#rosietale

[rosietales-blog1]

Miss Me

(This fic was heavily inspired by Sam Hunt’s “Make You Miss Me”. I make no apologies. I have an endless love for the pain of the relationship between Ravager, Rose Wilson and Red Devil, Eddie Bloomberg.)

The first strains of a familiar song came over the mall speakers, and Rose’s lip curled despite herself. Admittedly she’d enjoyed the tune when it first came out, danced to it, worked out to it… but now she was sick of listening to the bloody thing. It wasn’t bad memories, not at all. That would attribute more emotional health to the youngest, and only surviving, Wilson child than she was generally considered to hold. She headed over to examine a display, eye darting about, unconsciously cataloguing and sizing up the exits and the crowds.

Still he watched her. Always from a distance, afraid to step back into her life. He’d seen the damage his loss had done, seen how quickly she’d fallen back into old routines in his absence. To be perfectly honest, he hurt for her, even as the disappointment settled into the pit of his stomach. As he watched she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his own hand clenching with the wish to echo her movement, noting how careful she was to keep the scarred remains of her missing eye covered. She’d gotten better at hiding it, if he hadn’t known what to look for, he might not even have noticed that she was blind on one side.

She fingered the leather on a pair of boots, testing the strength of the heel, snorting as it snapped under the slightest pressure of her hand before tossing it aside, ignoring the protest of the young man working the shop floor. He reached out to catch hold of her arm, to stop her from leaving. Whirling around before he made contact, Rose drew herself up to her full 5’3, not exactly an impressive height, but she had the kind of glare that exuded threat, made her seem bigger. Stuttering the boy backed up, and she gave him a nasty little smile before heading up the main concourse.

Watching he shook his head, dropping down to the main floor to get lost in the crowds. He stopped at the shop where the distressed young man was being led off the floor to deal with his shock in private. At least she hadn’t hurt the kid… Still, her silent observer couldn’t help but pick up the broken heel and tucking it into the pocket of his hooded black sweatshirt, running a thumb over it again and again as he lowered his face to get lost in the flow of human traffic once more.

Finally, she caught sight of her target. From casual, if somewhat unpleasant, mall-goer she became something else. The deadly killer settled over her like changing a shirt. The people around her seemed to notice the change, pulling away from her slightly. That was good, allowed her to ease the small, palm-sized dagger out of her sleeve and into her hand without it being seen. At the end of the concourse her target turned left, down the maintenance corridor. Tension in every part of her body had her coiled and ready like a cat, the weight of eyes on her being discarded as unimportant as she came nearer to where she lost sight of the person she was here to kill.

He hesitated, tempted to melt into the folks heading towards the food court. Something about the line of her spine let him know she knew he was there… maybe not him, in fact, he could guarantee it wasn’t him she thought was there… but she knew she was being watched. She was too good of a hunter not to know when she was being followed that closely. He held himself back, let some more distance grow between them, even though it meant he risked losing her entirely. If it fell to that, he knew where she lived. He could always find her there.

She caught up to her target fast, just through the exit near the dumpsters. He was waiting, the grin on his face suggesting he wanted her to follow. She was so tired of these idiots. They were all so cocky, every one of them thinking they could take out the one-eyed daughter of Deathstroke. She let them think it. Overconfidence made them sloppy, made her job that much easier.

“Come, Wilson girl, we shall dance and I shall leave your corpse as a message at the door of your father.” Rose’s opponent crouched, arms positioned in preparation for some fancy hand-to-hand style that she thought she recognized from her time with Grayson. Rose allowed a harsh laugh, laced with years of built up bitterness, to escape her lips.

“You are not the first to try, you won’t be the last. One of these days you fuckers will learn that he doesn’t give two fucks about me.” Then she was in motion, so fast the edges of her limbs blurred as she threw herself into the fight. The surprised recipient of her attack had to back up, losing his dramatic posture as he fended off the flashing glimpses of her dagger. High and then low, left and then right, it was like the dagger was everywhere at once, and he was sweating trying to keep up with it, to keep blocking her strikes, to make a few desperate jabs of his own. How did so many of these idiots know who she was, but not what she was? How did they not know she carried the same serum in her veins as the man they wished to taunt?

The ability that most people didn’t know about went off, a glimpse of the next few seconds of battle as her adrenaline spiked. Suddenly she wasn’t just moving fast, she was practically liquid. Flowing away from every blow he aimed, not even one hitting their mark, and she was through his defences, flush against his body with her dagger in between the fifth and sixth ribs, nicking the lung behind them. She pressed her cheek against his, lips so close to his ear he could feel the heat of her breath.

“You go home and tell the rest of the black pajama sleepover club you work for that the Wilson family doesn’t work together, but if they force me to, I will go find dear old daddy and help him eradicate every last one of you. Got it?” Not impressed by his stoic silence, she twisted the blade until he whimpered, then nodded his head. Rose stepped away, blade disappearing into her sleeve after being cleaned on her pants. “Good. Now you should probably go see a doctor before that lung collapses.”

Watching from a rooftop across the street, the silent observer permits a gentle smile to cross his lips. He had been worried that she’d keep falling… but she hadn’t slaughtered her target. That meant part of his Rose was still in there. She was still salvageable. That was what had always drawn him to the Wilson girl. Everyone said she was a monster, but at her heart, she was a good person. Sweet. Caring. The façade she wore was built up over the years to protect herself from her environment, but she’d let him in once. The real question is, would she risk letting him in again?

As she sauntered away from her target, hips swaying in sultry mockery, he took one last shot, a throwing knife went end over end in a perfect arc towards Rose. She didn’t even turn, simply reached back and plucked it out of the air, tucking it into the back pocket of her jeans in the same fluid motion. The observer on the roof held his breath, but the Wilson girl didn’t even grace the assassin with a response, simply continued on her way out of there.

