#i mean we know that jesus was a person who existed. whatever circumstances he was born in

[noknowshame]

why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?

#instant conversation enders for my multiple youth pastor cousins #don’t say it (I’m gonna say it) #The Child is The Price #but i mean come on #as someone who isn't actually even christian the real-life historical version of this is still cursed as fuck #i mean we know that jesus was a person who existed. whatever circumstances he was born in #its terrifyingly ominous to imagine being so unaware of the affect your child will have on the future of humanity #time itself will one day be counted around your birth of him #and all because he will suffer an excruciatingly painful death that you will not be able to prevent #not only that. but regardless of his or your intentions #regardless of whether there is a god #for millenea unfathomable millions will have blood spilled and will spill blood in his name #atrocities will be committed that you cannot even conceive of #and all on his and your behalf #you love your child. its beautiful. but there's horror in what you've done. because everyone else will love him too #and what's more dangerous than that?

[charmedreincarnation]

Fulfillment x I am technique

(Logical mind edition)

Are you looking for a way to have all your desires and manifest your dream life before the end of summer? Are you also going through a period of unclenching doubt that you can’t seem to scratch, no matter what? If so, you’ve come to the right place! Today, I’m excited to introduce you to a simple and fun technique you can add to your current regiment, or use as a separate technique alone to help fulfill your desires for the summer. Especially since a lot of people struggled with their circumstances this winter/spring and experiencing the wish fulfilled, I hope this can help someone on their journey. Obviously there are no “shortcuts” or “key to manifesting” but regardless this personally helped me a lot.

Fulfillment

As you know, it is important to focus on the feeling that comes with achieving our desires, rather than getting stuck in the physical form of it. Therefore it's important to understand the difference between the physical existence and the energetic vibration that comes with achieving our desires. However, sometimes we can get caught up in how/why our desire may look/ appear in the physical realm. But if we are too focused on the 3D appearance of the how/why our desire may manifest, then we can become stuck in the physical realm and limit our own ability to fully manifest our desires.

I know as we “fulfill” ourselves, we doubt that it will work or we believe we’re just trying to delude ourselves but I promise it’s the opposite. The brain is incredibly powerful; more so than most of us are even aware. It doesn’t know the difference between what is reality and what is imagined. What this means is that when a person focuses on something and imagines it, the brain will be tricked to believe that it is true and will begin to take actions to create that thought into a reality. let’s take a look at the science behind this. When we imagine something we want, a set of neural pathways are activated in the brain. When that pathway is activated and we attach feelings of joy or gratefulness to our desired outcome, our brains actually release certain hormones and neurochemicals like adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin. These hormones and chemicals work together to create an overall sense of wellbeing and positivity.

The interesting thing here is that these same pathways are activated when we actually achieve our desired outcome. By introducing the feeling of appreciation into our minds, we can activate the same pathways as if we had already achieved the outcome. This creates a similar feeling of joy and satisfaction as if it had been achieved in reality.

Now why is this important? It’s important because it allows us to increase our chances of achieving our desired outcomes. By introducing positive feelings while visualizing/ think/scripting (whatever) about our desired outcomes, we just convince the doubting side of our brain how real it is, no matter how illogical it seems.

I am

When we repeat “I am” throughout our day, we are Truly reminding ourselves of the message that not only are we are worthy of having whatever we desire, but it is already ours. By repeating this phrase in our minds, we are effectively affirming it into reality.

The Power of “I am” is not only taught through the lens of the law. I am not religious anymore but The “I am” was famously taught by Jesus Christ himself, who said “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” This phrase teaches us that whatever we want in life - be it financial freedom, a happy relationship, or even spiritual enlightenment - begins with our internal affirmation that “I am” capable of achieving it.

Goddard recommended that we use this phrase with emotion and conviction in order to fully absorb its power within us. He said, “If you can say, feel and believe ‘I AM’ as though you already possess it or are in possession of it, then you will bring it forth from its subjective state into objective reality.” To put it simply, if you can confidently declare out loud “I am wealthy” or “I am loved” then you will start to bring about positive changes in your life. I used this myself with theta waves but I think there are better ways to incorporate into a method hence this post.

Why repetition works

I’ve realized sometimes it helps to address the doubt logically before experiencing it spiritually just because we’re still human. This doesn’t mean anything negative about you, or your reception to he law. It again just means you’re human which we all are so it’s not that serious tbh. Anyways You should do this technique once a day or (more if you want) but I only did it once a day. I’m sure you know the Loa perspective of why persistence works… but repetition never fails though a neurological standpoint either. From a neuroscience perspective, repetition triggers changes in the brain that produce a positive effect. When we repeat positive thoughts and affirmations, our brain produces the neurotransmitter, serotonin, which is responsible for creating a feeling of happiness. On the other hand, when we repeat negative thoughts and affirmations, our brain produces hormones like cortisol which can create a feeling of stress.

On the surface level, repetition creates familiarity. And when we’re familiar with something the easier it becomes to do it. But the truth is that there are deeper levels of repetition that can produce real, lasting effects. For example, when we think positively, our brain produces certain hormones, such as dopamine and endorphins. The more often we think positively, the more hormones our brain will produce and eventually, our mindset will become wired for positive thinking.

From a physics perspective, repetitive thoughts produce energy waves that move outward from our body. When these energy waves come in contact with other objects in the universe, they carry our intent with them. For example, if we practice repetitive positive affirmations daily, our energy waves will travel outward and carry our intent toward success.

The method

Ok now the method itself is pretty simple. You can do it anytime in whichever position, for however long you want, using whichever fulfilling method you like. Please feel free to cater it to your preferences.

Now…

1. For me, I first mentally compartmentalized my desires into categories. E.g: spirituality, social life, beauty, school life, family, house life, and etc.

2. I would lay down however I felt was the comfortable. Next, this part is optional but I would play reiki music! feel free to use anything you want (brown music, theta waves, subliminal, nothing, whatever it’s up to you!) and just relax.

