#like kill the priest instead hes right there just switch their roles in the end of the movie let Evalyn have her granddaughter DAMMIT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sometimesrosy · 5 years ago

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Hey Rosy! Have you heard Marie’s comments about s7 at Dutch Comicon? She said Octavia “finds her peace in a place you’ve never seen her before.” And “you guys are going to see a bunch of different planets.” She also said “I can’t tell you who’s where or what’s what or where’s where, but it’s ugly and it’s crazy because it’s the 100 and no one ever smiles. There’s challenges and there’s wars and there’s stuff. Different circumstances this year.” What do you think is going to happen in s7’s plot?

It’s hard to guess what will happen in the plot because they like their plot twists, so the only thing I can do is think about the storylines that are still open, the narratives that are already being told and need to be finished, and the clues they’ve been dropping.

Becuse, this is, like, the LAST season, so they need to wrap up the storylines they’ve left open. It’s kind of a big challenge because they’ve been working on a LOT of long term storylines, so if they manage to get them all wrapped up next season I will be VERY impressed. I don’t think most tv shows DO manage to tie up all the loose ends. Most shows just kind of drop them over the years? Or don’t present them at all. So let’s see. I think they’re going to do it because they’ve started to resolve things I thought they had dropped.

Bellarke is going to get together romantically. It’s a big narrative, and has been relentlessly getting closer and closer. I know people call me delusional or a clown for still seeing it, but if they weren’t still moving it forward, I’d say they weren’t. They ARE. Season 6 leaves it clear without a doubt. No they don’t go quickly. That’s the way they’re telling it. And that is okay, even if it frustrates the impatient. BUT one of the requirements, every season of The 100, is that Clarke and Bellamy come together in order to reach victory, and every season, what brings them together is a deepening level of love. Actually it’s the most easily predicted outcome for any long term narrative. The others are less certain.

For Clarke herself, she’s been through the ringer. She started out the golden girl, the heroine who was idealistic and determined and full of love for humanity and her people, and as time went on, we found out she was ruthless, sneaky, and determined, and you really wanted her on your side. HOWEVER her heart was broken many times over, she was terribly betrayed, she bore the burden of terrible acts, she lost her belief in humanity and in herself and that there even WAS a right choice or a good guy. But in the last season, she’s recovered some of her belief in humanity, mostly through Bellamy, actually, and has come to learn that love is a strength, not a weakness, so I expect to see her fully coming into her heroic powers as she saves and redeems humanity in season 7.

For Bellamy, he started out at the bottom of the hero pile, being an actual villain in season 1a, and rising, expanding the circle of who he would protect out from Octavia, to his delinquents, to arkers to all of humanity. I believe Bellamy actually completed his hero’s journey in season 5, when he came back from space and did the right thing, saving everyone, spacekru, wonkru, eligius, and thus restoring Clarke’s faith in humanity because HE was good. Right? So that meant for him s6 and 7 need to have a different story, and I speculate that Bellamy has moved on to fulfill his archetypal character trait of “The Heart.” I think the end of the 100 for Bellamy is going to be a romance. He needs to search out that good life lived in love. And we saw it in season 6, as his goal, what/who he needed to save was his soulmate. And it was a dedicated mission that had ONLY Bellamy doing the saving and he used HIS HEART to save her. No guns. No diplomacy. No wars. No distractions. No make it go boom. No delinquents. JUST bellamy, and his hands and heart, because he needed her and couldn’t lose her. See? Bellamy was already the epic hero, now he’s the romantic hero. So that brings me back to Bellarke, because that means getting CLARKE is his goal now for s7. That’s his story. Because in romance stories, the goal is the romance. Clarke’s story may still be to save humanity, but I’m guessing that this is part of the overall story. Clarke saves humanity, Bellamy saves Clarke. Just like Bellamy inspires the masses but Clarke inspires Bellamy. See they trade off who supports whom, and that’s why they are the best.

Octavia will be redeemed. She has to be, because she’s symbolic of humanity itself. That she became evil for a while also fits because humanity is what destroyed the earth. I do not think that JR is writing a grimdark show that says humanity is evil at its root though, because the redemption of Octavia is happening. That was in doubt for me for a while. I thought they’d switched the humanity symbolism to Madi maybe? Or were cheaping out on a martyr sacrifice instead of real redemption. Not after they took away her martyrdom, though. ALSO a slow narrative. It seems like a war is brewing with whoever is in the anomaly, and she may use her warrior skills...BUT it might be important that she DOESN’T??? not sure. She might actually need to use them to better the world. This story DOESN’T say that violence is always the wrong choice, so being peaceful MIGHT not be the answer. Being peaceful has sometimes been the wrong choice in this show. But also, just because you HAVE the power to kill people doesn’t mean you should. So I’m not sure HOW she’s going to manage saving people. But she’s going to care about THEM, not her own power.

Raven will find a way to save everyone with technology. We’ve been talking a bit about her roll on my blog, and it’s highly likely that she might redeem BECCA, as a mirror of Becca’s tech destroying the world and leading to all of this, Raven has learned that it’s not jus getting to the goal that matters, but also HOW you get there. She’s learned ethics and morals. So if Octavia serves as a kind of symbolic salvation of humanity, Raven might be the redemption of technology, cleverness and advancement, as we see her no longer making it go boom, but rather unlocking secrets or creating tools or defense or who knows what? Not sure how this is going to work out. I also think that Raven and Clarke will reconcile, again, not sure how it’s going to work out because I thought it was going to happen through a spacekru story but Raven’s reckoning came through Abby instead, and therefore a kind of symbolic siblinghood with Clarke. I don’t think spacekru will be against Clarke anylonger though, because she was the last holdout and a lot of it was personal issues which she worked through with Abby.

Murphy... now Murphy is a question. We were talking and thinking that maybe HIS growth might be SPIRITUAL in direction. Which would be quite a twist for that s1 villain. But it might be true that he always wanted to be a part of something bigger, he always wanted to belong, to be loved, he also, until s6, was actually able to understand morality the most clearly of anyone, even if he chose to be bad sometimes. Then he had his spiritual reckoning when he died and thought he was going to hell... so we’ve got these questions coming up for him. Now he’s “immortal” and I hear tell that in s7 he’ll be living in the castle and that some of the sanctumites might still worship him. So that’s interesting. If his journey on the show has been a spiritual one, and now he’s being worshipped... he might decide to scam them be, well, leading them as “a god.” Of a type. Which might actually help to settle everything in the village. Oh, yeah. This is an interesting concept. I’ve actually had a long term theory that the 100 is actually a kind of origin story of the “gods” who redeemed humanity. And if we consider that Murphy is (for now) immortal, and he’s such a scammer, and he’s been a witness to Clarke and Bellamy from the beginning...oh holy heck, what if MURPHY is really the narrator of this tale? Oh holy heck. Murphy has taken part in all the storylines except for Mount Weather and Pike. AND he played the role of fleimkepa for a while. Holy Heck. Murphy as religious leader. Possibly god. Religion founder? s1 no god. s2. searching for god (literally on a quest for the city of light.) s3. fake(?) prophet/priest. s4. clarke’s morality (while you were saving them I was saving you,) and his own. s5. needs to be a hero/to be good/sacrifices himself. s6. dies/goes to hell/becomes immortal. s7. holy heck murphy’s found god??? is god??? leads the people to god???

Echo. Echo is Ash. This is important. She also needs to be her own person, who she is. She can’t be the good spy anymore. This is a plot point, not my wishful bellarke thinking. Echo’s story is about independence and identity and finding herself again. This is not a romance story. This is a feminist story of breaking free of the dictates of the past and choosing her own path. She needs to stand on her own two feet and not follow her leader anymore, who is now Bellamy, her boyfriend. Having your boyfriend be your king is already a suspicious dynamic. Ditch him, Echo. First off, you can make your own decisions. Secondly, you need someone you can share your soul with and for some reason it’s not him. (oh right because he’s already given it away and she’s standing right there.) Thirdly, you need to figure out who you are. I think Echo needs to make a choice for herself and it might not be the choice that Bellamy makes. Last season I said she’d choose to stand with the slaves of sanctum over her own people. This might be how it works out in the end, but it would look different because they’ll integrate at least some of the sanctumites into their people. IDK we’ll see.

Madi. IDK. I think that’s part of her story. What is her role now that she’s no longer heda? Child? She’s not just a simple child either.

Emori. Mostly Murphy’s storyline. She steadies him and gives him love. His early redemption started with “I don’t want to die alone.” and she gives him that. (Oh no. What if that means they are going to die... but not alone, together. a possibility.)

Jordan. Not actually my favorite character, but he’s a main, so that says his role will be bigger next season. He’s been brainwashed. So we’ll either have to get him out of it, or he’ll end up being kind of a villain. :(

Biggest mystery. The anomaly, Hope, Diyoza.

The anomaly is a gateway. It leads us to multiple planets. We already knew about those planets, so that makes sense. There are five, I think, of which Alpha is the first. There’s a guy there who made Hope bring Octavia back? Hope is a grown up now but Octavia is still her own age. The anomaly not only messes with space but also with time. I have not given up on our heroes going back in time and back to earth (they have been filming in and around a yellow farmhouse which I have speculated might be Diyoza’s father’s farmhouse where she went to hide from being captured but eventually WAS found in.)

We also know there will be upheaval in Sanctum, not all of the sancumites accepting what happened, Jordan being brainwashed and Murphy and Emori being worshipped as gods. lol. Wonkru is awake unless they put them back to bed and we have some Eligius prisoners awake because we saw the casting. Why wake them? Marie said a war. Are they going to war against whoever stole Octavia? They need them for a war.

I still think it’s about the redemption and salvation of humanity and maybe making up for destroying the earth, either by fixing what they did on earth, or creating a new, non toxic society in the colonies. I am not keen on colonies being the answer, because I think that’s not the answer to redeeming humanity for what they did to earth, but I also wonder if our delinquents might separate and choose different paths. Maybe some go back to earth. 200 years later it might be habitable again. I could see most of the delinquents going to different planets but Clarke and Bellamy going back to earth to see if they can fix it and living in peace, their own adam and eve. It’s a theme we’ve seen used before so it could happen. Also it would give them a The 100 style happy ending like Marper got. idk. I predicted marper’s ending as a possible bellarke ending a while ago... in other words, got the right story but the wrong couple. but marper is a mirror of bellarke so it could still happen.

I have a hard time saying what the plot of s7 will be. They’ve given us less than they ever have before. I got quite a bit from s5 hiatus, and I’m actually still going on things we found out then. I feel like it’s all one story, not two separate stories each season.

#the 100 #series finale #speculation #idk

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drkcnry67 · 5 years ago

Text

you always save me let me save you

title: you always save me let me save you

kink square filled: bed sharing

dark square filled: ritualistic sacrifice

Heaven & Hell square filled: enochian

ship: Dean x reader

rating: 14+

tags: ritual, sacrifice, bed sharing, death, enochian branding,

summery (if applicable): its a surprise….

word count (if applicable):

created for @spnkinkbingo @spndarkbingo @heavenandhellbingo

“this is the hardest thing i’ve ever had to do, but your only job is to make sure i can’t get back inside after this goes down. i should have told you sooner but i love you Dean, i love you so much! your the only one who will understand this: but i havent seen anyone who cares so much about me since forever. your only task is to make sure i can’t do anything to hurt anyone. you have always had these words, you have always had my love, my heart. i believe & trust you to do the right thing. all my love, Y/N.”

this was the right thing, you place the note on your nightstand, taking your hand held, back pack & quietly walking out of the bedroom, out of the bunker carrying your shoes.

Y/N: “i hope he forgives me… but i’ll save his life if its the last thing i ever do.”

you got to the garage placing your shoes on your feet you got into the impala, and moved forward with your plan.

your initial plan included:

· taking the impala

· making your way as far from the bunker as possible

· briniging supplies, everything you need for the ritual…

this ritual in particular was gonna help you with your plan to stop Michael and put him in his place once and for all.

things that are required for this ritual are as follows:

· oil blessed by a priest

· the blood of the one whose life by the evil threatened

· blood of the person whose body to take in the entity

· matches to ignite the oil

· a chant to envoke the spell to switch Dean’s role with yours…

· then sharing a bed with Dean, not necessarily having sex but just being in the same bed as him is what will or should finish the spell anyway…

sharing a bed with Dean, that would only happen if Dean understood your note and only if he got to you in time. of course this was the hardest task you had ever take on in your life.

this had to be done, this had to be done to save Dean’s life… to save the life of the man you loved.

of course you hadnt told dean of your feelings, but something inside you never ever feared that anything might tear you away from Dean, not before you even got the chance to tell him of your feelings, got to have your first kiss, to be with the one person who made you feel like you were worth something…

you kept driving thoughts swirling round in your head… everything that you had done, hunting & doing what you could to save the world, you werent gonna let your legacy be a bunch of heroics not without the most amazing heroic of self-sacrifice…

this of course would be achieved thru the ritualistic sacrifice you would be performing in the small motel room you would soon be checking into…

you drove for another several hours… you even picked up small momentos to leave in the impala… your phone at that moment started blowing up with worried texts and calls… ALL FROM DEAN!

you finally stopped the impala in the nearest motel parking lot just as another call was coming through…

you finally answered it:

YN: “Dean.”

all you could hear for a few moments was heavy breathing…

Dean: “i’m freaking out… where are you? tell me so cas can send me there?”

YN: “i’m in Wyoming at a small motel… the ritual has to be done in a place full of extreme amounts of power.”

Dean: “there is only one motel that i know of in Wyoming. what’s your room #?”

YN: “i havent checked in yet… i am sitting in the impala in the parking lot.”

the line went dead as it no longer was just you in the impala, Dean appeared beside you.

Dean: “hey.”

It was enough to send you over the deep end.

YN: “i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have taken off like that. i mean lets be honest it was stupid…”

Dean: “lets check in first, then continue this conversation.”

Dean made his way out of the impala, he went to the motel office, checking you guys in & smiling as he walked back to the impala.

Dean: “come on lets go…”

Dean grabs the bags & comes to your door… he stretched his hand to you, you took it, you knew it felt right…

YN: “thank you. Dean you always come after me… you always save me… Please this time let me save you…”

Dean: “you shouldn’t have to take this burden, please we can find another way…”

you & Dean entered the room, the flooding concern on your face.

Dean settled in pretty fast, but you locked the door, starting to lay out everything for the ritual. your concern at that moment was on how Dean was gonna react when he would find out, that he would soon think you were dead.

Dean: “whats the 2 viles of blood for?”

the answer for that was easy, but you werent sure what was gonna come out of your mouth.

YN: “Dean, one vile is yours… one is mine… they are needed for the rite of transference…”

Dean: “rite of transference, YN that sounds dangerous.”

YN: “once i do this next part we can try to relax… look Dean i know your not 100% okay with this, but its gonna be alot better if we just let this go the way i have always planned…”

Dean: “how long have you been planning this?”

YN: “couple months…”

Dean: “but that would mean you have been planning this ritual since we found out that i’m the michael sword…”

you nod laying out the chant & preparing yourself for this ritual, this new step in your journey…

YN: “dean look when i founnd out about you being the Michael Sword, your safety became my instant concern… take a seat, im about to get this part over with…”

you stayed seated where you are, and Dean decided to just sit on the bed… you were now ready to do the ritual. it went something like this…

· you pour the blood viles both in front of and opposite you.

· keep your breathing consistant.

· lay out the circle of blessed oil

then you begin the chant…

“Quaeso ut mihi vera Michahel archangelus sententia vadum take vas, quo veniat in translatione ritus, verum modo est vas iis erat ritus transitus fiat effective Dean Wintoniam ad me statim!”

(roughly translated: I envoke the archangel Michael thou shall take me as thine true vessal, I invoke the rite of transference, I now transfer rite of true vessel from Dean Winchester to me effective immediately)

now came the hard part, waiting for Michael to come down & kill you to complete the ritual. the sacrifice was a necessary part to complete the ritual.