Rose paused just outside the mall, head tilted in curiousity. She sniffed the air, she could almost catch a familiar whiff of sulfur on the air. She shook her head. How maudlin. It wasn’t him, it was probably just a diesel truck backfiring, they had a remarkably similar scent. But it was enough to send that twinge of memory through her, that wistful longing for what might-have-been. It was enough, she detoured from her usual route back to her current flop, deeper into the city towards a safehouse she hadn’t used in ages. Mostly it was storage now. A place of memories she had put away, but not forgotten.

Curious, her observer followed. This was new, and new behaviour might indicate she was aware of his presence. Deep down he knew he should stop being a coward, he should go to her, apologize for his absence, allow them to maybe find that thread of connection that had shattered when he had gone where she couldn’t follow… It had snapped before that though. He wasn’t being honest. She had left first, asked him to go with her, but he thought if he said no she would stay… He never thought she’d leave without him.

Rose input the code and stepped into the musty saferoom. A thick layer of dust covered everything. In all the years since his death, she’d only been back her once, just after his death, to put away everything that reminded her of him. It had been too painful back then, but today… Today she missed him in a way that was more sweet than bitter. Perhaps it was finally time. Maybe now she could face her loss. Everything she had walked away from, everything that had been ripped from inside her when she had learned the truth.

Crossing the room, she opened the window to let some fresh air in. The breeze raised up an eddy of dust as it knocked a handful of polaroids to the floor. Bending to pick them up, she smiled. It was a soft expression, looking almost alien on the rigid planes of her face. She hadn’t worn a look like that for a very long time. Flipping through the pictures Rose sat down on the couch, raising up another cloud of dust, but not really caring. To be honest it was still cleaner than where she was staying now. The photos were faded with age and exposure, but the memories were fresh as the day they were taken.

She was in the gym with Connor, sweat making their clothes cling to their bodies as they lifted heavier and heavier weights, each trying to outdo the other. “Give up Wilson, we both know I’m gonna win this. I’m Kryptonian.” “You’re HALF-Kryptonian, Superbaby. I’m going to crush you.” He’d won… but just barely. Her laugh had echoed through the Tower, but what had echoed in her was the grudging admiration he’d expressed, one hand on her shoulder. “You almost had me, Rose.”

Her phone went off with some ridiculous text tone, a song she didn’t even know. It was from Jaime, some joking observation about cyborgs vs androids that made her laugh so hard she’d almost cried. Like magic, Bart was beside her, snapping a picture. “The infamous Rose Wilson, peeing her pants over some joke? This is going in the scrapbook for posterity!” She’d swiped at him with a mostly fake growl. “I want that picture, Lightfoot…” “You’ll have to catch me first!” She’d chased him all over the Tower. To prolong the game, he’d always stayed just within arms reach.

She paused at the last picture. Could she face him, even this way? Was she really ready to look into those strange white eyes one more time? Could she handle it? Rose was many things, but a coward was not one of them… except in this. He’d always been her weak spot. Her best friend. They’d never slept together, never even kissed though she had teased him by getting dangerously close… but even then, Rose had been casual about sex. Her feelings for Eddie had never been casual, she hadn’t wanted to cheapen them.

They were sitting on the roof after a battle, she’d tugged a pack of cigarettes out of somewhere, leaning forward to light the tip on the heat of his breath. He closed his eyes, and so did she. It was the closest to physical they ever got, and the odd ritual was… comforting after a hard day. “I don’t belong here, Eddie. I’m not a hero. The rest of them… They’ll never trust me. Hell, you LOOK like a demon and they trust you more, Raven’s FATHER is a demon, and she’s welcomed in. But me? I’m the daughter of Deathstroke. If one individual has caused the Titans more pain, I don’t know who it might be. They’re never going to get past that.” His hand locked with hers, squeezing gently. She enjoyed the strange heat of him, the dark red of his skin against the paleness of hers, inherited more from her Cambodian mother than her one-eyed father. “They just need time, Rose. Please, just give them a little longer.” She’d given in that night, but it hadn’t done much good. The problem hadn’t been the Titans, it had been her.

Dashing a tear from her eye she put the pictures back where they had come from, shaking the old memories from her head. Perhaps it was too soon still. Over on the peg were some of her old clothes. The white belly top with the smiley face, that awful pink sports bra… Eddie’s black vest he had found so cool, the faded black hoodie he had worn when he needed to hide his striking colouring and the horns that sprouted from beneath his hair. She picked up the hoodie, fingers toying with the holes burnt along the edges. He’d always been an emotions kinda guy, and when they heated up… so did he. Literally. She’d thought it was adorable.

Rose tugged the sweater on over her head, flipping up the hood and inhaling deeply. It smelled like him. A hint of Axe body spray, sulphur and a strange male heat that she’d always found appealing. Wrapping her arms around herself she closed her eye, imagining it was his arms, one last time. She moved across the room as if in a daydream, wrapped in his sweater, in the smell of him, in the memories of a friendship past. Laying down on the dusty couch, she closed her eye, and allowed herself a moment to weep for everything that they’d lost.