3. Then I would use a section of my desires to loop scenes. For example I would think “I have amazing friends,” and loop multiple scene of late night drives with my friends, us on a shopping spree, my friends throwing a surprise party for me etc. then I would keep going. I’d mentally affirm “I am gorgeous.”then I would loop multiple scenes of me waking up looking gorgeous and seeing myself in the mirror, me blowing up on Tik tok and getting you’re pretty comments, my phone blowing with compliments, and people approaching me on the street to compliment me. Then next, “I am a master shifter,”and it would be a looped scene of me going or my wr, waking up in various drs and etc.

4. The point is, it becomes natural and free flowing. You loop and mentally affirm what comes to mind. It isn’t forced and you aren’t really thinking after a while. You just become so immersed in your desires you become fulfilled. You don’t have to fall asleep, you can fall asleep, you can do it for a minute, you can go it for an hour. It can be done in your bed,in your car, it could be 400 desires or just two. Just do it everyday! That’s all that matters.

#law of assumption #manifesation #manifesting #void state #reality shifting #law of attraction #self concept

[hammerhead-jpg]

cacophony/cataclysm Vega consept(?)

So there is this kinda concept/fanfic idea (although I don’t think it has enough substance for me to write a fic about it, even if it did, I don’t think I have the energy to write like a 35 chapter fic) not really an AU, and not really a theory just jumbled “what if”s, so I decided to share it here

Warning, this might seem a little juvenile and self-indulgent since it’s basically a sad backstory for the brutish villain but just so you know, I am well aware that this very sad boy backstory doesn’t excuse his wrong doings.

And also, I ramble a lot, so this will be long

This story I've cooked up in my head is all based of this mini theory i have that Vega is as old as the cacophony (the war between the Sovereigns and the humans and deamons) which would make him like hundreds of years old. This theory of mine doesn’t have much backing it up besides it would be good writing for his character because of his line “you want to know how time and circumstance might lead someone here.” (and I’ll talk about that later)

Idk, the reason why he's like 120% sure that the Sovereigns are real and why he knows so much information about them despite the story being majorly seen by de(a)mons as just a myth/folklore might be because he was actually there, but again that might just be like saying every crazy Christian is actually Jesus Christ in secret so idk

I mean his age is never specified in the timeline and the only reason something might not be on the timeline is because a) It’s not important enough or b) Erik is hiding it for future events and I don’t think Vega is an unimportant character

But then again maybe this is just a safe assumption and I’m just stupid or maybe this is a purely out of the blue theory with dogwater evidence and in that case I’m still stupid

But this is where theory ends and my daydreaming a story into existing begins.

In my mind, the cacophony happens in ancient Rome

Ancient because, It obviously didn’t happen in the close past since it’s regarded as myth and Vega while talking to Warden about it calls the humans “ancient humans” and the Rome part? Well... this is more of me throwing a pin dart at a board

I first thought it was ancient Greece since that’s where myths of deamons originated (in this world they would be based on the de(a)mons we know and not just folktale) but now I decided It’s ancient Rome because I have a theory that the de(a)mon language that Avior talks about in his story is actually Latin because most if not all de(a)mon names we have seen are Latin, so I guess in this world humans learned the language from de(a)mons? (also in the imp AU the first ever king of the imperium is named “Emil” which is a Latin name and we know that the imperium was formed some time after the cacophony) and I know that a lot of other countries spoke Latin at that time but whatever

But again, this is just me taking a stab in the dark, I could be completely wrong

So in my concept, Vega is born out of the elision well right as the conflict is starting. The Sovereigns have all gone to Elegy and now deamons are stuck in Aria without any source of energy. Vega manages to create a rift of his own and travels to Elegy (not saying that he’s the first deamon to make a rift to Elegy, just that he figured out how to do it himself, if that’s even possible).

When he first entered Elegy, he was hit with major sensory overload from experiencing new colors and shapes and hearing and smell and touch an all of that. But after he recovers, he goes exploring of this new plane of existence. Soon after, he sees a human being tortured by a Sovereign who’s experimenting on them, trying to give them powers. Now, in this point in time, Vega is not the human-hating unfeeling person that we know him as now. Then, I imagine he had you know, this thing called empathy (but I don’t want to completely scrap his personality, so imagine him how he was in the imp AU, just still, less sadistic).

He might have been on this plane for like 5 minutes but he can clearly sense the emotions of agony from the human

He goes in to defend the human, and while the Sovereign could have easily smushed him then and there, they didn’t, and instead just left since their work was done.

This human is in my mind, kinda like a fellow listener (since I don’t have the balls to call them an oc), so I will refer to them as listener.

When listener awakes, Vega is still with them and even though first they’re scared and confused, they quickly realized that the creature before them meant no harm (and this was ancient times so a demon isn’t as an outlandish concept as it was back then).

At first, it’s difficult for them to communicate since they don’t speak the same language and Vega is communicating trough telepathy and doesn’t even know how to make a sound with his vocal cords.

(and also the listener has powers now and I didn’t decide what kind)

But soon enough, they learn to speak each other's language and Vega starts living along side humans with the other deamons. The humans are reasonably afraid of them at first, but quickly start cherishing them as powerful beings they could lean on (similarly to how they were portrayed in ancient Greek mythology).

As the humans and the deamons plan their rebellion against the Sovereigns, Vega and the listener get closer and eventually fall in love, aww, how cute

But it’s not all sunshine and rainbows, since the war comes, and the listener needs to join and use their new found magical powers.

Sadly, they end up dying in the war by the hands of a Sovereign, and Vega lives. After the war is over he is distraught, but life goes on and he continues living.

Through the years Vega sees it all. He sees the slow shift between humans and de(a)mons being allies, to the humans hatred towards de(a)mons (probably because the rise of Christianity where deamons go from being seen as basically any magical entity to evil helpers of Satan). He sees the people he risked his life to protect slowly turn against him for reasons he doesn’t know. Now because of the new title of “sadism demon” humans and fellow de(a)mons judge him. And at one point he stops caring. He stops caring about being seen as evil and he stops caring about humans. All of them seem to wish him ill and any potential ones that don’t will die some day.

He now probably can’t even remember the voice or the face of the human he loved, he probably forgot they even existed.

And that’s how Vega became Vega

Really a “you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself turn into the villain” situation.

You could also make the scenario that he is intrigued by Warden since they remind him of the human deep down, Stranger to Lovely reincarnation and all that jazz, and I’m sure that Brachium could fit in the story too since we know that he is also as old as the cacophony (maybe he’s the steward that relayed the situation to Vega, idk!) 