Dean: “now what? nice latin pronounciation by the way…”

YN: “thanks. now we wait…”

Dean comes and helps you get off of the floor. your hands linger within his for a while. Dean is the one that pulls away but his stare lingers at your own gaze as well.

Dean: “well how bout we lay down and wait?”

YN: “we could also turn on the TV… maybe…”

but before you could finish your sentence you froze, you were so scared… but instead of finishing your sentencee something else came out…

YN: “im in love with you!!!”

Dean: “your what?”

YN: “im in love with you Dean Winchester!”

Dean’s reaction was immediate… Dean came up to you, cupped your face & kissed you.

at that moment it was easy, your only concern is how messed up this has made you feel. kissing dean is one thing, but he probably wouldnt want to kiss you if he knew you were lying…

you guys fell back on the bed, but there wasnt anything holding you back except for the fact that in the morning you would be dead, while the sacrificial timer sets everything in place.

Dean pulls back and moves a piece of hair from your face.

Dean: “we don’t have to do anything tonight, that your not comfortable with.”

you had to think hard about this, but you knew it wouldn’t be right to have sex while lying to the love of your life…

Dean un-wrapped his arms from you slightly, his gaze never for a second leaving yours.

Dean: “how bout sharing my bed with me tonight???”

YN: “i would like to do tyhat but can i please wear one of your muscle shirts please?”

Dean gets up &went to his bag grabbing out his black muscle shirt and handing it to you as he is smiling helping you off the bed.

Dean: “get changed beautiful…”

you took the shirt & happily skipped to the bathroom. it was a happy moment.. although you physically were happy, emotionally you were about 5 sections from being okay… you were about to probably die in your sleep, but also on top of that you were still lying to the love of your life…

finishing putting on the shirt, you exit the bathroom to find Dean but a few steps from the bathroom door. Dean was just standing there probably checking hs messages. you silently placed the clothes on the ground and silently lept at him, his muscles tensed beneath you, but at you knocked him flat on the bed and you landed beside him standing the power went out.

NOW IT WAS BATTLE ROYALE!

if you thought Dean was scary on a hunt, he was even more scary when playing a game of cat and mouse in the dark in a small confined motel room. you got worried when your eyes adjusted to the darkness and didnt see Dean in yur direct line of sight.

You slowly crept out of the nook you were crouched in. you took a lok around the room. it wasnt till you got into the bathroom that you took one look, turning to the door and about to walk out when you felt something behind you almost stalking you.

you walked a few more steps and wasnt surprised when strong arms surrounded you from behind and pulled yu down onto the bed, pinning you flat on your back.

Dean: “nice try sweetheart…”

YN: “what makes you think i didnt win already… i got what i wanted… i finally have confirmation that you love me too… now are we gonna lay down proper and cuddle till we fall asleep or are you gonna just hold me down till this unexpected power outage passes.”

Dean got off of you for 2 seconds going round flicking every light switch he knew you guys had turned on, while you backed up on the bed, into more of a reasonable position.

Dean: “how would you prefer we rock tonight?”

YN: “i’d just prefer you hold me and we just cuddle and relax. my senses are kinda haywire. is that okay with you?”

Dean crawls in beside you and holds his arms out for you, which you enter willingly feeling Dean place a kiss to your forhead.

Dean: “as long as your not going anywhere i’m okay with whatever you want to do.”

YN: “you know Dean i was thinking about this on my drive here, i didnt know that you would actualy come after me i didnt realize that you coming after me was gonna change my outlook on my supposed future. i’m sorry i ran off, im sorry i did this ritual, im sorry that i wanted to be the one to save your ass instead of you saving mine.”

Dean pulled your chin to look at him.

Dean: “i understand why you did all that and more so i am not mad at all because had you not run off with leaving a note, i wouldnt have known about this you could have been seriously hurt or worse. i wasnt gonna loose the one thing that makes me keep living. i dont mind if once in a while you save my life as long as you never ever decide to do something stupid again.”

YN: “no promises hunters make stupid decisions every single day. i recall you making a few of those stupid decisions.”

Dean: “okay missy, we dont talk about those times alright. now shut up and kiss me. let our kisses flood this night with passion. till sleep overtakes.”

your lips met Deans in a ferverous passion, the energy from that overtook you both, nothing crazy happened per to a discussion you both had earlier but eventually you both were cuddled and asleep.

Michael dropped in silently, he witnessed the sight of you in the arms of Dean while this sight displeased him it also had the potential to make his vessel to be stronger than not.

Michael stood in the pentagram on the floor where you did the ritual and held his hand out toward you.

“"Mea ad tempus, et tempus tuam, hoc est, quam operatur in me Michael Brand tibi signum a angelis, in II huius signum est quod aliis in vita euacuabit te perdere illos qui quaeris tibi. Michael iam non accipit verba vestra. Consummatum est!“

(roughly translated: its my time, its your time, this is how it works I Michael Brand you with the mark of the angels, this mark is on 2 others in your life this will ward you from those who will seek to destroy you. I Michael now accept your terms. It is finished!)

Michael with one wave of his hand and a few glances left as quickly as he had come in. before long it was dawn breaking through the window. Castiel had been standing out near the impala having sensed Michael in the area near you and Dean wanted to make sure nothing went wrong.

it wasnt till Dean woke and started panicing shouting Cas’ name that made life all too real. for Cas appeared in the room to see Dean holding your lifeless form.

Cas: “she did it didnt she… she did the rite of transference…”

Dean: “what do you know about what has happened to her?”

Cas: “Dean i need you to calm down before i explain because once i do i’m not sure it will be me you are angry at…”

Dean had to take a few moments to breathe deeply before nodding at cas to continue speaking.

Cas: “the rite of transferance although proven effective in transferring power from one to another its not without cost. the price of this rite was that YN had to kinda die while the spell set, in the same way when you died by hellhound all those years back to set you on the path of the angels and being the Michael sword she has to be set on the path in a similar way. there is only one way to bring her back but its tricky and ONLY YOU CAN DO IT.”

Dean: “what do i need to do.”

Cas snapped his fingers and teleported both your body and Dean to the door in between Heaven and Hell. where souls wander till they are shown where they are to go.

Dean: “where are we?”

Cas: “the door to the plain between Heaven and Hell, where souls of the newly dead wander till they are shown where to go. this is where YN should be, this is where you need to go in order to find her and bring her back to this door. bring her to the door and kiss her before you enter back through it both of you should return to your bodies.”

Dean looked at Cas when he finished his last sentance.

Dean: “should what do you mean should?”

Cas: “i mean things could go horribly wrong. this plain of existence is meant to show the person what life/future they could have had. kinda like a pre-way into their judgement day.”

there was one thing that crossed dean’s mind instantly.

Dean: “what will happen to me when i enter into this plain.?.”

Cas: “well you will basically not see your judgement day thing you will see a bunch of people standing around probably talking to themselves but if all goes well the only one who should be able to see you is YN. once you find her you both need to get back to the door. the door is the safe zone. where she will gain a physical form and you can kiss her sending her too her body and you can walk back out the door. its as easy as that.”

Dean: “ok how will i know when its time to go through the door…”

Cas shrugged…

Cas: “you will have this urging feeling you will have this inkling, this nudging feeling inside your gut.”

Dean waited a few moments making sure that his handheld was ready before feeling something suddenly jump inside him. he took it as his cue to approach and go through the door.

Cas: “good luck Dean i hope you both return intact.”

Dean nods and reaches to open the door, which succeeds and he steps through. he doesnt notice the door close behind him, instead is focusing on his footing and not bumping into anything or more importantly anyone.

keeping his handheld close he made his way through the path seeing many people on many benders, but the one he was looking for was not around. he then came across a sign post, a sign post which happened to have a map on it, of where every single person who resided there currently was placed.

after few moments of reading name after name he came across yours. Dean ran in the direction of the map which he had used your phone to take a photo of. upon arriving at your sight he happened to see you crouched in the corner surrounded by what he could only percieve as her greatest fears.

Dean just stood there and watched as the same fear played out a million times over. the fear that was tormenting you was the day Dean died, the day he was mauled by a hellhound, you had been rescued a month before that day.

on that day, you were so angry and upset but the weird thing was that you shattered the windows and cracked the floor and walls with your voice. Sam later had found out that you were able to do that cause you havee a sirens voice pattern.

your only greatest fear was that you would somehow be controlled by something bad. that explained so much to Dean, that explained why you were so cautious and paranoid.

Dean now seeing that entire fear played out happened to make him just clear his throat, he watched your tear/fear filled eyes slowly move to look at him. You got up off the ground and ran straight at the person who has made your life better than expected.

YN: “how are you here? wait are you here cause your… please tell me your not…”

Dean: “no im not i was told to come after you, your under the remnants of a sleeping curse of sorts. come with me and we can go back home together. Cas will also examine you for damages and right now we need to get out of here, this is the roadway too judgement day.”

YN: “i didnt know id end up here while the spell takes effect but i guess thats what happened. anyway lets go… get out of here and see if Michael Branded me.”

Dean and you run hand in hand back up the path, towards the door, Dean and you stop at the door.

Dean: “ok cas said i have to kiss you right here sending you back to your body, then i have to walk through the door. but hun listen to me if i get bck through that door and something goes wrong again, i swear we will figure out a way for you not to go to hell, to not be tethered to Michael, so i don’t have to loose you. now lets send you back and find out if Michael Branded you.”

Dean at that moment leaned in to kiss you, a spark of light energy flowed out of your kiss. you began to fade, you began to go back to your own body. to which Dean didnt back off or open the door till you were fully gone.

Dean then opens the door and breathes a huge intake of air, like he was coming to life once again. at that moment you wake up in your own body, your eyes adjusting to the surroundings, but your eyes landed on the forms of Cas & Dean which made you get off the ground.

Dean: “i’m glad your back. when i woke up and you didnt, it scared the living hell out of me. what was i supposed to do… why didnt you tell me about this ritual? bout you dying to set it in place?”

YN: “cause i couldnt do that to you, cause it was my burden to bare…”

Cas: “im afraid that when Michael paid you a visit last night, he branded you with enochian markings. invisible to humans but visible to angels.”

Dean: “where are these markings?”

Cas grabs a piece of tree bark off a tree and places the bark over you where your ribs would be, for which Cas waves his hand over the bark making kind of an xray image appear on the Bark. Cas then turns the Bark around to face you, you and Dean just stared at it.

Cas: “its enochian... Michael branded YN’’s ribs with enochian warding, meaning that only me and Michael can find YN no other angel or demon can.”

Dean: “well this will be something of a rare thing... this will also be something to behold. this means she is safe. this means she will be a badass secret weapon.”

Cas: “exactly... now lets get out of here before we loose anyone else.”

with that you, Dean and Cas all went back to the bunker. this was now the time to pick your next move.

#spnkinkbingo #spndarkbingo #heaven and hell bingo

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fulgensun · 5 years ago

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𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

BASICS.

full name. Tidus pronunciation. Teedus nickname. Ace, Star Player, Jecht’s son gender. Male (he/him) height. 5′9″ or 175 cm age. 17-18 && 20 in ‘Will’ zodiac. His true date of birth is unknown, so we can’t be sure. if we follow the trend of also Zidane and Squall etc DOBs, Tidus would be born on October 10th and be a Libra. but given he’d be the most dysfunctional Libra ever I personally doubt it ahah I headcanon him being born on July 19th, the day FFX was first released, so his zodiac sign here would be Cancer. spoken languages. Common Spiran which is the same language spoken in his Zanarkand, tiny bits of Al Bhed learnt during the pilgrimage.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair color. Dark blond with brown roots. As a child, he had light-brown hair. eye color. Sea-blue irises, the same as his mother’s. skin tone. Quite tanned, mostly the result of hours spent outside - probably practising under the sun. Actually, he isn’t fair-skinned even as a child - nor his parents seem to present a particular pale tone of skin which may have genetic reasons involved, but teen/adult Tidus would still be more tanned than he himself looked like as a seven-year-old boy. body type. He has an athletic built, which comes from his years of swimming and blitzball practice. He’s a little underweight for his height and age, though. At the age of seventeen, Tidus’ muscle form is already very defined and toned. accent. Tidus present a rather funny and child-like sounding accent most of the time - or when he’s not being too serious or firm; for example, his original dub has him ending sentences in --SSU, which is a very informal and friendly deflexion, also used by very young people. That makes it sound like he sometimes changes words in a rather playful manner (in the japanese dub), which would simply translate in him just sounding very informal. voice. He has a very sharp voice, that leans on higher tones when he’s relaxed or excited. When more serious, instead, he tends to drop some tones in his voice pitch, but he doesn’t really notice it, and when he does it doesn’t bother Tidus. dominant hand. He is right-handed, he’s seen throwing the ball in Blitz with that and he is also seen mostly kicking the ball with his right leg too. posture. He’s an athlete, swimming agonistically has proved to make back muscles stronger and firmer, so standing correctly straight comes as something natural and effortless to him. Still, Tidus tends to slouch forward very often when he sits, it’s very rare to see him sitting straight anywhere when he’s made wait long periods of time or when he’s particularly bored. In those cases, he really looks nothing like the athlete he is -- as he props his weight whenever it feels more comfortable. scars. Nothing major or too visible like his father, the few scars he’d have would mainly be the result of the most physical Blitz matches he has attended or just peculiar and tougher battles fought during the pilgrimage. tattoos. // birthmarks. // most noticeable feature(s). His vivid eye-color, probably the contrast between skin tone and hair color too; weird clothes for Spiran standards.

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth. Dream Zanarkand. hometown. Dream Zanarkand. birth weight. 7 pounds. birth height. Around 20 inches. manner of birth. Natural birth. first words. The common ones all toddlers learn first, or his own name. siblings. // parents. Unnamed mother and Jecht (father) parental involvement. His mother would difficultly care and hardly give proper attention to the young Tidus whenever her husband was home from work; she was still a very docile and gentle figure to the boy, a composed yet often distracted kind of mother. She’d often cater all her strengths and attentions to Jecht, sometimes ignoring or neglecting the child’s cries or pleas till her husband would make her notice at last; as a child, Tidus simply didn’t notice this side of her or chose to forget about it, thinking instead his father would keep her away from him on purpose to monopolize her affection - a fact that did add to his childish reasons to hate Jecht. His father would be home for way less time than Tidus’ mother, because of his work. He was a rougher and brusque type of parent and despite loving his son, he could never express it clearly nor found a way to show him. Still, his father was somehow the one who sparkled in Tidus his sense of competitiveness and his passion for blitzball, no matter if the man would often verbally belittle his weak son’s poor attempts with a ball – that’s the type of father Tidus has believed to know. Still, Jecht was involved in his growth, the novel even reveals it was him who taught Tidus how to swim as a child. Once Jecht disappeared and was believed dead by his fans and city, Tidus’ mother fell chronically ill and depressed, ceasing to care or tend to her son. She died of sheer heartbreak shortly after Auron came to Zanarkand to become Tidus’ guardian.

