own. The time for dinner rolls around and Sam-who's-not-Samantha appears to force Jazz and Sammy out of the kitchen, only to get completely sidetracked by the appearance of Tucker (who apparently is allowed to cook for visitors, but not at the same time as Sam #2). Val (who's name is Valerie it's unclear which he should call her) makes dinner while the pair argues. Danny shows up just in time to silence the food argument by threatening something about ectoplasm. Which everyone is in agreement. It is disgusting, why is he bringing it up in a conversation about food? They leap at the chance to explain old jokes, while leaving enough as mysteries to laugh at him not knowing, and two can play at that game because he and Sam have more than enough inside jokes.

At some point, Ellie calls Danny ‘template’ and throws a wrench in his changeling theory. Wasn't she the original? Her pictures are older. And he does ask her, and she laughs and laughs and does a bit about it that Danny gracefully plays into. It leaves Dean even less clear on what they are (and it is both of them, he couldn't tell you how he knows).

But he does know, just like he knew they'd return to Ellen and Jo and Ash at the Roadhouse, that even if Sam and Jazz never label things that they'll return to FentonWorks. He just hopes it doesn't end the same way.

---

In the morning, Dean's about to test if he can cook without getting shooed out of the kitchen… and there's this envelope.

It sits innocently on Jazz's table. Its bright pristine white stands in stark contrast to the yellowing books that surround it. It draws his attention from the other end of the room.

It's addressed to Daniel J. Fenton. The line below is not written in English, not written in any script Dean recognizes. (Which says something. No, he can't read most of those languages, or tell you what they are. But he'd recognize the symbols if he'd seen them before.) Jazz snatches it from the table and disappears down the hall without a word.

He doesn't think much of it, except to note that the paper must've been really white, because Jazz's books are not yellowing. Then, a minute later Danny is scrambling down the stairs, letter scrunched in his hand, still putting on his jacket. "Hi, Dean! Bye, Dean!"

Then he's out the door. Dean looks at Valerie who hasn't kicked him out of the kitchen, but is watching him like he's taking some sort of exam. He is unclear on if she lives here or not.

"Don't ask."

Dean doesn't ask either question.

---

"So, four people have gone missing in the last week, all from this neighborhood, all last seen around the same abandoned house." Sam tells him from the Impala's passenger seat. 

They stayed for a few days, but Jazz had her residency, Danny had vanished and Valerie had either gone home or out on a hunt. Tucker and Sam-who-was-not-Samantha were still there, and he was unclear on where they lived too, but as comfortable as his brother is sharing space with them… they were strangers still.

Sam had noticed his discomfort, and they'd taken to the road again.

Dean looks over at this house, it was almost a small mansion, even if it had seen better days. "Sure looks old enough to have some ghosts."

---

They don their FBI disguises and make their way to the homes of the missing. The same story for the first three.

They "heard strange music." and decided to find it. The older man was furious at the local teens, he went to tell them off and disappeared. The next two, a mother and her 7 year old son.  The son had gone off first, entranced by the songs. His mother vanished shortly after going to look for him, following the music.  The forth was actually a musician, who tried for days to recreate what he heard, and after failure after failure he went looking for the source. The thing that confirms it's their business, the families, the roommates, they'd stand right next to the missing people and would hear nothing while the now-missing heard an impossible melody.

They're theorizing, the spirit of a conductor, Pied Piper, possibilities of land sirens, when they see the house with a cop car parked outside. The officer is already returning to it. They'll have to come back later to check but— Sam steps in the direction of the officer. He speaks before Dean can ask him what he's doing.

"Are you sectioned?" Sam asks the man. 

"Who the—"

"Section 31, have you signed it?"

The man's eyes go wide. "No. Who are—"

"If there's someone in your department who has, put them on this."

"I... you think this is a weird one?"

"We do."

"I've only done interviews, I haven't seen—"

"We're not concerned with who has what paperwork. We just want this handled."

"You're not..."

"White jackets make good targets these days." Sam tells him. "You won't see that in the field anymore."

"Right..."

Then Sam asks him about the "strange music case." The information's nothing new, same tale as the others but with a new name and new reason but the officer doesn't question it when they start asking the weird things. 

Dean looks at his brother, who doesn't need to be asked. "So, we found out about some stuff while you were in Hell."

"I gathered that!” Dean tries not to sound gleeful. That was so easy compared to normal.

"Turns out, the government isn't as in the dark as they seem to be."

"Sammy, if you're about to tell me that we could've avoided the whole fugitives thing..."

"Probably not, it's not exactly set up well... what happens, is if they encounter something that's our thing, they're basically made to sign this whole thing saying they won't ever talk about it. But it's just if they encounter something. Not if they beat it or know what it is, just if they witness it. But everyone knows that the things that make you sign it are dangerous. So, nobody wants to be involved with anything touching those cases. You walk into a scene asking if anyone is sectioned, and ask if they saw anything Weird ." Sam puts a careful emphasis on the word. "They tend to give you free reign."

"Do they all forget to check your ID?"

"No, but they don't get huffy about jurisdiction, and don't ask if you're crazy."

"That is useful ."

"Very. Though if they have a sectioned officer already it can be kinda hit or miss."

"Like they don't know what they're doing or..."

"Sometimes, or they think they do, or you have to wait for the body to be officially exhumed before you can salt and burn. Which is fine when you can put police tape around the haunting."

"Huh,"

"It's been different."

"You said something about white jackets?"

"Yeah, they tried to pull together this taskforce, a bunch of sectioned from all over. They wore white jackets, got nicknamed the Guys in White. It fell apart. There's not much to go off of. Everything concrete is in a highly classified document. Surviving members got sorted back into whatever agency made the most sense, but the rumors still float around. Mentioning it helps sell the story."