Also i imagine that in the imp! au the same thing happened just the listener didn’t die in the war, but they still had to part ways since the de(a)mons made the decision to just chill in Aria and never speak to the humans again. Which is also why he was a lot nicer to humans in the AU, since he wasn’t there to see all the bad shit they’ve done.

But this is defiantly just some brain vomit that I came up, but that being said if you like this story or have any ideas of your own let me know! I’d love to hear it

 now, enjoy some delightfully quick and messy concept art I made!

ohhh Vega’s “birth” soo mysterious

I know Elegy is like a “something the human mind can’t comprahend” kind of thing so I just wanted to capture the feeling

Idk how y’all imagine the sovereigns, I imagine them as giant eldritch horror monsters!

Yes Vega was naked when he first entered Elegy, long story

His eyes glow red cuz in the first imp!AU video he describes them as “like glowing embers in the dark” or something like that, probably didn’t mean it litterally, but oh well

oop they got squished by a Soveregn, sad

#redacted audio #redactedaudio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted art #redacted vega

[givemearmstopraywith]

How do you deal with doubt? You seem very sure of your faith, with all that knowledge and stuff. For me, I have these phases of doubt that are so time and thought consuming. I'm in one right now and I really can't be dealing with that at the moment. So... would you say there's a way to fight the doubt? Most people would probably go with prayer. That's the first thing I tried, but that barely did something for me.

i think there's a terrible culture within christianity that shies away from the use of doubt as a means to faith, but the truth is that i would not have as much conviction in my faith if i hadn't also gone through extreme periods of doubt. people who never experience doubt are very lucky, but i think there is an element of passivity to unquestioning faith which is held up as pious virtue but is really kind of benign. moreover there's also a terrible misrepresentation about doubt, where it's presented as a kind of moral failure or a kind of "point of no return": if you have doubt, then it must be your shortcoming. i disagree with this unilaterally. when we doubt, it shows that we are thinking about what we have chosen to place the vibrant, energetic power of our belief in.

if you want to take a truly christian slant, then even jesus experienced moments of doubt. the forty days in the wilderness and his prayers in gethsemane are among the most pivotal personal moments in his life, but they are both characterized by doubt.

recently a friend expressed how they found it strange that someone as logically-minded as myself had decided to pursue something seemingly entirely illogical, like theology; but he caught himself quickly and said, "but you were logically convinced to believe in God, right?" and this is true. i spent a long period of my life tortured by doubt, doubt strong enough that i abandoned my faith entirely in favour of atheism, which at the time seemed "logical." but as time went on, for a variety of reasons, i realized that it was actually more illogical for there to simply be nothing. so doubt actually became foundational to my belief because it forced me to really assess: what was i doubting? why was i doubting it? doubt forced me to find explanations for what i could not explain and because of this, my faith is not benign but based entirely on empirical evidence. and i would not have been able to do that without doubt.

in the book of job, God allows the tempter to subject job to torturous circumstances in order to test his faith. i love the first chapter of job and this scene of satan being present in the court of y---. it's a very different picture of the devil, temptation, and even doubt: something that is a tool used by God to strengthen us. even doubt comes from God. God does not test us, but he does allow us to suffer. when we suffer, we learn how to endure. catherine of siena wrote that nothing great was ever done without much enduring. endurance is the nature of God: God, like love, endures all things. we must suffer in order to learn how to emulate that endurance. and so our faith must also suffer- this intense love we experience for God, or the universe, or whatever deity or power we place our trust and hope in.

learn to love your doubt. it is there to strength you. lean into it. recognize the presence of God in doubt. God is not merely a thing that exists: God transcends human understanding to become present even in his apparent absence. a 9th century scholar, john scotus erigena, sums this up beautifully:

"We do not know what God is. God Himself does not know what He is because He is not anything [i.e., "not any created thing"]. Literally God is not, because He transcends being."

God is not created, so he doesn't exist. God simply is. he is present in your prayers, he is there in the tangible markers of his presence, and he is there in your doubt. reach out for him: he will catch you.

#replies

[rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw]

Sunday Morning Session

High on the Mountain Top

Conducting: Dallin H. Oaks

Press Forward Saints

I Know That My Redeemer Lives

D. Todd Christofferson

God knows all things – we need to take counsel from the Lord not attempt to counsel Him

When we make the plans and then God does not deliver on those plans that means they were not part of His plan.

We do our best but leave to Him the management of blessings and healing

Our repentance and obedience, our sacrifices do matter

The steps are designed for the individual and are tailored to our needs

Let God Prevail

Stories of Abraham being delivered from death, and Joseph in prison, Abinadi not being delivered but Alma believing and bringing the gospel to the people, Joseph S in liberty jail

HF is in this with me. I am not alone; He is with me all the time

In the midst of this refiner’s fire, don’t get angry at God, get close to Him

Amy A. Wright

He can heal broken things in our lives no matter our age

No ones life can be understood by one magnificent moment or one regrettable public disappointment

Go forth and change

Repent: change your behavior, associations, your heart, how you think about yourself

We are not out of His reach

Luke 15 – man who has two sons, prodigal son

Forgiveness is one of the noblest gifts we can give one another, and most specifically ourselves

Acts 3 – man who was born lame (40 yrs old)

Deliverance from our trials is different for each of us – emphasis should be less about the way we are delivered and more on the Deliverer Himself.

He knows exactly what we need and precisely when we need it

Christ says “we can fix this together”

Gary E. Stevenson

The Savior’s great commission: love share and invite

The first thing we can do is love as Christ loved

Whenever we show love, we share the gospel

The second thing we can do is share

How can you simply add what you love about the gospel of Jesus Christ to the things you share?

Sharing isn’t about selling the gospel

God needs you to be His sharer, not His sheriff

The third thing you can do is invite

Come and see, come and serve, come and belong

Michael T. Ringwood

John 3: 16-17

He knows our hearts, our names, and what we need to do

Story of Joseph again – being sold into slavery

Do you ever feel about others the way Judah felt about Benjamin?

No matter who you are or what your current circumstances there is someone out there who feels this way about you

How shall I go up to my father, and you be not with me?