ADULT LIFE.

occupation. Ace Player of the Abes Team back in Dream Zanarkand; Guardian when brought to Spira; post X-2, Tidus returns being a Blitzball player (most likely playing for the Aurochs) and quickly regains his once-lost fame and popularity. current residence. Verse dependent. Dream Zanarkand before the events of FFX. Right after X-2, Besaid, but it is heavily implied he left the island to move to Bevelle a couple of years later his return, living near what’s called Mika-Road, the recently built street which leads to the new blitz stadium. close friends. Yuna, Wakka, Rikku, Auron, Kimahri, Lulu. A part of me really wants to add Clasko to this, too, while he’s obviously not as close as the others for Tidus. relationship status. Canon-ly speaking, in a relationship with Yuna. financial status. I’d say, he’s in the financial middle class. Considering Spira’s hierarchy, nothing can really top the clergy, the monks, the priests and priestesses, not to mention the ex Maesters which I would consider the higher class. As Blitzball is considered an integral part of Spira, but it is not a humble job, that’s the class he would be part of. driver’s license. Dream Zanarkand had cars and all but I guess he never got a license back there, and that kind of stuff just don’t exist in Spira; he has the chocobo riding license, haha, directly earned it through Calm Lands weird races. criminal record. By Spiran Temple standards and teachings, he’s accused of heresy for having entered the sacred Cloisters when still not a guardian twice; he’s also accused of having conspired with Al Bhed and joined their insurrection back at Home, and of having interrupted an important Yevon wedding in the holy capital. He’s also accused of having opposed and most likely killed warrior monks during the wedding crash, not to count Guado guards in Macalania and Home. He escaped prison and became a ‘most wanted’, too, with a bounty on his head. Plus, opposing Yunalesca and Yu Yevon could be associated with blasphemy. He did partake in the murder of Seymour, a Maester of Yevon, not to mention the fact Spira did believe Tidus and the others had killed Kinoc too. I guess the accusations all fell with the following crisis of the Temple and the disappearance of Sin but… vices. Being too loud, daydreaming, being too impatient. Pride.

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation. Heterosexual romantic orientation. Heteroromantic preferred emotional role. submissive | dominant | switch preferred sexual role. submissive | dominant | switch (?) libido. Average for his age and curiosity, I guess. A little above that if we consider the novel. turn on’s. // turn off’s. // love language. He’s anything but subtle when it comes to relationships and partners, even to a fault sometimes. He is a deeply affectionate boy despite the way he was raised, so he likes to prove it physically: hugs, hand-holding, pecks, kisses - love and tender signs and gestures, little favors and gifts, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. On a darker note, I guess it’s to be expected given his fear of loss and abandonment, but his love language is sincere nonetheless. relationship tendencies. He was and is still seen as a charismatic boy. At home, he’d have many fans and girls fawning over him at every given occasion over him (and his bond with Jecht) - and while the attention is something that did fuel him, sorta, I bet it was something that was seen as a way to get into first relationships. Maybe even out of fear of solitude. It changes once he leaves Zanarkand for good, I guess his devotion for Yuna speaks louder than any other word.

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song. X hobbies to pass time. Swimming, playing blitzball, cooking and eating, reading Al Bhed primers, practising fighting and time-related spells, napping, daydreaming. mental illnesses. Anxiety disorders, fear of abandonment. physical illnesses. // left or right-brained. Right-brained. fears. Loneliness, to disappear, abandonment, silence. self-confidence level. It’s a rollercoaster... it goes from high to low depending on both situation and mood. vulnerabilities. To be considered weak, or too emotive. Also... Yuna?

tagged by: ......... i stole. ohohhhh tagging: @painsrequiem @sunstolen @sabazio / @exciofides and whoever else

#▐┊ about.#long post #[ back at it again. with the long. hc posts ]#[ old habits die hard ]

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legion1993 · 6 years ago

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you always save me let me save you

title: you always save me let me save you

kink square filled: bed sharing

dark square filled: ritualistic sacrifice

Heaven & Hell square filled: enochian

ship: Dean x reader

rating: 14+

tags: ritual, sacrifice, bed sharing, death, enochian branding,

summery (if applicable): its a surprise….

word count (if applicable):

created for @spnkinkbingo @spndarkbingo @heavenandhellbingo

spn kink bingo masterlist Dark bingo masterlist heaven and hell masterlist

this was the right thing, you place the note on your nightstand, taking your hand held, back pack & quietly walking out of the bedroom, out of the bunker carrying your shoes.

Y/N: “i hope he forgives me… but i’ll save his life if its the last thing i ever do.”

you got to the garage placing your shoes on your feet you got into the impala, and moved forward with your plan.

your initial plan included:

taking the impala

making your way as far from the bunker as possible

briniging supplies, everything you need for the ritual…

this ritual in particular was gonna help you with your plan to stop Michael and put him in his place once and for all.

things that are required for this ritual are as follows:

oil blessed by a priest

the blood of the one whose life by the evil threatened

blood of the person whose body to take in the entity

matches to ignite the oil

a chant to envoke the spell to switch Dean’s role with yours…

then sharing a bed with Dean, not necessarily having sex but just being in the same bed as him is what will or should finish the spell anyway…

sharing a bed with Dean, that would only happen if Dean understood your note and only if he got to you in time. of course this was the hardest task you had ever take on in your life.

this had to be done, this had to be done to save Dean’s life… to save the life of the man you loved.

this of course would be achieved thru the ritualistic sacrifice you would be performing in the small motel room you would soon be checking into…

you drove for another several hours… you even picked up small momentos to leave in the impala… your phone at that moment started blowing up with worried texts and calls… ALL FROM DEAN!

you finally stopped the impala in the nearest motel parking lot just as another call was coming through…

you finally answered it:

YN: “Dean.”

all you could hear for a few moments was heavy breathing…

Dean: “i’m freaking out… where are you? tell me so cas can send me there?”

YN: “i’m in Wyoming at a small motel… the ritual has to be done in a place full of extreme amounts of power.”

Dean: “there is only one motel that i know of in Wyoming. what’s your room #?”

YN: “i havent checked in yet… i am sitting in the impala in the parking lot.”

the line went dead as it no longer was just you in the impala, Dean appeared beside you.

Dean: “hey.”

It was enough to send you over the deep end.

YN: “i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have taken off like that. i mean lets be honest it was stupid…”

Dean: “lets check in first, then continue this conversation.”

Dean made his way out of the impala, he went to the motel office, checking you guys in & smiling as he walked back to the impala.

Dean: “come on lets go…”

Dean grabs the bags & comes to your door… he stretched his hand to you, you took it, you knew it felt right…

YN: “thank you. Dean you always come after me… you always save me… Please this time let me save you…”

Dean: “you shouldn’t have to take this burden, please we can find another way…”

you & Dean entered the room, the flooding concern on your face.

Dean: “whats the 2 viles of blood for?”

the answer for that was easy, but you werent sure what was gonna come out of your mouth.

YN: “Dean, one vile is yours… one is mine… they are needed for the rite of transference…”

Dean: “rite of transference, YN that sounds dangerous.”

YN: “once i do this next part we can try to relax… look Dean i know your not 100% okay with this, but its gonna be alot better if we just let this go the way i have always planned…”

Dean: “how long have you been planning this?”

YN: “couple months…”

Dean: “but that would mean you have been planning this ritual since we found out that i’m the michael sword…”

you nod laying out the chant & preparing yourself for this ritual, this new step in your journey…

YN: “dean look when i founnd out about you being the Michael Sword, your safety became my instant concern… take a seat, im about to get this part over with…”

you stayed seated where you are, and Dean decided to just sit on the bed… you were now ready to do the ritual. it went something like this…

you pour the blood viles both in front of and opposite you.

keep your breathing consistant.

lay out the circle of blessed oil

then you begin the chant…

“Quaeso ut mihi vera Michahel archangelus sententia vadum take vas, quo veniat in translatione ritus, verum modo est vas iis erat ritus transitus fiat effective Dean Wintoniam ad me statim!”

now came the hard part, waiting for Michael to come down & kill you to complete the ritual. the sacrifice was a necessary part to complete the ritual.

Dean: “now what? nice latin pronounciation by the way…”

YN: “thanks. now we wait…”

Dean comes and helps you get off of the floor. your hands linger within his for a while. Dean is the one that pulls away but his stare lingers at your own gaze as well.

Dean: “well how bout we lay down and wait?”

YN: “we could also turn on the TV… maybe…”

but before you could finish your sentence you froze, you were so scared… but instead of finishing your sentencee something else came out…

YN: “im in love with you!!!”

Dean: “your what?”

YN: “im in love with you Dean Winchester!”

Dean’s reaction was immediate… Dean came up to you, cupped your face & kissed you.

at that moment it was easy, your only concern is how messed up this has made you feel. kissing dean is one thing, but he probably wouldnt want to kiss you if he knew you were lying…

you guys fell back on the bed, but there wasnt anything holding you back except for the fact that in the morning you would be dead, while the sacrificial timer sets everything in place.

Dean pulls back and moves a piece of hair from your face.

Dean: “we don’t have to do anything tonight, that your not comfortable with.”

you had to think hard about this, but you knew it wouldn’t be right to have sex while lying to the love of your life…

Dean un-wrapped his arms from you slightly, his gaze never for a second leaving yours.

Dean: “how bout sharing my bed with me tonight???”

YN: “i would like to do tyhat but can i please wear one of your muscle shirts please?”

Dean gets up &went to his bag grabbing out his black muscle shirt and handing it to you as he is smiling helping you off the bed.

Dean: “get changed beautiful…”

NOW IT WAS BATTLE ROYALE!

you walked a few more steps and wasnt surprised when strong arms surrounded you from behind and pulled yu down onto the bed, pinning you flat on your back.

Dean: “nice try sweetheart…”

Dean got off of you for 2 seconds going round flicking every light switch he knew you guys had turned on, while you backed up on the bed, into more of a reasonable position.

Dean: “how would you prefer we rock tonight?”

YN: “i’d just prefer you hold me and we just cuddle and relax. my senses are kinda haywire. is that okay with you?”

Dean crawls in beside you and holds his arms out for you, which you enter willingly feeling Dean place a kiss to your forhead.

Dean: “as long as your not going anywhere i’m okay with whatever you want to do.”

Dean pulled your chin to look at him.

YN: “no promises hunters make stupid decisions every single day. i recall you making a few of those stupid decisions.”

Dean: “okay missy, we dont talk about those times alright. now shut up and kiss me. let our kisses flood this night with passion. till sleep overtakes.”

your lips met Deans in a ferverous passion, the energy from that overtook you both, nothing crazy happened per to a discussion you both had earlier but eventually you both were cuddled and asleep.

Michael dropped in silently, he witnessed the sight of you in the arms of Dean while this sight displeased him it also had the potential to make his vessel to be stronger than not.

Michael stood in the pentagram on the floor where you did the ritual and held his hand out toward you.

it wasnt till Dean woke and started panicing shouting Cas’ name that made life all too real. for Cas appeared in the room to see Dean holding your lifeless form.

Cas: “she did it didnt she… she did the rite of transference…”

Dean: “what do you know about what has happened to her?”

Cas: “Dean i need you to calm down before i explain because once i do i’m not sure it will be me you are angry at…”

Dean had to take a few moments to breathe deeply before nodding at cas to continue speaking.

Dean: “what do i need to do.”

Cas snapped his fingers and teleported both your body and Dean to the door in between Heaven and Hell. where souls wander till they are shown where they are to go.

Dean: “where are we?”

Dean looked at Cas when he finished his last sentance.

Dean: “should what do you mean should?”

Cas: “i mean things could go horribly wrong. this plain of existence is meant to show the person what life/future they could have had. kinda like a pre-way into their judgement day.”

there was one thing that crossed dean’s mind instantly.

Dean: “what will happen to me when i enter into this plain.?.”

Dean: “ok how will i know when its time to go through the door…”

Cas shrugged…

Cas: “you will have this urging feeling you will have this inkling, this nudging feeling inside your gut.”

Dean waited a few moments making sure that his handheld was ready before feeling something suddenly jump inside him. he took it as his cue to approach and go through the door.

Cas: “good luck Dean i hope you both return intact.”

your only greatest fear was that you would somehow be controlled by something bad. that explained so much to Dean, that explained why you were so cautious and paranoid.

YN: “how are you here? wait are you here cause your… please tell me your not…”

YN: “i didnt know id end up here while the spell takes effect but i guess thats what happened. anyway lets go… get out of here and see if Michael Branded me.”

Dean and you run hand in hand back up the path, towards the door, Dean and you stop at the door.

YN: “cause i couldnt do that to you, cause it was my burden to bare…”

Cas: “im afraid that when Michael paid you a visit last night, he branded you with enochian markings. invisible to humans but visible to angels.”

Dean: “where are these markings?”

Cas: “its enochian... Michael branded YN’’s ribs with enochian warding, meaning that only me and Michael can find YN no other angel or demon can.”

Dean: “well this will be something of a rare thing... this will also be something to behold. this means she is safe. this means she will be a badass secret weapon.”

Cas: “exactly... now lets get out of here before we loose anyone else.”

with that you, Dean and Cas all went back to the bunker. this was now the time to pick your next move.

#spnkinkbingo #spndarkbingo #heaven and hell bingo

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pengychan · 7 years ago

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 1

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it's too late. He's not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He's probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It's either the best idea he's ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[Tag with all chapters up here.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: @senoraluna and I had this idea a while back and of course I couldn’t resist writing it. This is gonna be a lot more light-hearted than my usual stuff. Most of the time. Can’t promise regular updates, but will do my best! (This first chapter is... a bit grim. But it will be mostly humor, I promise!)

***

Mexico, March 1914

Ernesto smelled the bodies before he saw them, hanging from the highest branches of a half-dried tree, swaying just barely despite the complete lack of wind.

They probably hadn’t been there for too long, but their corpses were already swelling in the heat, and carrion birds were having a go at their faces. He would have very happily avoided approaching at all, but it was the only tree as far as eye could see, hanging men or not; both him and Dante needed shade and rest, and to eat something.

His horse was beginning to falter, and it was a bad sign: if he died on him now, he’d be screwed. He wouldn’t be able to get very far on foot, not in that heat. They’d rest, he’d have the last of his salt beef, and Dante would make do by grazing at the shrubs.

“Come on, amigo. We’re almost there,” Ernesto said, not really knowing where there even was other than ‘anywhere but here’, and led his horse towards the tree. The bodies hanging from it had belonged to army men; they wore the same uniform Ernesto had worn until a few days earlier, when his thoughts on the mess those past few years had been had condensed into one big ‘fuck it all’.

He was twenty-five, had been drafted into the army the previous year, and he’d had it with all of it. Huerta could burn in hell; he’d only ever wanted to hold a guitar, to play and sing before crowds - not to hold a rifle and fight someone else’s damn war.

So he’d shot the man he’d been sent out on patrol with in the back-- we drank together, laughed and joked called each other amigo, but killing him was so easy --before tearing the army jacket off himself and turning his horse down south, galloping away as though he had the devil at his heels. In a way, he did; as a deserter, he now had plenty of devils after him. He needed to find someplace safe to hide until that nonsense was over with.

… And speaking of nonsense, there was a third body beneath that tree - not hanging, but tied to its trunk and entirely motionless. The man’s head was tilted against the tree, skin and balding head burned by the sun, eyes shut and mouth slightly agape. He wore civilian clothing, but there was no mistaking the white collar on his neck - a priest.

Not too surprising, really. There were people in both factions who were fed up with the Catholic church, and amidst violence no bystander was safe. Ernesto wasn’t fond on priests himself, truth be told, but he sort of drew a line at tying them up to a tree and leaving them to die slowly. He hoped the poor bastard hadn’t taken too long to--

A groan caused Ernesto to recoil, and Dante to rear back. Under Ernesto’s gaze, the priest turned his head to look at him with clouded eyes. “Agua,” he rasped. “Por favor.”

Oh, Christ, he was still alive. Ernesto quickly tied Dante to a low branch and, avoiding to step beneath the corpses, quickly went to the priest. He absently noted, a little distance away, a suitcase discarded on the ground, the prints of a donkey and tracks of wheels. The revolutionaries had hung the soldiers, tied up the priest, and left with the cart he must have been riding on, discarding whatever they didn’t need to take.

“It’s all right, Padre,” Ernesto said, knowing full well nothing was all right. He could tell the man wasn’t going to survive and, either way, Dante couldn’t carry them both; he would have to leave him there. Maybe ending him there and then would be the kindest thing to do, but even so he found himself reaching for his knife to cut down the ropes first; the man slumped forward and Ernesto caught him, leaning him down across the ground in a shaded spot.

“Not you lucky day, was it?”