He could hear her, and it broke his heart. He couldn’t stand to be the source of so much pain. Rose was strong, the strongest of them all. No one else could survive what she had and still have her capacity to feel. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach through the window and brush the hair off her forehead, to tease a smile back on her face like he had so many times when they were younger, more innocent… at least he was. He was so tempted, to reach out to her, to tell her he was here… but afraid too. What if she rejected him? She’d always been good at building walls to protect herself from harm, what if he found himself on the other side of that wall this time? The need within him though, that was hard to resist. He reached for his phone…

Her phone rang, shocking her out of her self-indulgent misery. With his scent all around she half expected it to be him… a wake up call and a reminder to eat breakfast like he’d used to… But he was gone. “Ravager.” She answered crisply, no nonsense, no hint of the emotion that was still damp on her face. She made a few non-committal sounds, and then hung up, grimacing. She’d been given her next target, and she hated that it had brought the ugliness of her world into this place of memories. She headed for the exit, paused, and tucked the photos into the pocket of the sweater. A few keepsakes, that was really all she needed. The safehouse was ruined for her, but she didn’t want to forget.  She kicked a canister by the door, toppling it over and spilling the foul odour of gasoline across the floor. Tucking a cigarette in her mouth, she lit it with a match, discarding the burning stick behind her. The heat of the flame at her back was intense, but she didn’t look back. Her past was gone, and she was just going to have to live with that knowledge. No use being too attached to it, no use mourning what would never be. Best to make a clean break… or at least as clean a break as she could manage right now. Everyone else had been so easy to leave… everyone but the boy who had died.

The fire had shocked him, he hadn’t expected that. Still, he’d caught sight of something he wanted, so he teleported into the flaming safehouse, snagging the vest of the hook before teleporting out again. It was a little charred at the edges, but to be fair that could have been from him as much as the fire Rose had started. He tugged the vest on over his white tank top, feeling a bit more like him. Even better, it smelled slightly of her beneath the smoke and sulphur. He smiled. This was something he could take with him, but he still had things to do before he could go to Rose. He just hoped she’d understand.

When Rose was preparing for a hit, she’d taken to writing letters to Eddie in her head just after he died. It helped her work through things, get everything sorted. It made it feel like he was still there. She hadn’t done it in ages, but for some reason tonight, it seemed natural to pick the habit back up. She was dressing up for this one, undercover work was never her strong suit. Painting her nails with a decided lack of skill, she laughed. They were the same colour as her dead friend’s skin had been.

Dear Eddie, You’d never believe what I’m letting them talk me into. Some fancy dress party with cocktails and high society. I haven’t been to one of these since I was training with Grayson. I wish you were here to tease me about tripping on high heels. I feel ridiculous. Who ever heard of a one-eyed girl in a curve-hugging gown anyway? I’m going to be spotted immediately, and then it’s going to be a bloodbath. I wish you were going with me, to bail me out when things get too hairy. You always managed to keep me from being the mass murdering psychopath my father wanted me to be. I felt like you were watching over me earlier today. Fuck, I miss you so much, you big red idiot. Why did you have to die?

She squeezed her hand shut, imagining him slipping his big, hot fingers between hers. There had always been comfort in the pain of his heat. A familiarity. She was the only one who’d been willing to risk getting burned, just to make him feel like a real person. Just like he’d been when he died. No powers. No horns. No crazy demon eyes. Just a boy, back in his own body, throwing away his life to save the world. All because she hadn’t been there to watch his back. She’d do anything to take that back. To stay when he wouldn’t join her.

That stupid song that always reminded her of Eddie came on the radio, and she lashed out, smashing it with a fist, forcing her to pick electronic bits out of the fancy lace in her gloves. She was Rose Wilson-Worth, and she was not going to let the past mess up her duty. She neatly compartmentalized all her emotions, and then headed out into the night.

Someone needed killing.

[yossiacar]

Hey, I love your TW script post! I love the way they're written and the images

Hi, thank you so much! :)

[inadragonsmind]

6. Voor El

LGBTQ Muziek Video’s

Belangrijke dingen die mij blij maken.  Een super subjectief stuk. 

                           (Snow Patrol This Isn’t Everything You Are)

Ik kan me nog goed herinneren hoe blij en bijzonder ik me voelde toen ik twee vrouwen zag zoenen in de ‘This Isn’t Everything You Are’ video van Snow Patrol. Een van mijn favoriete bands had een lesbisch koppel in een video die iedereen kon zien! Die paar seconde waren het begin van een hele nieuwe wereld die vanaf dat moment voor mij opende. Een wereld vol blijdschap en liefde. En trots is nog nooit zo’n perfect woord geweest. Niet veel later volgde Ed Sheeran’s ‘Give Me Love’ en de dag waarop ik de online acceptatie van seksualiteit ontdekte. Ik kwam in contact met honderden LGBTQ schrijvers, en wordt er zelfs nu nog aan herinnerd dat een LGBTQ personage meer voor een verhaal kan betekenen dan alleen een zielige flashback of een tragische dood. De tijd van sidekicks is (bijna) voorbij! Op 26 juni 2014 bracht Demi Lovato haar muziek video voor ‘Really Don’t Care’ uit. Een kleurrijke feestelijke opvoering van het nummer op een gaypride. Precies een jaar later werd er in de Verenigde Staten een wet aangenomen die er voor zorgde dat niemand nog een homohuwelijk ontkennen kon.

                                    (Demi Lovato Really Don’t Care)

Panic! At The Disco kwam met ‘Girls/Girls/Boys’. En Joey Graceffa bracht met ‘Don’t Wait’ een gay platform vol YouTubers aan het licht. Ik voelde me een deel van iets groots. En ik was mij enorm bewust van mijn geluk. LGBTQ problemen werden openlijk besproken en alles leek zo prachtig. Zelfs TV series begonnen kleinen stappen te maken. Ze breidde uit van Queer Baiting naar levens echte vertegenwoordiging van seksualiteit. Ik hoefde het niet langer meer te doen met Katy Perry’s ‘I Kissed A Girl’. Er was Troye Sivan en Years & Years. Ik dansde op Le1f’s ‘Wut’. Zelfs Woodkid hoorde bij ons. Een nieuwe generatie aan muziek waar George Michael trots op mag zijn. 