You don’t need to know the meaning of all things, just know that God loves His children

How Firm a Foundation

Ronald A. Rasband

Religious freedom allows each of us to decide for ourselves what we believe

Essence of religious freedom: Inclusive, liberating and respectful

1 religious freedom honors the first and second great commandments: placing God at the center of our lives

2 religious freedom fosters expressions of belief, hope, and peace

Protecting people of all beliefs and persuasions

3 religion inspires people to help others.

4 freedom of religion acts as a unifying and rallying force for shaping values and morality

Hugo E. Martinez

IDK what he said but the definition of self reliance is: reliance on one's own powers and resources rather than those of others.

When Jesus was your age, He learned and grew. You are learning and growing too.

Deut 6: 6-7

It is important that children place their own goals with parental support

Lessons for life and growth with noticeable accomplishments

Talks briefly about father/mother roles in fam proc

1 being good examples of service to others

2 living and teaching the doctrine and principles of self reliance.

3 obeying the commandment to build self-reliance as part of the gospel of Jesus Christ

If The Savior Stood Beside Me

Russell M. Nelson

Any and all inclination to hurt others whatever those may be, the Savior commanded us to turn the other check, love our enemies, and pray for those who despitefully use you

How can we expect peace to exist in the world when we are not personally seeking peace

Momentum can swing either way

We need positive spiritual momentum – will keep us moving forward amid the fear and uncertainty created by pandemics, tsunamis, etc.

1 get on the covenant path and stay there

Ordinances and covenants give us access to godly power

2 discover the joy of daily repentance

Repenting is the key to progress

Satan delights in your misery – cut it short! Cast his influence out of your life

His kindness shall not depart – love this song

Isaiah 54:10

the Savior loves us always but especially when we repent

3 learn about God and how He works

Daily experiences worshiping the Lord and studying His gospel

Let God Prevail

4 Seek and expect miracles

Ask God to help you exercise that kind of faith

5 strive to end conflict in your personal life

In two weeks is Easter – invited to end a personal conflict in your life before then, you are promised a personal peace and a burst of spiritual momentum

Greater strength, more peace of mind, freedom from fear, unity in your families.

It Is Well With My Soul

#ldsconf #general conference #genconf #tumblrstake #the church of jesus christ of latter day saints #churchofjesuschristoflatterdaysaints

[wincore]

wasted nights | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x reader

words: 5.5k

summary: firstly, you don’t think you should have survived this long. secondly, this might be the zombie apocalypse but your survival doesn’t feel as threatened by zombies as it does by liu yangyang. thirdly, you’ve chosen the worst time to develop a crush.

genre: zombie apocalypse!au, fluff, humour(?)

warnings: mention of injuries & blood, violence (against zombies), dumbassery, do not attempt during an actual zombie apocalypse

song rec(s): wasted nights - one ok rock 

a/n: october birthdays get halloween specials~ although this one is just full of unnecessary appearances by cats. also campfires because october campfires hit different. (i’m definitely saying this because i was born in october) also not me writing this as a joke and reaching 5.5k words </3

It’s two hours till sundown. 

What would you be doing on a day within the ordinary? Likely getting back from after school activities, chatting with a friend or feeding the stray kittens by the school building, or maybe pretending Liu Yangyang doesn’t exist—the possibilities were endless. Now there’s only one.

“Yangyang,” you call, more worried than not.

On a day out of the ordinary, you wish you hadn’t prayed for your exam to get cancelled the day all of this broke out. You wouldn’t be scavenging like some sort of rodent and you wouldn’t be standing at the gates of an abandoned shrine, though now is undoubtedly a better time to pray. It’s not the best of situations (especially not with a certain little rascal attached to your side). 

And understatements are definitely your thing now.

“Yangyang,” you call a little louder this time, eyes shifting around the shrine area. 

Should you step in? He asked you to wait, the stone steps now looking a little glum without him skipping over them. The only signs of life you’ve seen around has been a family of raccoons looking rather smug and a single spotted dove preening itself atop a branch. The lack of visibility into the forest surrounding the shrine bothers you, like something could jump out any minute and you suck your teeth, growing annoyed. Where is that boy?

You tap your foot against the ground soundlessly. What if a zombie were to pop out? They might be slow but the sight of them is still gross enough to paralyze you. Yangyang has his baseball bat with him, which leaves you defenseless in terms of weapons. Still, it’s not like the bat would have done you any good. You are, in the truest sense of the word, average at any sort of combat and freezing at the limbs comes to you more naturally. Zombies are not fun; whatever nonsense Yangyang has been trying to explain to you for weeks is optional, as is every other suggestion that comes from his mouth. It’s quiet and quiet, creepy shrines have never been your favourite place in the city.

You hear a low growl behind you, stiffening at the sound. Best case scenario, it’s a big rat. You’d rather not think of the worst case. Eventually, you gather some courage and turn slowly only to jump back with a short scream. 

Yangyang takes the old festival mask off to reveal a giant grin on his face, urging you to knock it right off. The anger that follows is natural and he should be used to it by now. Yangyang continues smiling, as if he didn’t just pull your soul right out of your body, and when he opens his mouth to say something, you’re quick to land a swift punch to his gut. He lets out a pained cry, dropping to the ground in a squat.

“Don’t do that,” you seethe. “Why can’t you greet me normally?”

“I’m okay!” He signals a thumbs up while the other hand clutches his stomach. 

“I didn’t ask.”

He moves his hand to place it over his chest. “Ow. Oh, and to answer your question, it’s because you don’t want to do my special handshake with me.”

“Hm. Get up. You said there were supplies here. What did you find?”

He pouts, finally getting up. “I can’t believe you’re just using me for supplies.”

You cross your arms. “Just get up already.”

Yangyang springs up despite the (admittedly) strong blow to his stomach and presents to you the plastic bag he’d been holding. In any other circumstances, it would spark some disapproval on your behalf but it turns out, those things do outlive most everything. For a moment, the ridiculous image of pulling a plastic bag over a zombie’s head crosses your mind. 

Yangyang finally responds, taking out whatever items he recovered. Not everything is useful however; he’s simply taken to collecting knick-knacks. 

“I found toothbrushes! Maybe your breath will stop stinking—”

You raise your clenched fist as a threat.