The priest looked up at him, saying nothing, licking blistered lips with a dry tongue. Ernesto took the water flask from his belt, lifted the man’s head with a hand, and put the flask to his lips. He’d expected him to drink greedily and had been prepared to pull back the flask - had to save water - but the man only took a few gulps before turning his head to look up at him.

“God bless you, son,” he rasped.

“Gracias. Could use a blessing,” Ernesto muttered, putting the flask away, and looked up towards the hanging corpses. “What happened here?”

“I was… I was travelling. Santa Cecilia. Their parish priest… Padre Edmundo died. I was sent to replace him, and… and I came across....” he swallowed, and his eyes turned to the bodies hanging above them. His features twisted in anguish. “I only asked to be allowed… to give them the last rites, before… everyone should have… the last rites…”

What a stupid, stupid, stupid idea. Years of fighting had made men bloodthirsty, and standing between them and enemies to hang was asking for trouble. Revolutionaries had done this, but Ernesto knew plenty of army men would have done the same. He’d seen a church being burned to the ground over the rumor that a priest aided rebels. “It was a bad call, Padre.”

“It was… my duty.”

And you’re dying for it, Ernesto thought, but didn’t say as much. “How far is Santa Cecilia?” he asked instead. “My horse cannot carry us both, but if it’s close enough to find help--”

“No, son. It is… it is south from here, a two days’ ride,” the man managed, and Ernesto nodded grimly. That meant that he wouldn’t be able to get him help before four days at the earliest, and there was no chance he could hold on that long. He could perhaps find help sooner if he rode back the way he’d come, but it was far too dangerous.

He could never go back; forward was the only way. He needed someplace to hide... and Santa Cecilia’s parish was expecting a new priest. Ernesto’s gaze turned to the open suitcase on the ground, and to the black cassock and white collar he could see hanging out of it. The cassock should be about his size; maybe just a bit too large, but it’d do.

“I don’t think I can help you, Padre,” Ernesto said slowly, causing the man to shake his head.

“You can. You have a gun.”

So, that was how it had to be. It would be an act of mercy, he supposed: a quick death as opposed to letting him die slowly in the heat, with the smell of rotting flesh in his nostrils and carrion birds circling him. He was doomed either way, so may as well take the least painful route. If there was a god anywhere, he’d understand. Ernesto nodded, and took out his gun.

“Do you have any last words, or…?” he asked, his voice not as firm as he’d have liked. He’d shot so many people, and from close range as well; he’d ended more wounded men than he wished to recall, but it didn’t mean he liked it. Plenty of men had acquired a taste for blood those years; Ernesto de la Cruz was not among them. He was just trying to live through it, to see better days when he could leave behind rifles and gunpowder for his guitar, and music.

It was all he wanted, and he’d do whatever it took to survive until then.

The priest smiled weakly. “Let me say my last prayer,” he whispered, and shut his eyes. “Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos… santificado sea tu nombre. Venga... tu reino….”

Ernesto cocked his gun, his mouth dry, trying not to think what would become of his body once he left, leaving it easy prey of carrion birds and coyotes. He had no tools to bury him, the earth was too dry and parched to dig with his hands, and he needed to save strength. He’d let himself and Dante rest until dusk, and then set off to the south.

“Tuyos son el reino... el poder y la gloria... por los siglos de los siglos,” the priest choked out, and let out a long breath, screwing his eyes shut. “Amén,” he whispered, nodding slightly, and it was the last thing he’d ever say.

A shot rang out, and that was it. The birds that had been pecking at the hanging men’s eyes flew away, but not very far; they would come back to their feast as soon as Ernesto left.

Scavengers always came back.

***

“Héctor? Do you think the new priest is going to be nice?”

“I’m sure he will be, chamaco.”

“I still think you should be our new priest.”

Héctor chuckled, leaning more comfortably against the tree and strumming his guitar softly. “I’m a novice, Miguel. Still a few months to go before I can take the vows.”

Sitting cross-legged across him, Miguel shrugged. He was holding a guitar he’d borrowed from Chicharrón, the old gravedigger. A whole lot of grumbling had ensued, but he could never refuse Miguel anything in the end… like he could never say no to Héctor when he was his age and would sneak out of the orphanage to visit, begging him to teach him how to play.

Old Cheech was grumpy, but he’d always had a soft spot for scrappy, music-loving orphans.

“But you said mass and everything!” Miguel was saying, copying the movement of Héctor’s fingers on the strings. Héctor suspected he’d taken on the role of altar boy mostly to spend time with him, and he had no complaints. He liked the kid. “And you were really good.”

“Gracias,” Héctor laughed. “But I only said mass because there was no other option. Padre Edmundo’s… our new parish priest will be here soon,” Héctor pointed out, keeping himself from using the word ‘replacement’, and trying to ignore a pang of pain in his chest.

The elderly priest’s demise had been sudden, but not unexpected; he’d been getting on with the years. Still, his loss had stung; he’d been almost a father to Héctor, a gentle and patient guide. He could only hope to be the same to Miguel, now, even if he wasn’t much older than him. He’d been only twelve when the chamaco had been found swaddled in a box on the church’s steps nine years earlier, with a note reading only his name.

“How soon?”

“One of these days, chamaco.”

“Do you think he’ll still let me be the altar boy?”

“I can’t see why not.”

“True. I’m good at it, aren’t I?”

“Sure you are.”

“And Imelda is so beautiful.”

“Of course she i-- wha-- Miguel!”

Miguel threw up his arms with a grito of triumph. “You said it! I heard you! No take-backs!”

“That is-- I didn’t--” Héctor sputtered, knowing full well his ears were probably turning crimson at that point. And his entire face, too. He could never hide embarrassment well.

“You always look at her when she sings with the choir,” Miguel pointed out, sounding far too satisfied with himself. “I’ve been watching. It’s like you’re playing the organ just for her.”

“I do not-- that was inappropriate! She’s going to take the vows next year and so am I!”

The boy grinned. “But you haven’t yet! If you change your mind--”

“Miguel,” Héctor said, warningly, but of course he was ignored like every single time he tried and failed to sound stern. To be fair, his voice cracking didn’t really help.

“No, really! And she looked at you last Sunday, too! You can always ask, right? If she says--”

“Miguel,” Héctor repeated, and this time his voice stayed firm enough to make the boy trail off and, if his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, actually look a smidge guilty. “She has a beautiful voice and I am happy when she sings in the choir, that is all. She’s about to take the veil, I am about to take my vows, and it is what we both want. End of discussion. Claro?”

“Claro,” Miguel mumbled, sounding suitably chastised, and Héctor turned his attention back to the music - doing his utmost not to think of Imelda’s voice, of the tilt of her chin and the stride of her step, and entirely missing the skeptical look Miguel was giving him.

***

“Oh, look at that. Your secret admirer. And I use the term secret loosely.”

Walking down the street with the basket of groceries at her hip, Imelda needed every ounce of her willpower not to roll her eyes. It wouldn’t be respectful, by all accounts, for a novice to roll her eyes at a full-fledged bride of Christ.

If only Sister Sofía didn’t keep making it so damn difficult.

“It is such a baseless rumor, I am surprised you give it any credit at all,” she said, pointedly avoiding to look towards the plaza where novice Héctor was talking with a group of children, and laughing with them. He was good with children; he would make a good priest, one day.

“Oh, please. You know me,” Sister Sofía quipped. “You’re not surprised at all.”

“There was never any inappropriate behaviour from either of us.”

“I am aware. Sadly.”

“Sofía.”

“There should be a ‘sister’ somewhere in there.”

Imelda sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why you even took the veil.”

“Same as you - didn’t fancy the idea of marriage and suddenly got the calling when my parents began to look around on my behalf. Funny, how timing works,” she said, and shrugged. “The choice is limited, let’s be honest. Novice Héctor, though…”

“He’s going to be a priest soon. It’s what he’s wanted since he was a boy.”

“Or just what he’s been told over and over he should do with his life by our sisters at the orphanage. You end up believing everything if it’s repeated to you often enough. For example, Sister Antonia keeps insisting that it doesn’t count if it’s with another woman.”

That got a chuckle out of Imelda, almost against her own will. She opened her mouth to retort, but before she should two voices reached her at the same time, almost identical and yet so, so easy for her to tell apart.

“Oye, Imelda!”

“Hermana!”

“Have you seen Miguel?” Her brothers, tall for their thirteen years and with identical pairs of spectacles, skidded to a halt a few steps from them, talking fast.

“We were building him a guitar all of his own!”

“A custom guitar!”

“But we need to take a few measures!”

“He’s not with Héctor, he’s not at the church…”

“They won’t let us into the orphanage or even tell us if he’s in.”

“Nuns are no fun,” Felipe huffed.

“No offense,” Óscar added, getting a roll of the eyes from Imelda and a laugh out of Sofía.

“Oh, nuns can be more fun than you can imagine,” she said with a serene smile, entirely ignoring Imelda’s elbow against her side. Sofía’s mouth would get her in trouble someday. One way or another. “He could he be at the cemetery with Chicharrón.”

That caused both boys to make a face. “Old Cheech chased us out last time,” Óscar said.

“With a stick,” Felipe echoed.

“But if we plan out the route…”

“... And if we’re fast…”

“... After all, he has a peg leg…”

“Right, let’s do this!”

“See you later, hermana!” Óscar called out, and with that they were off to the cemetery, looking for Miguel.

***

Last night’s storm had had turned the stream into a proper river, or so it seemed to Miguel.

It was sunny now, not a cloud in the sky - the storm had been sudden and quick throwing down bucketfuls of water in a short time - and the sun beat down on his head as he hopped from rock to rock across the fast-flowing water, trying to imagine he was crossing Río Bravo, or Culiacán.

One day he might, but he had to wait for the Revolution to end. Santa Cecilia had been spared the worst of it, but things got really bad in other places; Miguel knew it because from time to time a new kid would arrive at the orphanage from out of town, and a lot of them had lost their parents because of it. A few months ago soldiers had come there, too, taken some men for the leva, and left; Miguel still remembered how the nuns had hidden away all the orphans who’d be considered old enough to hold a gun and fight.

Miguel had feared for Héctor, who’d been away at the seminary at the time, and seeing him coming back shortly afterwards had been a relief. Nothing had happened there since; Santa Cecilia was as safe as it could get. A bit too safe, sometimes. Boring. Hardly anything ever--

“Hola, niño. Is this the way to Santa Cecilia?”

A voice he didn’t know rang out suddenly, snapping him from his thoughts just as he jumped from one rock to the other. He turned, startled, and he turned too quickly: his bare foot slipped off the wet rock, the world seemed to tilt, and the next instant he was underwater.

For a moment she felt nothing but surprise, then annoyance. He hadn’t slipped like that since he was a little kid; if any of his friends were here, they’d be laughing their butts off. Miguel tried to kick himself back up to the surface… only to realize that the the stream there was a lot deeper than usual, and he couldn't reach the bottom. The current was much stronger, too, making him spin, and he no longer knew which way was up and which way was down, he couldn’t tell and he needed to breathe and--

No, no, no, no, no! Help me! Héctor! Someone!

Trying to keep panic at bay, Miguel flailed with his arms and tried to grab on something - a rock, a root, anything - and met nothing but water. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he tried to kick the bottom of the torrent to push himself upward - but one of his feet barely touched a rock and immediately slipped off it, and the movement only made him sink even deeper.

Miguel opened his mouth to cry out and suddenly water was in his mouth, in his nose, down his throat. His chest seized, his vision darkened, and panic flooded him.

No this can’t be it cannot be it’s little more than a trickle I can’t be drowning here I can’t--

Something grasped the back of his shirt, and there was a pull. Next thing he knew, sunlight was back on his face and there was earth beneath his knees, someone was patting his back and water was cascading out of his mouth. Miguel coughed, drew in a convulsive breath, and coughed some more. He was cold, nose and throat burning, but he was alive.

“Rayos, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right, niño?”

Still coughing, Miguel nodded and looked up, blinking water out of his eyes. The man who had pulled him out was young, maybe his his twenties, wearing soaking wet black shirt and trousers… and a white collar. Miguel coughed again before speaking. “Sí, gracias. I... Are you… are you our new priest?” he asked, taken aback. He’d been expecting another old man, like Padre Edmundo. That guy was barely older than Héctor.

The man’s worried look melted into a smile, a flash of white in his black beard, and Miguel couldn’t help smiling back. “In the flesh,” he said with a laugh, and stood, helping him up. Miguel half-expected him to praise God for the fact he was all right, but he did not. “I’m Er-- Padre Ernesto. And you are…?”

“Miguel,” he replied, standing a bit shakily. “I’m the altar boy at the church. I, uh… I wasn’t supposed to play here all on my own,” he muttered, and gave his best smile. “Can you not tell the sisters I was here? And Héctor especially. He’s the novice at the parish. He’d get really worried. Like he didn’t sneak off here when he was my age, too.”

He half-expected a scolding - Padre Edmundo would have berated him, if mildly, telling him that lying was a sin against God and that omission does count as lying - but, instead, Padre Ernesto grinned back. “Won’t tell if you don’t,” he said, winking. “But then I think we should wait to dry up before we head to town. I don’t think telling them that a cloud rained on us and on us only would work. Believe me, I tried that once. My mamá didn’t buy it.”

All right, so he wasn’t like Padre Edmundo at all - and he wasn’t even telling him not to do it again or anything like that. Miguel already liked him, and he was sure Héctor would too.

“Oh, I’ll get dry fast,” he said, wringing a bit of his shirt in is hand and getting a small rivulet of water out of it. “It’s going to be hot today. But your clothes could take a bit longer.”

“Not a problem. I’ll tell them I rode across the stream before I met you.”

“You rode-- oh, is that your horse?” Miguel exclaimed when he spotted a movement on their left. It was a beautiful animal, its coat such a light gray it was almost white, and it was drinking from the stream in steady gulps.

“This is Dante. We’ve been through a few things together,” Padre Ernesto said, giving an affectional pat to the animal’s side.

Miguel grinned before trying to find out how far he could push his luck. “Can I ride him?”

“That sounds like something I’d need your parents’ permission for.”

“I don’t have any parents,” Miguel pointed out, and Padre Ernesto’s expression sombered for a moment before he shrugged.

“... Ah, no permission required then. Never cared to ask for it, either,” he said, and swung up on the saddle - it was such a graceful movement, nothing like Padre Edmundo climbing on his old donkey - before holding a hand out to Miguel. “Care to guide me to the parish, then?”

Miguel grinned, and held back a grito of victory as he grabbed that hand and climbed on the horse. He held tightly on the mane, but with Padre Ernesto’s arms on either side of him, he already knew he wouldn’t fall off. “It’s that way, there is a bridge just half a mile down this path,” he said. “Once you cross it, you just go straight on. It’s not far.”

“Oh, good. Dante and I could use some rest,” Padre Ernesto muttered, guiding the horse down the path. He let go of the reins with one hand, and looking up Miguel could see he was rubbing at the thick black beard that covered his cheeks. “I could use a shave, too.”

“How long have you been travelling?”

“A while, niño. A while. I met… a few problems on the way,” Padre Ernesto said, his voice sounding far away, and Miguel could guess they had something to do with the Revolution.

“You’re from Oaxaca, right? Héctor said you’d be sent from la arquidiócesis de Antequera.”

“Huh? Oh yes. Of course.”

“What is la Nuestra Señora de la Asunción like?”

“The-- oh. Right. It’s. Nice. I guess.”

“Have you ever said mass there?”

“Not personally. But tell me about Santa Cecilia,” Padre Ernesto added quickly. “I seems like a quiet place,” he added, and Miguel shrugged.

“It is. Sometimes too quiet. A bit boring,” he said, not noticing the smile on the man’s face.

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Padre Ernesto said. “I could use some boredom for a while.”

Later on, they would both think back about those words and laugh themselves into hysteria.