                                                      (Le1f Wut)

Hierna kwam er een nieuw hoofdstuk. Een eng hoofdstuk. Ik voelde me trots, blij, perfect met wie ik was. Ik voelde me normaal en de LGBTQ vierde constant feest. Tot de aanslag in de club in Orlando. Tot het overleiden van Prince. Tot Donald Trump. Ik leek in een waas te leven toen ik lachend naar Dancing In The Street van Mick Jagger en David Bowie keek en dacht aan Against Me!. Hoe blij zou David Bowie zich voelen in deze groeiende wereld?

                              (David Bowie Dancing In The Street)

Een golf van angst en teleurstelling leek over al die blijdschap heen te komen. Helden verlieten ons. Het meest cultureel invloedrijke continent van de wereld nam grote stappen in de verkeerde richting; de Verenigde Staten nam stappen achteruit! Het idee alleen al dat iemand als Mike Pence zoveel macht heeft, is een van de engste dingen ooit. Toch weet ik dat het niet voorbij is. Ik kijk om mij heen. Naar mijn vrienden hier. Naar dit land. En ik kijk naar mensen die juist nu nog twee keer zo hard door vechten. Creators van TV series en musicals en nieuws shows en boeken en muziek die juist nu laten zien wie ze zijn en waar ze voor staan. Die hun trots niet laten weg nemen.

Ik denk terug aan wat we hadden en luister naar Rise Against’s ‘Make It Stop’. Ik kijk Glee en Sense8 en Teen Wolf en Orphan Black en Super Girl en ik luister opnieuw naar Macklemore’s ‘Same Love’.

                                         (Rise Against Make It Stop)

Want dit is niet het eind.

Dodie Clark’s ‘She’.

                                                  (Dodie Clark She)

En ik ben niet de enigste.

Mary Lambert’s ‘Wanna Hang Out With You’.

                              (Mary Lambert Wanna Hang Out With You)

En je mag voelen hoe je voelt.

En ik begreep dat onze gemeenschap sterker was dan de hele wereld samen. Dat wij niet stuk te krijgen zijn. Wij hebben Shakespeare en Dumbledore. Wij hebben Claudia de Breij en Laverne Cox.

Het maak niet uit wie je bent of hoe jij jezelf ziet in de LGBTQ gemeenschap. Of je een stem hebt en of je deze gebruiken wilt. Het gaat erom dat wij er zijn. En dat is het gevoel dat mij al die jaren geleden al zo warm maakte. Het gevoel dat ik een deel van een grote familie ben, niet anders. Die blijdschap is wat mij verbind. Zoals in Hayley Kiyoko’s ‘Gravel To Tempo’video.

                                  (Hayley Kiyoko Gravel To Tempo)

En hoe wij als individueel elk een eigen verhaal te vertellen hebben. Zoals Hayley doet in ‘Girls Like Girls’.

                                      (Hayley Kiyoko Girls Like Girls)

Ik geef toe, misschien heb ik gewoon een enorme crush op deze ‘Pretty Girl’. Misschien is deze hele tekst een groot excuus om Hayley Kiyoko’s beste nummers te kunnen delen. 

                                          (Hayley Kiyoko Cliffs Edge) 

Ik ben trots en blij met wie ik ben en hoop dat iedereen dat gevoel ervaren mag. Al is het alleen al door mee te swingen op de muziek.

                                    (Lou Reed Walk On The Wild Side) 

 - Door Denise van Wijk. (Hella Gay) 

[coggedcorset]

“We went shopping!”

“Didja now? Did you buy more than you should have?”

“Absolutely!”

SO i drewed me and my haunter, Cole (who is a good boy who just wants to help people so i made him a flower crown), my sister and her pidgey, Birb, my fiancee @rosietales and her umbreon, Lenny and my character Tango and her Leafeon, Foxglove on our pokemon adventure! No idea what city we’re in.

also got lazy with the background and didn’t shade it.

[barbex]

@rosietales (can’t find the reply thing) I play on PC, and the damn thing throws a hissy fit when ever it loses connection to the dragon age servers for one second. So there’s really no reason to fuck up like this.

[imadethisfor]

I made this for all the Slytherin Pokemon trainers out there. You're not all bad. #notallslytherins https://t.co/JyXfnH1EyA

I made this for all the Slytherin Pokemon trainers out there. You're not all bad. #notallslytherins pic.twitter.com/JyXfnH1EyA

— Rosie Tallant (@RosieTallant) August 16, 2017

[dustydreamsanddirtyscars]

Hey there, it's me looking for your opinion on my little s11 hopes. (I'm not even over the grandiosity of the s10 final yet but I can't help wondering already!) So, as you've talked about it yourself few times, this season has been all about stories, stories within stories, paralleling stories. About ending stories. And I don't know if it is just me but it feels like the Bible story is done being told. They did the apocalypse, they did heaven, creation, they did the whole thing thoroughly (...)

(...) And Death telling the brothers about the time before God interfered. About that darkness... it makes me curious about the relation those things Death talked about have to Greek Mythology. The darkness before it all, Chaos and Nyx. Maybe it is just me and my life long obsession with this particular history but I hope with all I have they will dive into the Greek and Roman gods and legends. What do you think they will do??

Hello lovely!