“—I was kidding. Obviously. You have lovely breath.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to contain your exasperation. 

“Also, I found clean water so I filled up some bottles and yeah, I couldn’t find much else but oh! There was this huge cat and I mean huge like a big chonk kinda guy, you know? And I’m sure he was, like, trying to tell me something, like, he kept hissing when I went near him but…”

You wonder if Yangyang ever gets tired from speaking so fast, his words fading out of your comprehension. You shake your head, clearing your throat.

“Can we leave now?”

Yangyang raises an eyebrow, almost smirking as the gears in his head turn.

“You’re not… superstitious, are you?” he asks. “I heard there’s a lot of reported sightings of ghosts here.”

“No,” you blurt, quick to deny. Yangyang might have seen you crying after getting lost in the dark, almost fainting after encountering a zombie for the first time or even in deep sorrow after you lost your friend—but there’s still part of your dignity to protect before you can admit your fear of ghosts. There’s just something about this abandoned shrine; there are no visitors apart from the caretaker and if loneliness is responsible for anything, it’s making lonely things seem a whole lot scarier. You’d rather leave before the sun sets.

Yangyang laughs. “Who do you think would win in a fight? Zombies or ghosts?”

You roll your eyes. “That’s so stupid. Obviously ghosts.”

“No. Okay, maybe. I just think…”

There he goes again. 

You wonder if he was always this way—when you passed him by in the hallways, when he shot you a polite smile at club meetings or when you saw him being loud with his friends blocking part of the sidewalk. You’re sure he couldn’t have been entirely sane.

“Oh my god.”

Yangyang’s voice jerks you back to the present. You follow his line of sight to a cardboard box beneath a particularly dense shrub; it's a large one—quite possibly a carton of some commercial product which doesn’t matter anymore. However, it’s not the details of the box itself so much as it is the contents that grab your attention. 

You can almost see the sparkle in Yangyang’s eyes as he views the cats huddled together inside the box. They don’t seem to mind each other within their personal space—you count four of them, tightly packed and eyes closed in a late afternoon nap. How the box hasn’t ripped apart yet is quite a mystery, and what’s more troubling is how at ease they seem to be with the entire human race in disarray.

You grab Yangyang by the collar before he can make his way to them.

“Don’t harass them,” you say, massaging your temples. “Jesus, it’s like they’re glued to each other. Do they have to be in the same box?”

“It might just be the last cardboard box left on earth.” Yangyang shrugs.

The cats mind their own business, grooming their fur or closing their eyes in an odd sort of bliss. You wonder what it would be like to be so unbothered by all the chaos. It reminds you of someone.

“Come on,” you urge, thinking back to older times. “Don’t think I forgot how much you used to bother old Louis back then.”

Louis was the university cat, fed with so much love that he eventually started avoiding people like the plague. You wonder how he’s holding up for a brief moment.

“Don’t think I forgot how you were back then too.”

“What do you mean?” you snap, glaring at him.

“You were already a zombie,” he says before engaging in a cheap mimicry of you, drooping his eyelids and taking slow steps muttering, “I… must… maintain… gpa… grr.”

You almost take off your shoe to throw it at him before deciding it’s not worth your time. Ah, if only you had done that during club meetups, perhaps you’d have felt better about him joining. Everyone treated him so differently, and you hate to admit you now understand why. 

Everyone loves a good troublemaker.

And there happens to be another thing special about your sole competitor for the debate club’s president position. Apart from his strange antics (charms, he says), even this virus—this fuckall literal killer virus can’t infect him. He’s immune—an occurrence with a possibility lower than you finding him attractive. (There, you said it.)

You look at Yangyang still talking about Louis and a small smile crosses your face. You’d feed your right arm to a zombie before you admitted it but it’s nice having him around. You furrow your brows at the sudden familiar bubbling in your chest and shove it away in a flash before your conscious decides to tell you what it is. 

Your heart jumps to your throat when you make eye contact with Yangyang, turning away in a rather awkward manner. Oh, the end of the world does awful things to you.

“Are you listening?” Yangyang raises an eyebrow. “Oh my god, you weren’t listening at all.”

You roll your eyes. “I was distracted.”

“By me?” he offers in a sing-song voice, prompting a smack from you. It’s easier to pretend this way.

Yangyang massages his shoulder with a huff. “Why are you hitting me so much today? I’ve counted like eight and the day’s only just over.”

“Sorry,” you mumble before clearing your throat. “I mean, you’ve also said something annoying, like, more than eight times today.”

“I’m not annoying.”

There’s a pause.

“Okay, maybe a little bit.”

The sun starts to lay in rest by the time you reach the city. Compared to the green, red and yellow of the yet standing shrine, this place is in dull monochrome with the occasional coloured signs that flicker to life. You force yourself to think but have a hard time remembering if it was always this way. Was it any different with the rushing cars or apathetic crowds? You can’t tell. You were part of them, after all. 

“Hey, how about a bottle flip challenge but with traffic cones?” Yangyang thinks aloud, walking backwards as you pass by a particularly well-lit alley. 

You roll your eyes in response. Is it the lack of people making him that way? Your unflustered companion looks at home among neon lights, all of them seeming to point towards him as an answer to a question you haven’t quite figured out yet. 

You glance at the alley just a second longer. The electric lanterns still glow red, and although dim, there are many. The shops almost look like you could enter and be greeted with a crowd of university kids or a group of office workers drinking away in celebration of the weekend. You sigh. It’s most certainly deserted inside; there’s no doubt. At the most, the tables are still arranged neatly and the meat grills aren’t completely rusted. You wonder if it’s a Friday.

There was never much grass in the city but whatever growth there was has withered into a mustard yellow or a lamenting grey. An empty city is hardly appealing, but you can’t deny the ill-favored things you’ve done the past few months in the absence of people—a part of you questioning whether breaking into supermarkets is still against the law when no one’s around to keep it. You smile at the memory of Yangyang pushing you around in a shopping cart, though you’d gotten drunk off the (stolen) liquor prior. The neon lights hanging as a banner over sketchy shops sometimes spark alive before dying down over and over again, and to be fair, you don’t think they ever shined too bright. Ironically, they’re the liveliest thing about the city now. 

