#life through death

[theinwardlight]

So there is no obtaining of life but through death, nor no obtaining the Crown but through the Cross, so thou must deny thy self, and take up thy Cross daily and follow Christ, if thou wouldst be his disciple, and give up thy self wholly to be guided by the will of God, that all which is contrary to the will of God may be crucified, though it be never so near and dear to thee.

James Parnell, early Quaker, A Trial of Faith, 1655

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[thirdtimed]

id like to think that the reason why the lifers are stuck in an endless reincarnation loop isnt out of some twisted malintent of the watchers or some mechanism of fate its just bc the winners keep making the exact same wish every single time

[dollsdesires]

𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖌𝖍

[manicscreeching]

Make of me a garden

I stagger along blindly, arms held ahead as a futile shield against the biting wind and blinding snow. The winter is harsh and long, and there is no salvation to be found amongst the frigid dunes and pallid streets. Around me stretches a city, once proud, now humbled by the fury of nature and folly of man. A ruin wrought by hubris and willing ignorance. There are still remnants, those unlucky few who, like me, scurry through wrecked streets scavenging for scraps, fighting through the rubble as our forefathers did, and so too theirs; tattered banners held aloft as if they still hold meaning, bitter men acting out of stubborn spite to make sure that if they cannot win, then nor shall anyone else. It doesn't matter now. Winter is here, and its armies cannot be defeated. We shall die to lances of ice and blades of hunger. I stumble and fall, my legs finally failing, collapsing under me, leaving me curled up in the snow. I try to move, to rally some last gasp of defiance. Some will to live despite the odds. Nothing comes. I will die here, I realise, dimly. I should probably feel upset. Perhaps resigned. Angry, even. Instead I just feel numb. And cold. Above me the wind howls its ferocious battlecries as it scours the streets of life. I move, pulling myself to a wall, propping myself up against it, until my arms too fail, leaving me stranded. A puppet with strings cut. It occurs that I don't feel cold anymore. Hope blossoms faintly, far off and growing farther. Maybe I'll live. I'm warming up, not even shivering. I just need to stand up and get moving again. I try but somehow my body doesn't respond. I'm even warmer now. Hot even. Too hot. It's like I'm on fire. And then that too fades.

My breathing is the first thing to go. Lungs frozen. Then my heart stops, starved to death. My consciousness fades, my last thoughts a confused mess of memory and delirium.

I die.

The sun sets, rises, sets again. The storm passes. The sun rises in a clear sky. A raven comes to land upon my knee, head cocked as it examines my frozen carcass. Curiously it hops forward, head twisted to the side, black eye meeting my blank gaze. It turns to me again and pecks my cheek, quickly drawing back as if expecting me to wake. I do not. Apparently satisfied, it hops closer again, still cautious. Its head draws back and then its beak plunges into my eyeball, gripping hard as it pulls. Once, twice, thrice, and the eye tears free in a sudden jolt of movement. It stumbles slightly before regaining its footing. Bending its head backwards, the raven gulps the eye down greedily, blood shining against its matte beak. It swallows, hops onto my shoulder, and then takes my other eye, cawing happily after it swallows it down. Apparently sated, the raven takes flight. Night falls, and with it more snow. I am covered, naught but another corpse in this sepulchral ruin. Time moves on. The snow thaws, falls, thaws once more. Night and day have no meaning anymore. The raven returns. It takes my tongue, happily tearing away until it is fulfilled, then flapping up to the building above me to croon away the hours. Time passes. The snow falls less often. It rains. I thaw and begin to rot. The raven enjoys my frostbitten fingers when they grow soft enough to eat. A dog is drawn by the stench of decay. It tears into my midriff, revealing the sumptuous guts within. The dog and the raven eat together: I am plentiful, so there is no need for conflict. The dog sleeps beside me, the raven perched above. Days pass. A frost comes, unusually late. The raven shelters within my carcass, protected from the cold. The dog has lived through worse. The cold passes. Time moves on. The dog leaves, my body now stripped almost bare. The raven remains, pecking at the flesh which still clings to my bones. There is a crack in the tarmac in front of me, from which a small green shoot emerges. The shoot grows. The raven makes a nest in my ribcage. Time passes. Another raven arrives. A mouse chews its way into my skull. The ravens hatch chicks. The mouse builds a nest. The shoot grows. Time passes. The ravens leave the nest. Winter comes. Winter goes. The mouse finds a mate. The ravens have more chicks. The shoot grows into a sapling. The dog returns. The mice leave. The dog has pups. The sapling grows, cracking the tarmac. The pups leave. The dog dies. The ravens eat the dog. The sapling becomes a tree. Leaves fall and rot and become dirt. The dirt grows grass. The grass dies and becomes dirt. I am smothered, my bones scattered and buried. Flowers grow atop me, their roots wrapping about my bones as once I trailed my fingers through their heads. Ivy wreaths the wall above me, grass carpeting what once was road. A tall tree stretches over me: its branches spread wide, its verdant leaves casting a patchwork quilt of dappled shadow, spots of golden sunlight warming my yellowed bones. A raven perches atop my skull, pecking at it fondly, its feathers gleam under the warm sun, ruffled slightly by a balmy summer's breeze as the leaves above susurrate and rustle. I feel the loam around me, so full of life. I hear the grass growing, the insects working tirelessly, a happy caw from the tree branches. I see a black silhouette circling lazily on high.

