#In my hands is a connection point to the sum of human knowledge

[amalg-em]

Caught in the cycle of returning again and again to my lowest point, confronting my utter disappointment with what life actually is versus what it theoretically could be, realizing that I am trapped on this earth and thus in pain out of obligation,

And realizing,

I have nothing to show for any of it. I am still, ultimately, alone.

[lou-syd]

Rewatched Mad Max: Fury Road recently, read the Furiosa and Max comics (I had issues with it but some interesting ideas were presented in it) and read the script (I am very normal about this) and Angharad is such a fascinating character to me and I had to compile my thoughts about her and what could have been in a very long post lol

After rewatching with the added context of the comics and script I think she could have had such a cool dynamic with Max specifically if she had lived. I get why from a story-telling perspective it was her who died, doomed by the narrative in a way for being the symbol of hope but her survival could have been very interesting to see play out in relation to other characters, in this case, Max because I love character foils. Also it would have been fun to me personally to see her be part of the Vuvalini and rocking Immortan's shit but anyway...

Angharad as a character is crazy layered with how little there is about her beyond the snippets of her that exist in the movie. She exists in this limbo of being a person and a martyr of sorts.

After she dies, in the script, she does predictably play the role of the Catalyst™

And it's her that keeps the little bit of humanity and hope alive.

And that's a turning point for Nux (and Max lowkey)

Max's reaction:

And in the movie she's introduced with a shot focusing on her pregnant belly and holding a hose, spurting out water (which she immediately shuts off as soon as she notices Max is thirsty but more on this later) which are both very important for the world they live in -- literal new life (the prospect of 'healthy babies') and water as life/ sustenance; hence why Immortan controls the world.

As a foil to Max, she's the idealist. He's past caring about anything beyond survival.

That's not to say she isn't pragmatic. She knows the world they live in and how they have to survive in it. For example, her stance on violence. She knows violence in this world is nearly inevitable but it doesn't mean they have to participate in it if they can avoid it. She reminds Furiosa that they agreed on no unnecessary killing. She can see past the cultish reverence the War Boys have for Immortan to see the reality:

There's also this part in the script:

The comic opens by pointing out that Immortan had allowed for the Wives to have an education and a teacher which ultimately turned out to be his downfall:

And I think that sums up her character pretty well. She's clearly internalized this knowledge from the way she spits back her philosophies and how dogmatic she is about her beliefs. When Cheedo tries to run back after her death, the others remind her 'we are not things' and that these were her words. Which points to the messages left in the vault after they escaped (Who killed the world, we are not things, our babies will not be warlords, etc.) being her words if not literally written by her as a last fuck you to Immortan.

So then Max gets added to the mix.

In the movie and script, there's a sense that he recognizes that among the Wives she's their sort of 'leader' (at least by my interpretation) with how he tends to focus on her and maybe to an extent sees her connection with Furiosa as something of value for his self-preservation among these women hence it's her he holds at gunpoint and makes stay as leverage when they make it to the canyon pass.

It's also her that walks past him and back to the rig even after he just overpowered Furiosa and had a gun in his hand with no qualms about using it. Which the script makes a point of:

It's her that tells Toast she doesn't have to do as Max tells her when they all first get on the rig together and he's securing all the weapons.

She's defiant. Her idealism is still pragmatic and it has teeth. She fights back with what she can -- putting herself in front of Furiosa in the movie (Max in the script) knowing Immortan won't take the shot, immediately jumping out of the rig to cut Max free, shutting off the hose when she notices Max is thirsty while he's holding them at gunpoint, giving the others hope and pushing them to escape.

Putting herself in front of Furiosa/Max also comes after the scene where Furiosa tosses her a gun to reload. Angharad can't reload the gun, she doesn't know how. Toast has to do it. But she can leverage what she has to protect them.

She refuses to lay down even if she might not be 'battle-hardened' in the way Furiosa and Max clearly are, or even Toast who clearly has so more real world experience.

I mean she looks at the man holding her at gunpoint like this:

She's a survivor, like him. And in the subtext, Max recognizes that.

They are so different and have lived vastly different lives. I'm sticking with the chronology of the three first films for Max even if it's super wonky timeline-wise but since Max's comic includes his original established history I'm going with that.

Max is haunted by the ghost of his past, the people he couldn't save. He was a father, a husband, he's alone in the world by the start of the movie and ends every movie alone. He kills if he must, if it's the fastest and easiest option, and moves on. He's succumbed to ennui but still wants to live. He's an aimless drifter, living day to day with no real goals beyond that. The comic describes hims as 'seeking contact only when necessity demanded it of him.' Max has to be forced to care but he's still capable of doing so.

But what has caring brought him but more loss.

Angharad cares a lot. It's her defense. She takes on being a pillar for four other women who suffer the same violent abuses and that's all she has until Furiosa gives them an out. She's not alone, hasn't been for a while. She has hope, she's suffered horribly and pushes on. They survive, in their own way.

It's also Angharad who really believed in the Green Place and likely passed that on to the others (Toast affirming that they're going to the Green Place no matter what after her death) and that includes Max.

As it stands, I do think their characters are sort of connected to each other. If you squint, Max indirectly caused her death. She couldn't regain her footing to get back on the rig because she slipped on her own blood, blood from the wound he inflicted.

And all this is to say that, it would have been very interesting to see them evolve and where that would have taken them. Past cruelties forgiven, a debt owed, and a bond forged -- what would that have looked like for these two? Would she have been on board with his idea to go back to the Citadel and reclaim it? How would she have reacted to the Green Place not existing anymore? To the Vuvalini? Would she have had to cash in on that 'debt' when they faced off against Immortan? So many what-ifs.

Sidenote: I also think her relationship with Furiosa could have been neat to see evolve if she had lived. Like, she's the one that spurred the others into action after Furiosa was forced to leave them. She directly says Furiosa showed them to be stronger.

[infinites-chaser]

pls... I've finally found it. The only AI writing op-ed worth reading:

AI embodies hypotheticals I can just imagine for myself: If only I could write all day and night. If only I were smarter and more talented. If only I had endless knowledge. If only I could read whole libraries. What could I create if I had no needs? What might this development mean for writing?

Considering limitlessness has led me to believe that the impediments of human writers are what lead us to create meaningful art. And they are various: limits of our body, limits of our perspectives, limits of our skills. But the constraints of an artist’s process are, in the language of software, a feature, not a bug.

Writing is a blood-and-guts business, literally as well as figuratively. As I type with my hands, my lungs oxygenate the blood that my heart pumps; my brain sends and receives signals. Each of these functions results in the words on this page.

...

In reducing my entire self to my cognition alone, akin to a computer, I’d forgotten the truth that I am inseparable from my imperfect body, with its afflictions and ailments. My books emerge from this body.

...

Compared with AI, we might seem like pitiful creatures. Our lives will end; our memory is faulty; we can’t absorb 191,000 books; our frames of reference are circumscribed. One day, I will die. I foreclose on certain opportunities by pursuing others. Typing this now means I cannot fold my laundry or have lunch with a friend. Yet I believe writing is worth doing, and this sacrifice of time makes it consequential. When we write, we are picking and choosing—consciously or otherwise—what is most substantial to us. Behind human writing is a human being calling for attention and saying, Here is what is important to me. I’m able to move through only my one life, from my narrow point of view; this outlook creates and yet constrains my work. Good writing is born of mortality: the limits of our body and perspectives—the limits of our very lives.

I can imagine a future in which ChatGPT works more convincingly than it does now. Would I exchange the hours that I spent working on each of my two books for finished documents spat out by ChatGPT? That would have saved me years of attempts and failures. But all of that frustration, difficult as it was in the moment, changed me. It wasn’t a job I clocked in and out of, contained within a tidy sum of hours. I carried the story with me while I showered, drove—even dreamed. My mind was changed by the writing, and the writing changed by my mind.

Working on a novel, I strain against my limits as a bounded, single body by imagining characters outside of myself. I test the limits of my skill when I wonder, Can I pull this off? And though it feels grandiose to say, writing is an attempt to use my short supply of hours to create a work that outlasts me. These exertions in the face of my constraints strike me as moving, and worthy, and beautiful.

Writing itself is a technology, and it will shift with the introduction of new tools, as it always has. I’m not worried that AI novelists will replace human novelists. But I am afraid that we’ll lose sight of what makes human writing worthwhile: its efforts, its inquiries, its bids for connection—all bounded and shaped by its imperfections—and its attempts to say, This is what it’s like for me. Is it like this for you? If we forget what makes our human work valuable, we might forget what makes our human lives valuable too. Novels are one of the best means we have for really seeing one another, because behind each effort is a mortal person, expressing and transmuting their realities to the best of their ability. Reading and writing are vital means by which we bridge our separate consciousnesses. In understanding these limits, we can understand one another’s lives. At least, we can try.

[tertiaryunit]

Lore post time! This is a long post as I sum up the character analysis within my own lore - Bob and Walton on a competition on who’s objectively worse:

Bob Page:

Created Lawrence using half of his former lover (Asad Al-Faruq)’s DNA without his consent *OR* knowledge. Long story short, Asad’s research found a gene responsible for some brain mutations - he wanted to focus on finding benefits for people suffering from connected pathologies while Page wanted to weaponize it as the people who possessed this gene had some “inexplicable” characteristics. Asad was against it, so Bob thought he’d “convince him” by using the research to create what he’d call a “new type of weapon”. He knew his lover would never have agreed, so he did everything behind his back. Walton, a long time friend of Bob, skeptically agreed to give half his DNA . he didn’t really believe in that “pseudoscientific bullshit”.

The first tests on children (starting from a few months old) involved a “serum” that was supposed to stimulate the “special abilities” of those with the gene. A good bunch of these... Didn’t work. When he finally started getting consistent results, he modified the gene in his labs and started artificially creating infants in “uterine replicators”. From a total of 300, across many years, only Lawrence reached adulthood - the others died either because of the tests or by their own hands. The incident in which one Esper drilled their brain is still clearly remembered by the many scientists who witnessed it. (This is a reference to  Darryl Revok from “Scanners”, who trepanned his own skull to cope with an uncontrollable stream of thoughts and voices caused by his Psychic abilities)

He treats his experiments like literal things, not living human beings. Mind you, he still acts enthusiastic and fatherly to them to some extent because he sees them as proof of his genius. (At some point, there’s a part where he cleans up one of Lawrence’s nosebleeds and it’s described as “a gesture more akin to polishing a trophy”)

At the end of the day, Bob never ever conceived his creations as beings, they’re things. He feels justified in treating them as such.

Walton Simons:

He’s actually a decent human being at the start, and not just because he already has it clear in his mind he will be manipulating Lawrence to make him dependent: Walton genuinely enjoys his company and talking with him about different topics, discussing about politics, media, etc. 

He starts to “degenerate” the moment he’s no longer attracted by harnessing Lawrence’s powers alone - he wants Lawrence himself.  This makes him feel guilty for multiple reasons: the age gap, the power imbalance and the fact they share half of their DNA. He starts becoming afraid.

When going through what he will call “love” (but is actually abuse), I took inspiration from the Five Stages of Grief: DENIAL - He dismisses his feelings as a phase, some “wild thoughts” that come and go. Nothing to be worried about, right? ANGER - “Why me?!” he starts blaming Page at first, but then shifts the blame on Lawrence. After all, it’s the boy who’s responsible for setting that “flame” in his heart. Right?  BARGAINING - Just once. It can’t hurt to cave in just once. In his mind, he’s already starting to justify what he plans on doing.   DEPRESSION - For what he did (and will keep on doing for years). Mainly because he was “weak” and “caved in” to what he considers a very primal desire.  ACCEPTANCE - “He’s a weapon. He’s a tool I can use” He starts to call him “boy” more often as a way to dehumanize him. It’s almost a paradox to use the stages of grief to indicate love, but in this case, I found it fitting for Walton’s character: a rugged army veteran who isolated himself from everything and everyone. Maybe something happened in his past that made him this way? He is “foil” for Sam and Lawrence: Sam is a war vet too, but despite all he went through (losing his family) he’s loving and affectionate to Lawrence, he’s understanding and isn’t afraid of his Psychic powers. If you go by the hypothesis that something might have happened to him (I want to leave this ambiguous): Walton is the victim that continues the cycle of abuse, Lawrence is the one who breaks it by not isolating himself and finding help. 

Walton projects on Lawrence - which is natural considering the circumstances. He sees a younger, more innocent version of himself and this is emphasized multiple times (especially comparing their eyes being identical - “the eyes are a mirror of the soul” is a popular saying...).  He actually hates this. He hates to see a past version of himself that’s still so hopeful and happy. 

Not only did Walton value Lawrence for who he is, never having that detachment Bob had from the start - he willingly and purposely abused someone he has feelings for and justified himself by victim blaming and continued doing so over the years. 

[ofviolentdeath]

"No good parent wants to hurt their kids, but that don't mean we don't fuck up'n do it anyway. Trust me, been there. We all make mistakes, we all hurt people we love at some point or another. It's just a part of bein' alive." Cord nodded at that, not really surprised. She was hard to sum up, even on a good day. "Well, we ain't entirely sure. I wasn't fully human to start with. I can manipulate emotion, always been able to do that. Had a good hand with some elemental magic in life. Made a demon deal when I was a kid to save my little brother, ended up in hell, ended up gettin' trained to work the crossroads. Managed ta piss off management enough ta get my ass exiled a punishment, started this place'n never really looked back."

"Possible. Can't really say for sure." She could make guesses but there were some things that even Cord had no real way of testing. Maybe someone in Atlas's family would have better answers for that, or even other connections Cord personally had, but it wasn't knowledge they had on hand. "Fuckin' hell, no wonder Bells snatched ya up the way she did."