The sky’s soaked in ink at a time you assume to be around seven in the evening. You walk closer to Yangyang without realizing; it’s not often you’ve been out this late the past few months.

“Hey.” Yangyang snaps you out of your daze. “Be careful.”

The words are strange coming from him but you understand why. You look up ahead with caution and a shiver runs down your spine as you stare at the intersection, a lone, tattered figure droning aimlessly. It’s only one, you tell yourself. And they’re slow.

The memories of your previous encounters send warnings over your skin, shivers begging you to run as fast as you can. You would if it weren’t for Yangyang’s grip on your hand, tugging you forward gently and though it’s something he does every time, you wonder if he knows how you’re really feeling. His footsteps are soundless, with the same red sneakers he’s worn since the beginning of this but something tells you it’s not the shoes that give him a cat’s footfall. The purple lights flicker on and off over the shop on the opposite street, the suddenness of it making you latch onto Yangyang for a short-lived moment. You’re quick to let go, throat too dry to make any sound. 

You curve around what would be a straight path, careful not to be in the creature’s line of sight when you cross. The streets seem wider when they’re so empty, and somehow it feels more unlawful this way. Yangyang signals to you to stay closer, and you follow before bumping into his back when he stops abruptly. There’s absolutely no sound, the feeling in your gut much worse than at the shrine.

“Something’s wrong,” Yangyang whispers.

A strangled shriek erupts from your mouth when something launches itself onto the two of you, making you land on your butt. You would’ve placed your hands over your eyes, but you’ve learned how to be less of a coward these past few days. 

A shaky breath leaves you. A cat. It was a stray cat. The little asshole looks at you with almost twinkling eyes, tail swishing from side to side before deciding you’re not worth its time. Your shoulders sag, a moment of relief despite your stiff muscles.

“Uh, (name)?”

You look up only for your stomach to fill with dread. The zombie from before is staring directly at the two of you, the same vacant look in its eyes that has haunted you for the entirety of the apocalypse.

“It’s okay, he’s too slow,” Yangyang reminds you, voice barely a whisper as he helps you stand.

“We can just take the other street—it’s a little longer but it’s mostly safe and there’s no way he can—”

Yangyang is interrupted by a sickening growl from behind you and you jump back. There’s another one. And another. You count four more before holding back a swear. Yangyang grabs you by the shoulder and the two of you take a step back, onto the sidewalk. There’s a shop behind you; you read a smeared sign above the plastic door curtains indicating a dumpling place. Even if you were to hide in there, there’s no guarantee you’d be safe. 

But if you’ve learned anything in these months, it’s that anything is always better than nothing.

The night has settled in completely, you realize. You’re about to tug Yangyang to the inside as you turn around, only to freeze up in your spot. A pale woman emerges from the store, her makeup still fresh but you know that look, the look in her eyes. How cruel.

“Please,” she mumbles, taking a step towards you and you think you might just cry. It’s not long before she turns, you think with dread.

You stumble back to Yangyang when she emits a blood curdling screech, lunging at you and to either your alarm or worse, relief, Yangyang pushes you back. You watch with wide eyes as the woman sinks her teeth into his arm, nausea growing at the sight of blood. He moves fast though, his arm swinging the baseball bat to meet the woman in the head, hard enough to knock her out. In these few moments, one of the zombies is close enough to reach an arm out towards you and you swear you can hear the horrid sound of his bones cracking when you step back. The longer you remain in this state, the slower you are. You suppose you should take comfort in these words but when you look at it, you still see a man.

Hollow. They’re all hollow. 

You take a deep breath.

Just as the thought crosses your head, you see Yangyang swing his bat again, meeting the zombie on the head and much to your wide-eyed horror, the head flies off into the dumpling shop and the body reacts with just about as much confusion as you do. It wildly waves about its hands in the now vacant spot before crumpling onto the road with a quiet realization.

Yangyang makes a face, pressing his knuckle to his mouth to prevent himself from what you presume is gagging. However, when you look closely, he seems to be holding back a laugh instead and very painfully so. You know he has a habit of laughing at the most inappropriate times but this, it really takes the cake.

“Home run?” he suggests, turning to you with a sheepish half-grin. There’s no hint of malice in his voice and you think that it’s probably not that he enjoys swinging his baseball bat at zombies. 

“You’re disgusting,” you reply, shaking your head.

“Maybe I should leave you here then.” 

You can’t believe he has the gall to be cheeky with blood running down his arm and four of the undead drooling at the sight of you two. 

“Do you think we can find ingredients that aren’t stale here? I miss having dumplings.”

“Yangyang.”

“Okay, okay.”

The other ones are still far enough and the two of you take this chance to run off towards the street Yangyang mentioned earlier and safely out of view. You notice him panting heavier than before, and your eyes scan over his arm in worry. The bite is ugly, red with oozing blood, and you hold back the urge to ask him if he’s anaemic. 

Yangyang follows your eyes before an ‘ah’ leaves his lips. He spins his head to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of the wound in the same manner a dog chases after its own tail. He puts the bat down to try and twist his arm to see the injury but you stop him, clicking your tongue at his silly behaviour.

“You’re not twelve, Yangyang,” you scold. “Let’s get back to the hotel first.”

He shrugs, and you think some provoking words are ready to leave his mouth when he simply picks up his bat and walks off. You blink before quickening your steps to catch up with him. The blood dripping down his forearm makes you feel a little unwell but you know better than to touch infections.

It takes around fifteen minutes longer than usual to reach the hotel—Yangyang was right. It is safer here, with no zombies lurking around the corners. He must have been out late when he was scouting, you think with distaste.

You reach the now-rusting gates of your haven without trouble and the moment you reach, Yangyang falls to his knees, heaving a breath he seems to have been holding. You rush to him, eyes frantic when you reach your hand out to him, and he flinches, moving away from you.

“Don’t,” he mutters before getting up. “You turning into a real zombie would be my personal nightmare.”

It’s not enough to curb your worry but you follow him nonetheless, the stupid, wavering grin on his face making you unable to decipher what he’s really feeling. 

The familiar smell of honeysuckle washes into you as you pass by the entrance, locking the door behind you as Yangyang falls onto one of the chairs in the lobby. Kunhang happened to be passing by, a muffled swear leaving him when he sees the blood on Yangyang’s arm.