#pixar coco #Miguel Rivera #Ernesto de la Cruz #Hector Rivera #Imelda Rivera #coco #fake priest au

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primatechnosynthpop · 3 years ago

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I have several other things I want to say that are just ideas I've had about storylines I literally made up myself..... I don't really want to make a bunch of separate posts so here's some assorted Important Information all in one place

IF I ever wrote a sequel to Wires Crossed (which I'm probably not going to because the story is pretty complete on its own) the plot would be like, one of Tucker's old coworkers from his UFO newsletter job calls him up to be like hey do you wanna come work with me at this Science Building and at first he's like no I'm too busy writing songs for my cousin's band. But then he's like ok sure. And he and the scientist make contact with the no-eyed girl and he decides to set her up with Lyra. At some point the NEG offers to cure Lyra of being a zombie using her magic alien powers and it's like a character growth moment where she decides to turn the offer down because she likes who she is now.

On the flipside of the meguca on the rock au, I think you COULD do a pmmm nkotr au but you couldn't be consistent about who's in what role, it would just have to be whatever works best or is funniest for any given bit. Mami getting her head bitten off but it has the comedic timing and framing of Kevin getting his eyes yanked out... are you thinking about it. I'M thinking about it.

In however many years it's been since I wrote Walking Right Next To You, I've tried writing both a prequel/midquel AND a sequel but gave up on both of them (this is fine because in retrospect I don't think it was that well-constructed a narrative to begin with). But the reveal I had planned for the midquel was that Sylar had switched places with Peter at some point via shapeshifting and simultaneously Peter had shapeshifted into a random nurse and been brainwashed into thinking that was who he really was. Can't remember what Sylar's motive was supposed to have been for doing this but I'm sure he had one

...And this wasn't part of my sequel plan but IF I was going to write one, it would include a scene mimicking the scene from the show where Mohinder shoots Noah, but here instead of screaming and crying Claire is cheering him on because in this parallel reality instead of being her dad Noah is the guy behind death match fighting rings who ruined everyone's lives. (Also I'm mad at myself for killing off so many characters' alternate counterparts because there'd be so many interesting friendship opportunities if more of them were alive...)

If I was gonna write a kiradax InuYasha au, the time skip between Jadzia sealing Kira to the sacred tree and Ezri falling into the feudal era and freeing Kira would be less than 50 years but still a significant chunk of time, like 20-30 years? And the Sisko family are like the village priests and Jadzia is/was their family friend... she knew Ben when he was a kid but then a witch brings her back to life and suddenly he's an adult with a nearly-grown son of his own

If I ever rewrite one of the Warriors OC fics I wrote in high school, I'll definitely change the morality of some characters to make it more complex. So Dewdrop still kills Rubblefang's older brother Strikestar but doesn't try to kill her own sister Honeypool, and Honeypool can see that Rubblefang is upset but she still wants to protect her sister even knowing she's done horrible things (and Strikestar had done some bad stuff too, so like, was Dewdrop even really wrong??) But when Dewdrop goes after Rubblefang, that's what makes Honeypool realize she has to kill her sister... thus really selling the bond between the ambiguously romantic leads

Definitely not going to write this but I think that if Rorschach from Watchmen ended up on the Infinity Train well first off OF COURSE his number would be so high that it'd be all up to his face because he's so deeply fucked up. And I think the ink patterns on his mask would shift around to display the numbers that are on the skin underneath it. Also the numbers are all symmetrical across his body it's a whole thing!!

#hey found this in my drafts and y'know what there's no reason not to post it so here ya go #wires crossed

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blindchandelure · 7 years ago

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No Rest For The Wicked: A Thiefshipping Oneshot

So, all the way back in winter 2017, I signed up for @sitabethel‘s Thiefshipping Dirty Santa fanfiction-writing event. And then I promptly forgot about the whole thing, until today, when they reminded me about it. -_- I’m dumb as hell. So, it’s months late, but here’s the fic I wrote for the event!

The prompt I was given was “I’ll let you know all my flaws now, so you could love me better or leave me quicker.”

The flash of white, amongst all the dark hair and skin of the people of Cairo, caught Marik's eye immediately.

It was strange to be back in Egypt, after all the time he'd spent travelling the world with Rishid as the leader of the Ghouls. Running from the past, he admitted to himself. That was over now - after the tumultous events in Domino City, Japan, he'd resolved his grudge against the Pharoah, and accepted his role as a Tombkeeper. The Pharaoh - and his vessel, Mutou, should be coming to Egypt soon, Marik considered. Ishizu foretells that the Ceremonial Duel will soon occur.

After the Pharoah moved on to the afterlife, what would become of the Ishtars? Marik's clan had been waiting to assist the Pharoah in his journey for thousands of years. Once his destiny was fulfilled - then what? Where did that leave them?

It leaves us to lead normal lives, finally, Rishid had said, earlier today. He seemed to be looking forward to it. Marik wasn't so sure. It wasn't easy to spend years despising a man and plotting to kill him, committing acts of thievery and violence at the head of a criminal gang, and then turn around and be....normal.

Marik was walking through a quaint open air market - the same one he'd stumbled through as a child, on his first day on the surface world. He still remembered how strange but beautiful it had felt, to feel the sun on his face and the sand under his feet, to see and hear so many people, when he was used to only seeing his family, and the darkness of the tomb. Now a grown man, he had seen many sights more splendid than this. But, his eyes still misted when he thought of how Ishizu had snuck him out, that first time.

She was always a good sister, he thought to himself. And how did I repay her? By running away, and threatening to do her harm if she pursued me. I have much to atone for.

He had done harm to young Yugi Mutou's friends, as well. He had kidnapped them, and seized control of their minds. They would surely accompany the Pharoah when he came to Egypt to fulfill his destiny. He could not blame them if they looked at him with eyes of hate.

He was thinking of all he'd done while in Japan....the games he had played, the people he had hurt, and the one man, that he had loved. And then suddenly he was there.

That long, white hair. The clearly Japanese features of his host, when everyone else in the crowd was Middle Eastern or African. That beaten up black coat that he always wore.

"Bakura!" Marik cried, and tore off running, after the man. They'd been allies in Battle City, plotting together to defeat the Pharaoh. At first, Bakura had clearly only coveted Marik's Millennium Rod. But as time went on, their relationship had become....more than that. And on the blimp where the tournament finals were held, in the darkness of Marik's room, before the final battle had commenced, they had become lovers.

A night so passionate.....Marik refused to believe that it had meant nothing to the Spirit of the Ring. But after that, everything had changed. Marik had discovered that the Pharaoh did not kill his father, as Shaadi had led him to believe. His father's blood was instead on his own hands, and he'd created a whole other personality to conceal that truth from himself. The shock of this revelation had sent Marik reeling. He had done his Tombkeeper duty, and shown the Pharaoh the markings on his back. But, after that, he had returned to Egypt with his siblings, deeply uncertain of his future.

But, one thing he was certain of: he still yearned for Yami Bakura. His co-conspirator, his equal in dueling, the best lay of his life. What was he doing here?

"Bakura, slown down!" Marik cried, catching up to the pale haired man, and seizing him by the wrist. The Spirit turned to him, and smirked.

"Hello, Marik. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Why have you come here?" Marik demanded.

"I think, deep down, you know," Bakura said, his red eyes staring into Marik's violet ones.

For a second, Marik thought, to be with me, but he knew that was wishful thinking. "The Pharaoh is coming to Egypt soon," Marik realized. "You've come here to kill him."

"You may have abandoned your plot against the Pharaoh," Bakura nodded, "but my goals remain the same as they were the day you met me."

"To get revenge," Marik guessed. "In Battle City, that was what we both wanted. But, you never really explained to me, what it was that you sought vengeance for. What did the Pharaoh do to you?"

Bakura wrenched his wrist from Marik's grip, and backed away from him. "I have been carrying this grudge for three thousand years," he confessed. "I won't let some teenage boy who suddenly wants to be a goody two shoes stand in my way."

"I didn't say that I was going to stop you," Marik muttered. Perhaps they should be discussing this elsewhere, away from prying eyes.

"Does that mean," Bakura asked, his lip beginning to curl upwards, "that you're going to help me? I thought you'd switched sides."

"I'm on my own side," Marik insisted. "I'm not sure yet what I'm going to do, because I'm not sure what you're plotting, or what your reasons are. I want to hear your explanation, before I do anything."

Bakura raised an eyebrow.

"Besides," Marik admitted, "if I said I was going to try and stop you, you would probably kill me."

"I would hate to have to kill you," Bakura chuckled. "I am rather fond of you, after all." Marik blushed, in spite of himself. "Can we go somewhere more quiet, so we can talk this over?"

"I think I know just the place," Bakura said, and began walking off into the distance, towards the desert. "Follow me." %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% They wandered past the outskirts of the city, towards the Pyramids, and the tombs where Marik had grown up. They traversed over sandy dunes in umcomfortable silence for what seemed like hours.

"Where are we going?" Marik asked finally. "Are you sure you're not lost?"

"I was born here, just like you," Bakura reminded. "A very long time ago."

"In the days when the Pharaoh, and the first owner of my Rod, walked the earth," Marik nodded.

"He was a right bastard," Bakura huffed.

"Who?" Marik blinked. "Set, the Pharoah's high priest," Bakura explained.

"That was the original Rod wielder's name?" Marik blinked.

"Didn't your clan teach you the Millennium Items' history?" Bakura questioned.

"I was always a poor student," Marik confessed. He'd rather be running through the torch lit hallways with Rishid, playing games. Father always scolded him for neglecting his studies.

"What exactly did they tell you, about where the Items came from?" Bakura demanded, a strange look on his face.

"The Pharaoh and his priests wielded the Millennium Items to protect the kingdom," Marik recalled from his lessons.

"Protect it from whom?" Bakura questioned.

"From evildoers," Marik shrugged. "Father always said he would tell me the whole story when I came of age. But he.....met his end when I was still a child."

"The enemy the Millennium Item holders were fighting against," Bakura confessed, "was me."

Marik stopped in his tracks, almost slamming into Bakura, who was walking in front of him. It tripped him out, truthfully, that the man who had ridden on the back of his motorcycle, kissed him on an airship, played cutting edge holographic card games with him, was a three thousand year old spirit, who had lived and died while the Pyramids were still being built.

"I killed them," Bakura continued, his tone cold and unrepentant. "I was responsible for the death of Karim, who wielded the Millennium Scales, and Shada, who wielded the Millennium Key. And, of course, Mahad, the original owner of this Ring." He looked down at the glittering gold of the Millennium Item around his neck.

"The Tombkeepers watched over the Scales and the Key all my life," Marik recalled. He didn't like to think about his childhood this much. "The Ring....I remember we had it in our possession, when I was young. One day, Father was spitting with rage. He said some treasure hunter - a foreigner - had stolen it."

"My host's father," Bakura nodded. "Bakura Rokuro."

Marik was not sure it had truly hit him, until this moment, that the face and body before his eyes, which he had kissed and touched not so long ago, did not really belong to the spirit he was speaking to. His real body must be buried, mummified, under these sands somewhere.

"Bakura is not even your real name," Marik realized. "But the name of your host."

"Yes, Bakura Ryou is simply my vessel," the Spirit of the Ring nodded. "When all this is over...he will wake up confused. He won't know where he is, or who you are. Try to ensure that he makes it back to Domino City in one piece."

"Does that mean that 'when all this is over'....you won't be coming back?" Marik frowned.

"Once my thirst for revenge has been slaked, at last," Bakura replied, "my spirit will be at peace, and then, I suppose I can rest."

"In the afterlife?" Marik guessed.

"Where else would a ghost go?" Bakura chuckled.

"Aren't you worried what will happen when your heart is weighed against the feather of Ma'at?" Marik worried. "Don't you fear judgement for your sins?"

"Do you fear judgement for yours?" Bakura asked. The question pierced Marik like a knife.

"I can't judge you for your crimes," Marik sighed. "In Battle City....I wouldn't have cared if Katsuya had drowned, or that safe had fallen on Mazaki and crushed her. Or if Pandora's legs had been sliced off by that saw. Or if Hikari no Kamen and Yami no Kamen had fallen off that building to their deaths....."

"Thankfully," Bakura chuckled, "the Pharaoh helped all your foolish pawns escape with their lives."

"What did the Pharaoh do to you?" Marik asked again. "I've realized...I don't anything about you at all. Bakura isn't even your real name. What did they call you, in your mortal life?"

"Most knew me as the Thief King," the Spirit of the Ring revealed.

"That's not a name," Marik pointed out. "That's a title."

"My true name doesn't matter," Bakura shrugged. "I will not exist in this modern world much longer anyway, after my plan is complete."

"What are you planning?" Marik demanded, his voice raising. "Why did you come back to me, just to leave me again?"

"I want you to know the truth about who I was," Bakura explained. "There is no soul left in this world who remembers the Thief King. The Pharaoh is the only person I once knew who still walk this earth - and he has no memory of who I am, or why I despise him. When he regains his memories, his time on this plane will end. They say you only live as long as people remember you. And you, Marik Ishtar, are perhaps the only person on Earth who will remember me with fondness."

"I'll miss you," Marik admitted. "I was hoping you and I could be together again."

"I wish that could be," Bakura said, his voice full of passion as he looked into Marik's eyes. "I wish I could be your lover, like I was before." He leaned in close, and his lips touched Marik's. Desire coursed through the Tombkeeper's body, and soon his hands were in the Spirit's long hair, pulling him closer, desperate.

Reluctantly, Bakura pulled away. "But, this cannot be," he sighed. "I do not belong in the land of the living. My spirit lingers here for one purpose - my vengeance."

Marik understood this. He had desired vengeance against the Pharaoh for many years, and that misguided goal had driven all of his actions. Now, he felt adrift, without the mission that had motivated him for so long.

"You wielded the power of the Millennium Rod, when you sought your vengeance," Bakura recalled. "But, do you know where the power of the Millennium Items comes from?"

"Dark magic," Marik guessed.

"The darkest kind," Bakura agreed. "The kind that comes from the most evil and heinous of rituals."

Marik blinked in the bright desert sun, confused. He and his clan had been watching over the Millennium Items for centuries, waiting for the Pharaoh's return. But, in all his studies, he was never taught how the Items had been created.

"Human sacrifice," Bakura revealed, staring down at the Ring around his neck. "The blood and bones and souls of an entire village were melted down with the gold, imbuing them with cursed power."

Marik gasped, horrified. He realized then where Bakura had brought him. They were standing on the ruins of an ancient city. Broken columns and shells of buildings, half-buried in the sand, were all that remained of the once-populous village.

"This is all that's left of Kul Elna," Bakura explained, gesturing at the remnants. They looked like an archeological site. "The village that was massacred by the Pharaoh to create the Millennium Items. My village."

Marik's hand went to his mouth. He had endured horrors in his lifetime - hieroglyphics carved painfully into his unwilling back. An evil alter ego arising from the trauma of patricide. Horrible things - but none quite as horrible as witnessing a genocide.

"I'm so sorry, Thief King," he said, putting an arm around his lover.

Bakura backed away from his touch. "I don't need your shoulder to cry on," he laughed. "I only need the Pharoah's suffering and death, as retribution for the suffering and death of my family."

Marik's eyes widened, unsure of what to say. He, too, had once wished "suffering and death" upon the Pharaoh. But, now he regretted his actions.

"I am not some victim, who deserves your sympathy," Bakura confessed. "I am a thief, and a stealer of souls. I killed the masters of the Ring, Key, and Scales, and I felt no remorse. I am responsible for the death of Isis, as well, who wielded the Millennium Necklace. Her soul seems to have returned in this century, as your sister. No wonder she despises me."

"Why are you tellling me this?" Marik asked, feeling uneasy.

"I'm letting you know all my flaws now," Bakura explained, "so you could love me better, or leave me quicker."

"You want my love?" Marik said, confused. "I thought you only wanted your revenge."