That was a display Cord had seen before but it was no less impressive. "Nah, shapeshiftin' would be with yer own body. That there? That's umbrakinesis. Shadow manipulation. Think there's actually a few in Bells'n Atlas's family that got that particular skill. One'a my grandkids too, but he ain't exactly up for teachin' nothin' to no one at the moment. Still on the younger side himself."

"Gabe may not like me but he wouldn't hurt Atlas intentionally." So maybe it would have him backing down, giving them a little grace. It would be a relief but he'd still hate to hear what he had to say about it. Atlas was too young, they moved too fast - but neither of them expected this to happen. It just did. "Not really. Got the 'demon' and 'knows a lot of stuff' part and I was fine showing up here. What is your situation?"

"Is that what I'm doing in the shadows? Becoming one? I've been through with other people before - it's more like pulling them through from one place to the next. When I'm in the shadows myself it's much smoother, I can move around inside them. When I was little I'd sleep there, hide from the rain and snow..." Darcy spent a lot of time alone in the dark.

Shifting so the light in the room hit him dead on and his own shadow was against the wall, Darcy allowed it to grow big, shift from the shape of his body into something more akin to a monster, claws outstretched before it shrank back down to just be him again. He looked a bit exhausted now. "That's easier to do when I've fed so I don't do it a lot. Is that shapeshifting?" He didn't mention the mortality aspect again though it would be something he'd bring up to Atlas later.

[waynes-multiverse]

To Be Human – Part 01

Squares Filled: Firefighter AU @spndeanbingo // Superhero AU @anyfandomgoesbingo & @taylorswiftbingo

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reporter!Reader

Series Summary: Dean and Y/N have been best friends and inseparable since they were kindergartners, leading somewhat boringly normal lives in Lawrence City, Kansas. Now all grown up, Dean is working as a firefighter and Y/N as a reporter until one fateful night changes not only their lives but also their friendship forever.

Warnings: +18, strong language, Firefighter/Superhero AU, fluff, pining, slow burn due to idiocy, angst

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: Welcome to another series, loves! This one is very special to me and might be my favorite one yet. Fair warning, though, Dean’s a bit of an idiot in this & patience is definitely required. (I also wrote a philosophical intro cuz I was feeling fancy, sue me.) Without further ado, let’s start this rollercoaster ride of a journey! 🎢

Feedback is highly appreciated! ❤️‍🔥

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

There’s been a question going around philosophy for ages, wise old men scratching their beards over it since one poor little fuck at some point in time dared to pose it: What does it mean to be human?

Is it the ability to show kindness and courage? The ability to remember the past, live in the present, and hope for the future? To be special? Unique? Or is it the ability to love and form connections that make us human? Is it the ability to make your own decisions and carry the consequences of them? Or the knowledge that you’ll die someday and see your loved ones die as well?

The truth is: to be human means everything. It can’t be narrowed down to one single trait. It’s the sum of every little part that makes the whole.

Love and hate. Joy and sadness. Empathy and anger. Pride and shame. Hope and fear.

Being human means trying your best, even through loss, heartbreak, and pain. To be human means everything – the good and the bad.

One sunny morning in Lawrence City, KS…

The fire station is pleasantly quiet in the early morning hours, the sun rays flooding in through the big scarlet garage doors providing the green-eyed firefighter with sufficient lighting as he gives the engine a few touch-ups and checks if any of the hoses need patching while sipping blissfully on his coffee. He always enjoys the silence and calm of the mornings, knowing full well how fast the day can quite literally heat up in a city inhabited by two million.

“Good morning, Winchester!”

Her chipper voice echoes through the deserted garage, his head shooting up to her with a wide smile as she saunters towards him with an enthusiastic swing in her hips and a coffee in hand. There’s no doubt Y/N’s his favorite person out of the two million living in Lawrence City.

“Morning,” he chuckles and sets the rag and cleaner aside when she stops so close in front of him he can practically smell the cherry body wash on her skin from this morning’s shower. “What’s gotten you in such a good mood today? You’re not usually a morning person.”

Honestly, Y/N is the kind of person that just glows whenever she enters a room (even in the mornings). No matter where she goes, she instantly makes everything brighter, illuminates even the darkest spots – pure fucking sunshine in a bottle. If she were a drink, she’d probably be marketed as that. Maybe that’s why she’s been his best friend for ages – he’s mostly rain and thunder and he knows Y/N’s probably the only person that willingly puts up with his bullshit. Sam’s just forced to. That’s just how it works with brothers. With Y/N around him, though, even Dean’s darkest clouds always seem to dissipate.

“Well, uh, today I am a morning person and you’d be too if you had a big story coming up,” she announces with that broad grin of hers, showing off her cute dimples that he loves seeing so much. It instantly makes his mornings better. He craves her smile with his caffeine at this point; otherwise, it’s just a bad day guaranteed.

She pulls out her tape recorder and holds it up to his face, no boundaries whatsoever for personal space. Her eyes focus on the little freckles that dust his nose and the way it twitches when he tries to play annoyed but is actually biting back a smile. “Speaking of which, any comment on the fire last night? My sources are saying it was arson.”

Amused over her little trick, he sniggers, “No comment. You know I can’t tell you.”

She frowns and rolls her eyes back dramatically, “Oh, c’mon, Winchester! What’s a girl gotta do to get a good story around here? First Jo, then you. The people of Lawrence City have a right to know what’s going on in their hometown. Freedom of press… all that.”

Laughing, he shakes his head at her. She’s always been like this – eager, tenacious, and never taking no for an answer. “Hey, if your sister, the detective, refuses to give out any info, I sure as hell won’t either. Not falling for that again, sweetheart.”

She playfully narrows her eyes at him and stores her recorder back in her bag, adding another theatrical sigh to her reply, “Fine. Buzzkill… If I get fired, though, I’m blaming you.”

“If you get fired, I’ll buy you a drink at the bar. How does that sound?”

“Drinks,” she corrects him with a smirk.

“Drinks,” he nods resolutely and winks, seeing her cheeks flush a little. He loves he’s had that effect on her since they were little. “Are you coming to Sammy’s birthday party tonight?”

“Duh. Wouldn’t miss it. Can’t believe that little dork is turning twenty-three. We’re getting old, Winchester,” she huffs with a laugh, gracefully guiding the paper cup to her lips without spilling anything on her white blouse tucked into a pair of washed-out high-waisted jeans.

“Speak for yourself,” the firefighter chuckles. “Still don’t feel a day older than twenty.”

“Really? Wouldn’t have guessed by all the wrinkles on your face,” she sasses, smirking.

He glares a little at her, but it’s all fun and games. It wouldn’t be Y/N and Dean if there wasn’t the occasional bickering and bantering. That’s just how they rolled. And honestly, he’s glad she keeps his ego in check, keeps him grounded. He knows he needs that.

“Ha ha. Don’t you have a job to get to? No wonder your editor hates you,” Dean retorts and she raises her hands in surrender, slowly retreating backwards out of the garage with a sly grin.

“Say no more. I’m going… Tell Sasquatch I’m coming a little later. Still have that big event at COSMOS tonight!” she shouts from the curb.

“Oh, yeah, right. Good luck!” he calls after her, trying not to seem too worried whenever she goes out on an assignment. It’s not like her job is dangerous – she’s thankfully not reporting out of a riot in the Middle East – but knowing Y/N as well as he does, she’d find the danger somehow anyway. That girl is trouble through and through. “And Y/N? If you run into trouble-”

“Run away from the danger, not towards it! I know! I got it! You tell me every time,” she shouts back, laughing like a teenager at a worrying father. He can still see the little mischievous twinkle in her eyes from feet away. It’s crazy hot every time she does it and all he wants is to smack her goddamn ass, but alas, he’s left to resort to words alone.

“Never seems to take, though!”

Smiling softly, he leans against the fire engine, a little sigh leaving his plump lips as he watches her disappear down the busy street, her hips swaying with every joyful step.

“Are you ever gonna tell that girl how you feel?”

The firefighter startles and spins around to look into a set of shining blue eyes, “Geez, man, you scared me.”

Benny only laughs wholeheartedly in response, “Sorry, brother. Didn’t mean to wake you from your daydream.”

“I wasn’t-… She’s not-…,” Dean starts to argue, opening and closing his mouth several times, and then stops with a swallow, knowing it’s not going to help his case the more he says. Instead, he fixes a glare at his co-worker, “We’re best friends. She’s just Y/N to me, man. I’ve known her since I was five. She’s like a little sister to me.”

Ouch. That lie even hurt him. He doesn’t want to think of Y/N as his little sister because he’s had way too many R-rated dreams about her over the years to stomach that with a clean conscience. He’d be the worst big brother ever. Not to mention, she’s only seven months younger than him and has always been more mature by like, light-years. So if anything, she’d be more like his older sister or even his mom. Wait… God, no, it’s just getting worse now, isn’t it?

Let’s just say she’s the one and only Y/N to him. She’s unique in her uniqueness, you know? So Dean has always put their friendship on a pedestal and held it close to his heart. She’s been pretty much special to him ever since he saved her from that bullying kindergartner on the playground when they were both only five years old. Maybe it’s because she’s called him her hero after and kissed his cheek, and that just did things to him he can’t explain to this day. It’s like she became his after that and it was just a sealed deal, you know? The gold standard of the best-friends-forever club.

Of course, romantic feelings have surfaced on occasion over the years. When they were six, he asked her to marry him and they even held a ceremony in Y/N’s backyard. There’s still video of it, too. Their moms just loved to haul that one outta the attic whenever Christmas arrived – so much so, he and Y/N ended up calling it Cringemas. Honestly, the video is cute altogether. He still remembers his ‘vows’ word for word, even though it’s been so long. Isn’t that just weird?

Then there is the time when they were sixteen, at the height of teenage hormones, and he almost kissed her during a high school Halloween party at Suzy Lee’s place before a call from his crying little brother luckily prevented him from making a huge fucking mistake. He still doesn’t know what came over him there. It was probably the cheap vodka and he assumes she must’ve looked nice in that porch light when they sat alone outside, away from the party because she knows he hates the crowds, so she kept him company on the steps, their knees softly touching and thighs pressing together. But yeah, he’s still glad Sam puked during apple bobbing. Besides, it was fucking hilarious, too.  

And then there is the time when they celebrated their college graduation in his apartment – well, his community college degree and Y/N’s actual degree from the University of Lawrence City, although Y/N would smack his head if she’s heard him saying that out loud.

That night, they almost ended up in bed together. Like, they actually discussed… having sex… with each other, which was mind-blowing at the time. Honestly, it still would be. If she asked him to have sex right now, his head would explode. And granted, they were both hammered that night, like stupidly drunk, obviously. But he recalls being fucking hard because he’s never heard her say so many dirty words before. He didn’t even know she knew that many, but whatever innocence he’s ascribed to her before that night was definitely gone out the window once she opened that naughty mouth of hers. All he wanted to do after that was to just ravage her entire body then and there. He still remembers one of his hands was around her neck and the other…

Yup, his left hand definitely touched a boob. Yeah, okay, so what? It was one boob, sue him. One boob and the nipple a little bit – through fabric. It basically doesn’t count and he never thinks about it.

In all honesty, he thinks about it a lot, actually, and grins like an idiot too while doing it. But he swears he always feels bad right after. (Also, he still remembers it was his left hand. Like why?!)

Anyways, he almost kissed her, again, before Sam, again, burst through the door because the library closed and he couldn’t study for his SATs any longer, so his little brother plopped down on the couch between them and turned on the TV.

Somehow he sounds a little bitter about it now, but he promises he isn’t. Dean’s happy they’ve never crossed the line and ruined their friendship for good, always recovering the next day with a laugh and continuing on as if nothing ever happened. They have always been there for each other – good times and especially bad times. He held her for hours when her dad died and she slept on the ground next to him on the couch for months when his mother passed. They helped each other through loss, heartbreak, and cheaters, their friendship never wavering even during the strongest storm.

One thing is abundantly clear, though, through all their ups and downs: Dean can’t stand the idea of losing his best friend. He just doesn’t want to cover her sunshine with his clouds. It always feels like he could taint her shine.

“Ah, sure,” Benny chuckles sarcastically. “So, you don’t mind if I ask her out?”

Juniper eyes widen and his brow raises in surprise. He almost chokes on his fucking coffee, “You-, uh, you wanna ask out Y/N? My Y/N?”

Great. Could he be more possessive? No wonder all their friends and family think they'll get married someday. Now, he only hopes Benny hasn’t picked up on his mishap.

The blue-eyed firefighter shrugs his shoulders coolly, unfazed apparently by Dean’s wording, “Sure, why not? She’s a great girl. She’s funny, smart, beautiful. And man, that ass surely takes your breath away…”

“Whoa…” Dean’s look darkens so much it becomes a black hole as he stares at his friend, his jaw clenching and the grip on the wrench in his hand tightening. “Slow down, Romeo. Don’t talk about her like that,” he growls warningly and wishes he could keep his emotions better in check, but he can’t help it when it comes to Y/N.

“What? You don’t think so?”

“Wha-… Of course, I do! I mean, not the ass thing… I mean, not that she doesn’t have a great ass. I assume she does, but I don’t look, okay?”

God, he is a fucking liar, isn’t he? Of course, he’s looked at her ass and feels guilty every time he does. In his defense, Benny’s right and she has a fucking great ass, though. Not looking would be a crime to humanity. Like Monet saying, ‘Hey, don’t look at my waterlilies!’

“And that’s not even the fucking point…,” he continues his rant. “The point is… she’s the fucking best,” he defends with a huff, his shoulders tensing. He’s not sure, though, if he’s defending her honor or his own at this point. “Which is precisely why you’re not good enough for her. No offense.”