---

The house is old but well kept. It's empty and dusty, but there's no broken glass or other hazards that some abandoned places have. Not that it will necessarily stay that way if the spirit gets angry, but not having to worry about rolling onto a needle or broken bottle when you're dodging a falling light fixture: always preferable. On the downside, the house is big. There are lots of rooms with big closets and adjoining bathrooms, and hallways that snake around the building.  

Sam yells, some point after another empty room comes up clean. "Dean!"

"You find something?!"

"Here! The garage."

Dean follows the direction of Sam's voice and finds the open door. The garage would be nice, clean concrete floors, a pegboard to hang everything up. But it was hard to look past the horror display in the middle of the room. It was hard to tear your eyes off it, so out of place in this space.

The horror is an ugly neon green and construction orange van with a splattered 'FENTONWORKS' on the side. It's a horrible van. Danny's horrible van.

"How did he find us?"

"I think he was here first..." Sam tried the handle, locked. 

"So... where is he?"

Sam knocked loudly on the side. "Don't look at me like that. He might be asleep in there!"

"In the middle of a haunting?!"

"I don't know, he might be!"

Sam thought the kid might take a nap around a ghost. Dean... he really wishes he could refute that, but who knows, maybe the ghost already had its hug, cried things out and got sent through its mystery door?! Pounding on the van doesn't work, so they resort to breaking into it. 

The van is weird on the inside too. Work equipment on one side, the kid's house on the other side, everything somehow both carefully organized and a chaotic mess. Dean can't tell the hunting stuff from the electrician stuff which is probably the point, but there's a cubby where the Kid sleeps and Dean understands a lot better why he didn't get his own room at the motel. The freezer is still running somehow, despite the vehicle being silent as the dead. 

The longer he was in here the more he felt like he was intruding. 

"What's this? Sam held up an envelope. The bright paper almost glowed in the dim light.

"I've seen that," Dean takes it, sure enough, it's the same envelope. "This was at Jazz's, she gave it to Danny and the kid ran out. She said not to ask."

"We should call her. Or Bobby?"

"Yeah."

They shuffle out of the van and freeze.

"Dean, do you hear that?"

"Yeah."

It was strange music.

And it was close, coming from the room they had left. 

They turn to see light from what had been that had been dim at best, mumbled cacophony of voices overlapping from what had been silent.

They should run. They should break through the garage door and call Bobby. Dean doesn't dare suggest it, they've been invited after all, it would be rude to decline such an invitation.

The insanity of that thought hits him the second he's through the door, but the dealing with insanity in front of him is first. Its move or be crushed by the crowd. He almost trips over someone's tail. Tail? Someone has a tail. The twirling girl? to his right has skin the color of the sky and he's pushed against a tall being with four arms and fur. It huffs a sound Dean won't try to describe and keeps him from falling. 

He moves, scooting through the dance's  movement trying to find Sam.

He cranes his head around but sees fabrics, scales, feathers, gemstones that follow inhuman dancers. Some of these people are flying on crystal wings! Some are just dancing as if the air was the floor. He can barely find the door they came from, let alone his brother in his distinctive not-eyeseeringly-colored Carhartt. But he can't focus on that and not getting crushed at the same time. 

It would be easier if he could predict the beat of the music. It's rhythm shifts and changes and the monsters around him add their own notes. Light whistling from the little flying glowstick things, deep growls from the tall scaled people, several times one or another of the dancers will pull him along with them when he missteps. Theyl keep him from crushing the little things too. He didn't even realize they were there. It takes a minute to realize that they are steering him out of the dance. He'd be offended if he wasn't relieved. 

Once free, he stands there and catches his breath and debates if it's worth making a salt circle. It might stop the transparent things, but he has no idea about the other monsters... and well, nothing has been directly threatening yet... and Dean thinks a circle of salt on the floor might offend some of them...

"Dean?" He turns, Sam is behind him. Thank all that is Holy and good. Actually Castiel probably fell into that and he hadn't helped at all so nevermind.

"Sammy, we found the Monster Mash."

" Dean ."

"Do you think that's the Graveyard Smash?"

"Other way around, the Mash is the dance."

"Really? Huh... what are you wearing?" When did he have time to change?! Where did he get the suit? It was nicer than their FBI disguises, and dark blue, and with flowers stitched around the buttons in a way that almost managed to not be girly. A matching leather strap hung Sammy's iron crowbar behind his back in a way that looked nice. Like crowbars were normal accessories to wear with suits, and not tools for breaking into buildings.

"What are you wearing?" Sammy shot back, and oh, hell no. He looked down, dreading a matching outfit. And, huh, he actually looked pretty cool, his jacket is longer, more of a coat... He looks kinda like a pirate in one of those movies, only less dirty and more like he planned on going to a party like this. His guns and knives hang from their own decorative belts, but he can reach them easily.

"We need to get out of here." Dean decides, the pattern on one of the belts changes. Just as he'd thought it looked too flowery, the flowers vanished and the leaves rewove themselves, pattern still pressed into leather. 

"I don't know..."

"You don't know? What do you want to dance with a mermaid first?" The mermaid, swimming in midair, tipped her head at them. She waited, when they didn't respond she swam on.

"No, Dean, we just don't know if we can get back here. We need to find our people."

"How do we do that?" 

---

They quickly learn not to lose sight of each other. The dance floor is not a set location. Dean doesn't know how these things know where they're supposed to stand if they want to talk, but they do. Dean shoves through the crowd. Sam's grip on his forearm is tight enough to bruise, but Dean's glad for it. He'll know if his brother lets go. 

They have to force their way into the dining room. (They need to know the civilian's haven't become dinner. If these things are eating people, then they might just have to start a fire?)