"I want to be with you, one last time, before my soul rests," Bakura said, looking desperately into Marik's eyes. "One more night in your beautiful arms, before I condemn myself to Hell. Is that too much to ask?"

Marik reddened. He wanted this man, that much was true. He'd yearned for another taste of his touch since he left Domino City. And yet....

"But you're on the side of the angels now," Bakura chuckled. "Or at least, men who think they are angels. They assume that theirs is the just side. You and your family promised to help them, right? The Pharaoh, and his vessel, Yugi Mutou, and his friends."

"Yes," Marik admitted. "When they come to Egypt, Ishizu and I are supposed to help them restore the Pharaoh's name and memories, and commence the Ceremonial Duel."

"When they come to Egypt," Bakura said plainly, "I am going to play a Shadow Game with the Pharaoh, and I am going to make him pay. I will be doing my best to prevent him from recovering his name - the task you say you plan to help him with. And I do not care whatsoever if the Pharaoh's friends - who now seem to consider you their ally - are caught in the crossfire."

"Why reveal your plan to me?" Marik asked. "Why not lie?"

"I want to know if you will leave me, knowing what kind of man I am," Bakura confided. "I want to know if you will try and stop me. Will you warn young Mutou-san that I'm after his so-called yami? Will you try and protect the Pharaoh, who, as a Tombkeeper, you're sworn to serve?"

"I don't hate the Pharaoh anymore," Marik said, uncertainly. "But, I do still love you, even knowing your true nature. I cannot stop my heart from loving you, or my body from wanting you, regardless of the flaws you confess to me. I will not 'leave you quicker'. I want to stay with you until the end."

"You can stay with me all night long," Bakura whispered seductively. "One last, blissful night- but, come morning, the Pharaoh's plane will arrive in Cairo, and I will do what I have waited to do for three millennia."

"I won't stop you," Marik decided. "I will send the Pharoah to the place he is destined to go, fulfilling my role as a Tombkeeper. Once he gets there.....whether he wins your game, or you do....that is up to the Gods."

"You wielded the power of the Gods once," Bakura recalled.

"Yes," Marik sighed. "But, I have long since surrendered my Winged Dragon of Ra to the Pharaoh."

"He will use it against me in our duel," Bakura predicted. "You have made my coming battle much harder to win."

"My other self used Ra to defeat you in Battle City," Marik remembered.

"Well, that's your other self," Bakura shrugged. "I carry a grudge against him, not you." "He's gone now," Marik said seriously. "For good this time."

"I wanted you to regain control of your body," Bakura confessed. "Not simply because I wanted your Millennium Rod, but because I wanted what was best for you."

"You tried to help me win control of myself back," Marik nodded. "I will always be grateful to you for that, Thief King."

"I have spent millennia haunting this Ring, waiting for my final faceoff with the Pharaoh," Bakura said thoughtfully. "And tomorrow, I will have it. But, I never expected that I would find someone who I cared for. It is, at last, my time to settle the score, and leave this plane - but I wish I did not have to leave you, Marik.”

"I won't leave you until I have to," Marik promised. "I'll give you my love, and I'll give you tonight, and I won't regret it."

"Even though, when morning light comes, I'll set off to kill your king?"

"I wish you could stay," Marik sighed. "I wish you could be mine forever. But, perhaps, when I die, our souls will be reunited, on the other side of the Du'at."

"Then may Osiris have mercy on our wicked souls," Bakura laughed, and kissed Marik again. For now, his soul still resided in Bakura Ryou's body - and that body would know no sleep tonight.

#thiefshipping #my fic #marik ishtar #yami bakura #fanfic dirty santa

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bodyalive · 7 years ago

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The Flying Bulgarian Photo by Octavian Cucolea on Yourshot * “Priest: ‘Do ye recognize what I’m holdin’ over yer heads now?’ Indian: ‘It’s a cross! The symbol of the quartering of the universe into active and passive principles!’ Priest: ‘God have mercy on their heathen ways!’” —From ‘Temporarily Humboldt County’; The Firesign Theatre, “Waiting for the Electrician or Someone Like Him” * "But what was able to make her do the voyage was what she had deep inside of her. Her strength and who she was. At one time she said “I didn’t prepare to go to sea for a thousand days. I set off in preparation to go to eternity.” So she was living in an eternal, timeless space. So it’s not like, “Would we still be able to stay out at sea as we planned?” It was more like “Can we still live on the sea? And it looks like we can.” Everything’s not leaking and we still have all of our food. And we’re still together. We still believe that we can do it. After we were hit by the ship, we drifted in the North Atlantic for almost a month while we worked together to fix the boat, to be able to go on with a disabled boat and chains wrapped around the bow of the boat, holding the mast and sails forward." from Nowhere - 1152 days at sea by Reid Stowe * * also: "I was constantly on call working out and I kept myself in shape through yoga, but I wore myself out just squeezing ropes so hard. Pulling, pulling so hard. When I wasn’t sailing, I was sewing ‘til I had chronic pain in my hands. And I would fall asleep and the pain in my hands would wake me up. So I called on God, [who] I imagined as those great Italian paintings: a 65-year-old well-muscled, bald man with a long beard. I said, “God, tell Jesus to heal this arm.” And then I felt Jesus take my arm and start massaging it. I saw his soft, beautiful face. I said, “God, tell Buddha to heal this arm.” Then I saw Buddha come and take this arm, start massaging it, and healing it. Then the three of them came closer to heal me together. And they bumped heads. They started laughing together, and Buddha looked at me and winked. That’s an example of a vision I had. I didn’t make that up. But I started by calling on the forces that I knew, the forces of man, and started to lead it some place. It was the healing vision that took care of me. I had visions of things with my eyes wide open. I saw things while I was meditating, which was pretty incredible. And I felt illuminations also." [Read the entire story : Nowhere - 1152 days at sea by Reid Stowe a most moving and unusual adventure.] [Visions Of Things With Eyes Wide Open] * * “If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves. Moving, be like water. Still, be like a mirror. Respond like an echo.” — Bruce Lee (via metaconscious) * Breathe “An immortal said, "To learn the way of the Tao is like recalling what you have eaten in the morning. It is not impossible to do. To treasure breath is like loving your face and your eyes. It has never been unattainable.” -Master Great Nothing of Sung-Shan, Taoist Canon On Breathing * "I cured with the power that came through me. Of course, it was not I who cured, it was the power from the Outer World, the visions and the ceremonies had only made me like a hole through which the power could come to the two-leggeds." "If I thought that I was doing it myself, the hole would close up and no power could come through. Then everything I could do would be foolish." -- Black Elk ** In illness, you're suddenly not yourself anymore. The question is: Are you going to cling in panic to some idealized self that no longer exists? Or are you going to cross the threshold and acknowledge that you're on a journey, though you don't know to where? You haven't chosen it, but now you're different in some way. This is one reason physical illness shows up as a turning point in so many spiritual biographies or as the catalyst of shamanic initiation. It's a profound shock to the system. It dislodges you. You look in the mirror, and one of the unfortunate ill stares back. But in a way, you could say that disease also abrades away, painfully, all of these superficial ways in which we judge our worthiness, even life's worthiness. Our worthiness, as in: "Am I strong, beautiful, competent, undamaged goods?" Or life's worthiness, as in: "Life is good only when it makes me happy, or aggrandizes me, or favors my enterprise." But who's bigger, you or life? There's a Rilke poem Robert Bly has translated: "This is how he grows - by being defeated, decisively, by ever greater beings." Marc Ian Barasch Interview with Derek Jensen for "The Sun" * "Relaxation is not as easy as it sounds. It involves physical and mental transformation. Physical rigidity always produces mental rigidity and vice versa. Obsessive patterns of thinking accompany repetitive internal tensions. Sometimes these tensions are very subtle, as with tension in the jaw, tongue, or deep connective tissue. People who are constantly thinking, who have forgotten the location of the off switch in their internal TV, are usually speaking to themselves as well. The tongue and jaw contract, release and make extremely small, invisible movements continually. The fact that tension is often unconscious or chronic does not make it any less damaging. What you don't know can hurt you ! Continuous tension, whether conscious or not, is a continuous drain on the vitality and qi. Chinese medicine considers these tensions to be the root of most psychological problems." --pg 227 "The Way of Qigong" by Kenneth S. Cohen * “The true purpose of yoga is to discover that aspect of your being that can never be lost. Your job may change, your relationships may change, your body may change, your beliefs may change, your desires may change, your ideas about your role in the world may change, but the essence of who you are is the continuity of awareness that has no beginning or end. Your thoughts, beliefs, expectations, goals, and experiences may come and go, but the one who having the experiences – the experiencer – remains.” – Deepak Chopra in The Seven Spiritual Laws of Yoga * If you are seeking creative ideas, go out walking. Angels whisper to a man when he goes for a walk. - Raymond Inmon * Sky Dharma: Secret Yogis → Even in this world, and even now, there are said to be many hidden yogis or discreet yogis, called bepay naljor in Tibetan. It means those realized ones who are not generally recognized as great spiritual sages or saints, but have deeply tasted the fruit of enlightenment, and are living it. Perhaps they are anonymously doing their good works here among us right now! The infinite vast expanse is one’s own inconceivable nature. Who can say who has realized it and who hasn’t? When we travel around the world or experience other dimensions, there are so many beings who have tasted it. We can see it in their behavior, in their countenance, and in stories that are told—not just in the Dzogchen tradition or the Buddhist tradition, but in any tradition, and in our Western world too. This true nature is so vast and inconceivable that even some birds and animals and beings in other unseen dimensions can be said to have realized it, as in some of the ancient Indian Jataka stories and other teaching tales. It is always said that everything is the self-radiant display of the primordial Buddha Samantabhadra. There are infinite numbers of Buddhas and infinite numbers of beings. Who can say who is excluded from it? — from Natural Great Perfection: Dzogchen Teachings and Vajra Songs by Nyoshul Khenpo Rinpoche (via Snow Lion Publications) Thanks sharanam & Sky Dharma & crashinglybeautiful * from “The Way It is” But much of life you have no control over. You have no right to ask everything to be silent for ‘my’ meditation. When there is reflectiveness, instead of having a little mind that has to have total silence and special conditions, you have a big mind that can contain the whole of it: the noises, the disruptions, the silence, the bliss, the restlessness, the pain. The mind is all-embracing rather than specialising on a certain refinement in consciousness. Then you develop flexibility, because you can concentrate your mind. This is where wisdom is needed for real development. It’s through wisdom that we develop it, not through willpower or controlling or manipulating environmental conditions; getting rid of the things we don’t want and trying to set ourselves up so that we can follow this desire to achieve and attain. [from “Only One Breath”] (Source: amaravati.org) * “Heart breathing” is a technique that can be very renewing. Sit comfortably. Close your eyes. Notice your breathing, but don’t try to control it. Feel your chest expanding and contracting. Now imagine the breath is flowing out of your heart with each exhalation and pouring into your heart with each inhalation. Don’t think about anything. Just feel the breath flowing in and out of your heart. Imagine the breath is pure love. Do this for 5 to 10 minutes, then slowly open your eyes, get up, and move on. Remember the feeling throughout your day. Then do it again tomorrow!" [Excerpt from The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Yoga.] * "Detach from needing to have things work out a certain way. The universe is perfect and there are no failures. Give yourself the gift of detaching from your worries and trust that everything is happening perfectly." Orin, Spiritual Growth *“Do not kill the instinct of the body for the glory of the pose.” “Awakening the Spine”" Vanda Scaravelli * "In the wrong light anyone can look like a darkness." [Richard Siken, from “War of the Foxes“] * "When you’re inspired by some great purpose, some extraordinary project, all your thoughts break their bonds: Your mind transcends limitations, your consciousness expands in every direction, and you find yourself in a new, great, and wonderful world. Dormant forces, faculties and talents become alive, and you discover yourself to be a greater person by far than you ever dreamed yourself to be." ~Patanjali * “When effort is needed, effort will appear. When effortlessness becomes essential, it will assert itself. You need not push life about. Just flow with it and give yourself completely to the task of the present moment, which is the dying now to the now. For living is dying. Without death life cannot be.” ~Nisargadatta Maharaj Thank you, The Beauty We Love * "When we use this term ‘basic goodness’ it indicates some fundamental possibility. Life is possible. Situations are possible. And anybody can start to gain some kind of insight and appreciation of their lives. That’s what we call ‘sacred’. It doesn’t mean something dramatic, but something very simple. There’s a sacredness… to everyone’s life. In order to relate to it, you have to build confidence. Because of this need to build confidence, we speak of ‘warriorship’. There’s a tremendous amount of fear in people’s lives. I think it’s based on not wanting to reveal oneself. You’re always protecting yourself. So the journey of meditation and the journey of Shambhala is: ‘One has to be fearless. One has to be brave. One must break out of the world which is comfort-oriented.’." Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche, “A New Place, A New Time”, via Tricycle: Daily Dharma (via sharanam) * Ego is like a room of your own, a room with a view with the temperature and the smells and the music that you like. You want it your own way. You’d just like to have a little peace, you’d like to have a little happiness, you know, just “gimme a break.” But the more you think that way, the more you try to get life to come out so that it will always suit you, the more your fear of other people and what’s outside your room grows. Rather than becoming more relaxed, you start pulling down the shades and locking the door. When you do go out, you find the experience more and more unsettling and disagreeable. You become touchier, more fearful, more irritable than ever. The more you try to get it your way, the less you feel at home. ~ Pema Chodron, Start Where You Are * Without the cosmic notion of Christ, Christians can’t understand that God is inherent in life itself, that God is the life force of everything who grows things from the inside. The Indwelling Spirit was our way of saying that God creates things that create themselves from within! In humans and animals this is experienced as sexuality, in plants as photosynthesis. Elements participate in the creative process through electromagnetic fields, fusion, and bonding. Even celestial bodies experience death and birth. There is only and always growth. Death is simply a transformative stage. -Richard Rohr * In my youth I belonged to a religious cult. We dismissed everything in the press about us as biased lies. The day came when I read an article and something in me just let down my defenses and I thought, "This is true. All of the stuff all these years is true." I left that group. Because it was true and then some. It was really much much worse than anyone was saying. And my former friends made me persona non grata and the organization sought to ruin my life. An experience that many many people have had. Ask ex-Catholics, ex-fundamentalists. Coming out of a state of unquestioning belief is good for the heart and soul. Belief is strong stuff. To go beyond your own beliefs take an entire cocktail of factors all coming together at once. *

[Thank you Alive On All Channels]

#Alive On All Channels #Body Alive #structural integration atlanta #healing #body #bodymind

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jakey-beefed-it · 7 years ago

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Weird dreams

The first one was a bizarre combination of an alternate Superman 3 and my friends and I playing an RPG. In that I was Superman, and they were basically themselves but with super powers, but every now and then we’d sort of pause the universe to describe or explain something we were doing. So it was like a really immersive tabletop game where we were like... fully imagining ourselves as our characters.

Anyhow the plot (such as it was- you know, dream) was that I was sort of flyin’ around for the fuck of it (as one does when one is Superman), flew over the ocean, found an island I didn’t know about that was seriously pretty and had some dormant volcanoes, some jungle, and a couple cities. So I flew down to the cities to be like ‘yo whaddup’ and the locals filled me in about their island. At some point I wanted to get something to eat but for some reason nothing was open but this like... fancy club of some sort. So I went in there and it was some sort of organized crime front. Somehow they got me to leave and I called in my friends. So we were hanging around outside discussing how best to get a warrant or something (?) while wealthy/powerful people sauntered on in behind velvet ropes lookin’ smug. Then I realized that my friend Jon wasn’t standing there talking to us anymore, but he was dressed in a vaguely ridiculous/tacky like... 40s noir outfit as imagined by Prince or something. Purple pinstripes kind of thing. And he walked in with a smug-ass look on his face while Brian (my other friend) and I looked on like w...t...f... and then there was a huge commotion inside when he like, bowled over a fuckton of shit with superstrength (remember, both my friends were also generic superheroes for some reason).