“You didn’t touch him, did you?” he asks, pulling on his gloves to further see the wound. A former med student is the best you have here, and somehow, you’ve never seen him complain about having to take care of someone as bothersome as Yangyang. 

You shake your head in reply to Kunhang and watch as he runs from shelf to shelf to procure more bandages than you’ve ever seen in your life. You’ve been seeing an awful lot lately. 

“We’re going to run out of bandages in a week if he keeps this up,” Kunhang says with a frown, moving so fast you can barely see his hands. “He’ll be okay, I guess. The virus just makes him dizzy.”

He’s probably thinking the same thing you are. Something serious happening to Yangyang is a little bit of a miracle. Maybe he’ll finally be set right in the head. 

Even so, you know Kunhang is worried despite his quick response, his frown lines deepening once he’s done wrapping up. He sighs before waltzing off to discard his gloves.

It’s not that you aren’t impressed by Kunhang; you’ve just seen him do that too many times to count. And of course, it’s mostly Yangyang on the receiving end. They might be good friends but this also happens to be the only time they're serious together. Moreover, Kunhang seems to beat Yangyang in the talking-for-twelve-hours-straight department. You have to admit though, being in charge of first aid for the few people stuck in this hotel is not an easy business. 

You take a seat opposite to Yangyang, dozing off in his chair and wonder if you should wipe the drool off his chin. Disgusting, you think to yourself, but another part of you dares to offer the word cute. 

The best thing about barricading yourself in a hotel during the apocalypse is not having to worry about beds. There’s at least five hundred rooms in this skyrise, more than enough for, what, sixteen people? The place is so big that you hardly run into the others. The only rule around here is regarding the pantry—to write down who’s taken what on the notepad stuck to one corner. Despite what movies show, people are far more helpful to each other in times of need, more so than usual even. You relax into the chair, the velvet cushion feeling comfortable against your back. 

There’s a nice communal feeling in this place. 

You frown. It’s not like you can stay here forever. 

At the very least, you can pretend each sundown and sunrise is ordinary here. You close your eyes, and slowly, thoughts of why you’re trying so hard to remember life before this drift away.

//

Yangyang wakes up before you do, grinning like crazy as he shrugs you awake. You stare at him through groggy eyes, untangling your limbs from yourself. The cold seeps into you and you shiver, hugging yourself.

“We found the keys to the lounge,” he rushes, albeit in a gentle voice. “Guess what?”

“Unh?”

“There’s a campfire spot over there! The others already started but I thought I should wake you up.”

It’s just like him to be excited about something like that. You get up nevertheless, Yangyang pulling you through the stairs and onto the only elevator that seems to work around here. There’s quite a few things about this hotel left to be figured out. You’re going to have to start worrying anyway when the power from the generator runs out.

Kunhang and an older man, Mr Kang, are the only ones there once you reach. You had expected it but the lounge is gigantic and a small part of it provides the artificial campfire area. There are paintings of wild animals and trees for children, you assume, on the walls only cut off by a large vent on the ceiling. The fire burns bright over the large circle of soil and firewood, whose authenticity is debatable. You sigh at the warmth, having grown tired of the autumn weather’s mood swings.

Kunhang greets the two of you with a grin before delicately poking Mr Kang to at least acknowledge your presence. It’s funny, the lot of you.

The place is a little small, considering there’s a literal fire in the middle of the room. You almost sit on Yangyang because he shifts too suddenly at Mr Kang’s disapproval of proximity, a small yelp leaving you whereas Yangyang, for the first time, looks like he’d rather die. He mutters an apology, and two of you manage to sit a good two feet apart, sudden awkwardness rising in the air—all of it unnoticed by Mr Kang. You heard he was a banker but if Kunhang and Yangyang had a polar opposite, it would most certainly be him. You can’t even remember the man’s voice.

You think you should say something but Kunhang’s laughter breaks the silence. There’s an unspoken exchange between him and Yangyang, piquing your curiosity though you aren’t sure what you should be asking. You just assume it’s one of their stupid inside jokes.

“I left your gift on your table. You can add it to your dumb shoe collection,” Kunhang tells Yangyang, smiling before standing up to stretch. “I’m going to bed. Mr Kang, won’t you accompany me?”

Mr Kang gets up begrudgingly and you’re about to ask them to stay longer when Kunhang turns to you enthusiastically. “Good night, (name). Don’t have too much fun. Although, I suppose there’s no better time to have too much fun either.”

You watch with furrowed brows as the two disappear into the doorway and down the stairs. You spend a couple of moments in silence before clearing your throat. When it goes unnoticed, you turn to Yangyang despite the warmth on your face. 

“It’s not dumb,” he mutters to himself, a little zoned out.

You stare at him for a few moments and the familiar feeling rises in your throat, now with a little voice to accompany it. 

Cute.

You cough, distracting yourself with any and all thoughts you would rather have, even of the zombies. Now isn’t the time—or is it the perfect time? You shake your head, calming yourself.

“Does it… hurt?” You ask, eyeing Yangyang’s arm.

He looks up as if broken from a daze, the campfire lights still dazzling in his eyes. You hold back a laugh. He really is a child; if he’s so easily mesmerized by fires, that is.

“Probably not any worse than the lady I whack-a-mole’d. Now that must’ve hurt.” Yangyang puffs his cheek before looking straight at you.

You stare back. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s said.

“What? I feel bad beating the crap out of zombies sometimes,” he says, scratching the back of his head. 

You hum in response. The thought of Yangyang developing a conscience is almost as bad as having to think about zombies. Though, you’ll have to admit, it does give you a strange relief. Zombies can’t really feel pain—they are, after all, numb in every possible sense—but some part of you wonders if it’s alright like this. Morals and survival aren’t meant to overlap. 

You feel the need to distract yourself with something.

“Hey,” you call, moving closer to Yangyang such that your shoulders almost touch. Before you know it, you brush the hair from his face, trying to style the mess into something more neat—a thing you’ve been wanting to do since the first time you saw him. Every time you’d see the messy mop of hair at an official event of the debate club, you’d have this strong urge and an almost putrid form of annoyance. You still don’t know how he managed to get in.

“You don’t look terrible with parted hair,” you muse. “You could’ve looked more decent at the debates.”