There's no obvious signs. No bones sticking out or skulls for decoration. The food isn't right though, the radioactive looking dishes that make the normal stuff feel dangerous, and they still don't know where they are.

Sam lingers. Reaching for a plate.

"Dude, come on!

Sam shakes himself out of it. They leave that room immediately. Though they left through the same door, they exit into an entirely new wing of the house.

From there progress stagnated. Wondrous sites stop being wonderful quick when you're aware of exactly how trapped you are.

"We need a plan."

"The walls move, usual maze tactics aren't going to work..." Sam mutters... "Maybe we try asking?"

"Ask the monsters?"

"I mean, they haven't done anything yet..."

They argued, but it wasn't like Dean had a better idea. 

They approach a woman made of flowing silvery material, lurking on the side of the main room. 

"You're humans." She points out with more than a little suspicion. "I don't think I caught your names,"

Sam elbows him before he can elbow Sam. Yeah, that's a trap! 

"You can call us humans, that works." The woman frowns. "We were actually wondering where the exit is...?"

"The party has only just begun," she says sweetly, her smile revealing the wrong number of teeth. Or maybethe right number of teeth for metalic people. "It would be rude to leave so soon, don't you think?"

Dean grips the handle of his knife, the iron knife, but he doesn't act, if it would be rude to leave, attacking her is definitely worse.

"Those are humans." Another creature joins their group. Its large animal features and white fur... it's a yeti, a yeti walks up and stares down at the silver lady. Dean grips the knife tighter.

"Yes, they do seem to be,"

"Were you returning them to their keeper?"

"Uh, I don't think we—" Sam started.

“Great One!” The Yeti bellows.

 "I told you not to call me that!" Someone shouts back from a room away.

"Then what shall I call you instead? Peacebringer, Pariah's Bane, Keeper of Amity's Gate..." the list continued. The silver woman, apparently recognizing these names, flees onto the dance floor.

"Cracklepaw." The new figure slides down the stairs. And the yeti, Cracklepaw? shuts its mouth. 

Danny also got the supernatural party upgrade too, only his are more medieval themed. Tunic and leather armor, long dark cloak that somebody dipped in glitter. Party also decided to bleach his hair for some reason, and Dean reaches up to check that nothing weird happened to his. (There's not, at least that he can tell.)

More importantly, he's got the missing kid on his back (he's wearing a very nice dinosaur costume) and the missing mother is trailing closely behind in sharp business casual.

"I only claim like, 10% of those names." He tells them, before realizing who they are. "Sam! Dean! How'd you guys get here?"

"Working a case." Dean says, like that wasn't obvious? 

"This is not a case, this is a thinking building getting too ambitious." He pats the wall, "No offense."

The staircase he'd arrived on retreats. Danny catches the arm of the woman, keeping her from falling. No, Dean has no idea where it went.

"A thinking building." Sam repeats. That sounds a lot like something that should be a case to Dean. He doesn't say so, because he's not stupid and they've been trapped in here long enough without offending it, but if people are getting lost in here... yeah, it's a case.

"Yeah, it happens sometimes.”

“And the rest of this?!” Dean demands. 

“Not the Autumn Court.” Danny says.

“Nor the Winter.” Cracklepaw says sadly. 

“Only a few more months though,” 

“Indeed! It will be the talk of the infinite! We have been planning for—”

The woman who wasn't missing anymore― Sarah, if Dean remembers right― clears her throat.

The Yeti turns its whole body, aghast at the interruption.

“Sorry, my bad, I was helping these two find the door.” Danny adds.

“Perhaps another time then,”

“Of course, and Cracklepaw,”

“Yes, Great One?” 

Danny glares, “If they hold their party on the fringes of worlds, I will spend half the thing ducking out just like this one.”

“As is your nature,” the yeti allows. Danny bows, sending the kid on his back into giggles. Cracklepaw bows lower, and the Danny's face twists into exasperation.

“Right! Anyway, this way.” Danny gestures to the corridor Dean and his brother just left . “Are you guys staying? You know the rules?”

“Rules?” Sam asks

“We're not staying.”

“We're not staying.” Sam echos, they follow him through into another space pretending to be a normal hallway.

“I want to stay!” the little boy announces. And where the hallway was, there's now a wall. Dean half swears, but neatly turns it into the word fudge. Sarah? glares at him. 

“You can't stay, you're going to your grandma's on Sunday.” Danny reminds the kid. 

“Oh… can't they come here?”

“No… it would hurt grandma's hearing aids.” She lies. But the boy must believe it, because he pouts and the wall disappears. 

They continue in silence through the next passages, though it isn't quiet. High notes are only slightly muffled as they sing of leaves turning and falling and rotting. The things that will devour the rot hum a deep harmony that twists and becomes the new song. The things that prepare for slumber will depart soon, and Dean is tired enough that he almost counts himself among them. He won't be able to sleep a full season, but he thinks he might try, and when he makes that choice the rhythm becomes easier to follow.

 “So, there are rules to this place?” Sam asks, and Dean misses a step. He scowls, trying to figure out why Sam thought it was appropriate to interrupt… but… why he did he think it was inappropriate?

“Don't eat the food, don't drink the wine, but water should be fine.” Danny almost sings. “Give nothing your name, take nothing you can't give, and don't” he speaks fast to force the words into the rhythm. “make metaphysical bargains unless you're good at wordplay.”

He turns to look at them, and says normally. “They aren't demons, catch ‘em with a pun and they'll think it's so novel they won't bother with revenge, usually. Be nice about it.”

“So this place… it's fae― Fair folk!” Sam caught himself. 

“That is a very broad term, Sam.” Danny might be warning. 