Well, to be perfectly honest :) I haven’t even managed to re-watch the finale yet and I do’t have formed any extensive ideas on what they are going to do. So the following is me thinking out loud with my fingers on the keyboard. :)

I think that with the introduction of the Darkness as a pre-biblical evil entity, something like anti-materia, the actual embodiment of the id - and amoral, destructive force. I find this particularly interesting because the introducstion of sadi force has the potential to turn every story about every supposed bad guy around. I don’t mean this as absolving the bad guys of their wrong doings, but rather changin perspective and putting into perspective.

So while I completey agree with you that it seems the show has done everything it can do with heaven and hell and the apocalypse it all feels very “Apocalypse Reloaded” at present. :) I rambled about this yesterday and I think that if the show wanted they could rewrite the whole story and everything in the bible that got more wrong than right anyway as was said a few times on SPN by now. :)

Basically I think the show could go into a direction in which it re-evaluates and re-explores the “grand story” with question of how much of Lucifer’s hate for humans and his wish to take revenge on earth for humans making god leave the angel, was Lucifer of maybe all of it was brought on by the Darkness.

As for what I could iamgine the show to explore in S11 also: To me Death’s monologue about god’s creation and what was before there was earth and light and how God and his archangels were battling that darkness in a horrible war and locking it away, I think it would be interesting if that is exactly what we’d get to see now. It would mean god returns (and I am actually really excited about that possibility and sort of freaked out when Singer talked about it at JIB and that they think about how to portray god) - either in Chuck’s body (I would LOVE to have Rob back on the show) or possibly in one of the main character’s bodies. Either way I think it would be interesting if Sam and Dean - who are as close to archangels as it can get, I guess, because I assume god would not free Michael and Lucifer to wage this war (though that would be interesting too, but simply WAY TOO MANY POSSIBILITIES for the writers, so I rather hope they don’t go there, because too many storylines usually mean getting lost more easily), but fight with humanity for humanity. Also on the team would be Cas and Crowley. :)

So that would be the Darkness department. If I am thinking about all the other loose canons at the moment the next problem they could tackle would be - if Dean truly killed Death and not just his human vessel - what happens now when people die? Does it change nothing and the reapers just do their job or will they maybe seek revenge on the one, who took away their father in a simialr fashion the archangels were striking down earth because they lost their father. If that was the case, the Winchesters and Dean in particular would be hunted by reapers - oh and now that I type this I also wonder if the Darkness maybe would want to win Dean back, you know like Dark!Charlie tried to win Good!Charlie back. So he’d be targeted in more than one way.)

Then there is Metatron who is still out there with the demon tablet. It’s only a matter of time before things will go down south. Maybe on the demon tablet they’ll find some info on the Darkness. What if the Darkness takes over Metatron’s vessel? A match made in... dark heaven? ;P Sorry this was bad.

I think there could be potentially a plot revolving around the first blade. Now it should be just an “old bone with teeth”, but maybe there is more to it. Also, there will have to be a massive amount of rebuilding. I kind of hope we’ll get some more Dean reflection on what happened to him under the influence and I also hold on to the hope that in the end Dean will somewherre deep down have the knowledge of how to get ridd off the Darkness or know its weak spot (I assume it’s love - since the Darkness seems to be the negative space of what love is) since he lived with it, felt its push and pull almost two years. He knows how it ticks, so I hope that will provide him with some inside knowledge that will be of great import in locking the darkness away again. I still like the parallel to Oz and the wizard and Clive Dylan. Maybe the only way to lock the darkness away is to create a new “mark” - “alter the sigil, alter the spell”.

And last but not least there’s Rowena. And she is definitely bad bad news and will have a reason to kill any of TFW.

So, there are lots of threads, I hope they just pick one or two most to explore. Simply because I fear the opposite would mean pure chaos.

These are my thoughts for now. I’m sure there’ll be more crazy ideas forming soon. ;P

I actually really love the idea of yours that the show will explore older beliefs and myths of creation. So if you feel like expanding on that I would be delighted and very very curious to read them. In that regard I also would find it really interesting if they’d brought native american beliefs into the storyline for example.

[inadragonsmind]

5. Voor El

Trump Meme Compilatie

-SheOnceToldMe 02/01/2017 Until I find a better way to work with text, font, placement and images this will have to be an image.

[starsdrown]

NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS!?

ROSIETALE

[dustydreamsanddirtyscars]

Hi hi. So for the love of all I can't remember who posted it or where but... [spoiler spoiler spoiler] During the S10 party crew members were posting. Some posted pics of them watching the S10 gagreel and you could see Cas with blood under his eyes looking beaten and exhausted. And at first I had no idea what that was supposed to mean but now I am pretty sure he looked exactly the way those three college guys and two of Raouls girls looked under Rowena's spell. What do you think will happen? x

Hey sweetie!

I actually have not seen any coverage of the S10 wrap party simply because I have not been online or checking my dash since thursday. A friend of mine told me though that there was a J2-video released in which they toast to the season’s end and some tweets from the wrap party, but didn’t mention any spoilery pics. :)

I guess it might not have been a pic faintly reminding of this here then? But rather the “attack dog”-spell kind of visual? I think it is entirely possible we’ll get a reverse crypt scene of some sort, but I could also imagine that given Sam’s wandering into darkness and him agreeing to kill Crowley (which he had already declared in the very first episode by the way) and if he should get around to do that he might realize Cain’s prophecy unknwoing there ever was a prophecy. It sort of resembles then how it was in S4 as well thst the story wasn’t true about the 66 seals.

Neither Dean nor Sam knew about it. Now only Dean knwos about it and that he didn’t talk about it, I can imagine will be a plot point of the finale, because if he said it, the others would know and be more careful about their choices and actions possibly. So...

I can imagine that Dean towards the end of the season will tell Cas about the prophecy and that we will get a reverse S4 ending in which then Cas realizes he has to stop Sam from realizing that prophecy and quite possibly releasing Lucifer or some other evil unto the world once more in his attempt to save Dean, who is as the episodes suggest will be saving himself.