So Brian and I and a bunch of superhero NPCs who I wasn’t really paying much attention to all rushed in. The front was some kind of bookstore? Like it really reminded me of a Barnes and Noble. Anyhow there were a bunch of baddies with fucking tommy guns so I knocked over some shelves on them, like ya do. We then busted up the top-end meeting which was like seriously skeezy. We were trying to sort out who was involved in the criminal activity and who was wrong place/wrong time and who was potentially a victim.

Jump to my friends and I sitting around in like... a burrito shop, still as our superhero characters, still on the island, but plainly metagaming talking about the plot. I said something like “This is better than I remembered it. I wonder when Richard Pryor is gonna show up” because as i mentioned this was somehow my dreaming brain’s revised Superman 3. And then Jon goes “Wasn’t there some kind of huge green laser thing?” Wha-

Huge green laser evaporates the burrito shop and probably kills like a lot of people. It’s been fired from some sort of huge fucking airplane that has VTOL capabilities. By the time we react and go after it it’s already swung around for another attack run, then taken off really fast. Jon and I can fly (I’m Superman; not sure why he could fly tbh) but Brian’s stuck on the ground so he’s yelling at us to go and pursue it without him; there’s no time to lose. Only neither Jon nor I can fly fast enough to catch it before it gets to the airport (why it needed to stop at the airport I do not know) then taken off again headed for presumably Metropolis. Large Unnamed US City at any rate. There’s no way we’re going to be able to catch it before it kills like a ton of people and I’m really upset. I keep pushing myself to fly faster and faster and it’s really difficult (apparently even as Superman I can’t give myself a break) and painful but people are depending on me and I’m Superman god damn it so eventually I break the sound barrier (sad, right? Like Clark can’t do that in his sleep?) and it is excruciating but I get moving a lot faster. Meanwhile I’m having out-of-character thoughts about how much more interesting it is now that Superman is less powerful. :p

No ending to that one because, you know, dreams.

The second one was a weird hodgepodge of ideas, too, but more mundane. I was living with my family in some kind of Alternate Washington State that was more mountainous and remote than our actual town is (which is small, but right smack off the interstate between two big cities). I saw what at first I thought was a mushroom cloud rising in the distance but it never ‘mushroomed’. Instead it began moving and growing taller and broader toward the top- fuckin’ tornado forming from the ground up (at least visibly). It went by entirely too close, was terrifying. Then there were a bunch more of them- like all over. My sister and I tried to take one car and flee (such a bad idea but dream Jake didn’t fuckin know that apparently) while mom took the other, but in trying to get out of town we ran into a tunnel that had been blocked by a sideways van. Cait was driving for some reason so I’m shrieking for her to stop and she barely does in time. We switch seats because she’s not comfortable backing up down the narrow causeway leading to the tunnel. Fair nuff. Mom shows up and we regroup at a diner in town.

Outside the diner is a frail old woman who has become lost/confused from all the tornadoes. I mean, fair. So we take her into the diner and buy her some food and she kinda babbles about a movie she was in a long time ago. She’s a bit daft but also sweet and we try to make sure she’s cool. We don’t know where to take her/where she needs to be.

We meet this kinda strange couple at the diner and become friends somehow. They know the old lady and agree to take her back to their house so she’ll have someone watching over her. Meanwhile the wife is like ‘i want some kind of fish and the only fish they have here is not what i want’ so i tell the husband that there’s a large swedish population in town (?!) and he could totally surprise her with like lutefisk or some shit. He thinks this is a great idea.

Turns out there’s going to be a fancy showing of some noir movie that was filmed in the town like 70 years ago at a local theatre, and the director is going to be there (somehow he’s only like fifty?!) and all the townsfolk are gonna dress up all nice and go. So we bring the old lady who it turns out was a major supporting role and she’s just over the moon about all the attention and reliving the old glory or w/e. We’re happy for her. Meanwhile this priest comes along and hears her singing and is like ‘are you in this movie, young lady?’ and she gushes on and on about how yeah she is and the director cast her when he came to the town to film on location etc etc and I’m side-eying this priest because even subconscious Jake knows that Priests are Nefarious and Not to be Trusted, apparently.

No ending there either. Not sure why I had such vivid and odd dreams. Maybe because I slept so fuckin much I finally managed REM sleep. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#boring personal bullshit #weird dreams #weird weird dreams #long post

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inhumansforever · 7 years ago

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Inhumans: Once and Future Kings #2 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

It’s the second issue of writer, Christopher Priest, and artist, Phil Noto’s fantastic foray into the past of the Inhuman Royal Family. Full recap and review following the jump.

A whole lot goes down in this issue with plot lines converging and diverging in surprising directions. Before going into the story, however, a quick note about just how well Priest and Noto work together. It is pretty amazing that these two creators have not worked alongside one another before. Right off the bat they have achieved a synchronicity as though they have been making comics together for decades. There are many characters in play, with multiple plot-lines, bouncing back and forth. It’s a testament to Priest and Noto’s skill that the story doesn’t feel jumbled or disjointed. Indeed it runs smooth, unfolding like a keenly directed movie or television show (cough).

I don’t possess anywhere near the skill of narration Mr. Priest demonstrates and would be hopelessly lost trying to relay the storyline as it unfolds int he issue. Instead, I’ll just describe the different plot-lines one at a time.

Last issue saw teenage versions of Black Bolt, Maximus and Medusa flee Attilan in fear of being unjustly accused of plotting against the stewardship king, a powerful Inhuman known only as The Living Terrigen. The former king, Black Bolt and Maximus’s father, Agon, had recently died and The Living Terrigen had assumed the throne temporarily until Black Bolt was ready to rule. A mysterious character called Elisha had orchestrated a revolt among the slave caste Alpha Primitives and an assassination attempt on The Living Terrigen. Young Black Bolt interceded, using his molecular-disrupting voice to put down the revolt and save The Living Terrigen’s life. Elisha later sought out Black Bolt and Maximus and warned them that their actions had put them at risk. Black Bolt had saved the Living Terrigen, but also embarrassed him and Elisha convinced the two lads that the stewardship king would use this all as an opportunity to make his rulership permeant.

Earlier, Maximus had been boasting over how wonderful their cousin Medusa is and how she would make a fine queen. Moved by these words, The Living Terrigen called upon Medusa and informed her that she was to become his wife.

With the aid of a puppy-aged Lockjaw, Elisha, Black Bolt, Maximus and Medusa all fled Attilan, teleporting to downtown Manhattan.

The young Royals are each rather taken aback by the human world. Medusa in particular is aghast by the terrible air pollution. Somehow, the trio has procured a new wardrobe that allows them to blend in with the humans of New York. Sitting at an outdoor cafe, Maximus ruminates over the past. He thinks back to his being diagnosed as suffering from some sort of mental disorder. A flashback shows him meeting with a physician who prescribes medication, noting that Maximus must take these pills once a day every day or else his ‘madness’ would return. A second flashback shows Maximus’ memories of sifting through the wreckage of the Royal Retreat where his parents had been killed. He and his brother had had an argument; they both used their powers and it caused a Kree spacecraft to crash into thew retreat. Both were responsible for the death of their parents, but Maximus could not tolerate this truth. We see him grapple with the cognitive dissonance in accepting the responsibility; and he bends to it. He refuses to accept his role in the tragedy and instead blames it all on his brother. Once more he sees the doctor reminding him to take his medication.

Taking these meds entails remaining lucid, being aware of his role in his parents’ deaths. As such there is a great draw to not take them, to allow the madness to overwhelm him so that he may push away his guilt and refuse responsibility. Back in the present, Maximus looks at the pills in his hand, contemplating whether or not to take them or cast them aside.

A police officer approaches, telling the youths that they have to clean up the mess Lockjaw had left on the street. Quite suddenly, a crane mounted on a construction site breaks free and starts to fall on the pedestrians bellow. Black Bolt takes action, flying up and using his voice to shatter the crane into thousands of pieces that fall harmlessly to the street.

Maximus then uses his mental powers to pull a ‘Jedi mind trick’ on the police officer making her forget all that she had seen.

The crane falling was likely orchestrated by Bentley Whitman, as a means of locating Elisha and the young Royals. Fans of The Fantastic Four will likely recall Whitman as the scientist who will go on to become the super villain known as The Wizard. It turns out that Whitman had provided Elisha with the power dampening arrows that were used in the revolt and botched assassination attempt on the Living Terrigen.

Whitman brings The Royals and Elisha back to his laboratory. There it is explained that Elisha was an Alpha Primitive whom unnamed Inhumans had taught to read. These Inhumans were punished for their actions, but Elisha escaped to the human world. There he continued his education, ultimately graduating from Empire State University.

Whitman had befriended Elisha and learned his origins. As such he learned of the threat The Inhumans’ slave engine posed against the human world. Whitman provided Elisha with weapons in the hopes that killing The Living Terrigen and destroying the slave engine would keep the human world safe.

Medusa does not trust Whitman and warns Black Bolt not to trust him either. Whether to not Black Bolt does or does not trust Whitman remains unrevealed, but he is willing to team up with him, use his weapons to take out The Living Terrigen and do away with he slave engine.

Meanwhile, back on Attilan, The Living Terrigen considers all that has transpired. He blames this mysterious Alpha Primitive for misleading the young Royals. He dispatches his Seeker, Kadlec, to travel to the human world and bring back the Royals, assigning young Karnak to accompany him.

We are also introduced to young Gorgon, whom we see in the midst of a violent training session. Gorgon is a bruiser with a short temper but tremendous ability. He is also the first cousin to the future king, Black Bolt, and someone The Living Terrigen identifies as an important ally. He approaches Gorgon and names him his new viceroy. Gorgon is honored by the responsibility.

Whatever ulterior motivations The Living Terrigen may have, he is keeping them close to the vest. Outwardly, he remains magnanimous, stating to Gorgon his belief that the young Royals are innocent and have merely been led astray by outside forces.

Later, the scene switches to Kadlec and Karnak on their mission to locate the Royals. They have tracked them to Manhattan and we see the two riding the subway. The human passengers don’t pay much heed to Kadlec’s wild outfit, whereas Karnak, kneeling in meditation is mistaken for a Hare Krishna beggar and offered some spare change.

Kadlec voices his views to young Karnak. He possesses an ardent view on Inhuman society, one in which the caste system is mediated by the gifts Terrigenesis has to offer. Those who are granted powerful and useful gifts are afforded higher status and Kaldec believes that this is just, how it should be. And to this end, someone like Karnak represents the lowest of the low. Karnak has been spared Terrigenesis. His older brother, Triton, had gone through the mists and was transformed in a highly unfavorable fashion. So unfortunate was Triton’s Terrigenesis that his brother was allowed to forgo Terrigenesis and instead enter into study with the gnostic monks of the Tower of Wisdom.

The basic tenants of the philosophy of these monks is one of clarity through abject nihilism. Karnak has accepted that he is meaningless, that all is meaningless and somehow this belief has afforded him enhanced awareness… the abilities to see things with greater clarity. And it is through this clarity that Karnak has refined his ability to perceive the base flaws in any given object or thing.

Karnak’s self-effacing nihilism rings true to Kadlec. He sees Karnak as lowly and worthless; having foregone Terrigenesis, Kadlec see Karnak as being on the lowest of tiers of The Inhuman social hierarchy. Karnak puts up with Kadlec’s insults until it is no longer necessary to do so. It turns out that Karnak has plans of his own. He demonstrates for Kadlec his ability to utilize his fault-finding perception in conjunction with an esoteric brand of martial art. He strikes Kadlec at a precise point of weakness, sending the seeker crashing through the window of the subway car.

Karnak then leaps from the subway and run off into the tunnels, calling out to his brother that he is coming to rescue him.

And the scene switches once more to some sort of government research facility. There it is shown that Triton has been captured and mistaken for an alien being. The researchers have been attempting to ascertain his origins, but have all but given up. How Triton had come to be captured and whether or not his brother will be successful in rescuing him will have to wait until next issue, fore it is with this cliffhanger that the installment comes to an end.

See what I mean? A whole lot goes down in this issue. And while my retelling of it all may seem jumbled, it’s all inter spliced and unfolds seamlessly through Priest and Noto’s combined effort.

While the plot is complex and multilayered, the real heart of the book is the characters. Even the minor players, like The Seeker and Bentley Whitman, are fleshed out and compelling. No one is black and white, necessarily good or evil. We know that Maximus, The Wizard and The Unspoken will all go on to become villains, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they are villainous in this story.

The Once and Future Kings is essentially a prequel, we already know what the future holds for these characters. Which makes it especially impressive that Priest and Noto can weave a tale that keeps us guessing; a narrative for which I’ve no idea how it’s all going to unfold.

Maximus is especially handled well. He’s teetering between madness and sanity, the deciding factors going to be whether or not he can accept his own guilt over the death of his parents. We already know that his sanity will lose this battle, that he’s destined to become ‘Maximus The Mad.’ Yet knowing this doesn’t at all detract from his character arc being totally fascinating.

Elisha, the one new character introduced in this tale, is equally fascinating. I love this idea that the ‘slave engine’ can devolve a human’s body, but not necessarily their mind. Elisha had been a slave as a child but he learned to read. He escaped and achieved an education at one of the human world’s most prestigious universities. And he has proven himself just as smart, capable and crafty as any Inhuman.

Even The Unspoken, a character I’ve previously found to be rather one-dimensional in the past is pretty interesting. We don’t know if his concern for the young Royals is genuine or if he is secretly planning a coup that will depose the Royals and allow him to retain his throne. Again, I know where the story is going, but have no idea how it is going to get there and that is pretty cool.

My only complaint is that Medusa, who shined so brightly in the first issue, doesn’t get much to do in this second issue. Although this likely has more to do with the economy of panel space in the issue. What we miss out with in terms of Medusa, we gain through the introduction of Karnak and Gorgon to the tale.

What goes without saying is that the art is just tremendous.

And if that weren’t enough, the issue also includes a quick Lockjaw bonus story from Ryan North and Jim Campbell that is an instant classic. Lockjaw and Wolverine join forces to defeat the PsychoMan with the aid of thousands of kittens plucked from the Kitty Dimension. Need I say more?

This as good as it gets. A mathematically impossible six out of five Lockjaws.

#Inhumans #Once and Future Kings #Christopher Priest #Phil Noto #Ryan North #Jim Campbell #spoilers #review

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sleepymarmot · 6 years ago

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Twilight Mirage liveblog 3/5 (episodes 28-54)

28-35

I'm very excited for a series of solo episodes!

Don't know how I feel about the new Grand Magnificent tbh… This concept feels more conventional than the original one, and I'm worried the aspects of his character I found interesting won't be in focus anymore.

I had my problems with the previous system and how it flattened down emotions into inaccurate categories, but so far I'm not excited about the switch… Blades in the Dark's mechanics were kinda hard for me to follow by ear, and being unable to keep track of the gameplay by myself is unpleasant; and the new classes sound really dull compared to the ones in The Veil.

Iota's speech is strange… It sounds more like a simple copy-paste of real-life colonialism than the invasion described previously in the story. “They will ask you to give them a name like ours, they will ask to touch your bone” etc sounds nothing like Independence and its followers' modus operandi was, and, judging by the future tense, hasn't actually happened with the present time settlers yet – so where did that come from, in-universe? In fact, shouldn't her people have a relatively positive outlook on non-hostile outsiders, since they brought on the planet's golden age? Hopefully the following episodes will elaborate on this, because I've made peace with needing lore or plot points explained to me several times, but I need more clarity on big ideological question like this.

Gig is such a Chaotic Good!!

Buying sex is legal, normal & common in the utopia and Signet is a regular customer?! Fucking seriously?! I couldn't even focus on the episode for the next half hour and eventually turned it off because my thoughts kept returning to this and I kept seething with anger. Way to ruin the episode after I was so moved and intrigued by the intro…

They've been pretty careful with past spoilers this season, here's I think the first example: talking at length about the Hitchcocks, plural. Sure, it was only an episode three spoiler, but it was such a good reveal!