“How do you know where we're going?”

“You can't tell?”

“How would I know?!”

“It's that way, isn't it?” Dean asks. 

“Uh-huh.”

“How? Why didn't you say something?!”

“I couldn't earlier, just since the ‘get ready for hibernation’ verse started.”

“Big. Mood.” Danny interrupts whatever Sam was about to say. “I would love a nap right now.”

“Me too.” Sighs Sarah.

“No!” Screams the child, and again the house decides it's not having a guest forced to leave.

He hates it here.

――

The hibernation song ends and another begins. Dean can't place the words in the drumbeat, he catches enough to realize it's something about successfully avoiding hunters, and he no longer wonders why he can't grasp it. 

The next is in the language of the trees and it makes so little sense that Dean loses his sense of direction again, but it's fine, because Danny apparently understands it. 

The child redirects them twice and by the time the air fills with songs of dirt they've found the front door. 

It opens easily, and the world goes silent as the dead. Dean turns, expecting to find everyone staring at them, furious and horrified that they'd leave so blatantly, but behind them is only an empty dark house. 

“You can find your way home from here?”

“Yes.” The mother takes her child from Danny's back. “Should we do introductions now, or…”

“Probably not, it's influence lingers… go home, eat normal food, sleep, it will feel like a dream.”

“Right…” She doesn't linger, taking her son's hand and nearly dragging him away. 

“They aren't the only ones.” Sam tells him.

“Oh, I know. I'm gonna spend the next week bargaining for some guy's name and the musician guy keeps trying to steal an instrument. It's a whole thing.” He complained. “ I’ve got it though, if you guys want to stay in the real?”

Dean was sure he wanted to leave, right up until he'd crossed back into the cold night air. His ears still rang with the emptiness that strange music should fill. Sam didn't answer tight away either.

“You're both Once-Dead it's your right.”

“No…  I’m good… Dean?” Sam looked at him, and Dean knew there'd be no judgment if he said yes.

“No.” He can't. He's human, he doesn't belong there.

"Once-Dead… is that… what you are?" Dean finally asks.

Danny laughs, “Oh, I’m much more dead than that. If you figure it out, let me know."

"Oh come on—"

"I'm serious. All I know is I died and I came back wrong. Died again, back again.”

"I've seen you handle salt, silver, iron."

"Cutting off my head and staking me into my coffin didn't do much either." Danny tells him, and Dean flinches. He knows that's what you do, but the idea of doing it to Danny... "Or cutting out my heart or other organs. The scars didn't even stick."

"Who?"

"My parents."

"Your parents." Dean repeats, thinking of his Dad's demon deal, of the time Sammy begged him to kill him because he was losing control to the demon possessing him. And Dean almost asks what Danny could've possibly done to deserve that. Almost, because Dean's never met the Fenton Parents and he knows what Danny does now. If there was an atrocity before, does that make a difference?

"Jazz dealt with them." Danny tells him, assuming Dean's silence is something else entirely.

"Good." Dean says, and he's not completely sure if he's telling the truth.

[dollscarcass]

Lil imagine I've had cooking in my brain (this will be very disconjointed sorry in advance)

But imagine being the kid of a darling. Your parent is hard working, has to be in order to support both themself and their child (Imagine Y/N/MC being pre teens/early teens) and yet has time for both you and a few friends they've kept into their mid age. Alongside that, you and them have a fantastic relationship. You fight and disagree, sure, but at the end of the day you're family. Whatever job they have, imagine a yanderes interest being peek by them either by their hard working nature or by their kind attitude or whatever else suits your fancy.

So, going along with the idea that this is in a society where the more illegal parts of being a yandere aren't outright supported but aren't criminalized, the yandere does what any yandere does and yoinks their darling.

Here comes the tricky, angst filled part that itches a lil goblin part of my brain.

This yandere is particularly possessive and hates the idea that anyone else even touched their darling, let alone have a kid. Even then, they rationaliz in their brain, you don't even LOOK like your parent (Whether or not that is true is up to you) so they'd be saving their darling from the heartache and grief from raising what is CERTAINLY (to them at least) going to be a horrendous person, irony aside.

So, it happens. And, life moves on. The yandere has your parent. And you're... Alone. Now, in this society, taking in a darlings kid isnt exactly frowned upon but it isnt seen as good manners to just leave them alone. So, once the authorities are notified that your parent is Kinda Gone you're put into a program that allows you to keep living in your apartment but are on a fixed income alongside undergoing heavy monitoring.

Alongside the intrusion of all these officals, and the essential isolation you face (The stigma towards a darling's child not also being taken is a lot heavier on the child than the yandere, in this society) leads to some heavy stress, alongside the fact that you lost your parent.

But, life goes on. You graduate high school. You (try) and go to college but one particularly vicious yandere who got a bit pissy you befriended his darling found your little... Predicament and bada bibg bada boom you can guess what happened.

So now, you managed to get a job, just working at the local library helping one of your parent's old friends who felt pity on you and decided to help, if only to help their guilty conscious. Things were going pretty decently, compared to the rest of your life, until one spunky teenager came bouncing into the library and practically forced you to help look for a book in one of the more deserted parts of the library.

Once you had grabbed the actual book (which turns out had been misplaced and was traditionally was supposed to be in the front of the library) and gave it to them, their smile gained a dangerous glint.

"Thank you, (MC/YN)!" The following chuckle made a shiver run down your spine, "I'm so glad to have a big sibling like you."

♡ Hope yall liked! I dont traditionally do YN/MC imagines but I hope yall likef this one! I love the idea of being in the perspective of the kid of a kidnapped darling and the crushing angst that can come with finding out you have a half sibling ♡

[avivas-mess]

I’m an very proud of the children of this generation who are speaking out and taking a stand against genocide — even if it’s through the virtual world and video games. They are much braver than the adults who keep rationalizating war crimes. Everyone can see what’s happening before their eyes, justifying it is being complacent with evil.