Maybe Cas knows that Sam is onto killing Crowley (though I also think that while Sam and Cas are collective keeping secrets from Dean they also keep secrets from one another) and Cas the remebers Crowley’s words “You owe me” and he tries to intervene and stop Sam from following through, but Rowena shows up casts an attack dog spell onto Cas so that him and Sam are set up against one another. Long story short. Sam kills Crowley and he kills Cas (or just extracts his grace - kills Cas’s angel mojo) because Rowena then tells him that grace is one of the ingredients needed for him to save Dean. Then we proceed on to a confrontation between close to Demon!Dean and Sam and Sam casting the spell he hopes will save Dean but will make matters worse for Dean (but who in some miracles is able to control whatever is happening to him) and then the ground shakes, something is coming, something is released (whereas I still would love it if it was Lucifer, I don’t think Rowena would be interested in having him walk free so maybe she also didn’t know the whole story of her spell and it truns on her too, would be a nice touch) that is going to really be catatstrophic. The Winchesters as the witch in 10x12 “About A Boy” said: “will burn”.

So we are left with Dean okay, the mark still on his arm but very pale, Cas lying on the ground seemingly dead (but he’s just unconscious because the lack of grace knocked him out) and Crowley dead. The brothers look at one another... Cut to the bunker. The brother’s retreat to their rooms. Later on Sam wants to check in on Dean but finds his room empty. He panics, looks everywhere, but Dean is nowhere to be found. Then he finds a small note (yes, I would love it f this season about stories started and ended with a note - have also a link to one of the many dream scenarios the season or series could end with also strongly tied to a note). The one Jensen needd to write and it just says “Don’t try and find me, please”. And it’s a callback to S9, but with such drastic different set ups. This time Dean isn’t a demon, but just feels completely betrayed by Sam and possibly also horrified if he knows Sam stole Cas’ grace, that he cannot be in the same place with Sam for the time being. OR th cure didn’t work and Dean leaves because he fears he could kill Sam, but I rather lean towards the first option.

Also, Dean’s line about the “universe telling them what they should already know, that they are stronger together than they are apart” so shortly before the season finale kind of begs to be revisited with the boys being separated, the same way they were in the beginning of S5. And we all know what brought them back together then, right? Oh yes, it was a vision of the future... Just saying...

[mermaidprincess-ariel]

I looooovvveee your blog. It brings me of so many happy memories ^.^ xx

OOC:

Aw, thanks so much!

[inadragonsmind]

3. Voor El

WILLEN WERKEN “Het beste dat het leven je te bieden heeft, is de mogelijkheid om hard werk en veel moeite te stoppen in werk dat de moeite waard is.” Een vrije vertaling van het originele citaat van de 26ste Amerikaanse president, Theodore Roosevelt. Maar wat betekend dit eigenlijk? En waarom kan dit invloed hebben op jou?

Het klinkt in principe vrij logisch, werken aan iets waar jij van kunt genieten geeft een veel hoger gevoel van nut dan een slecht betaald bijbaantje dat je niet wilt. En is het niet makkelijker je bed uit te stappen om naar je droom baan te gaan, dan je na een lange schooldag nog naar je werk te moeten haasten? Of lijkt het niet beter motivatie op te trommelen voor een carrière die je trots geeft, dan goed werk te moeten leveren in een verplichte situatie om de huur te kunnen betalen. Je ziet het al terug in de woordkeuze: je werk/bijbaanTJE of je baan/carrière. Werk is hard en vermoeiend. Een baan is verdienend en groots. Werk is lastig en vaak vervelend, je bijbaantje is stressvol en nooit goed genoeg. Een baan is iets waar je naar streeft, iets dat groeit, een carrière waar je trots op kunt zijn. Het wordt er al van jongs af aan ingewreven. Men verwacht dat je op je zestiende al een keuze maakt. Je kiest je studie en je kiest je vrienden en dan komt die baan vanzelf jou kant op. Maar niemand heeft het lef je te vertellen dat het niet zo werkt. Want studeer toch lekker wat jij wilt. En zolang je maar probeert kun je alles doen. Beide beweringen zijn meer dan waar. Maar je droombaan vind je niet door een strak uitgestippeld pad te volgen vanaf het moment dat je de middelbare verlaat. De waarheid is dat je toevallig over een droombaan heen kan struikelen. Wanneer je inziet waarvoor je streeft en waar je van droomt ligt de motivatie voor het oprapen. Pas wanneer je begrijpt dat je nooit zeker kan zijn waar je eindigt kun je genieten van nu. Pas dan merk je hoe je elke dag wel een stap in de goede richting neemt. Pas dan merk je dat het nu ook niet zo heel slecht hoeft te zijn. Ik wil schrijver worden en werk nu in een restaurant: de verhalen liggen hier voor het oprapen. Een afwasser wil schoenmaker worden in zijn thuisland: hij spaart en leert nieuwe talen, en leert Europese mode beter kennen dan hij ooit had kunnen doen als hij zonder moeite zijn bedrijf had kunnen starten. Een goede vriendin weet niet wat ze wil maar is enorm geïnteresseerd in mentale ziektes: nu is ze docent op een basisschool voor probleem kinderen, studeert pedagogiek én schrijft voor ouders in een tijdschrift. Mijn punt is dat je nooit weet waar je terecht komt. Mijn punt is dat, hoe ver je ook lijkt te zijn van de plek waar je hoort, het misschien voor nu nog niet zo slecht hoeft te zijn. Omdat je omringd bent door vrienden en zoveel anderen die jou begrijpen. Omdat je nooit weet wat je leren of vinden kunt in deze situatie. En omdat zekerheid van inkomst niet het eind punt is. Het is het begin van vrijheid om te groeien.   Omdat iedereen verdient te genieten. Focus op wat je kunt en stop met zeuren! En zelfs wanneer aan al dat bijzonder prachtige streven en leren en vechten voor wat jij wilt  een einde komt. Zelfs wanneer sommigen onder ons leren hun idealen bij te stellen…  08/12/2016