“None taken,” Benny snickers in amusement before erupting into loud laughter and hunching over as he rubs a few tears out of the corners of his eyes.

Dean frowns, his brow knitting so much he is close to a rage headache, confusion mixing with his anger, “What?! What’s so fucking funny now?”

“You! I’m just messing with you, man. I’m not gonna ask her out. Just wanted to see your reaction. Was worth it,” Benny grins broadly as if he’s just won a boxing match and folds his arms over his chest, his eyebrow arching. “Are you sure you’ve got no feelings for her, brother? Because to me, it looked like you came this close to bashing my head in with that wrench in your hand.”

“Fuck you,” Dean scoffs, furiously shaking his head while Benny just laughs more. Why does everyone always have to taunt him about Y/N? Can’t they just let it be and leave him alone?

So what if he has never liked a single boyfriend of Y/N’s? It doesn’t have anything to do with harboring some secret romantic feelings for his best friend. He only ever wants the best for her and none of her ex-douchebags have ever come close to even being remotely adequate. It is pure, innocent concern that plagues him, far away from any jealousy. He isn’t territorial like a dog defending its toy. If she ever meets a decent guy up to his standards, she can date him all she wants. He would have zero problems with that. Honestly, guys should fucking worship the ground she walks on and kiss her feet, and they don’t deserve sex until like… the hundredth date.

Those are his rules. Really, they’re simple. He’s not asking for too much, right?

So what the hell is so wrong about it? Is he not supposed to care about his friend’s wellbeing and look out for her?

Sure, the vanilla scent in her hair when she softly rests her head on his shoulder whenever they watch TV on his couch, or her adorable and intoxicating laugh whenever he cracks a joke, or her twinkling Y/E/C eyes whenever she looks up at him like he’s the fucking best could quite possibly drive him mad with want. Add to this, the thought of her getting touched by some other guy that isn’t him makes him want to commit murder. Her in some asshole’s arms? It undoubtedly makes his skin crawl, but that doesn’t mean…

Fuck… Is he actually jealous? Is he in love with her? No, right?

The more he thinks about it, the more he knows it, though: he is in deep fucking trouble.

Later…

Rocky’s is buzzing with people as Dean arrives at the bar after his shift, squeezing through the crowd on his way to the counter, hoping to find his friends there. He hates people. He doesn’t mind saving them, but he surely hates being around the masses. He prefers a quiet seat at a booth with a few trusted friends over lavish parties – or whatever is going on here tonight. How many fucking friends can Sam possibly have?

The speakers are blaring music, but Dean is sure the thoughts in his head are booming even louder. He’s put on a red and black checkered flannel, one of his nicer ones (the one Y/N likes so much), his mind reeling with thoughts and decisions since this morning. He still blames fucking Benny for most of it, although his thoughts about Y/N aren’t entirely new. He will admit that much. He’s thought about it before, countless times even (usually when Y/N would drag a new boyfriend into their lives), but always put it on the back-burner as a ‘maybe in his thirties’ kind of thing. When he got his shit together, you know?

Because God knows, he doesn’t have it together now. Right now, he holds the maturity level of a fourteen-year-old, if you haven’t noticed. But what if she can’t wait for him to outgrow his Peter Pan syndrome and finds some actual grown-up? What’s he supposed to do then? Stand idly by at their wedding?

Shit, he will have to walk her down the aisle, won’t he? Because her father died, so he’s the only possible option. Maybe he can get Sam to do it – or Bobby. But then she’ll just end up asking why he isn’t gonna do it and what the fuck is he supposed to say then, huh?

Yeah, he might have to pull his shit together a little faster and hope Y/N wouldn’t mind a few of his deficiencies. Hell, she knows all of his flaws better than he does, anyways. And she’s still by his side even when he fucks up, so what is he so scared of, really? Weirdly enough, running into burning buildings doesn’t terrify him as much as confessing his feelings to his best friend.

During lunch, he even caught himself scrolling through his photos on his phone, almost every picture either with Y/N or of Y/N, realizing he really doesn’t have a life outside of her. She is his life. So he keeps thinking about what life would look like if she were truly by his side. And he has to admit, it would be fucking fantastic.

She knows him better than anyone on this planet, better than Sam, and he knows her better than anyone else too. He knows how to make her laugh, what songs make her smile, and what movies make her cry. He knows her coffee order and her favorite pizza toppings. He knows her dorky dance moves and her nervous ticks. He just fucking knows her, inside and out. (And parts of her he doesn’t know yet he wants to know. Seriously, the curiosity is sometimes killing him.)

There would be no first-date awkwardness, no fights between them that couldn’t be solved, and no hesitations. He’s sure they’d still hang out together like best friends, but he’d also get to do all the other stuff that always feels so natural to do whenever she’s around but he always refrains from doing. Like, hold her tightly in his arms, kiss her pink lips until they were both blue in the face, and feel her smooth skin under his fingertips. He’s always wondered what those things would feel like. All in all, being with her sounds fucking awesome. A dream come true.

Fuck. He really does love her, doesn’t he?

“Hey, man, happy birthday!” Upon seeing his little brother, he hugs Sam tightly and pats him several times on the back with the proudest smile. He can hardly believe the kid is a year older again and graduating college. Y/N was right – he is getting fucking old.

“Thanks. Glad you could make it, man,” Sam smiles and slings his arm around his girlfriend Jess as she joins the men.

The two have met in college and have been inseparable since, causing Dean to wonder how his little brother has turned out more mature than him. He intends to take credit for Sam’s perfection, nonetheless. After all, he’s raised the kid since Sam’s fourteenth birthday and dropped out of college for him, so he gets to. At least Dean thinks he has a right to be proud and call Sam his greatest achievement, even though Y/N would cut in and remind him that his community college degree and graduating fire academy can also be counted as his biggest achievements.  

“Dean, you’re here!” Jess greets him cheerfully, almost to Y/N’s degree of cheeriness, before looking the firefighter up and down with an impressed smile, “Damn, you look good tonight.”

“Hey!” Sam throws in with mock upset and kisses her temple, chuckling.

“What? Look at him! Doesn’t he look good tonight?” Jess swats her boyfriend’s arm repeatedly, the baffled smile not disappearing from her lips.

Sam then squints his eyes at his brother, taking a closer look now too, and his eyebrow raises slightly, “Actually, you do. Why?”

In true little brother fashion, Sam’s found an error in Dean’s code and wants to know what caused it, so the older sibling has to scramble for an answer.

“Oh, this? I just threw something on that wasn’t in the laundry basket,” Dean shrugs the nosy pair off, wishing he had a drink in his hand for this conversation.

“Dean, don’t be modest. You got some hot date tonight?” Jess wiggles her eyebrows teasingly.

“Yeah… do you?” Sam questions suspiciously, his tone a lot more serious than his girlfriend’s.

God, Dean really does have a reputation if that’s everyone’s first assumption. It also makes him question tonight’s plan. Should he really ask out Y/N? Because now he’s direly realizing she doesn’t just know him; she knows too fucking much.

“What’s with the Spanish inquisition tonight? Can’t a guy just look good for no reason at all? ‘Sides, I’ll have you two know I would look good in a fucking trash bag. Leave me alone,” Dean huffs, a little too defensive. Now Sam will definitely be suspicious.      

“Jess, can you excuse us for a second?”

Yup. Just as Dean thought – his younger brother caught a trail.

“Sure, I’ll order us a round of shots, so we can get this party started,” Jess winks and kisses her boyfriend’s lips, leaving for the bar counter.

“What’s up?” Sam asks bluntly, not letting a single minute tick away on the clock. He has always been like this since the brothers were children and it has always annoyed the shit out of the oldest Winchester.

“Nothing,” Dean shrugs and hates he doesn’t have a beer bottle in his hand to hide his face.

“Dean…”

“Sam…”

The brothers then enter into an intense glaring match, neither wanting to cave. But Sam, shining with maturity and simultaneously rubbing it into Dean’s face, eventually breaks the silence.

“Dean, c’mon, man. What’s going on with you?”

With a deep exhale and a heavy eye roll, the firefighter finally crumples. Not because of Sam’s puppy dog look, though. He just really needs to get it off his chest and he obviously can’t tell Y/N, so his little brother truly is his only option. “Okay, fine, but you’re not allowed to tell anyone, especially Jess.”

“What, are we in kindergarten?”

“Sam!”

The youngest Winchester raises his hands in surrender at his brother’s warning growl, “Fine, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Okay, alright… here it goes, uhm… I think I’m in love with Y/N,” he shares nervously and swallows the gigantic lump that has formed in his throat. Wow. Jesus fucking Christ, how long has that been there? His shoulders feel a million pounds lighter after his confession already.

Sam stares at his brother for a moment, not a single emotion readable on his face before he purses his lips and his brow knits, “So?”

“So?!” Dean wildly flings his arms around, almost hitting several people in his vicinity as heads and bodies duck away from him. He fucking can’t believe Sam right now. Here he is, pouring his heart out and that’s all the little shit has to say?

“Dean, everyone knows that already. That’s not news. It’s like saying the sky is blue,” Sam replies with a twitch of his shoulders and an amused chuckle.

“Well… I didn’t know!” he hisses, flustered and frustrated.

Sam lets out a laugh and grins, “Yeah, that one was pretty obvious too.”

“This isn’t funny, Sam! What am I supposed to do?” As his nerves get the best of him, he starts to pace the sticky bar floor in front of Sam, vigorously scratching the back of his neck in the process. “You think-, uh, you think she likes me… I mean, you think she likes me like that?”

“Uh… I don’t know, man. I mean, I’d ask Jess since they are friends and both girls, but you said I wasn’t allowed to tell her, so…,” Sam trails off and shrugs.

“You aren’t,” Dean emphasizes through gritted teeth and runs a hand over his face, irritated. “You know what? You have been of no help at all tonight. Zero!”

“Maybe because it’s my birthday,” Sam points out innocently.

Dean sighs, knowing himself it’s not the right time and place for this discussion, not to mention Y/N might show up any minute and the thought of seeing her makes his heart race like it never has before. “Yeah, you’re right, man. I’m sorry.”

Sam sends him a patient smile and bobs his head, “Look, Dean… you said you think you’re in love with her, but I think you really need to make sure you are before you say something to her. She’s not one of your flings. I mean, you can’t just ask her out because you’re curious.”

“That’s not-” He closes his mouth as the gears start turning in his head. He wants to say that’s not the reason why, but now he isn’t sure. Sam’s just fucking confusing him more. He’s not that big of an asshole, right?

Fuck. Is he?

Sam just blinks at him innocently. Dean can see his shoulders are itching for a shrug and the corners of his eyes are already forming another puppy dog look. “I’m just sayin’, it’s a very fragile ecosystem. We’re family. Y/N’s kinda the glue that’s all holding us together. I mean, I’ve learned to say Y/N’s name the same time I learned to say yours, you know?”

“Yeah, no, I know, thanks,” Dean mutters bitterly.

Yeah, Sam really isn’t any help at all. The oldest Winchester can’t really blame him, though. Y/N is like a big sister to Sam, who tutored him not only in school subjects but also in girls, not trusting Dean to do a proper job with the latter. Not because he didn’t have any game, but because, in Y/N’s words, he had ‘too much.’ Looking at Sam and Jess now and then at his own empty life, he understands that she was pretty much right in her assumption.

Not wanting to continue this discussion with his younger brother, Dean’s gaze lazily wanders to the TV screen above the mahogany bar, his eyes narrowing at the breaking news report and he asks the bartender kindly to turn the volume up a few notches.

“…the number of casualties is still undetermined as of now. First responders from the Lawrence City police and fire departments are still trying to get as many people out as they can. Our sources at the location are reporting that the cause of the explosion at COSMOS laboratories is still unknown. We will keep you updated as the story progresses…”

Dean’s breath hitches in his throat, his heart achingly constricting as he watches the live footage from the scene, smoke and flames bursting out of the collapsing skyscraper as a few of his colleagues scramble to get every last person out. He tries desperately to find Y/N’s face in the pixelated masses on the tiny screen, but of course, he can’t.

“COSMOS… Y/N, uh, Y/N’s there! I-, uh, I’m sorry… I gotta run,” Dean splutters, trying to collect his thoughts and keep a straight head as his heart is close to detonating. He isn’t even on call, but if there’s a chance Y/N is hurt, he has to be there and make sure she’s okay.

“Go, man,” Sam nods with worry and understanding, watching his older brother rush out of the bar faster than he’s ever seen Dean run in his entire life.

Part 02

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[munsons-maiden]

Jesus I think there is a possibility of Eddie coming back, I don't know if this theory already made it to Tumblr, but, here goes. Eddie was "killed" by Vecna's bats, Eddie, perhaps, could transform into Kas. In D&D Kas is a human vampire loyal to Vecna who then betrays him. The song "Master of Puppets" could be a reference to this, plus the day the guys played D&D, Mike said "I thought Kas killed Vecna" (1/2).

Maybe Eddie won't become a vampire as such, but, maybe he'll get something like super strength or a connection to Vecna like Will. It's a theory, it's okay to dream, if Eleven revived Max, I don't see how this can't happen. I got the theory from a video from a youtube channel called "Stranger Things clips", more specifically from the commentary posted in the video "Eddie's Introduction". (2/2)

I hope it’s okay to sum up these asks in one post 🖤

I saw the tiktok to this theory and when you sent these messages, I did a little deep dive into D&D lore (so sorry that it took me a while to reply!) and holy hell. This is genius.

Because every single puzzle piece of foreshadowing Eddie's fate in ST4 also perfectly fits this theory.