I am a garden.

I grow.

I rest.

[thereweredragonshere]

Practicing the queen🫶 lowkey love the red death. Continue traumatising our favourite characters one exploding corpse at a time 🫶🫶🫶🫶

[canisalbus]

Can I ask how Vasco reacted to hearing about Machete’s assassination? :o did he put on a brave face? Was he inconsolable? Does he imagine that if he were there, he could’ve done something (even if that isn’t true? I imagine it would be tortuous mentally and emotionally for him, poor lad

He most likely went through a mental breakdown, followed by years of paralyzing grief and depression. Vasco had proven to be outstandingly resilient and optimistic in adversity, putting on a brave face was his second nature. But this was his final 'break the unbreakable' moment. He turned withdrawn and apathetic. He had never lost anyone this abruptly before, and he became visibly paranoid about the safety and health of his family while failing to look after his own wellbeing.

Of course he kept rewinding the events in his head and second-guessing himself about whether he could've prevented this outcome somehow, even when everyone who knew about his situation kept telling him there was no reason for him to blame himself for it. He struggled with the suddenness of it, and the lack of closure, and couldn't get over thinking how the love of his life had died alone, surprised, scared and in pain, and that there was absolutely nothing he could do to remedy that. Ludovica's support was invaluable to him. Since he couldn't mourn openly she was one of the few people who were there for him.

Eventually he came to terms with what had happened and learned to live with it, and even though he slowly regained his good-humoured personality, he never fully recovered back to his previous self.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Suspirium - Thom York

[marypsue]

Man, it's cool and all if you see a metaphor for marginalisation in the monstrous, and if you want the power fantasy of 'what if you could just eat anybody who threatened you/pissed you off'. Me too.

However, as soon as you start saying 'no, these monsters are a 1:1 on Specific Marginalised Group, and you have to treat them in the fiction like they are directly representative of real human members of the marginalised group', BUT you also, in the fiction, make them hurt/kill/eat humans? And then try to shame me, your audience, for noticing or engaging with the bit where they kill people, because you made them directly representative of a real-world marginalised group? You have lost me, and also, I think, the plot.

[atalana]

so the good place is widely lauded on this site for its takes on morality and capitalism, which i totally agree with

but i think it should get more recognition for the line "all humans are aware of death. so we're all a little bit sad all the time. that's just the deal. we don't get offered any better ones. and if you try and ignore your sadness, it just ends up leaking out of you anyway. i've been there, and everybody's been there. so don't fight it. in the words of a very wise bed bath and beyond employee i once knew - go ahead and cry all you want. but you're gonna have to pay for that toilet plunger."

[heymacy]

IAN GALLAGHER + his journey with bipolar disorder

╰┈➤ “At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you’re living with this illness and functioning at all, it’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of." - Carrie Fisher

[obiiow]

I know the whole thing with eren growing his hair out was because he just didn’t care anymore but I like to think it’s because his mom always told him his ears turn red when he lies and he was about to spend the rest of his life lying to everyone he loved 🥹

[chaiaurchaandni]

4 year old Ahmad Shabat - an israeli airstrike hit him, his parents & 4 siblings; he survived, they didn't - then they hit him & his father's relatives; he survived, they didn't - then they hit him & his uncle; he survived, his uncle didn't - both of Ahmed's legs have been amputated because of injuries. He survives.

i hope Ahmad gets to live. i hope he has a beautiful and fulfilling life. i hope he finds love and safety and comfort and success. i hope he finds happiness. i hope he heals. i hope he continues to survive. in spite of the violence, in spite of the trauma, in spite of the horror. in spite of the world.

[greenlaut]

son of adam

[birdsong-warriors]

Spoilery request here, but good gracious, I hope I made the foreshadowing in these pages clear enough, given I've been building up to it for ages now.

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[theactualsunshinechild]

I think Aventio and Screwtio shippers shouldn't fight. After all, Ratio has two hands!

That's right. Two hands.

One for his chalk.

One for his codex.

Both of which he's holding in an embarrassed death grip as they chat away with each other about him.