[inadragonsmind]

Prometheus15

Prometheus 2015 Er lopen twee mannen een park in. Een van hen kan niet lopen. De ander is uit de wolken haler van beroep.             Pages: 5 _______________________________________________________________

 *Beide personages zijn als man geschreven maar kunnen door elk geslacht gespeeld worden.* EXT. HET PARK - NET VOOR DE BRUG. DRISS, een jonge man van ongeveer negentien, gekleed in een licht blauwe blouse en crème kleurige broek rolt het podium op. Hij rolt zijn rolstoel richting de schuine, houten oprit van de brug.

 DRISS Probeert een maal tevergeefs zijn rolstoel op de heffing van de brug te krijgen. BEN, een man aan het begin van zijn dertiger jaren met een baard; lang, klittig, bruin haar en een hoofd-schud-tik, strompelt het podium op over de voorgrond. Zijn handen diep weggestopt in de zakken van zijn versleten, grote jas. Meeboppened op de techno muziek die uit zijn neongroene koptelefoon springt. Een hand stevig om zijn rugzak. DRISS Merkt de man op en komt tot stilstand, wachtend tot de eigenzinnige man op gehoorafstand is.                           DRISS

                    “Mijn excuses…”

                          BEN              “Forest people – Dispar Vulgo.”                          “Ja?”                           DRISS                       “Ik dank je.”           “Mijn, um, mijn onvermogen leidt tot               het verzoeken van jouw hulp.”                           BEN                         “Wat?”                           DRISS     “Ik zou graag deze houten stellage over dit water                lichaam willen berijden.”                           BEN                 “Gefeliciteerd prinses.” Driss mompelt tegenstrijdig. Ben schopt testend tegen het gras.                           CONT.                           DRISS                “Neem mij niet kwalijk?”                           BEN                         “Nee.”                           DRISS        “Ik bezit het recht op steun van mijn mede mens.” Ben gaat met een wilde hoofd schud zitten in het gras, om sprietjes te plukken.                           BEN                       “Kan best.”                           DRISS        “Mijn verontschuldigingen, ik begrijp niet                      waar je op doelt.”                           BEN                         “Brug.”                           DRISS           “Ik kan de brug niet over zonder de heffing           van mijn vooste wielen op het houten schot.           Bij die gewichtsverplaatsi-“                           BEN                “Uk komt hier vaak, eh?”                 “Altijd hulp gekregen?”                           DRISS           “Mijn situatie gezien is dat vanzelf sprekend.”                           BEN               “Ben blij de eer te hebben.”                           DRISS                  “Ik begrijp je niet!”                           BEN              “EER-ste die u niet helpen gaat.” Ben neemt zijn rugzak af en nestelt zich comfortabeler in het gras, hij gebaart met zijn hand naar de brug.                           DRISS                “Ik kan die actie vrijwel onmogelijk                    individueel ondernemen.”

                          BEN                       “Kaarsvet.”                           CONT.                           DRISS                        “Kaarsvet?”                             BEN                        “Een kaars.”                 “Kan je jezelf mee bezeren.”                         “Toch?”                     “U kijkt moeilijk.”                      “In uw gezicht.”                           DRISS              “Ik druk inderdaad een vorm-“                           BEN                       “Uitleg.”              “Ik ga uitleggen wat ik zie.”                           DRISS                     “Kan ik vragen…”                           BEN               “Moet ik praten over vroeger?” Stilte                           DRISS               “Um, hallo? Ik bevind me hier!”                 “Wat doe je in hemelsnaam?”                           BEN

                    “Sorry, ja. Dus.”                “Uh, toen was ik hier. Moeite                 met ‘echt’ van de rest houden.”                           DRISS                 “het spijt me, maar waar                gaat dit verhaal naar toe?”                           BEN           “Je steekt alleen een kaars in kou aan.”           “Koude vingers. Kaarsvet doet geen pijn.”                   “Als het echt is.”                 “Doet het dus geen pijn.”                    “Als het echt is.”                  “Want koude vingers.”             “Kaarsvet stolt al. Vóór de pijn.”                “Echte wereld. Dus geen pijn.”                    “Van kaarsvet dan.”                          

                             DRISS           “Dat klinkt allemaal heel mooi en goed.           Al denk ik  persoonlijk dat jij beter af           zou zijn in verbeelding. Maar kunnen we           terug naar het belangrijke onderwerp, de

Brug?”                           BEN           “Ah, tja, wie weet waar het beter is?”                       “Kaarsvet.”                  “Altijd de oplossing.”                           DRISS               “Al ik vraag is simpele hulp.”                           BEN                “Zelf doen. Probeer het zelf.                         “Toeee.”                           DRISS                         “Mijn…”                           BEN            “Niemand anders die je helpen gaat.                       “Niet vandaag.”                           BEN                    “Kom op. Vandaag.” Driss slaat zijn armen over elkaar. Ben neemt een waxinelichtje uit zijn rugzak. Hij steekt deze aan en begint nu de geplukte grassprietjes in de kaars te steken.                           BEN            “Oh, shit! Hmm, begin vergeten.             altijd lastig.” Ben schraapt zijn keel overdreven.                           BEN               “Hoe komt u toch aan wielen?”                           DRISS                         “Um, ik?”                           BEN                         “Uh-uh.”                           DRISS     “Ik was een rebel die niet in stoplichten geloofden.” Stilte. Ben gaat verder met de grassprietjes en het gras.                           BEN                “Knisper, knisper, knisper.” Driss zucht diep en rolt naar de brug. Hij probeert tot drie maal toe zijn rolstoel op de brug te krijgen waarbij zijn frustratie toeneemt. Ben reageert niet.                           DRISS           “Ik kan het niet! Kijk! Het lukt niet.”                           BEN

        “Dus.”                           DRISS       “Ik kan van dat ene woord en een gebrek aan            context geen normale vraag vormen.”                           BEN                     “Dus… vertel.”                           DRISS                           “Wat.”          