I'll sum up everything from these two asks to sort it out in my head and add what I found out in my research where it fits just because this theory got me absolutely HYPED.

The D&D game. Mike: "Vecna was killed by Kas!" - Eddie: "So it was thought, my friends. So it was thought. But Vecna...LIVES!" & the fact that Dustin rolled an 11 which wasn't enough to defeat Vecna, then Erica rolled a 20 and defeated him: it's common knowledge at this point that the D&D games always foreshadowed the seson's plot (like "I rolled a 7. The Demogorgon...it got me" in season 1 and 5 minutes later the Demogorgon gets Will); and I am only one of many other blogs to point out the seeming importance of this D&D game in ST4. The first half has come true: Vecna still lives, 11/El couldn't defeat him. That was the end of season 4.

The whole connection and the amount of references to Kas in ST4: the whole "drive a stake through his heart"-convo at Skull Rock; the bats; the one-handed blade and shield? Check; the bat tattoos? Check. Thematically, Eddie is very much linked to Kas, whose name was important enough to bring it up in the dialogue during the D&D game in Episode 1.

Kas spent time close to the Negative Energy Plane (!!) and thus got transformed into a vampire (I hope I got the facts straight here). Eddie died in a dark parallel dimension which mirrors our real world - basically a Negative Energy Plane.

Eddie's tattoos, as you said: The thing is, these tattoos could have been simple foreshadowing for his death - as well as foreshadowing for whatever happens after. I'm intrigued. Is the puppeteer tattoo simply a foreshadowing for the song Master Of Puppets - or are both foreshadowing for Eddie becoming Vecna's puppet? Are the bats on his arm simply foreshadowing for the cause of his death - or do they connect him to Kas the human vampire?

I already said that in Eddie's case, resurrection would be way more meaningful than a permanent death, no matter how heroic this death has been.

It would be such a perfect storyline for ST5 if - as both of you already said - Vecna, weakened and semi-defeated for now, used his own powers to resurrect Eddie the same way El resurrected Max; only to turn him into his puppet first (flay him). It would raise the stakes because not only would they need to defeat Vecna, but free Eddie from his control as well.

I'm honest; I don't think the Duffers had the intention to do this, and it's absolutely hilarious how all the foreshadowing and symbolism for Eddie's tragic end would be a perfect foreshadowing for his resurrection and eventual happy ending as well.

On one hand, as I said, I don't believe they planned to do it - but everything, from the tattoos over the choice of weapons in his fight against the bats to the sketchy two-days-later time skip telling us they had to leave Eddie's body in the UD, would be a perfect way to actually write this into ST5 should they realize their mistake and decide to bring him back. Or they're just really convincing liars and Eddie's story was never meant to end in ST4.

No matter what, if there was a plan to bring him back from the beginning, I'd bet money on it that it's this one. And if they didn't plan to bring him back but realize they want to/should...the theory is literally free real estate and none of us would even know whether they just got lucky with unintended foreshadowing or if it was planned all along.

It's as if fate itself wanted Eddie back alive and kicking.

[thefriendlyfrog]

Too many thoughts on SPN 15x17, “Unity”

Welp, I don’t usually do this, but this episode was so great and packed with so many good parallels and callbacks I couldn’t help it! Meredith Glynn is such a great writer. So, let’s begin. Lots of spoilers under the cut.

The first scene opens up to Amara living life to the fullest in an Icelandic hot spring (I’ve been to some in Iceland and would 10/10 recommend – don’t bother with the Blue Lagoon, though). My eyes were immediately drawn to the super recognizable cover of Murakami’s “Norwegian Wood”. Now, I haven’t read this book since, like, high school (now realizing that was a DECADE ago), but I do remember the general plot and themes of the story (I should really reread that again, it’s a good book). Basically, the story is recalled by our narrator and protagonist Watanabe at a later point in his life as he is reminded of a time of life when the Beatles’ song “Norwegian Wood” plays. I don’t want to spoil the whole book, but basically it is a coming of age story that is steeped in themes of regret, sex, love, and death (among others, it really is a literary treasure trove!). Skip the next paragraph if you don’t want “Norwegian Wood” spoilers.

In short: Watanabe’s best friend from high school commits suicide which haunts him and his friend’s girlfriend, Naoki, for the rest of their lives. Watanabe and Naoki become close and romantically involved, but she leaves for a sanitorium. Watanabe wants to be with Naoki despite her telling him that she doesn’t think she can love anymore (she described herself and her high school boyfriend as soulmates). Watanabe later meets Naoki’s opposite, Midori, a lively girl who Watanabe grows close to and is also interested in. Watanabe essentially doesn’t move forward as he is waiting on Naoki while having Midori waiting on him. At the end of the story, it is revealed that it has always been Midori and he realizes he wants to be with her.

I thought that this was an EXCELLENT pick for Amara to be reading. It really sums of a lot of surface and not-so-surface level themes in Supernatural. Wondering if there is a parallel between Dean and Watanabe about sort of idealizing a life (with someone) that isn’t meant to be while ignoring love in front of you? Would love to hear all of your thoughts.

Moving on (I’m skipping through parts of the episode to just focus on some key observations)! Amara tries to convince Chuck to fight on behalf of this world and wants to show him some of his creations. So, she brings him to Heaven to see his ‘first children’ (i.e., angels). She also refers to angels as having prefect angelic devotion which immediately made me laugh because our fave angel Cas is really devoted to Dean humanity and not Chuck. Ahh! This whole episode just kept pointing out how special Cas is.

And then, callback after callback began. Amara brings Chuck to the bunker so Chuck says, “Is this a trap?” which made me think of episode 9 (“The Trap” by Berens). This was almost immediately followed by another callback when Chuck says, “You can’t hold me here forever,” to which Amara replies, “I can hold you long enough.” Um, Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets (12x10, Yockey), anyone?

Ishim: “You can’t hold me here forever.” … Lily’s powers are wearing off as Ishim approaches her until Cas stabs Ishim in the back with his angel blade. Cas: “You held him for long enough.”

Like, COME ON! Almost verbatim.

Skipping forward to Dean and Jack’s adventure to visit my favorite hippies, Adam and Serafina (like seriously, they were fantastic characters!). Adam refers to himself as, “…first dude off of the assembly line,” which is similar language that has been used to referring to angels in the past (again, invoking Castiel?)

Then Dean assumes the woman is Eve but they both just shake their heads and chuckle, “I’m Serafina,” I’m definitely not the first one to point this out but… the First Man being in a near-lifelong romantic relationship with an angel named Seraph Serafina?! Uh, yeah, ‘nuff said.

Serafina also mentions that she saw Jack when she and Adam were, “…sipping mushroom tea on the Hanging Gardens of Babylon,” which made me wonder if there was some sort of connection with Glynn’s season 14 episode, “Byzantium” (14x08), which is the episode Cas makes his deal with the Empty. Babylon was a fortress of the Byzantine empire (not going to lie, my historical knowledge about the Byzantine empire is preeeeetty limited).  

I also loved the whole speech by Serafina to Dean: “I mean, just think of everything that has had to happen to get Jack to this place, to this moment. Baby, it was meant to be,” Dean, of course, is upset by this because he is probably thinking that this was all basically predestined, and he has had no free will. However, he just needs to wait a little while longer until Chuck tells him to his face that he has never been able to control Cas since he laid his hand on Dean saving him from Hell.

Serafina also heals Adam’s wound and it is, of course, super reminiscent of Cas healing Dean (although, even Serafina doesn’t directly touch Adam when healing him – it’s, once again, unique to Castiel). Obligatory hand squeal: HANDS!!!! Wow, they are not even trying to be subtle about the whole hands thing. It is so IN YOUR FACE begging for the audience to notice it.

Adam then mentions how much power is in his rib: “But this puppy? Is packing enough punch to create LIFE. Or, in your case, destroy God.” Well, at this point I think we can all be pretty certain that in the end it will NOT be used to destroy God, so will it instead be used for creation? Excited to see how they defuse Jack’s supernova bomb next episode.

Rounding off Dean’s vignette is a heartbreaking scene with him and Jack in the Impala. Dean says, “I don’t know how to explain it. When I learned about Chuck, it was like – it’s like I wasn’t alive. Not really. You know, like, my whole life I’ve never been free. But like, really free. But now, me and Sam, we got a shot at living a life…But now we have a chance. And that’s because of you.” Again, this is before Dean learns that Cas’ actions were made of his own free will, and from the sounds of it, Dean’s connection to Amara as well. I also immediately wondered if Jack bringing Dean some sense of freedom was what Cas saw when Jack showed him “paradise”.

Moving on to Sam’s vignette: Sam remembers that Sergei mentioned the Key of Death was in the bunker (how did he remember this, wasn’t he unconscious at the time? A little disappointed Cas didn’t get to provide that little fact but I’m also glad that Sam actually served a purpose this episode and was a bit more front and center). They find the Key of Death and there is an inscription in Latin on the box:

Viator mortalis, cave, quoniam scias Clavem Mortis pensare graviter. Il tamen desideres ut introeas illum abyssum obscurissimum artis opus est tibi porta.

Okay, fair warning: I took Latin for 4 years but it has been awhile so my translation is super not perfect, but I figured I would take a stab at it because the subtitles were wrong at times and Google translate is not perfect. I translated it as something like this:

Mortal traveler, beware, because you know the Key of Death should be considered seriously. However, if you want to enter the darkest abyss, this work of art is the gate/door.

Honestly, there were a few words that I couldn’t find the right conjugations to and I know this isn’t 100% accurate, but it gives you the gist.

Sam then visits Death’s library and finds the Empty there, killing people (?) to get in touch with Death, whom they hasn’t been trusting as of late. We learn that Death’s plan is to assume the role of New God and restore the world back to order, bring back rules. The Empty is wary because they don’t know if they can trust the promise of being able to go back to sleep. Trust issues, the Empty says, because of “your busted-ass friend in the trench coat,” another subtle-not-so-subtle mention of Cas. But why, exactly, did Cas give the Empty ‘trust issues’? Was it because he woke up in the first place? Because he has ‘traipsed in and out’ of the Empty without dying?

We also learn that only Billie can read Chuck’s Death book, and, this may be a crack idea but… maybe Cas should be able to read the book because he was the one that killed Billie and made her Death in the first place? Seems like Cas might have a connection to Billie. It would be cool if Cas were the one to read Chuck’s book.

Finally, we learn a bit more about the Empty, and how they can’t go to Earth unless summoned. Hmm…

Flash forward to Amara and Chuck in the bunker. Amara tells Chuck, “It’s not too late, brother,” and, if you’re like me, you finished that sentence with “it’s never too late (to start all over again)”. So many great Destiel songs out there, but “Never Too Late” takes the cake for me.

Amara and Chuck decide to become one, become ultimate balance. Chuck extends his hand and Amara grasps it as she is absorbed into Chuck. I don’t even know if I really need to say this, but… HANDS! (Destiel is already canon to me but if the show is going to make it more explicitly canon for the audience, it’s going to be through hands as I know people have been shouting about for several seasons now).  

To finish, let’s talk about that kick-ass scene with TFW 2.0 at the end of the episode. We find out that Chuck’s real ending is to have Dean regress and give in to rage and kill everything he loves, probably ultimately leading to his own death. Woof, what a tragic ending (tragedy ≠ good ending). So, we’ve got to subvert that which Dean does after a heartfelt plea from Sam (“You would trade me?”). I enjoyed how much Dean looked back at Cas during this exchange, especially after Sam tells Dean that Eileen will die again. The parallels, the connection.

Honestly, I’m not sure why Cas and Jack were in that scene other than to have some meaningful glances exchanged between Cas and Dean and because TFW2.0 is together in the next scene. But… whatever, more Cas so I liked it.

And finally, the scene that had me shaking with VINDICATION.

Cas to Chuck: “What, you consumed your sister?” Chuck: “We came to an understanding, so spare me your contempt Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday. You know what every other version of you did after ‘gripping him tight and raising him from perdition’? They did what they were told. But not you. Not the ‘one off the line with a crack in his chassis’” (Cas looks back at Dean after a moment)

Okay, so let’s break this exchange down. So much satisfaction with just a few sentences. Bravo, Ms. Glynn.

“We came to an understanding.” Didn’t Michael and Adam say the same thing after they decided to share equally in their bond and vessel? Callback #1.

“…self-hating angel of Thursday.” Ahh, it’s been so long since we got mention that Cas is the angel of Thursday. The last time was, what, when Crowley says it to Cas back in season 6? By the way, it was totally meant to be that Supernatural will finish off the series on a Thursday. Callback #2 (ish).

“You know what every other version of you did after ‘gripping him tight and raising him from perdition’?” This is the second time the show has repeated Cas’ first line to Dean near-verbatim in two seasons. You know, just in case the audience forgot Dean and Cas’ infamous first meeting (which I am like 99% sure we are going to get hella callbacks to next episode). Callback #3.

“They did what they were told. But not you. Not the ‘one off the line with a crack in his chassis.’” Again, Chuck is closely paraphrasing what Naomi said about Cas in season 8:

8x21 “The Great Escapist” – Naomi: “You're the famous spanner in the works. Honestly, I think you came off the line with a crack in your chassis. You have never done what you were told. Not completely. You don't even die right, do you?”

Callback #4. Seriously, Glynn packed four callbacks into such a short time period. Wizard.

My only *criticism* of this final scene is that Dean and Cas didn’t seem to react too much to Chuck’s news about Cas always having free will (although, I think Cas already knew this, but it is news and confirmation to Dean!). I highly suspect that will come next week, though. I’m SO excited (and also terrified) for next week. We are definitely going to be getting a lot of Cas next episode. Misha, in an interview, mentioned that we would get Cas’ ‘chapter’ in 18, and I’m wondering if this will be the true Cas-centric episode? I don’t know, maybe the Cas-centric episode was “Gimme Shelter” but I was expecting more of a “The Man Who Would Be King” kind of Cas-centric episode.  