[lonelybread69]

Revew Ghoulette masks

Finally got the guts to buy it,

between the actual price and the delivery i have spent more than i wanted, but for once i don't even feel buyers remorse, I love it so much!

I love it, but i also have a LOT of complaints about it too, let's start with the elephant in the room, the ghoulette mask from trick or treat studios is VERY fragile, like, VERY,

and a lot of people have complained about it before, is not that uncomune for them to arrive broken or damedg and unfortunatly for me it was the same...

the crack is quite long, it goes all along the hairline under the curl, and ends right above the eye, lucky for me between the position and the chrome finish is not that noticeable, and compared to other people who recived it litteraly in pices i've been lucky, but still... not happy about it.

Talking about the chrome, it looks nice for the most part, but in some spots is smudged, faded or event bubbling, i've also heard horror stories of it gust rubbing off, so i am consurned about the durability of the paint as well.

For those of you who are thinking about buying it for cosplay, think twice, a part for the fragility, as it is sold is almost unwearable, on the amazon listing i bought it from it said that it came with padding on the inside, but there is non, it comes whit 4 very fleamsy magnetic laches to attach the back part to the front, that I dont feel can actually sostein the weight of the mask, and i'm not ready to test my luck honesty.

But thankfully on the internet there are some good people who made videos on how to DIY it in a way that will make it wearable :)

Trick or treat on the left, Ghost website on the right

Honestly the mask sold on the official ghost website is a good, much cheaper, alternative, it is still overpriced for what it is, (a plastic halloween mask you could duy at the store, it even comes with the made in China stiker on it, no joke) but it is to expect for merch, and even if I'm stengy i feel better knowing I'm supporting the band (this is how I rationaliz it at least...), and in piktures it doesent look bad, if you dont show the back is preatty good, it also stores much better... (my appartment is small i have no fuckin clue were i'm going to keep it... I dident think that far ahead did I... )

In conclusion

The trick or treat mask is very very cool, and I'm very happy i got it, it feels cool, it looks cool, BUT it came damaged, it's fragile and full of imperfections (same ) and for the price... i dont think i can raccomend it, if you find it cheeper than the curren reselling price then go for it, but be awere af all the things i said befor, the multiple difects, the quality of the product and the shipping problems, becaus if you dont have a good refound plan in minde you may end up with a ver expencive ghoulett mask puzzle insted.

My suggestion is, if you decide to get it, manage your expectations, and keep them low, with all the various reviewers complaints in mind, and you won't regret buying.

Hope I coul help someone with this :)

[12colors-classpects]

There is a stillness in the tundras and their frozen-over lakes' dawn, the evergreen trees covered in fresh dustings of snow heaped upon by politely howling blizzards the night before. Some creature sleep deeply, others scurry frantic to find food traveling betwixt shelters, and others yet still huddle around the wellkept hearth. They all wait for the next dawn to break spring; but, for today, the dawn only greets the winter cabin's northern face with another frosting of

Rime

Narrative Function

Rime is the aspect of anticipation. It is measured in the interval between bated breaths. It governs the build up of tension, shaping those that suffer under longer nights toward holding a greater longing for the dawn, and those under longer winters to smuggle seeds of hope against starvation for long-off spring. The aspect of Rime is a harsh and harrowing waiting game of chicken, uncle, six-piece roulette.

In its' secondary function, Rime is the aspect of harsh logical calculus: it is moved not by passionate emotions not flowery language; but by true predicates, valid arguments, and sound conclusions.

Player Tendencies

Rime players tend towards cool calculating personalities and quick immediately rationalizable actions: They do not flaunder faced with a trolley problem, and choose immediately and without hesitation what they believe to be the most correct, or least incorrect answer, even and sometimes especially if it means pulling the lever that condemns their best friend to death for a greater good or more aptly, a lesser evil.

Powers

Literal: Manipulation of Ice Metaphorical: Dramatic Suspense, Investigation Rational: Tempature suppression, Irrational: Remote viewing, Time dilation

[vyragosa]

all this work to not want to die alone

Coffin: “I made Peter promise to keep the flame burning.”

Amelie: "Together, with me, here, until the last flame winks out.”

both of the mother figures in higgs’ life had different purposes for him, ever since he was born he wondered how his uncle had killed his biological mother with complotist theories that “the only safe haven was six feet under” most likely killing herself, the only possibility of rationalizating “protecting someone” for higgs meant either murder or imprisonment “that was his way of protecting me”

so he tries to protect amelie, by replicating the exact same methods his uncle applied on him, to make her remember her true nature “you can’t fight your true nature, for all the good it gives...” 

if he can’t save amelie, he must keep her safe, but she doesn’t need to be kept safe, but that’s a purpose, just a reason, because you can alway survive for the smallest of reasons

it’s interesting how the second choice amelie offers is quite literally the “choice” that higgs has been bringing up the entire time, his burning wish to be by amelie at the end, constantly bringing up how he can be the only one keeping her safe, it’s the worst possible ending, one where higgs is back to the steel sky of the bunker he was born in, given amelie’s possessiveness the idea must have been carefully crafted and born from the fact that she feels guilt ever wanting sam to be that person, so instead, there is higgs monaghan to make do

no one can “save” amelie, the only next best thing is staying by her, and higgs was more than committed to the bit

but the moment there is another alternative, sam as another son wronged, sam who puts his arms under his to drag him out just like he had carried the corpse of his uncle, there’s another possiblity, “i want you to be the one to free me” instead, hurry up and kill me sam, knowing that could have been the closest thing to

mercy

[jexess13]

2/2

You once told me that I deserve better. But the truth has always been that I deserve to choose who I love. I deserve who I want to love and you deserve that love. You asked me once why I loved you. And I feel like I could never give an answer. And i don't think there is one. Because to give that an answer is to rationalize my love for you, yet love isn't rationalizable. Love doesn't make sense and it's something we won't understand. I just know I love you. And you.... I hope you love me too.