         BEN           “Mag u altijd ‘first class’ reizen?”                   “Voor aan in rijen?”       “Huur-mensen om bovenste trappen te bereiken.”                       “Voordelen.”                         “Gaaf.”                           Driss           “Mijn situatie is geen bron van  grappen               of vorm om misbruik van te maken.” Ben blaast de kaars uit en steekt zijn vinger in het kaarsvet. Hij bestudeert zijn vinger.                           BEN                      “Yup, echt.”                           DRISS     “Ik kan niet-nee. Weet je wat. Ik ben er klaar mee. Ik     hoef mijn tijd verdomme niet te verspillen aan jou. Ik      wil gewoon-ik zal wel iemand anders vinden. Jij-jij bent                               CONT.      gek. Sorry. Compleet doorgeslagen. Ik heb gehad. Mijn     gebrek betekend niet hulp in ruil voor een respectloze     conversatie die mij vreselijk laat voelen over mijn     situatie. Ga weg, vieze emo. Dakloze gek.” Ben springt op met beide armen in de lucht van blijdschap. Hij huppelt naar Driss en duwt hem meteen de brug op. Hij geeft Driss voorzichtig zijn kaars.                           BEN          “Kaarsvet. Welkom in de echte wereld.”                           DRISS                     “Wat… wat? Wat!”                           BEN       “Mmh, zal ik dan maar gaan…? Geef ‘m maar terug.”                      “Kaars, kom.”                           DRISS               “Nee, nee. Ik wil hem houden.”                 “Ik… wil je kaars houden.”                           BEN                        “Zeker.”                           DRISS                           “Ja.”                       “Dankjewel.”

[inadragonsmind]

1. Voor El

De geheimen van een open boek. En hoe ze op de voorpagina staan.

(Een moment opname; een gevoel, een persoonlijkheid, een realisatie, een avond)

Misschien werkt deze metafoor juist omdat niemand het voorwoord van een boek ooit echt lezen wil. Terwijl deze vaak juist zoveel zeggen kan over dat verhaal. Hetzelfde geld voor mensen zoals ik. Die hun mond niet kunnen houden. Maar - ‘Ik ben een open boek’ - klinkt fijner dan - ‘ik deel alles dat ik weet en ben, omdat ik aandacht wil en soms onzeker voel’ - toch? Toch heeft zelfs iemand met glazen wanden en ‘gratis e-downloads’ of ‘autobiografische luisterboeken’ nog iets om achter te houden en te verbergen. Iedereen heeft geheimen. Dat op zichzelf is geen geheim.   Dit begon als een kleine educatieve tekst. Een les van een ervaringsdeskundige in geheimen bewaren én eerlijk overkomen. Natuurlijk eindigt het niet zo. Mijn geheimen zijn gedeeld. Betekend dat, dat ik nu niet langer meer een open boek ben? Is dat niet gek? Juist doordat ik té open ben geweest. Foutief open ben, nu. Dat is waar ik over schrijf. En over hoe ik niet precies meer weet hoeveel mensen mijn voorwoord gelezen hebben. Wat ik wel zeker weet is dat er maar drie mensen zijn die de bladzijden hebben mogen zien. Vertrouwen kregen tot mijn angst. De eerste keer was logisch. Maar ook lastig. Want daar zijn ouders voor. Mijn grootste fans. Met de meeste kritiek en het hoogste aantal gerolde ogen, diepe zuchten.. En dan af en toe de foute dingen om te zeggen. De tweede keer was uit liefde. En uit egoïsme. Stiekeme trots. Om te delen. Het is wel mijn geheim. En ik was zo onder de indruk van haar vermogen mijn verhaal te blijven zien zoals iedereen. Ze vergat het voorwoord gewoonweg volledig! Zoals iedereen dat zou moeten doen. Of niet?  De derde keer dat ik vergat een open boek te zijn was een week geleden. Waarschijnlijk kwam het door het drinken. Of misschien was het ons gemak. Beide evenveel vertelt en gelezen. Ik kon het moment al van verre zien arriveren. Ik kon er niet meer onderuit. En dat was ok. Het was de reactie die alles zo anders maakte.  Beoordeel een boek niet naar zijn kaft.  Dat weet ik, echt! Maar dit was iets dat ik nooit had verwacht bij niemand. Hij begreep mijn rode draad nog voordat ik de zijne gevonden had. En dat is gek. Dat voelt raar. Oneerlijk. Gemeen. Bevrijdend. En geweldig.  En als een cliché verhaal.  Meer dan dit kan ik niet vertellen. De coherentie van dit stuk hangt af van de eerlijkheid. Als ik dit begrijpelijk maak en uitleg, is het hele punt vergaan.  Maar.  Nog nooit had ik ooit iemand ontmoet die introducties las.  Gewoon omdat. Tot die dag.  En dat moment wil ik niet vergeten. 01/12/2016

[inadragonseyes]

[inadragonseyes]