All in all, 10/10. I keep reading and seeing things that are galaxy braining me, so it has been super fun reading all the meta and reactions to this episode.

Three episodes left. Get your tissues ready for Cas’ death (oops, is this even a spoiler at this point?) next episode. And remember, “Nothing ever really ends,” and “The end has no end,”

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

God All-Powerful

by F.W.P. Greenwood

"God has spoken once, twice I have heard this: that power belongs to God." - Psalm 62:11

When the mind goes forth amid the works of nature and the broad ranges of the universe, the first impression which it receives is that of power. Everywhere about us there is height, depth, expanse, grandeur, and fullness. And of all these, power is the ever-present and ever-speaking attribute.

But whose power is it? For we perceive not only power but designing power. Who can go out in the hushed and serious time of night and raise his regards to the spangled firmament with the knowledge that each point of light there is a ponderous world, steadfast in itself and in its relations to the great whole, and that those of them which are moving are moving with a velocity which confounds thought, and yet with a certainty of revolution which can be calculated to a second? Who can mark the seasons as they come round in punctual and yet ever varying return? Who can see and understand such things and refuse entrance to the conviction that they were intended, that there is a purpose at work in them and over them, that these operations are directed by some intelligent existence, that there is some controlling and designing being to whom all this power belongs?

But it is not in the surrounding universe alone that the believer perceives the power of God. He sees this power in his own life. What but almighty power brought him into existence? What but almighty power is equal to the creation of a living soul? What but the breath of the Original Spirit could breathe into us, or anything, the breath of life? What might is there but that of God, which can set in motion the living economy of one human being? And here we are, my friends, in the midst of millions and millions of brethren who have all received life from the same almighty and ever-quickening source. What an exhibition of power is this vast sum of life, existing as it does independently of those who live; offered to us, forced upon us (to say so reverently) without an exertion or volition of our own!

Also in the events of our lives, as well as in their continuance, we acknowledge a power in operation which is far greater than our own, and which can only belong to the Supreme Disposer. Liberty we have, indeed, and power we are entrusted with, but we cannot fail to perceive that our liberty and our power have their limits beyond which they are not suffered to go. Else why are we so often disappointed in our expectations, and defeated in our designs, and overthrown in our enterprises? And why, on the other hand, is that which is done against our intentions and efforts so often better for us than that which we intended and strove to do? We cannot help feeling that we are free; but little can we help feeling that our freedom is frequently bounded and controlled and directed by one whose right it is to rule.

Nor can we resist the acknowledgment that the power which we most justly call our own is, at its origin, derived; and that we can do nothing which the Almighty does not enable us to do, either by immediate help or by the original endowment of our ability. We shall be disposed to confess and adore the presence of divine power in the beginning and continuance of life, in strength and weakness, in growth and decay, in circumstances prosperous or adverse, in rejoicing and mourning, in what is given and what is denied and what is taken away, in what we are permitted and assisted to do and what we are held from doing. In every condition and under every posture of affairs, we shall perceive the same unvarying superintendence and be ready to say with the Psalmist, "God has spoken once, twice have I heard this: that power belongs unto God."

In yet another way connected with our own being do we hear the declaration of the text. We hear it in the no less mysterious, and to many the very fearful, event of death. Men are continually striving to elude it and protract their term of life, but they strive in vain. And as if to prove to them that life is never in their own hands for a moment, the power of death comes upon them at every moment, from the period of birth on to the undefined boundary of extreme old age. How universal is this power! Generation after generation occupies the world and then is swept away. If it was not for the divine power of life, which more than supplies the vacancies occasioned by the divine power of death, how silent the earth would be in a little while! And terrible and oppressive would the thought of that power be if we were not assured that, as easily and as surely as God exercises the power of life and death, so easily and so surely will he put forth the power of reanimation.

"And also unto thee, O Lord, belongs mercy, for thou renders unto every man according to his work." Infinite power and infinite mercy are lodged in the same hands, never to be divided, never to be alienated. So let us then order our works and ways before him that we may render ourselves fit objects of his mercy, and thus feel hope and confidence instead of fear when we contemplate his power.

[miracvlovs]

✗✗✗   you see [ kaleb yıldırım ] around lately? yeah i heard that the [ cis male ] is up to no good. [ he / him ] has been here for [ five years ] now but they’re still pretty [ abrasive ] which is fine because they’re also [ debonair ] so it balances out. the [ twenty-eight ] year old [ hitman for hire ] actually looks like a lot like [ alperen duymaz ], don’t you think? it’s best to watch out, though, because it’s been said that they’re really into [ strong cigarettes & even stronger whiskey ].

hey, hello, hi, bonjour! s’up buttercups? ‘tis i, your friendly neighbourhood loser chrissie ( a.k.a an irish doofus who is utter plot trash and the actual WORST at keeping track with discord messages, oops ) and i’m super duper excited to be here among you fab human beings! anywho, this is my first kiddo kaleb and he is … how do you say … morally grey. basically his morals are very questionable in every aspect. but! on the plus side, he’s very talented and good at his job even if he is ruthless and callous, oop. he is … the worst and also lowkey messed up inside tbh so pls excuse his blunt and sarcastic nature. plot-wise i’m open to literally anything and everything so come at me with any ideas ya got! i’m always diggity down to spit ball ideas and form some dope connections so pls feel free to invade my ims or hmu on le cord ( chrissie.#9606 ) and we can brainstorm until our heart’s content! if ya wanna, go ahead and light that lil grey heart up red and i’ll shimmy my butt your way for all of the good stuff. anywho, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we?

fundamentals.

KALEB EMER YILDIRIM     —     twenty-eight, hitman for hire,   +   one snarky son of a gun   /   troubled dude with daddy issues   /   all issues tbh ! 

aesthetics   ➤   dried blood caked into the grooves of cut knuckles, the lingering scent of smoke and gasoline, silver slivers of past scarring, five o’clock shadow peppering a blunt jawline, discolourations of blue and purple decorating battered hands, a subtle smirk etched upon a devious countenance, calloused fingertips riddled with small paper cuts, dark circles under almost-black eyes, the noise of screeching tires in the middle of the night, a tall stature adorned in all-black attire, ghosts of bruises staining calloused skin green, a scuffed zippo lighter in a pack of marlboros containing only one cigarette, white shirts with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a sly grin under stormy dark eyes, a sniper on the roof of a deserted building, the roar of a car engine, & clenched, white-knuckled fists.

nicknames. kal.

date of birth. november third.

gender. cis male.

pronouns. he + him.

birthplace. manhattan, nyc.

orientation. bisexual + aromantic.

education. bachelor of music degree obtained from manhattan school of music.

spoken languages. can speak fluent english, turkish, spanish, & french.

negative traits. haughty, abrasive, enigmatic, cynical, temperamental, calculating, hedonistic, distant, sarcastic, & volatile.

positive traits. adept, diligent, charming, resilient, candid, adept, charming, audacious, determined, & resourceful.

strengths. efficient, energetic, self-confident, strong-willed, strategic thinker, charismatic, & inspiring.

weaknesses. stubborn, dominant, intolerant, impatient, arrogant, poor handling of emotions, cold, & ruthless.

talents. piano, retaining information, memory recall, lock-picking, carjacking, hand-to-hand combat, automobile knowledge, tracking people down, & excellent problem-solving abilities. 

physiology. dark brown eyes. dark brown hair. six feet, one inch tall. of a lean, broad stature with a straight posture and evident height. has a few silvery scars littered across his skin. has a few tattoos in a few less visible places. is ambidextrous.

psychology. scorpio zodiac. water element. slytherin house. entj-a. chaotic neutral. type eight enneagram. choleric temperament. interpersonal intelligence type. addicted to alcohol, tobacco, prescription drugs, cocaine, and cannabis. suffers from addiction and insomnia. his vices are lust, wrath and pride. his virtues are ... honestly, probably just diligence tbh.

background.

possible triggers   :   infidelity, divorce, alcoholism, drug abuse, cancer, death, car crash, funeral, blood, murder, suicide mention, gun mention, & various references to death and murder. 

a synopsis.   ah, here he is—my tol, troubled, grouchy son : ' ) don't u just adore ur resident trashy, snarky, but precious and sad fuckboi muse? bc i know I DO! anyways, before i digress, i'll cut to the chase. so, waaay before he blessed the universe with his presence, his mother ( who was originally from turkey ) moved to the states where she met one alexander hale. you can probably guess the rest: the pair married, they had children, everything seemed to be going swimmingly, yada yada. here’s a lil background: the hale family—a line of manhattan-born businessmen / lawyers / diplomats etc. they're dripping in wealth, not always as squeaky clean as they portray themselves as to be. kaleb’s dad was a douche, expected both of his sons to follow in his shadow and become lawyers, ran around behind his wife's back: the whole shoot and shebang of a classic a-hole. he always kind of ignored kaleb in favour of his eldest son joshua so kaleb kinda became hard-hearted and resentful due to the lack of his father's attention. skip a few years and he spied his dad cheating on his mother with his secretary though he refused to tell another soul for fear of any potential backlash. soon enough, his mother found this out for herself, their argument ruined his thirteenth birthday party then they divorced soon after. his mother fell off the wagon, became terminally ill—all while his father was remarrying and expecting a daughter with his secretary. it was a hella rough two years for kaleb. it got even worse. eventually, his mother passed away and his step-mother divorced his father to breeze off into the sunset with her new lover; leaving her daughter with her piss-poor excuse of a dad. at this point, kaleb was lonely and angry but adopted the role of his step-sister's protector, shielding her from their father's increasing substance abuse induced violence. just before his seventeenth birthday, his father died in a car crash. of course, he didn't entirely mourn the loss. almost immediately, he and his younger sister moved in with their elder brother who helped kaleb get into university. with dear ole dad out of the picture, he could finally pursue his interest and flair for music. after he graduated, he moved to santa ysabel with his brother and brother's family. in the beginning, things were going fine. yeah, sure, he was struggling for work and felt bad that his brother had to keep him afloat. normal stuff. then, one day, things quickly turned sour in his world. [ TRIGGER FOR GORE, BLOOD, SUICIDE MENTION, GUN MENTION, MURDER, DEATH ] he’d came home to find the locks on the doors busted, advancing into the house carefully only to find his brother’s lifeless corpse crumbled on the kitchen tiles: his throat and wrists slashed, posed as a suicide. of course, kaleb knew better. he knew his brother; knew he would never leave him or his family. upon further inspection of the house, he’d discovered the body of his wife upstairs: a bullet hole between her eyes. [ TRIGGER OVER ] the whole ordeal was enough to turn his stomach but once the sickness had subsided, all kaleb felt was a strong thirst for blood. sure, it was pretty damn stupid to try and seek revenge or whatnot ... but kaleb had always been one to let his heart guide his brain. anyways, time skip now to the moment he’d uncovered his brother’s entanglement with some dodgy loan shark, drug dealing criminals who were responsible for his murder. in the end, he’d hunted them down and eradicated them one by one, over a span of weeks. at first, he hated himself and what his desire for vengeance had turned him into but he kept going until he’d got them all: until he’d grown numb. truthfully, how he wound up taking lives for a living is beyond him. he woke up one day, found himself hired by some big-wig businessman who wanted rid of his business partner and et voilà, he was tangled up in the dark side of existence. i mean, was he blackmailed into doing his first paid hit? yes. but who can blame him? especially when they claimed to have intel regarding the sudden demise of a prominent figure in the criminal underbelly of the city, a.k.a his brother’s killer. it was a risk kaleb simply couldn’t take. he prefers to keep himself anonymous, hidden behind shadows, unsuspecting. death has become a job. nothing more. nothing less. it’s simply the algorithm of his existence: receive a dossier, take care of the target, get paid a hefty lump sum. and all just for enacting a stranger’s revenge in the blood of another. he moves like a deadly phantom, his footsteps light as a feather, whipping through the night like a bullet through a target’s skull. sartre claims that hell is other people. and if you were to stare into kaleb’s eyes—eyes eerily similar to having been cut from coal—you might just see hell and everyone in it staring right back at you. as nietzsche wrote: “ he who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. and if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee. ”

random extras.

he has a lot of small scars over his body, most of which he can’t account for or has forgotten about.

owns and drives a black 1969 boss 429 mustang which he loves arguably more than he loves himself.

speaking of, he actually is full of self-hatred so don’t let the haughtiness fool you.

trusts nobody but himself and is loyal to nobody but himself.

has a lot of anger issues so often ends up taking part in underground fights.

he rates around a solid three on the kinsey scale.

is a distant person; closed-off emotionally and prefers to keep himself to himself.

when it comes to whether or not he is morally decent or an extremely bad person, he is somewhere in the middle of that spectrum.

he isn’t heartless but he isn’t exactly compassionate either.

kind of shady but knows how to pass himself as charming. 

has been thru sum shit n seen sum shit so he’s v messed up inside.

though he does have a soft spot for animals and children.

his marksmanship is impeccable.

he’s naturally gifted with firearms and his shot is always on point.

dark eyes and bruised knuckles are his ultimate aesthetic tbh.

actually really appreciates classical music, though he’ll never tell. blame it on his piano lessons from childhood.

speaking of piano, he’s low key gifted at playing although he rarely does these days.

has a very short fuse and can lose his temper quite easily.

he has a good heart and good intentions when it comes to those he actually cares about although he’ll never let this show.

favourite coping mechanism? isolation.

a bit of a lone wolf. he keeps people at arm’s length but acts in a way where people are under the illusion he’s their friend.

basically the tall, dark and handsome trope: ( most of the tall, dark and handsome men display aloof, cold and distant personality but they do have a gentle and caring side. )

is a little snarky and grumpy but if you manage to break this exterior, you’ll find he’s quite witty and easy going.

he got into fighting at a young age. it was the only way to try and learn how to defend himself against his father.

sleep?? he doesn’t know her.

tends to repress his emotions until he explodes.

healthy coping mechanisms?? he doesn’t know them either.

is prone to pushing the self destruct button.

you can find a pinterest board for him by clicking anywhere here.