So, who actually printed out the ancient Quire people? Was it a political move from one of the sides?

No Austin you definitely have not mentioned Earth building a giant Dyson spehere around themselves!!! What the fuck :D

Everyone got a nice inconsequential vignette and Fourteen's scene had actual high stakes…

I really, really don't get what Seneschal looks like

After half a season of two separate parties and seven solo episodes it's so nice to hear everyone together!

Signet's look is absolutely not the kind of thing I imagined her wearing…

Please tell me someone has made an animatic about Even's hair tendril high-fiving Gig's eye

36-45

It's always cute when the first words after the intro are in that specific tone of voice that makes it obvious that at least 5-10 minutes before were spent in a lively conversation about some nonsense that finally was put to an end no more than two seconds ago (and then they talk about nonsense for ten more minutes lol)

I love this show's dedication to describing everyone's outfits in extreme detail at every opportunity

50k+ years later it's Art and Jack's turn to be the half of the party who walks right through the door and charm their way in lol. I hope they don't get shot or buy a bunch of torch units or something

I really like “finding a way to help a teenage community fit in the world” and “reconnecting a family and acquiring infrastructure for travel between planets” as the first projects; it really does convince you that these people have set out to make the world a better place (even if a lot of the time is actually spent pulling heists or fighting mechanical tigers).

Okay, the scavenger faction leader is literally a vulture, I get it.

What I don't get is why we are supposed to dislike that faction. There was some general “eh, they suck” said OOC during setup but we haven't actually seen them do anything bad! Show, don't tell! They need to, like, raid Big Garage and try to steal Gumption's arm if you want me to see them as an enemy.

Remember that nonsense I wrote about T. Rex in my C/w notes post? I can't believe they're doing basically the same joke on the actual show!

But how about… not capture or kill… but befriend the Axiom and/or release it into the wild… I know, I know, they can't travel far enough to move it to a safe distance from humans. But it just offends me on principle that after all that talk of diversity etc, when the characters actually meet a truly alien, unique species, they only consider the options of killing or capturing and exploiting them, and nobody even tries to ask “hey, shouldn't these creatures have rights, even if we are forced to disregard them in self-defence for the moment?” You know who I need to appear on screen ASAP? Bounty. Ask it everything! Does it remember being an Axiom? What did it feel like? What does it think about its transformation and new role?

I thought Grand's special gun was just Even's gun?

Did Janine just call Belgard Signet's “robot wife”? Hell yeah

Me for an hour straight, not having read the description: Blease Do Not Kill My Alien Child I guess that's at least postponed now though… The situation did immediately get mildly creepy again, which makes me concerned. Is this just a different reason to kill a different Axiom – to Free Innocents from a Lotus Eater Machine? I'm getting serious September flashbacks. Honestly, between this, the other team's arc which felt like a crossover about the Chime in Marielda, and everyone getting a personal mech, this half of the season is starting to feel like Counter/weight 2, which is sad because at the beginning the atmosphere was much more original. Also I miss Primary and Satellite's correspondence, it was such a good framing device and a touching relationship at the same time!

Polyphony's powers and way of thinking are more similar to Quire than anything else

I feel very relieved and vindicated by the direction this story took!

Hell yeah finally more about the Waking Cadent!! I've been waiting for that for how many episodes now? Now that we've seen her in person I hate her actually Amend that, I hate both Cadents. A plague on both their houses!

46-54

Good on you Even, what's even the point of a military background if you don't pull rank on some jerks

Am I glad to hear from the Rapid Evening again! Bold of Austin to assume we could forget who Primary and Satellite were Okay, I first had this question a ton of episodes ago, but now it is relevant again: does Grey know the contents of the previous Satellite's final message? She knows about its existence because the numbers match up (yeah I went back and checked), but does she know that Crystal Palace either made a colossal miscalculation about Independence's route or lied on purpose for some reason?

Wait, characters still have beliefs? I don't remember this coming up since the game change

I completely forgot about Tender's cyborg legs and also misheard “I have a fake leg” as “thick leg” and was like “Uh good for you but how's that gonna help?!”

Once again, Team Exploration goes ahead and leaves Team Heist without resources lol. What do you mean they're using our ship for an orbital drop? What do you mean they've taken all axiom scanners? :D Seriously though, it's a shame that the sessions were played in this order because in-universe I see no reason why they wouldn't say “Hey before you go after Acre Seven, let's fly over Terncage and do a scan real quick” (the range on the scanners is far enough for that, right?)

I don't get how Ache works. For Quire, it made what it wishes it could be, but for everyone else it just made evil clones vaguely themed after their regrets?

TENDER IS A GAY DISASTER I haven't heard such a spectacular meltdown since Calhoun probably, holy shit

TENDER IS A DISASTER SQUARED she starts talking to a woman and just doesn't stop! This is a great episode

I like how Gig immediately says no to the devil's bargain

Oh Signet disregarding the digital Blooming, you clearly haven't seen/read (the future version of) Solaris :D

Oh no, it's the Smiling God! Came to visit another podcast that used to have a personification of capitalism as a big boss evil god

A crit at the last possible moment, after a long string of 1s… Ali's dice see through the fourth wall!

I… didn't fully understand the reveal of how it was all connected

Okay, so the Dark Day could have been prevented by keeping the gun dealer priest alive and allowing him to arm the NEH so that it could take over Twilight Mirage and wouldn't need to activate plan B i.e. come here and block signal from the Crystal Palace? Correct? It makes sense now, but Our Profit seems to be from such a far future that I just can't imagine how this plan was created and put in place

O….k… I actually expected Grand to leave the team and go off on his own (or become an NPC) as a consequence of the holiday special if he was the sacrificed character instead of the Chthonic. But now that's kind of strange to hear after all that talk of redemption and second chances?

You get a status! And you get a status! Everyone gets a status!

Wow having a near death experience out of the blue is so relaxing for Fourteen! :D NEVER MIND HOLY CRAP I'm glad that at least Fourteen kept their signature move from The Veil. I was wondering what it would be like, and honestly expected it to be just thrown out

Excuse me, “Omega in Mass Effect 2” and “cool place run by trustworthy people” are literally opposite concepts, have we even played the same game

Grand: Who likes Fourteen Fifteen? Tender, not even letting him finish: ME!!!

Welp, my first guess about the Waking Cadent's identity was correct

Holy crap! I never realized Independence was in that one flashback episode of Counter/weight

#friends at the table #blah blah blah

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newstfionline · 8 years ago

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Not ‘Lone Wolves’ After All: How ISIS Guides Plots by Remote Control

By Rukmini Callimachi, NY Times, Feb. 4, 2017

HYDERABAD, India--When the Islamic State identified a promising young recruit willing to carry out an attack in one of India’s major tech hubs, the group made sure to arrange everything down to the bullets he needed to kill victims.

For 17 months, terrorist operatives guided the recruit, a young engineer named Mohammed Ibrahim Yazdani, through every step of what they planned to be the Islamic State’s first strike on Indian soil.

They vetted each new member of the cell as Mr. Yazdani recruited helpers. They taught him how to pledge allegiance to the terrorist group and securely send the statement.

And from Syria, investigators believe, the group’s virtual plotters organized for the delivery of weapons as well as the precursor chemicals used to make explosives, directing the Indian men to hidden pickup spots.

Until just moments before the arrest of the Indian cell, here last June, the Islamic State’s cyberplanners kept in near-constant touch with the men, according to the interrogation records of three of the eight suspects obtained by The New York Times.

As officials around the world have faced a confusing barrage of attacks dedicated to the Islamic State, cases like Mr. Yazdani’s offer troubling examples of what counterterrorism experts are calling enabled or remote-controlled attacks: violence conceived and guided by operatives in areas controlled by the Islamic State whose only connection to the would-be attacker is the internet.

In the most basic enabled attacks, Islamic State handlers acted as confidants and coaches, coaxing recruits to embrace violence. In the Hyderabad plot, among the most involved found so far, the terrorist group reached deep into a country with strict gun laws in order to arrange for pistols and ammunition to be left to be left in a bag swinging from the branches of a tree.

For the most part, the operatives who are conceiving and guiding such attacks are doing so from behind a wall of anonymity. When the Hyderabad plotters were arrested last summer, they could not so much as confirm the nationality of their interlocutors inside the Islamic State, let alone describe what they looked like. Because the recruits are instructed to use encrypted messaging applications, the guiding role played by the terrorist group often remains obscured.

As a result, any remotely guided plots in Europe, Asia and the United States in recent years, including the attack on a community center in Garland, Tex., were initially labeled the work of “lone wolves,” with no operational ties to the Islamic State, and only later was direct communication with the group discovered.

In at least 10 executed attacks, officials have found that the assailant was in direct communication with planners from the Islamic State.

While the trail of many of these plots led back to planners living in Syria, the very nature of the group’s method of remote plotting means there is little dependence on its maintaining a safe haven there or in Iraq. And visa restrictions and airport security mean little to attackers who strike where they live and no longer have to travel abroad for training.

Close examination of both successful and unsuccessful plots carried out in the Islamic State’s name over the past three years indicates that such enabled attacks are making up a growing share of the operations of the group, which is also known as ISIS, ISIL or Daesh.

“They are virtual coaches who are providing guidance and encouragement throughout the process--from radicalization to recruitment into a specific plot,” said Nathaniel Barr, a terrorism analyst at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, who along with Daveed Gartenstein-Ross wrote one of the first articles discussing the virtual plotters.

“If you look at the communications between the attackers and the virtual plotters, you will see that there is a direct line of communication to the point where they are egging them on minutes, even seconds, before the individual carries out an attack.”

Detailing this kind of plot direction has become a critical focus of counterterrorism officials in the United States and Europe, as they try to track terror planners who pose a lasting threat and to unravel the criminal networks that the group uses as middlemen to facilitate attacks.

Mr. Yazdani’s case presents one of the most detailed accounts to date of how the Islamic State is exporting terrorism virtually. This style of attack has allowed the terrorist group’s reach to stretch into countries as disparate as France and Malaysia, Germany and Indonesia, Bangladesh and Australia. And plots have been discovered in multiple locations in the United States, including in Columbus, Ohio, the suburbs of Washington and upstate New York.

“I fear this is the future of ISIS,” said Bridget Moreng, an analyst whose research on the virtual plotters was recently published in Foreign Affairs.

Investigation documents from Europe show that a growing share of attacks bear signs of contact with the Islamic State’s stronghold, even though the attacker was initially described as acting alone.

The first time that officials in Europe described an attack as having been “télécommandé,” or remote-controlled, was in the spring of 2015 after a young information technology student named Sid Ahmed Ghlam tried to open fire on a church in the Paris suburb of Villejuif. Instead, he shot himself in the leg.

When the police conducted a search of his car, they found his Lenovo laptop containing a series of messages showing how he, too, had been guided by a pair of handlers who provided both the weapons and the getaway car, according to hundreds of pages of police and intelligence records obtained by The Times.

“OK, brother, now pay attention,” one of the messages begins, instructing the then-23-year-old to head to the suburb of Aulnay-sous-Bois, where he would find the automatic weapons in a bag left in a locked car parked near a sandwich shop. “Search among the cars that are parked there near the big road and look for a Renault Mégane,” the message said. “Look at the front right tire--you’ll find the keys placed on top.”

The handler then instructed him to store the weapons in another car in a parking garage 10 miles away, a precaution in case his apartment was searched.

Later, French investigators said they had found that Mr. Ghlam’s handlers were French citizens who had traveled to Syria to join the Islamic State. They, in turn, tapped their criminal network back in France in order to arrange the logistics of Mr. Ghlam’s plot.

Seamus Hughes, the deputy director of the Program on Extremism at George Washington University, said the handlers were essentially “quarterbacking” the attack: “They’re from there, so they can essentially tell someone, ‘O.K., go 10 yards and go this way.”

Wiretaps, interrogation records and transcripts of chats recovered on suspects’ phones and laptops show that this level of guidance has occurred all over the world.

In Germany, a man who set off a bomb outside a music concert and a teenager who assaulted train passengers with an ax were both chatting with handlers until minutes before their respective attacks. The teenager’s handler urged him to use a car instead of an ax--“The damage would be much greater,” the handler advised--but the young man said he did not have a driving permit. “I want to enter paradise tonight,” the teenager said, according to a transcript obtained by a German newspaper.

In northern France, a pair of attackers who had been guided by an Islamic State cybercoach slit the throat of an 85-year-old priest. The pair did not know each other, and according to the investigative file, the handler had introduced them, organizing for them to meet days before the attack. Intelligence records obtained by the Times reveal that the same handler in Syria also guided a group of young women who tried to blow up a car in front of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame in Paris.

And investigations into attacks in Malaysia, Indonesia and Bangladesh reveal that the recruits were directly communicating with Islamic State handlers who molded the plots as they took shape and helped arrange logistics, in some cases wiring money.

In several, a pattern has emerged: The attacker initially tries to reach Syria, but is either blocked by the authorities in the home country or else turned back from the border. Under the instructions of a handler in Syria or Iraq, the person then begins planning an attack at home.

Law enforcement officials describe that sequence of events in one of the most recent foiled attacks in France, where a group of people are accused of plotting to hit the popular Christmas market in the city of Strasbourg, having been given the GPS coordinates of a location to pick up weapons. At least one of the five men arrested so far had been turned back from Turkey, French prosecutors said.

While a reliance on local amateurs has allowed the Islamic State to announce that it can stage terrorism around the world, it has also led to many failed attacks.

Instead of opening fire on a church, Mr. Ghlam shot himself in the leg. Instead of laying waste to a music festival this summer, the Islamic State recruit in Germany detonated his bomb prematurely, killing only himself.

The same thing happened the day before the end of Ramadan on July 2 inside a police compound in Indonesia, where another remotely guided attacker hit the switch on his crudely assembled suicide vest.

“He didn’t even knock over the flowerpot on the ledge next to where he blew himself up,” said Sidney Jones, director of the Institute for Policy Analysis of Conflict.

Indonesian officials say that the suicide bomber had been incited to attack by Bahrun Naim, a 33-year-old Indonesian man who is now one of the Islamic State’s most prolific cyberplanners, operating from the group’s capital in Raqqa, Syria.

Initially, Mr. Naim wired money to families in Indonesia to pay for travel to Syria, officials said. Later, the bank transfers he sent were to be used to buy the chemicals needed to build explosives, according to the interrogation records of his recruits.

In just over a year, the young men he guided attempted at least six attacks, targeting a police post, a Buddhist temple and a church, as well as foreigners visiting the country. In November, a college dropout who was being guided by Mr. Naim was arrested as he prepared to attack the Malaysian Embassy. In his home, the police recovered a quantity of explosives that could have resulted in a blast twice as powerful as the 2002 Bali bombing, which killed 202 people, the police spokesman told local news media.

Yet nearly all of the plots attributed to Mr. Naim have failed. And it was human error that finally led to the arrest of Amriki’s followers in Hyderabad.

The plot began to unravel in June after the men were instructed to collect a 10-kilogram bag of ammonium nitrate left beside a canal next to mile marker No. 9 on the Vijayawada Highway.

They returned to Mr. Mohammed’s home to begin preparing a bomb, but could not figure out how to replicate the steps in the instructional YouTube video sent to them by the handler. “We could not succeed in making powder, as it became jellylike paste,” Mr. Yazdani lamented, according to the transcript of his interrogation.

They tried using a tea strainer. They tried heating it longer. They began talking on their cellphones about their efforts to “cook the rice.”

By then, the police were wiretapping their calls and suspected that all the food talk was a crude attempt at misdirection. Early on June 29, the police banged on the door of Mr. Mohammed’s home.

In his bedroom, they found the half-cooked explosive inside his refrigerator.

#India #Islamic State #lone wolves #lone wolf attacks

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