"Contemplating my consistent role in the great romance novel that's the Apocalypse." —all of us here at downtoagincourt, feeling smug about spreading the gospel of DtoA in 2015
We're celebrating our 600th post! It’s hard to believe it’s been barely 8 months since somebody finished the first two books, and got super-fucking-pissed off they had barely 100 kudos apiece.
Still, it’s not how many love you, but which ones—and you, loyal Chitaquans, have proven yourselves again and again as worthy readers, commenters, speculators, dreamers, and creators; crafters of strange knitted…things, and cookers of a very banquet of fantastical survivalist dishes; makers of gorgeous art and meta and writers of unsettlingly in-universe fanfic-of-fanfic. A lot of which seems to have to do with Phil.
As of the moment of this writing, there are 3,130 comments on Agincourt.
And other high points as well—remember that time Sep discovered us?
Or what about the time when we got our very own fanlore.org page?
In short, as Dean would say: we’re awesome. No, really, we are.
Special thanks, forever, to @dustyjournal and @grasshoprmolly (and bratfarrar, who’s wisely not on tumblr), for being the OG AO3 fans—as well as the very first co-mod of this blog @200dollargod, whose enthusiasm kicked off many a breathless hiatus post (love you, man).
Merci mille fois as well to newest co-mod @consultingcas, who’s done great things already LIKE A MOVIE TRAILER; and of course Team Bookclub, who faithfully fan the flames on the regular (boy howdy do y’all) in their massive Twitter DM, aka The Worst Chat Client Ever—plus a shoutout to our 200 followers!
And most thanks of all to the author-goddess @seperis, who’s worked through at least eight or nine or fifty drafts of the ultimate endverse epic, to bring us this dense incredible brownie of a story that we read and reread and rereread…and then, just for variety, read again.Â
Because they can retcon it all they want but we’re not crazy. Because the greatest love story never told really is, finally, being told. Because this, friends, is not a manip, and what Dean Winchester does when he sees the edge of a cliff is not stop and it never fucking will be.
So we wish you a happy New Year’s Eve, whether you choose to play poker, throw ceramic knives around, drink Eldritch Horror, go to bed early because reasons, or lurk in the secluded alleyways of Ichabod making out with whomever strikes your fancy. Just, you know. Use more protection than an angel blade; Vera's got no time for your trifling vague rashy nonsense.