[zodiyack]

Family

Pairing: Columbus x reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing, zombies, death?, SPOILERS TO THE FIRST ZOMBIELAND MOVIE, um probably some stuff that would make you grossed out? I dunno, it’s zombies man, fluff

Bold + italic: Columbus’ voice-over || Italic: Memory, but I’m sure that’s already been established in my other fics 

Note: I apologize if this is trashy, I wrote the beginning following the movie, since I’ve literally seen it about 100 times, and I realized I would have to include the reader more so I came up with the second half, but I’m not sure if I like it. Hope you guys enjoy! 

masterlist

Columbus woke up, puzzled. He turned to face the previously sleeping girl, eyes widening when he saw her bloody and vomit covered face. She was making weird groaning sounds, but he was too busy panicking to notice them.

“Oh my God. Are you okay?” He started backing up.

She opened her mouth to let a puke-like-liquid pour out. Columbus jumped up, startled, worried, and slightly grossed out.

“Woah, woah, woah!” 406 screamed and hopped off the couch, following him slowly. “Okokok, stop, stop, stop! ...What are you doing?” She lunged at him, reaching out with one arm to claw or grab him. The screams that came out of her mouth while doing so sounded inhuman, demonic even.

Columbus wasn’t sure of what was happening, but he was slowly processing it. And slowly processing is better than not processing at all. He darted off to the kitchen, 406 following behind, still screaming. His back hit the fridge and 406 slid into the kitchen.

He lifted a blender as a makeshift weapon, “Stay back 406. I don’t want to hurt you-” She blinked as the top half of the utensil fell off. Columbus stared at her for a few seconds, muttering one word when he realized what just happened to his form of protection. “Shit.”

406 lunged at him again, causing him to throw the blender to the side and move out of the way as quick as he could. She ran straight into the fridge, turning around and following him. They ran through the house, her being blood thirsty, and Columbus being scared for his life.

He ran into a room on the right and shut the door as quick as he could. However, 406′s ankle was in the way. He had shut the door on her ankle. She wrestled to get in, screeching louder when she twisted her foot and he pushed harder against the door. The bone was now visible, and Columbus, being the innocent sweetheart that he is, apologized over and over to the undead girl.

“Oh my God, I am so fucking sorry!” 

406 screeched, but in all honesty, it sounded like she was screaming “ow” in the inhuman voice. Her face kept contorting in pain, it didn’t last long though. She managed to push the door open.

Columbus ran to the connected bathroom, rushing to unlock the door that led out of it. Unfortunately for him, she was fast. She pulled him off the door and threw him into the shower, making the shower-curtain fall on top of him. 406 did as the curtain had done, but on purpose, and tumbled onto Columbus.

Panicking even more than he had just a few minutes ago, Columbus grabbed the curtain and tossed some of it over her head, putting his hands on her shoulders to keep it from coming off. Her face-shape began to appear in the curtain as she screamed and leaned forward. Her fighting grew more violent, her mouth almost reaching his face, he slid his hands to the part of the curtain behind her head. It would’ve suffocated a normal human, but once again, Columbus was in denial and too panicked to notice the abnormality

She grabbed the shoulders of his hoodie, the two moving around as they wrestled for life or death. Columbus finally got the upper hand and pushed 406 into the cupboard. Her mouth was more visible now, and she was biting over the curtain, which had gone into her mouth. A few chomps later, and her tongue ripped through the curtain, blood spilling out of the hole with it.

Columbus made a sickening noise, reaching behind himself with one hand, the other still holding his undead neighbor back. 406 was now grabbing his face in an attempt to pull it closer to hers while her tongue moved around. A smaller cupboard opened behind Columbus, allowing him to reach in. He pulled out a bag of cotton balls, taking a second look in confusion and slight regret.

The cotton balls were thrown at 406′s face, not phasing her in any way. He reached in again, pulling out a roll of toilet paper and throwing it at her, making a face after it didn’t affect her either. His reaction to the useless weapons could be summed up with the words; “What. The. Actual. Fucking. Fuck.”

He finally pulled out a random spray-can, spraying it into 406′s open mouth. She started coughing. Columbus was unaware that she was a zombie, as it was only the beginning of the apocalypse, but she was. And since she had only recently turned, she was faster and still reacted in a somewhat human way.

Columbus took the chance he was gifted, moving backwards on the floor while 406 coughed. By the time he stood up, 406 was growling and wrestled the curtain off. She crawled towards Columbus, who was now half on the toilet and grabbing the toilet tank’s lid. She finally reached him, only to get the lid smacked hard to the back of her head.

Breathing heavily, Columbus walked backwards out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut. He held up the lid, continuing to walk backwards. Panic and cautiousness never left him.

“You see, you just can’t trust anyone. The first time I let a girl into my life and she tries to eat me.”

He stopped halfway in the hall. Something didn’t feel right. 

The door pulled open with a loud creak, and 406 used the door frame to help herself stand up. She looked at him and limped forwards a little. Her eyes met his. Even though she was dead, her glare seemed so agitated, it felt human.

“Please...” He started backing up. “Listen to me,” he swallowed. The sweat was glistening on his forehead. “406. If you’re in there...You’re just sick.” Columbus shook his head, trying to reason with the undead girl. “Okay?”

406 moved her head around. She looked at him intensely. Then, she lifted her head to the ceiling and closed her eyes. She let out a loud demonic scream. It was the most horrifying shit Columbus had ever heard and seen; she limped towards him, dragging the broken foot behind, her speed picking up quickly.

Columbus prepared himself. She was getting closer. Closer. Closer. Until-

‘BANG’

He smacked the lid across her face with the rest of the strength he had. Her body dropped to the floor and stayed there. She lied limp and dead. For real this time. 

And with that, the rule of Double Tap was born. As well as Columbus’ other rules and knowledge of the zombies. Zombies existed, and it was time to wake up and realize it.

Where was Columbus now? He was with his family. No, not his real family...they were dead. He was with Tallahassee, Little Rock, Wichita and Y/n. 

They survived the grocery store. That’s where the two men met Little Rock and Wichita. They survived the Police Station. That’s where the four of them met Y/n. And they survived Pacific Playland all together. That’s where the two men rescued the three girls. That’s where they called each other family.

To be specific, he was lying in bed with Y/n. Cuddling is something that is need often in the zombie apocalypse, seeing as the world has been taken over by man-eating monsters. Cuddles were a way to comfort your partner at a time like this one. And that’s what they were. Partners. Lovers. Mates. Soulmates.

They were and had been for a while now. He was glad that he let a girl into his life once more. Y/n was his world, and he was hers. When Y/n met Columbus, she was serious, not afraid, ready to die. However, now that she had been with him for a long time, she was willing to cling on a while longer. And he was too.

Y/n bashed the third zombie’s head with the end of the rolling chair. Her safe place had been destroyed. The undead were closing in. Who would do this?

“Hurry! We’re gonna need to hurry if we want to get out of here a- ...alive...”

The h/c girl turned to the voice. It was a young girl. She had braids in her hair, a shotgun in hand, and was tapping the other girl next to her. The older girl turned and her mouth dropped open.

“Columbus. Tallahassee.”

The two men she must’ve been talking to turned. One caught Y/n’s eye. He was a rather sweaty, but cute curly haired guy. His curls were sticking to his forehead. He was breath-taking. The other male, was an older guy in a cowboy hat. If y/n had to guess, she’d guess he was Tallahassee.

“Uh- uhm- hello. Are you...”

“Bitten? No. But thanks to you guys, I could have been. What’d you do anyways?”

“We um...” The child spoke up again. She didn’t know how to explain it, her badass aura was replaced with shock. “Well we thought this place was abandoned.”

“That’s okay. Do me a favor though.” The group nodded, one of them shooting a zombie that managed to get through, then returning their attention to Y/n. “Take me with you.”

“Excuse me?” Cowboy-hat-man asked. He had a country-like accent, and that added to Y/n’s guess of names. He looked suspicious of her.

“Take me with you.”

“Why should we-”

“Okay. You know how to work a gun, correct?”

Y/n quickly pulled out shot a zombie that stood behind the curly haired man. It was like it came out of nowhere, but it helped Y/n prove her point and confirm the man’s question. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She shot the zombie’s head a final time, now that it had been in her view after the group moved to see what she shot at.

“Cool. I’m Little Rock.”

“Nice shot. Wichita.”

“Come on guys, are we seriously gonna-”

“Columbus. How’d you know to double tap?”

“Just something I do. Nice to meet you guys. I’m guessing angry cowboy is Tallahassee?” The group nodded with smiles on their faces. They didn’t even know it yet, but they seemed more and more like a family with each moment they spent together.

“Y/n?”

“Yes Columbus?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” She giggled, adjusting her head on her boyfriend’s chest.

“Y/n?”

She giggled more, “Haven’t we already done this?”

“Yes but...”

“Hmm?” She closed her eyes. She was listening to his heart beat and his talking, it was all so soothing.

“I’m glad we met you.”

“I’m glad you guys did too. And I’m really glad that we’re all together now. A family.”

“A family.”

Their lovely time alone was crashed by Tallahassee, a now 15 year old Little Rock, and Wichita. They jumped onto the bed, laughing amongst themselves. Their family wanted in on the cuddles. The entire family was there, and they were thankful.

[lemongogo]

hey im the anon abt gyutaro/ume and i dont remember what happens to demons after they die ?? did i miss smth ? regardless i wanna ask what do you think their fate should be ? cause on one hand i think they're just victims of a cruel world who took the first way out they could find but on the other hand it doesnt rlly justify all the slaughter, and i also think abt the demon slayers who also suffered horrible fates and used it to fuel their determination to save other people from that pain

hi !! i don’t think kny ever explicitly mentions what happens to demons after they die (as in we never have concrete evidence of where they go or how their lives after are spent), but i think the general consensus is that the demons go to hell. 

in some cases, the family can decide to go with them (ex: rui and i think akaza? if i remember correctly?) but their fate is pretty much sealed from that point forward i believe. 

heres a pic of gyuutarou and ume, actually, in chapter 97 !!

but yeah !! thats something i think about a lot tbh. as you mentioned, many of the demons we’ve seen have either been groomed into demonhood (rui, ume, susamaru, etc.) or had their pain and suffering exploited (akaza, gyuutarou) for the sake of advancing other demons’ plans (muzan, douma, etc). so i agree ! a lot of these characters are unfortunate victims in themselves and its impossible to view their stories without incorporating the struggles they’ve had to face as both humans AND demons. especially considering that lots of these individuals experience muzan’s abuse regardless of their status relative to him (such as with the upper and lower moons). i think this is best explained through akaza’s relationship with muzan,

(ch. 67)

(ch.156)

and further explored though tanjiro’s observation of rui’s death. he notes that being a demon, for most, is an existence punctuated by extreme grief and despair, and that’s equally supported, i think, by the humanization of these demons following death. that their original conscious is restored (albeit with knowledge of everything they’ve done) and are oftentimes plagued by the guilt of what’s happened.

(ch.43)

what he says here is probably what sums it up for me. that while it’s important to condemn these demons and hold them accountable for the truly awful things they’ve done, it’s also important to consider the suffering they've experienced through existence alone. its so !! complex !! and thats what i love about kny. i love how .. you have some demons who are entirely despicable and bask in the carnage they create, but you also have some for whom demonhood was simply what appeared to be the only answer towards living a healthier life or righting the wrongs that’ve been done to them (usually with false promises and manipulation unbeknownst to them). and .. its so hard to figure out where to.. draw that line. or view these characters at least. because you sympathize with their pain, but you also realize that their actions have caused endless pain for many hundreds of people. tanjiro losing his entire family, giyuu losing his. shinobu watching her sister die before her very eyes, and kanao the same. the ubuyashiki family’s curse or the slaughter of himejima’s children. you look at characters like sanemi, shinobu, or giyuu and understand that you cannot invalidate their view of demons either. while kanae and tanjiro may find hope and humanity in demons, they exist as monsters who feast on pain to everyone else. its important not to discredit their perspective when making a personal choice to observe the demons’ hardships yknow. shinobu’s anger is just as warranted as tanjiro’s optimism and that neither are wrong for how they personally feel demons should be handled after death. 

im like. AAAAAAAA theres so much to it , its really hard for me to condense into a few sentences AHAHA im so sry for making u read this if u still are. but . i guess i’m not too sure. i think maybe, had i experienced the same pain as those above, it would be easy for me to say the demons deserve to go to the worst hell imaginable regardless of what they’ve gone through because that history isn’t accessible to everyone like it has been the audience (or that they’ve seemingly made the conscious decision to cause harm w/o understanding the ways in which demonhood obscures their original conscious/morality). but at the same time, you have those like tanjiro whose world view is shaped by positive encounters with demons like nezuko, tamayo, yushirou, etc. where it seems very evident that . theres more to it than what meets the eye. 