[normystical]

Mostly rambling nonsense here because I feel like it... but if you can tolerate that, maybe this could be useful? idk.

I think I've found a way to reason your way out of fear. It works for rational fears, however, and not so much at all for irrational fears. That's right, you can rationalize your way through rational fears.

See, the thing is, most people stop reasoning at "because The Bad Thing will happen," and an "I don't know" warrants further hounding. That simply does not work. Rather, it should be the other way around.

"WHY am I scared of The Bad Thing happening?"

I used to be afraid of bothering bees or wasps, but it's significantly diminished. Initially, it seemed more simple. I was in a bad headspace, frankly. "Bee stings cannot hurt any more than my mental pain does every day, so there is no reason to be afraid." Comparing it to pain I have truly experienced perhaps may help a bit, but what I hadn't realized was that it went a bit deeper than that.

With that specific example in place, I'll repeat myself now. The typical thought process is

Why am I scared to bother the bees? —> Because I might get stung.

or maybe even, a step further,

Why am I afraid to get stung? —> Because it will hurt.

It seems that most people fail to realize, you can ask further.

Why am I afraid of being hurt?

That opens up a ton of possible questions, actually.

How much would that hurt?

Can I handle that pain?

Would it be worse than the anxiety I'm feeling about it now?

Will it kill me?

Note, however, if it didn't contribute to your fear before, then, if possible, don't allow it to do so afterward.

I have never been stung. I do not know if I have any allergies. That was never a concern for me, though. I assumed I had zero allergies. I know others are incapable, and that's valid, but me, I can kind of just push certain concerns into the back of my mind and forget it.

I had another example in mind.

I'm a bit worried when it comes to food sometimes. I try and make sure it's good and not expired. I seem to forget to ask myself, though:

What will happen if it IS expired?

(I might get sick.)

What will happen if I get sick?

(Probably throw up?)

Am I afraid of doing that?

(Me, no. I can't handle when others do it, but for me it's just... uncomfortable.)

Wait, is anyone else around to witness this? Will they...?

(No... I'm alone. I'm safe.)

See, I'm emetophobic. Well, self-diagnosed? I'm not 100% sure, but no matter what, I just REALLLLYY don't want to witness that. Ever.

I believe that, in reasoning this way,

I don't know.

could be extended to

I don't know. I guess it's visceral.

Some fears just can't be reasoned with.

I'm not afraid of getting sick. I'm not afraid of getting my papers or my outfit ruined. I'm just... afraid.

And you know what?

That's good enough reason to be afraid.

Here's another way to look at it.

Everything good, bad... reasons why we avoid things, go toward them, fear them, reason for or against them... hell, the sensation of pain itself... it's all just feelings, is it not?

Even on a more existential level, technically even just existing, we do it because of feelings. Even if you resent life, well, it's permanent and risky to... you know.

That being said... isn't fear itself technically a form of pain?

So, another way to word those rationalizating questions is...

How bad would this feel to me?

When it comes to phobias, you could say that you're afraid to be in fear.

In fact, that's probably essentially what it is, anyway.

All forms of pain do play a role in this.

Physical... emotional... not even just that, but different forms of emotional pain, too.

Anger, fear, humiliation, misery, guilt. Whichever ones are easiest to bear varies from person to person. But, like a headache or a scratch, it is pain.

The discomfort from a bee sting? Yeah, I could handle that.

The discomfort from throwing up? I can handle it, but I'd prefer not to if possible.

The discomfort from my phobia being triggered? I doubt I could. I have no idea how I'd react, but that's because I haven't been triggered full-on in quite a while. And I do not want to find out.

[woodox-earthtaurus]

NIMBY-ism is alive and well. How do even begin to contemplate or rationaliz that solar is bad for someone's health? Like what?

Solar power in Kansas: How one couple's land lease became a fight

[bornfromchalk]

albedo, what's love to you?

This is a particularly tricky question. Feelings are... confusing to me. But that is why I have spent excessive hours researching them. From a completely scientific standpoint, love is a surge of chemicals in the brain, creating the feeling of attraction and perhaps companionship. I have a feeling this is not what you mean with your question, however, and I do have some deeper thoughts on this.

Love is one of those things that has puzzled mankind ever since humans have existed. Countless poems, prayers, experiments and rituals alike have been created across ages in its name. It's completely rationalizable, yet deemed one of the less rational parts of human behavior. "The heart wants what it wants".

There are many kinds of love: familial, romantic, platonic and so forth. Some beliefs recognize up to eight types of love, some of which may coexist towards the same person. Well, it might not even be a person per se. And we get closer to my answer.

To me, love is a force of nature. A force to be reckoned with. It is all around us, yet sometimes not easily deciphered as such. Love is something that can bring peace and wage war at the same time. It is what makes me pick up my chisel and brush and go out to paint yet another beautiful moment in nature. It is what makes the mother of a wounded child annihilate everything in her path to get that child to safety. It can be the first step you take each day, knowing that you will do what's necessary to keep your body functioning. It is the urge to jump in a lake to cool off on a hot day or the split second decision to run outside to dance in the rain. It is the way humans, as pack animals, decided to establish societies with rules and safety measures to keep each other safe and fed. Big and small; serious and utterly silly all the same. It is present in some form in every single moment and place and has the power to influence decisions and shape history. Love is an unspeakable danger and an unmatched protector.

