(no subject)
Today is a day for link-age.
First, if you haven't read hiyacynth's latest story Periphery yet, I don't know what you're still doing here. It's a fantastic, heartrending look at what would've happened if the djinn had gotten Sam instead of Dean. Go, shoo, read it and weep those good, cleansing tears that only really great fic cause.
Last night shanghai_jim linked to an article about Raoul Wallenberg, a true hero who's story has always broken my heart.
Clay Shirky has a great blog entry entitled Gin, Television, and Social Surplus that highlights how we're changing media by insisting on interacting with it, that we won't blindly consume anymore and how that's a good thing.
Finally, bowtrunckle wrote a stupendous SPN meta Tension, Conflict, Motivation, and Plot: Why the Story is About Dean and We Do Know Sam. It says things about characterization and plot on Supernatural that I've been wanting to say for a very long time, and much more intelligently than I ever could have. It also helps to explain the lingering current of dissatisfaction I've noticed coming from many quarters of fandom since s.3 began. In short and without spoilers: the plot and the characters are both in flux, things aren't the same as they used to be and that's a good thing, even if it's a little weird at first. The meta also points out how being a Winchester girl (rather than primarily a Sam or a Dean girl) is the way to be. ;-)
In closing, let me show you my crazy
“I don’t have time for this, right now.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” Dean wheedled. Her hands curled into fists. He could tell that she was just about ready to pop him one right in the middle of his cocky little smirk.
“No, Dean. I’ve got more important shit to do than stand here and listen to you talk about how you don’t have any regrets.” Rachel stepped closer, a look in her eye that shook Dean just enough to make him glance over her shoulder at Sam, hoping he had his back. Somehow he wasn’t surprised to see him leaning against the far wall, arms folded across his chest. He was just going to stay there and watch Rachel tear him limb from limb, the bastard.
She stepped even closer, finger coming up to poke him in the chest. “It’s all good, you’re going to Hell, you’d do it again in a heartbeat, no one’ll miss you when you’re gone, blah blah blah, horseshit.”
He shrugged dismissively. Cause, no, he damn well didn’t have any regrets. “It’s not like I wasn’t gonna end up there anyway. Never could stand waiting.”
“Oh, you son of a bitch.” She hissed. He saw it coming, of course he did, it wasn’t like she was trying to hide it. But a solid punch to the jaw hurt like a bitch, whether you were ready for it or not.
“Fuck!” Dean squawked, hand automatically going to his mouth. She’d split his lip, goddammit.
“If you open your fucking mouth one more time I’m going to sew it the fuck shut, understood?”
Dean nodded. He wasn’t quite sure what else to do, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her this pissed off.
She stepped back. “Fine. Good. I’ve got a demon to kill.” She turned and stalked into the other room, grabbing her shotgun on her way through the door.
Dean looked over at Sam, a clear, ‘What the fuck is her problem?’ written all over his face. Sam just shook his head, his mouth pinched tight. He straightened and followed Rachel out of the room.
Dean poked his tongue against the cut in his lip, hissing a little as it stung. Well, shit, he’d had worse. Anyway, it was only what he deserved.
First, if you haven't read hiyacynth's latest story Periphery yet, I don't know what you're still doing here. It's a fantastic, heartrending look at what would've happened if the djinn had gotten Sam instead of Dean. Go, shoo, read it and weep those good, cleansing tears that only really great fic cause.
Last night shanghai_jim linked to an article about Raoul Wallenberg, a true hero who's story has always broken my heart.
Clay Shirky has a great blog entry entitled Gin, Television, and Social Surplus that highlights how we're changing media by insisting on interacting with it, that we won't blindly consume anymore and how that's a good thing.
Finally, bowtrunckle wrote a stupendous SPN meta Tension, Conflict, Motivation, and Plot: Why the Story is About Dean and We Do Know Sam. It says things about characterization and plot on Supernatural that I've been wanting to say for a very long time, and much more intelligently than I ever could have. It also helps to explain the lingering current of dissatisfaction I've noticed coming from many quarters of fandom since s.3 began. In short and without spoilers: the plot and the characters are both in flux, things aren't the same as they used to be and that's a good thing, even if it's a little weird at first. The meta also points out how being a Winchester girl (rather than primarily a Sam or a Dean girl) is the way to be. ;-)
In closing, let me show you my crazy
“I don’t have time for this, right now.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” Dean wheedled. Her hands curled into fists. He could tell that she was just about ready to pop him one right in the middle of his cocky little smirk.
“No, Dean. I’ve got more important shit to do than stand here and listen to you talk about how you don’t have any regrets.” Rachel stepped closer, a look in her eye that shook Dean just enough to make him glance over her shoulder at Sam, hoping he had his back. Somehow he wasn’t surprised to see him leaning against the far wall, arms folded across his chest. He was just going to stay there and watch Rachel tear him limb from limb, the bastard.
She stepped even closer, finger coming up to poke him in the chest. “It’s all good, you’re going to Hell, you’d do it again in a heartbeat, no one’ll miss you when you’re gone, blah blah blah, horseshit.”
He shrugged dismissively. Cause, no, he damn well didn’t have any regrets. “It’s not like I wasn’t gonna end up there anyway. Never could stand waiting.”
“Oh, you son of a bitch.” She hissed. He saw it coming, of course he did, it wasn’t like she was trying to hide it. But a solid punch to the jaw hurt like a bitch, whether you were ready for it or not.
“Fuck!” Dean squawked, hand automatically going to his mouth. She’d split his lip, goddammit.
“If you open your fucking mouth one more time I’m going to sew it the fuck shut, understood?”
Dean nodded. He wasn’t quite sure what else to do, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her this pissed off.
She stepped back. “Fine. Good. I’ve got a demon to kill.” She turned and stalked into the other room, grabbing her shotgun on her way through the door.
Dean looked over at Sam, a clear, ‘What the fuck is her problem?’ written all over his face. Sam just shook his head, his mouth pinched tight. He straightened and followed Rachel out of the room.
Dean poked his tongue against the cut in his lip, hissing a little as it stung. Well, shit, he’d had worse. Anyway, it was only what he deserved.