one of my friends ive talked to about this had a rly good perspective on it thats kinda stuck with me since !! she said she likes to view their conclusion as some . separation of identity?? if that makes sense?? that the demon side of them goes to hell while their human form goes to heaven (or division into whichever afterlife). and !! i think thats a really neat interpretation because there’s obvious descrepancy between demon personas and human personas. that the demon personas are like. exaggerations of their flaws, almost (akaza becoming hellbent on battle spirits and physical victories when hajuki’s fury & determination was fueled by love in a sense) while their human personas are the truest sense of self. and depending on which influence there is (muzan vs the appearance of loved ones), their identity changes accordingly. so ! idk ! thats one nice way of looking at it. holding their demon personas accountable while also recognizing that many of these characters deserve some form of healing after many hundreds of years of abuse. its hard because ofc i don’t want to negate the harms they’ve caused but its also? not cut and dry given the environment they were placed in and the fact that muzan’s blood essentially removes their humanity against their will you know. so in this way at least you have both forms of self receiving the proper conclusion. 

whwhwhw so im. !!!!!!!!!!!! ah !! i can’t say i have a definite answer but i think the one above is smth thats comforting to me. i think the story settles with sending them to hell once they’ve regained their past self but also .. “softens” it by providing them company by their loved ones who are willing to go w them?? so thats rly cool to look at too. because it holds them accountable for all that’s happened but also.. recognizes that they’re not wholly responsible for it either and that .. even in hell they’re able to keep their connections and human emotions/experiences . its tragic yet oddly. fitting, i think, of the kny narrative. while i like the aforementioned interpretation, i also really.. appreciate the way its set up in canon too. like yeah i want the best for them but also. it fits in with the tragic nature of demonhood and what it meant for them all. oddly enough. 

u make a good point too !! about demon slayers experiencing the same hardships but using their pain to help others. i think a lot of it is plainly chalked up to luck in terms of.. what they were exposed to following tragedy. how shinobu and kanae were saved by himejima, tanjiro saved by giyuu, kanao picked up by shinobu and kanae, sanemi given the guidance of kagaya while akaza was killed by muzan during his lowest moment, ume and gyuutarou were cornered by douma, rui misled by muzan, etc. i think circumstance is definitely a large factor in determining the paths that were taken. such as sanemi’s anger being validated and heard by ubuyashiki vs, say, akaza’s same anger being intentionally exploited for muzan’s gain.

aaa anyways. theres a lot 2 be said about this. like. SO much on my mind and obviously the extent of muzan’s abuse goes far deeper than what’s briefly mentioned here but.  i love talking about the complexities of kny . and how i view the demons vs the corps and how each of them have grown into their respective stories . AA but ill end it here THNK U >> also so sry for making u read thru all of this i get so excited i could talk abt kny all day long if i had the chance AAA 

[questionsonislam]

All good things come from Allah. I am a sportsman; when I win a competition, am I not the real winner? Does it not make man feel like nothing? La ghaliba illallah, there is no victor except Allah; so, can man not be victorious or feel so? Does that mean we have nothing? How can a person live without ego? Did Allah not give man the perception and feeling of ego? Is it haram to use it?

- Existence of a thing is something and using that thing is something else. Creation of evil is not evil, but using it evilly is evil. There is a wise saying we sometimes use; “there is no fault in existence, but there is misuse of it.”

For example, creation of fire is not a bad thing, but using it mistakenly wrong and be harmed by it is bad. Likewise, iron's creation is not evil; it is very good since it has lots of benefits. However, using iron and metals as a weapon to oppress and murder others is definitely evil.

- Like in these material elements, there is no manufacturing defect in spiritual equipment - related to the wise creation of Allah. However, man's misuse of them is a usage error. For instance,

- most of qualifications of man were created as a unit of measurement to Allah's attributes. The existence of those attributes, which are like characteristics, is connected to the center of ego/individuality.

That means ego/individuality was given to recognize Allah's attributes. From this point of view, there is no manufacturing defect.

However, using them in a way to elevate man to divinity, instead of using them as a tool to reveal Allah's holiness, is a misuse.

For example: Man cannot create anything in its real sense. He does not have any possessions. He is dependent in terms of everything and in all aspects. His existence is dependent on Allah's existence, his attributes are dependent on Allah's attributes and his deeds are dependent on Allah's deeds. That is, man is actually nothing. All of his attributes and faculties entrusted to him temporarily are only visible causes that exist only in appearance. It is shirk (polytheism) to attribute the real effect to other apparent; similarly, it is shirk to attribute the real effect to man.

Let us hear why ego was given to man from the expert of the issue:

“Since an absolute and all-encompassing thing has no limits or end, neither may a shape be given to it, nor may a form be conferred on it, nor may it be determined; what its quiddity is may not be comprehended. For example, an endless light without darkness may not be known or perceived. But if a line of real or imaginary darkness is drawn, then it becomes known. Thus, since God Almighty's attributes like knowledge and power, and Names like All-Wise and All-Compassionate are all-encompassing, limitless, and without like, they may not be determined, and what they are may not be known or perceived. Therefore, since they do not have limits or an actual end, it is necessary to draw a hypothetical and imaginary limit. The 'I' does this. It imagines in itself a fictitious dominicality, ownership, power, and knowledge: it draws a line. By doing this it places an imaginary limit on the all-encompassing attributes, saying, "Up to here, mine, after that, His;" it makes a division. With the tiny units of measurement in itself, it slowly understands the true nature of the attributes.” (Nursi, Words, 536 - 537)

- So, it is not forbidden to use good attributes placed in human's inherent nature; on the contrary it is his duty. However, the color of the light in his intention that reflect different colors changes the nature of the things done. It converts diamond into coal and coal into diamond.

For instance, a person's victory “in a sports game and similar activities” has already elevated him. If he sees this as a grace from Allah, it does not harm his victory among people. It also makes him more valuable in the eye of Allah. On the other hand, if that person considers himself the source of the victory, he will not be elevated to a better place in the eye of people; besides, he will lose his value on in the eye of Allah.

That is to say, an intention and attitude knowing their boundaries makes one “earn a profit without loss”; a spoiled attitude not knowing its boundaries causes a “loss without profit”. Thus, with this intention, he cannot increase his popularity among people because of intention; besides, he can lose his value in the eye of Allah completely.

It can be said that the harmless road is always preferred to the harmful road.

Nevertheless, attributing some good deeds that appear to be belonging to man to Allah, the real owner of them is a sign of love and respect to Him. On the contrary, considering to own some skills, which are only some means/tools, and attributing them to one’s own self shows that one loves his own self. Besides, the real reason why man was given a strong feeling of love is to nurture love toward Allah. If man abuses that feeling of love and uses it for his own self, it means he attributes a kind of divinity to his soul and desires.

Anyway, your intense love for yourself and your soul is love for the Divine Essence which you misuse and spend on your own self. In which case, rend the egotism in your soul and show Him. All your loves dispersed through the universe are love given to you to spend on His Names and attributes. You have used it wrongly and you are suffering the penalty. For the penalty for an illicit, mis-spent love is merciless torment. (Words, 359-360)

To sum up, he who regards himself as nothing exists; he who regards himself existing becomes nothing. So, we accept our nothingness, but via this path of nothingness, we reach existence and acquire value and worth.

“Also, do not say: "I am nothing. What importance do I have that the universe should purposefully be made subject to me by an Absolutely All-Wise One, and universal thanks required of me?" Because for sure you are as though nothing with respect to your soul and form, but from the point of view of duty and rank, you are an observant spectator of this majestic universe, an eloquent, articulate tongue of these beings so full of wisdom, a discerning reader of this book of the universe, a supervisor of these creatures full of wonder at their glorifications, and like a foreman of these beings full of respect for their worship.“ (Words, 328)

Finally, it will be useful to pay attention to two points the Qur'an emphasizes:

a) Allah criticizes those who say, “I achieved this with my own knowledge and ability.”

“He said, "I was only given it because of knowledge I have." Did he not know that Allah had destroyed before him of generations those who were greater than him in power and greater in accumulation [of wealth]? But the criminals, about their sins, will not be asked.” (al-Qasas 28/78)

“And when adversity touches man, he calls upon Us; then when We bestow on him a favor from Us, he says, "I have only been given it because of [my] knowledge." Rather, it is a trial, but most of them do not know.” (az-Zumar 39/49)

b) Allah does not look with favor on those who trust in their own power in war:

Allah has already given you victory in many regions and [even] on the day of Hunayn, when your great number pleased you, but it did not avail you at all, and the earth was confining for you with its vastness; then you turned back, fleeing. (at-Tawbah 9/25)

c) Allah does not attribute success even to His angels:

“[Remember] when you asked help of your Lord, and He answered you, "Indeed, I will reinforce you with a thousand from the angels, following one another. And Allah made it not but good tidings and so that your hearts would be assured thereby. And victory is not but from Allah. Indeed, Allah is Exalted in Might and Wise.” (al-Anfal 8/ 9-10)

[positivlyfocused]

I See God (Myself) Everywhere

Evidence that God exists is so abundant, I wonder sometimes why humans invented this thing called faith.

A great post landed in my inbox this week about how to create results. Joe Dalio's writings blend Law of Attraction with Christianity which is an interesting perspective given so many Christians have negative attachment to Law of Attraction.

Joe's post moved me, so I wrote a response:

I find that when one understands what is being shared by Great Teachers, faith becomes unnecessary, because evidence of “answered prayers” abounds. Faith becomes necessary in the absence of evidence. Since evidence abounds, faith isn’t necessary. So then, how does one see evidence?

It’s challenging sharing uplifting knowledge because such information is best shared through long conversations. But your bottom line is spot on: the external world springs from the internal one. Get the latter right and the former must match the latter so long as the former, righted, is held consistently, even in the perceived absence of evidence…

That brings me back to faith. The external, physical world as it is now, evidences everyone’s beliefs as they are now. As you say, “When your…mind believes something to be true, then it is, and you will soon experience its truth.” All around us we find confirmed beliefs…our truths. The matter is one of seeing beliefs and their [already] manifested realities.

So believing in “the word” as creator of reality becomes easy once one sees connections between what they believe and what they experience. God is all around us, in us and in everything, constantly evolving, constantly become more. I love knowing that and relish life while standing in that knowing!

Joe replied few minutes later. I'll get to what happened next.

How prayer works

A client and I talked about prayer recently. He's a Christian, and prays often. I suggested a different perspective on prayer, one that could make prayer more effective.

Life works best like this, I told him: A person find things they want, often by observing things they don’t want. The moment they recognize what they want, what Christians call God holds that as a real, tangible experience, especially for that person.

That’s what happens when a person prays. They identify what they want and immediately get the answer (God holding the future reality for the person). But the praying part of "prayer" is only the beginning.

Next, God sends signals – thoughts, ideas, intuition to the one who has prayed. Follow those signals and the person MUST receive that for which they prayed.  God sends signals constantly for every prayer potentially leading the person to everything they want. All prayers are answered.

Like a pair of walkie talkies though, the person can’t receive God’s signals, and thus His answer to the prayer, if the person isn't on His frequency. How do they know when they are?

They feel good, they're positively focused, they see everything like God does: as good, as right, as always getting better.

So prayer isn’t about what one says with one's mouth in solemn moments, I told my client. Prayer happens every life moment, with every interpretation, every story, every belief a person believes about everything happening around them moment by moment.

Tuning one's interpretation so they receive God’s answer is what Jesus meant when he said become like a child, which means, seeing the world as a pure, positive adventure springing from one's imagination.

God’s revelation

I saw this blog post I mentioned above as a positive element of my ongoing adventure. I enjoyed responding and receiving the Joe's reply:

Thank you for your excellent comment! You’ve added so much more wisdom to the info I discussed. Your last paragraph sums it up beautifully. I believe the key is seeing and knowing those connections, though it’s easier said than done. However when done, it is life-changing 🙂

The next day, I ran an errand to IKEA. On my way, I thought about Joe's post, my response, and his reply. I thought about how Joe keyed in on the key point: Seeing the connections between what one believes, and what one experiences...that's how one finds God and His revelations: answers to one's prayers.

Right about that time, I passed by a house with a beautiful painting nailed to a post in the front yard. The painting featured a huge yellow and black honey bee free-framed in a blue sky with white clouds. A short paragraph beside the bee, told in hand-painted letters  how important bees are.

Below that was a long, hand written message:

This was exactly the connection I described in my comment. Here I was, in my physical reality, seeing my own beliefs reflected back to me. God's answer to one of my many "prayers" - my strong belief.

Joy and recognition washed over me. The rest of my ride felt like floating. When I got to IKEA, a masked clerk greeted me at the door.

"How are you today?" She asked.

"I'm f*cking happy!" I exclaimed.

"Wow!" She said. "That's AWESOME."

I smiled so wide underneath my mask, my eyes twinkled.

"It sure is!" I said.

Evidence that God exists is so abundant, I wonder sometimes why humans invented this thing called faith. I don't need faith because I know I'm God in Human form, laying out my desires in prayer then tuning myself so I get my answers in life experience. The tuning looks and feels like being Positively Focused. And being there, I find happiness.

[missbecky]

Okay, time for another long post about a cool weird thing that happened with my cards last night. I still don't know how I feel about deities, I don't know that I'll ever worship one, as that's just not me to worship. But I have felt as though there was an entity, goddess, force, something trying to reach me. Any time I've tried to glean information on who it was, I kept getting a door slammed in my face. I kept getting messages that I wasn't ready. And I was totally fine with that.

I'm unemployed right now, I'm a single mom, and I live with my disabled mother to help take care of her. With COVID-19, we don't take chances as my mom is in the high risk category. What that all means is that I've had way too much time on my hands. So I've been like a sponge, soaking up all the knowledge I can when it comes to witchcraft. Not being ready wasn't that big of a deal, because it just meant I got to do more research and keep putting off stuff I didn't really want to do.

Yesterday, I did my daily card draw, and the message was suddenly way different. Change has always been in the messages, but also the stopping in order to be ready for the changes. Yesterday morning I drew the the star, the chariot, and the hanged man reversed. I took that as a go for it.