Be it due to chemicals or some sort of divine intervention or perhaps both, love is a miracle of existence.

~Albedo

[so-and-sos-blog]

I think I understand what bothers me about Back to the Future-esque time travel stories, and why the response of "How does time travel work? It doesn't, nerd" is so common and so unsatisfying.

The first-level criticism is that the causality system doesn't make sense. The only way it makes sense is if causality is being dictated by some kind of impersonal magical force making changes to the series of events based on what seems vaguely causal or rationalizable. It's this criticism that people usually articulate.

The thing is, that's how most magic systems work. It's not actually a problem.

No, the problem is that these stories almost never admit that it's a magic system. They don't even admit that it's science fiction. They imply that it's just actual, normal causality. Characters act like they know exactly how it works and are invariably proven right, even when the principle they believe in is proven wrong in other cases. The fact that you can travel back in time is a hand-waved necessity of the genre, but what happens if you time travel is often presented like it's obvious - confusing at first, but ultimately mechanical with nothing to explain - no matter how nonsensical or contradictory it is.

The way that causality actually works in this type of story is largely an enigma. That could be what makes it interesting. If they said "This seems strange, but it happens because the universe detects an anomaly and tries to correct it," or "Huh? That makes no sense! But I guess I can kind of see where this is going so I'll try this," or something, and characters acted accordingly, it would be fine. I'd have little to no trouble suspending my disbelief in that. The dynamic timeline concept is valid and compelling - it's the way it's presented that's bad.

[strategic-social-media]

The Fake Church in the Age of Deception

7/27/2023.

The FIRST thing you need to know about the fake church is that it will FEEL GOOD to go there. America's church has morphed into something utterly unlike what church meant in the New Testament. How convenient for the enemy to do a switch on people without Americans even knowing it?

People bring up the verse that says we need to "meet together" and not to forsake that. This is a true statement, IF you were meeting at a REAL church. We have GMO church in America instead. 

Thus feeling you need to meetup is a nice concept but SO many problems with the USA church. First, over 80% of them are playing for the wrong team - they are literal Luciferians. The #1 Goal of a Luciferian is to get a role of respect - pastor, priest, doctor, etc. Thus doing evil in the name of doing good. To do EVIL, but drape yourself in respectability, look trustworthy. This is from "Luciferian-Lite" as a Mason. or Hardcore Luciferian. 

Many "pastprs" in my own city are doing blood sacrifice to the devil in secret right there in the church. These "pastors" are experts at saying all the right things, so you cannot call them out for wrong doctrine. BUT MEANWHILE they are putting spells on the congregation to put them to sleep spiritually.

In the 1970's, ex Witch, John Todd, exposed the MASSIVE levels of nearly total infiltration of USA churches. He was working directly with them, writing big checks to them (starting at $500,000 minimum). And that was back then and it is only worse from then. 

If your pastor is not very vocal and preaching sermons against Masons, you're extremely compromised. You're already dealing with a compromised pastor, mark my words! He’s at the very least under some unholy GAG ORDER.

THE MOST DANGEROUS place for a Christian (new or seasoned) is in a so-called church. Satan knows the true remnant has the authority to cancel his plans and so the church has been turned into the fake church. It is GMO: it looks like a church, smells like a church, etc. but at a core spiritual level that the eye cannot even see, it is morphed into something against the spiritual life of those attached to it. 

I've seen first hand so many times the pastor/priest casting spells over the congregation and the congregation is utterly CLUELESS. Thus ineffective for God's Kingdom, WHILE FEELING LIKE they are all good and moral and scriptural, etc. etc. etc. 

And then there is the topic of the 501c3 -- a whole other barrel of vipers we will not be addressing here.

This is the age of deep deception. We have deep fake videos. We have men winning beauty pageants. We have men who do SUCH AN OUTSTANDING JOB of fakery, that they excel over the women beauty queens. The female beauty queens of a few years ago are now LOSING to the deceivers. Wake up to the age of inverted reality. 

God knew all this and COMMANDED US to be as savvy to evil as the devil, yet without the selfish ambitious heart of the devil. To know all the schemes of wickedness, all the plays in their playbook, but to be filled with TRUE LOVE from God. God emphasized that His love is without any fakery of selfish scheming whatsoever!  (2 Corinthians 2:11 and Romans 12:9-21 and Matthew 10:16). 

Love only has 1 agenda: to BLESS the beloved in the fullest and deepest sense of the word. With the understanding that true blessing is being drawn into more likeness and intimacy with the person of Jesus of Nazareth.

Today's so-called church-attending Christian is breaking every one of these commands from God in the verses referenced above. And because they are under the DECEPTION flowing from the devil through the lucifierian pastors, they think they are just fine, blind to their own direct rebellion, and not feeling they have that to repent of. 

Likewise we have Luciferians that FAKE being a Christian and LOOK BETTER than the christians. They really do. The false lucifer light is OUTSHINING the light of Christ, so dimmed it is through complacency, spiritual rationalization and lack of discernment. THIS GRIEVES the Lord Jesus Christ beyond words. How blind can you be? How can you be so DEAD when you've been so well fed?

A real church transforms the community, leadership, area, lives around it. It makes witches flee. it makes crime rates go down. It makes blessings overtake the cursings. And BY THE FRUIT of the reality of our day, we see total proof that the so called American church is NOT AT ALL the church of God. despite all their pretty language and offended protests. The Lord Jesus rebuke all falseness and judge it thoroughly!

We have expert and master fakers. We have "trans woman" that are convincing looking women as covert men. They have surgeries, makeup, spanx, and artificial hormones in their arsenal of deception.