Later that day I was prowling all the research servers, and the went to Google something about deities, and found an article/blog post someone had written about wishing people would stop using a very specific tarot spread for deity identification. Naturally, I decide to do that very spread. It was a five card spread, I wrote down what I wanted to know, and started shuffling. I shuffled for what felt like forever, and then when I laid the cards out, without thinking, I laid out 7. At first I was going to put the last two back, but decided to leave them. And the cards were all over the place. But I looked at it, and thought, "whoa, whoever this is, is not messing around.

So this is what I laid out.

Before I get into breaking down what these cards meant and how each one directly correlates to one specific deity, I want to point out where my head was at going into this.

I basically really actually got started with everything like 2 weeks ago. I'm basically still a newborn, right? Anyway, as soon as I start researching, I keep getting drawn to Deities. That's weird because I'm an agnostic and basically have no interest in higher powers. If they're there cool, if not cool. I have always believed that if there is some kind of being that could mold and shape the world, then my puny human brain can't comprehend them anyway, and it's really none of my concern. So, it's been really strange that this repeatedly keeps sticking out for me. I get the distinct impression that whatever energy is reaching out to me is female, a tie to the moon, the feeling of 3 was there, I knew it had to be associated with motherhood, and just a general overall feel of the empowerment of women. Naturally, I just kind of assumed Hecate, but that never actually felt correct to me.

So the 3 of cups being the first card just kind of reinforced the sense of 3 to me, and the whole sisterhood aspects of women empowering women. I wrote down 3, sisterhood, and good times. In the spread that was supposed to be 5 cards (and I did 7), the first card was supposed to sum up who the deity was.

I love my tarot deck for the strength card the most, I think. Strength is a mama bear. Again, this confirms my feeling of being tied to motherhood. The second card was supposed to represent the deities weakness. I wrote mama bear, power, and overly protective.

The third card was the chariot, and according to the spread this was their strength, their power. I wrote down action, strength, determination, will-power.

Then I get to the 4th card, the lovers. This is supposed to be what they rule. This one had me scratching my head. Now the author said this one will be harder to figure out, because the deities could even try to be snarky with this. I didn't even know what to do with this card, but like it made sense later. As I was going through each card individually, however, I came up with nothing, and in turn wrote nothing.

Card 5 was to be their symbol or association, and I had drawn 7 card. Anyway, I began analyzing the reversed hierophant, and the reversed 2 of cups. By that point I'm feeling personally attacked. And then the King of swords felt like a slap in the face. Words like logical, smart, level headed came up, which is honestly the person I've always prided myself on being. What was that person doing trying to contact a deity? I basically had to stop and ask myself wtf I was doing.

Like all shadow work, I decided to go browse the internet to distract myself from having to think about it too much. So I start googling triple Goddess and love, even though the lovers definitely didn't feel right, I'm like what the hell? Why not? Hecate and Diana come up, well that's not right. So I decide to take away the triple deciding I could just be way off base with the whole 3 thing. So I Google goddess of female empowerment and found a list of badass goddesses, and Artemis stuck out to me. But I'm like, no, that can't be right. This peace loving hippie couldn't possibly identify with the goddess of the hunt (which was the extent of my knowledge about Artemis). I then Google goddess of sisterhood, envisioning a woman running with a girl gang fucking shit up. What the fuck do you know, but that is Artemis.

After that Google search, I decide I clearly don't know enough about Artemis, and had recently downloaded some Greek mythology books, have never had the slightest interest in Greek mythology, but I saved them in my Google drive just in case. After finding out a bit about Artemis from Google, I turned to the digital books I had.

It was crazy how each of the cards began actually tying into the mythology of Artemis. She traveled with like a gang of nymphs, which I'm sure there was some sisterhood there. She helped her mother deliver her twin brother, and became like the patron God of childbirth. She defended babies and Young girls. She only ever wanted to belong to herself and so she requested everlasting virginity. From what I read she was very protective, straight up murdered rapists, and she was strong to a fault, which made sense why the strength card was listed as weakness. Apollo challenged her to hit a target way out in the ocean that she couldn't see, telling her she couldn't do it, she did it to prove she could and there was no better sharpshooter than her. The target was Orion, the only person she ever loved. So the reversed two of cards made sense. The reversed hierophant made sense because she was not traditional, she went against the grain. Her story is far from ordinary, even by mythological standards. She was a straight up badass that lived life on her terms and no one else's. There's nothing more rebellious than a woman with such control of her own life and destiny. And of course the chariot would be her strength identification, she was nothing but action oriented. The lovers could be interpreted several ways, but I take it as a woman who loves herself so fiercely she had no need for any other kind. But also when I think of love, I don't think of romantic love, I think of the bond i share with my daughter. She fiercely loved her brother, and maybe because she helped with his birth it connected her to him similar to that of a mother and child? That of course speculation. But the lovers card could also be a jab at her eternal virginity. And the King of swords sounded exactly like Artemis.

So I'm convinced this spread is talking about Artemis, but I can't shake the aspect of 3. Can't let that one go. Don't know why. So I'm looking through the l The Greek Myths by Robert Graves, and in it he speculated that Artemis was in fact a triad/triple Goddess!!!

Needless to say, I lost my fucking shit after reading that one. I was right in what I felt about what traits I felt the energy having, and the fucking spread related with every gd card.

Oh, and apparently Artemis chose to spend most of her time in the mountains. One of my favorite thing in all of the things is the mountains of Colorado, second only to my daughter, and I even identify as connected with earth elements the most because of my love for mountains. Makes me wonder how long Artemis has been trying to get my attention 😉

Anyway, I don't know what this all means to me personally yet. I've been ridiculously drained today, it's already 11 pm, and I only just now felt like I had enough energy and focus to write this out. So haven't had much time to sit with everything I experienced and felt last night.

However, it was very exciting! And I had to share my experience!

[diamo-chan]

A bit of lore and backstory

(snippet of the ninth chapter of my unfinished unpublished fanfic in the classical trope of “let me put as much info as possible compressed into a tiny dialogue”)

not beta-read/ written on a tired mind/ english is not my native language/ my list of excuses goes on and on...

Word count: 1.7k

It was at times like these when Pheebe noticed that she was way too emotional to do her job the way it should be done. Binding her hair back into a loose ponytail she threw an exhausted glare at the blonde aristocrat who barely lifted his eyes from the book he was currently reading. A if they did not just have a war council, as if death itself was not waiting just around the gates.

“Vlad this is serious. If we want to survive this we have to work together, we have to talk like normal people.”

He turned the page, uninterested. ‘What the fuck was so important, he had to read it now?!’

“I will survive this, I’ve been through worse. And you are just food to us. A blood bag to satisfy Ivan’s needs. Why should I treat you, like you are anything special?”

Pheebe wanted to scream and flee the room. Hadn’t Vladimir disagreed to listen to her plan, they would already be all on their way to a safe place. But no, instead he was clinging to this mansion. They had more important things to take care of. And for once, she knew that Beliath would agree.

This is not about me. It is about Mary. About Ethan. Both are on the edge of death and you talk about waiting and planning”

He turns another page. But she saw the hand that held the book upright tighten against the Bordeaux hardcover. He took a deep breath to maintain his poise, before speaking with the certainty of a head of house, no room for discussion: “Ethan will manage, and if your friend doesn’t make it we can still share her blood, drain her before the battle. But we will not run into a confrontation unprepared!”

The last drop broke the barrel. How dares he even suggest using Mary in such a gruesome way? How dares he put organization above life. And at once, the words poured out before she could stop them. “I cannot understand how you can live with yourself, let alone how other people can live with you. You only care about yourself, don’t you? You don’t give a damn about the suffering of others”.

A reaction. He looked up. There was shock in his eyes, as well as a tiny warning of the storm that was rioting in his thoughts. Through tiny slits and gritted teeth he growled at her.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be immortal. Have you ever watched everyone you care about die, with nothing that you could do to stop it? You know nothing of pain and suffering!” His voice became louder and louder until, at the end, he was screaming in rage, at such a volume that Pheebe was sure, even Ivan in his room two floors above them, could hear every single word. She did not fear his anger, and he was powerless to lift his hand against her. At last, she got what she wanted and he was no longer as emotional as a stone. But he would not guilt trip her with a sad back-story or the typical “I-am-a-poor-misunderstood-immortal”-farce. Eyes hard, she brought her face closer to the blond man’s, who backed away in irritation.

“Do you know what it feels like to drive a knife through the heart of the person you love?”

At first he was taken aback by the question. Then a condescending smirk appeared on his face “Oh, yes, go on. Tell me the story of the vampire that fell in love with a hunter and gets staked down in return.”

Patience! She told herself. Think of him as a child that questions the whole world. “He was sick. Do you know what bloodlust does to a vampire?” His discomfort became more and more apparent. His eyes danced over her face on the search for some kind of weakness. She felt the threatening waves that he tried to sent off, but once again she thanked Miss Ginaldi’s team for her training. Not many Vampires have encountered bloodlust and survived it. None of the ones that Pheebe had known, at least. ”Incurable, it turns him into a feral beast, with no recognition of anything but blood.”

“How do you know that it was bloodlust? Maybe He attacked you because he just found out what you are and-“

“Because I was there when he caught it. I was there when he fought it.”, every word was pressed out with anger and frustration about Vlad’s stubbornness. About his way of denying anything he didn’t want to see or hear. “He always hoped that maybe it would go away. And he trusted me to step in if it didn’t. Because he knew who I was from the very beginning, or rather, who I was supposed to be.”

“That’s what vampires get for trusting a hunter.” Voice cold, face empty.

His expression remained calm and neutral, there was not one muscle that gave a sign of consideration, no empathy left for her words and it made her fume. Pheebe had tears brimming on her lashes, so short of falling to his ignorance. But her anger was without cause. Vlad could not have known, there was nothing he knew about her but her name and the fact, that she did not like him.

“I wasn’t a hunter back then. I was just…” she searched for a suitable word, an attempt to justify the unjustifiable, “an employee who wanted to help maintain peace.” But then her emotions dropped as pictures flashed in her memory, vivid as if she was at that place once again. Laughs, smiles, congratulations. Hands ruffling through her hair and telling her that it was time she grew up to the expectations.  So much positivity over a lost life. “You cannot imagine how proud my family was when they found us, when they saw what I have done. I don’t even know why I had that dagger with me in the first place. I swore to never touch these damned murder instruments!”

They were both breathing hard with keeping this discussion on a verbal level. The need to shake the pale boy was stagnant in Pheebes chest. Meanwhile Vlad has stood up to put his book back into the shelf, as it was apparent he would not be reading in peace with the hysterical girl in the library. Eyeing her from bottom to top his voice turned almost soothingly intrigued: “A Vampire willingly associated with someone who was connected to the circle?”

The facepalm was only mental. Of cause Vladimir would not know how the circle worked. For most of the vampire population it would remain a secret for all of their drawn-out lifetime. Meanwhile, for others, well…

“There were many vampires who worked with or for us, some voluntarily, some not.“ To sum up the whole picture Pheebe went for both extremes: “some came to council meetings, others were chained up and starving in the basement… With all those doors that my parents opened for me, to proudly present my new future, with that blood on my hands I could no longer play friends with your kind. I started my training so I can bring hope to those who don’t deem themselves worthy of it. I have saved almost fourty vampires, and it was never necessary to shed even a drop of blood for them to cooperate. Maybe they felt that I was a little like them, damned from the depth of my blood. A curse that already shows on my hands.”

Once it was pronounced the black eyes of the vampire scanned her arms to hind her hands unexpectedly bare. There were soft lines that faded on their way towards her elbow, as if drawn up with coal, fingerpainted with ashes of burned purity and hopes.

“Is that why you wear gloves?”

Pheebe nodded. “They are so I can touch my weapons. The vampire blood in my system keeps rejecting contact with the cursed materials. But it is also what keeps me immune to hypnosis and manipulation.” This was what made this discussion so hard for Vlad. She had seen the way he talked to the humen at Nikita’s party, and felt that he instantly surrounds them with his commanding aura to get his points across more easily. But talking to her was like talking to  the other house members. Futile, if she was as closed off to his point of view, as he was to her.

“Where did you get blood from our kind?” There was a little bit of disgust in his expression. But who would blame him, for not finding the aspect of being drained of your life essence, so someone else had it easier, appealing. He had never lived on that side of the food chain after all.

Suddenly she felt like a walking tome of hunter knowledge to Vladimir’s eyes. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, with morbid interest. Just how much was he allowed to know? Or rather how long would he survive to pass that knowledge on?: “It was an integral part of my training to regularly get vampire blood and venom injected, so it does not cause  turning if I die in battle or cause hallucinations when I am bitten.”

His eyebrow rose. “The effects of vampire blood in the human system are dangerous. You never know what it might cause”

Something rang in her memory as he said that sentence. She must have heard it somewhere. Or read it in a book. There were not many objectively useful tomes about vampire blood, the only ones are lost, stolen from the hunter association’s library, written during experiments and updated regularly. The last ones who were working on the manuscript were Monsieur and Madame Martine-Blanc, or so it was told.

“You know…There were two hunters who are kind of a legend in the circles, scientist, who were obsessed by the idea that the cure to any disease could lie in the blood of the elder vampires. My instructor, Doctor Ginaldi told me about them. One night they just disappeared, and took half of the inventory with them. After searching for their whereabouts for 3 month, they gave up.” And with a tiny laugh that was only encouraged by the uneasiness on the blond vampire face, she added:” And now, twenty years later, I read their names on a doorbell in the middle of fucking nowhere. Crazy, isn’t it?”