Likewise we have spiritual inversion that is utterly convincing, but with a dark anointing, a fake holy spirit and everything to neutralize your spiritual growth WHILE MAKING YOU FEEL you are growing. 

They will say all the right things while assigning demons to the congregation members. While running covert extortion scams on the members. While seducing the wives, teens, and children in the congregation. While assigning witches to work in the nursery! They are busy looking like harmless old ladies, while they steal blessings, transfer giftings to themselves, and do spells to neutralize the destiny and calling God intended for that baby! WAKE UP and come to discernment! Be wise, open your eyes and come to the reality of the warfare against you.

They will cast fake joy, fake gifts, etc on their congregation. This is not the exception, the is not the norm, this is nearly always the case. 

When did your pastor expose masonry as outright luciferian? How many sermons on this #1 danger did he preach thus far in 2023? When did a sermon focus on how to detect, prevent and REVERSE witchcraft in all its many forms? 

The true function of America's church (the false, inverted church as it is) in this generation is to quench the holy spirit, neutralize growth, and make them feel good in the process. 

This is just 1 of over 20 reasons why the LAST place I would send a new believer these days is to a church, for it is NOT AT ALL what the New Testament was referencing by that word. Satan sleeps in on Saturday night so he can be fully present in the American church, where he feels MOST at home around his fellow enemies of the Gospel - the seeming goodness without the real goodness.

[29pageshomestuckeveryday]

Homestuck, page 2,239

======>

Author commentary: --> Terezi insists on handling the Vriska situation herself. Looks like she ends the conversation believing she's convinced Aradia to sit this one out. But this doesn't feel like it's just about averting danger to Aradia, or diffusing a tricky Serket situation like only she knows how to do. It also conveys Terezi's attitude as having a sense of "responsibility" toward handling Vriska, partly due to their darkly codependent relationship, but also due to Terezi's attitude toward justice. Terezi views herself, almost exclusively, as a dispenser of justice. Exclusively, because she's the only one she knows who cares about justice, and considers morality in those terms. Therefore, if anyone else punishes Vriska, it's merely revenge. Whereas if she does it, it's delivering justice, and hence throughout their mutual arc, Terezi continues to see Vriska as her "responsibility" and views herself as the only one who can cause Vriska to face justice for her misdeeds. Vriska, however, does not see things in terms of justice but rather in terms of a fungible, ever-rationalizable personal morality, making her a strong foil for Terezi's desire to pursue justice. Put more simply, Terezi's ethos concerns bringing justice to those who have wronged others, while Vriska's concerns exacting revenge upon those who have wronged her.

[dandelionstep-moved]

am actually excited for the fnaf movie but i don’t disagree with the people who say the angry red eyes aren’t their favorite… just in my personal opinion i find horror antagonists so much more effective when you can’t gauge any emotion/intent on their faces like you would probably be able to on an animal or typical human. its like the difference between being scared of something that can obviously physically harm you (like, a growling tiger or something) vs. being scared of something because of a gut feeling that isn’t instantly rationalizable (even if it’s still fairly obvious…)

[malvoisine]

How is it possible someone who loves Rilke with all his heart, and plays Beethoven beautifully in the evening, the next day starts killing people as if stamping forms? He called the question frightening because, he said, I don't have any answer yet, I tried, I don't have any answer yet.

Well. This is one of the paradoxes of creativity and destructivity, destructiveness. In a very paradoxical way even a love of Rilke, with Rilke's insistence on the winnowed-down heart of the poetic essence—almost refined—what I call materializing, rendering concrete the ineffable heart of poetry—in a perverse way such claimants to the love of Rilke's poetry can actually persuade themselves that they are in fact straining towards the same kind of purity, only this time on a human level. That having identified, as far as they're concerned, what is the pure representation of the human form and human culture they are performing the same task as Rilke does, saying: just as Rilke tries to absolutely get down to the pure heart, the pure essence of poetry, that they are doing the same thing for humanity. It's sick, it's perverse,

It's understandable?

It's rationalizable. I can see such people actually talking to themselves, looking at themselves in the mirror and saying that, or even writing it down as a manifesto. And for them this logic, this warped logic, would be sustainable. And the same thing of course with the distortion of Beethoven's music—the kind of elation, the kind of vision, the visionary aspect, the visionary residuum of listening to a great work like a Beethoven symphony could say: we're building the symphony of humanity, glorious, shorn of all impurities, of all frailties, feebleness, and so on. I tried too, like Steiner—I suppose all of us, from time to time—to ask that question, how is it possible,

How easy is it?

It cannot be easy. It requires also a sense of privilege: those who feel privileged, and who believe that now the world is divided into the elite and the scum. There has to be a sense of privilege—rather than a sense of pantheistic communality, we have to separate those two different groups—that they derived from the aesthetic creations of their own kind.

How easy is it to make out of very gentle men or women, or men, let's say, torturers? You've met them.

Oh, yes.

All your life.

All my life. Very easy. I read an example of a colleague of mine, a doctor—a medical doctor—who was arrested simply for having victims of police brutality in his clinic, for taking them to his clinic for treatment. People were bleeding to death in his van, and then he was tortured. He was accused of being a doctor of rebels, and behold, one of his torturers was a former student at the university,

And he knew him well?

Yes. He said, Oh, you once taught me, and very calmly proceeded to tie his wrists to rings in the ceiling, and tortured him. The people who—again, we go back to this—who divided themselves into the chosen and the rest—and it's clear that that individual considered himself chosen—even his passage under the tutelage of this doctor was for him simply a service which that doctor had to perform towards his tribe of the privileged elite. That's the way they look at it, that's the way they think. I met them; I know them.