You look down from his hair to see Yangyang frozen, eyes wide as if a deer in the headlights.

“Are- Are you not breathing?” you ask.

Yangyang sucks in a large chunk of air, fast enough to choke on it and break into a coughing fit as he turns away from you. You reach out to pat his back but he waves his hand at you, indicating he’s fine before he can turn to you.

You look at him with no particular emotion, the night breeze having worked its way to you.

“What was that about a gift? Are you and Kunhang getting things for each other without telling me?” you say, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

There's a short pause, filled with the crackling of fire.

“It’s my birthday,” Yangyang says with a small smile as the campfire lights dance across his cheeks.

And yet, the words come out sad as if he’d been waiting for an occasion to tell you. You look at him, eyes widening ever so slightly accompanied by the loss of words and take a sharp breath.

“I’m not going to ask for a gift,” Yangyang teases. “Don’t look so worried.”

You open your mouth and close it again, unable to explain the gentle wash of sadness overcome you when you see just a boy. For all the talking he does, he never asks for much. 

“I mean, I- I liked spending the day with you. Why do you look so sad? Did I say something? Again?”

You look over his features, from his brow bone to his wide eyes to his lips and the conclusion arrives as gently as the end of the world. What’s the worst that could happen?

You quickly pull him into a hug, still careful of his injury, and a vaguely embarrassing sound escapes Yangyang, something akin to a sheep’s call. He clears his throat which turns into coughing before he can wrap his arms around you, his breathing soft against your shoulder. 

“I’m- I’m alive, you know? I don’t think I’m dying any time soon. I- I can’t even get infected! You know that.”

“That’s not why I’m- I…” You pull back, steeling your eyes so you don’t feel the warmth of embarrassment. 

Just like you prepare for debates, you think to yourself. Maybe Yangyang was right about you being a zombie—the way you follow the same drudging formula.

“I like you,” you say, your words more of a strained whisper but they’re out before you know it. You can fake confidence, you tell yourself. It’s horrible timing and spending your (potentially) last days with someone who rejected you is just another way to shoot yourself in the foot.

But part of you has been wanting to do this for so long that you almost don’t mind.

Yangyang sucks in a breath, pressing his knuckles to his mouth as he straightens.

“That was- Wow. Okay. I- Uh. Wow.”

You let the heat grow stronger in your cheeks, racking your head for an explanation or even a lie. Maybe you can say it was a mistake. 

“I- I meant…” You lose track of your words. You can’t lie.

“I’ve never been confessed to,” he blurts, and if you squint, you swear you can see him blushing.

“Huh?”

Yangyang coughs again, followed by the same embarrassing sound. “That was- That was the first time.”

The silence between you is accompanied by the crackling of fire and the soft path-making of wind. You’re at a loss for words, something that you should be used to by now—they clearly belong to someone else.

“Oh my god, that was so stupid,” he says, pulling a horrified face as he frantically waves his hands about. “I meant to say I like you too but I- I guess I forgot to say it out loud. Ah, crap- I sound even stupider now, don’t I?”

Your lips twitch, trying to contain your smile but you’re seized with uncontrollable laughter anyway. The mortified expression on Yangyang’s face makes you burst into another fit of giggles before you can somewhat compose yourself.

“I think that’s the longest you’ve been quiet for,” you say in between recurring laughter. “Did anyone ever tell you being able to talk fast doesn’t get you ahead in debate clubs?”

Yangyang frowns.

“Oh, I just joined because I thought it’d get on your nerves,” he says, not a hint of jest in his voice.

You straighten away from him, the smile dropping from your face.

“You can’t be serious.”

He grins sheepishly, scratching the back of his head and offering no explanation. You huff in exasperation, getting up abruptly to avoid another oncoming headache. It’s a little difficult, considering you have the human version of it right beside you.

“Wait- Where are you going?” Yangyang scrambles up to his feet. “It’s my birthday, you know?”

You turn around and put your hands on your hips, a small smile on your face at the sight of him. “It’s midnight already.”

“Oh. How was I supposed to know?”

You laugh, shaking your head. Maybe the little rascal is special.

“Hey,” Yangyang calls. “You know, since this is the end of the world and all…”

You stare at him, heartbeat erratic at the lack of distance and despite the fading of teenage fantasies. Yangyang shifts nervously, glancing here and there while simultaneously trying to keep eye contact with you, an action which makes you hold back a chuckle. There’s a particular twinkle in his eyes but he can’t seem to be able to look at you straight.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, finally.

And what a daring end to the world it is.

#yangyang x reader #wayv x reader #cznnet #yangyang scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang imagines #wayv imagines #yangyang fluff #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #moonwrites #if you think the header is stupid thats bcs it is #graphic design is my passion <3 #you can pry the troublemaker x good kid trope out of my cold dead hands :)

[avyssoseleison]

Hi! Please could you write a short hurt/comfort for destiel? I'm in an angsty mood and I'm not sure why

Woops, I hope you consider 2.2k ‘short’. And I hope you’ll feel better soon! ♥

“You feeling any better, Cas?” Dean asked into the dimness of the room, only illuminated by the hall lights behind him. From his vantage point, he could only vaguely make out the shape of Castiel on top of his comforter, spread out like a starfish and eerily still. The weird position probably would have made Dean laugh any other day, but he didn’t feel like laughing in that moment -- the images of the last hunt were still burned too freshly in his mind. Of himself being struck down by one of the harpies and almost torn from limb to limb, had Castiel not arrived in the nick of time, deftly striking them down with the wrath of God, and looking so fucking lost and shell-shocked right after.

Though, ‘wrath of God’ was probably the wrong phrasing, seeing as Castiel had completely lost his grace not so long ago, and was just as human, even if a bit more awkward, as the rest of them. 

Dean guessed that was also the reason for his dramatic position, and his withdrawal from all of them once they had finished the hunt. Down in the dirt with them all, it must have sucked to have had such close calls, whereas before, he could have smote them with so much as a glance.

“Go away, Dean,” Castiel said, and his deadpan delivery actually made Dean laugh.

“Alright, princess, but only if you tell me what’s wrong.”

Dean could see Castiel turning his face towards him, the light from the hallway briefly catching in his eyes. 

“Because you always tell me what’s wrong whenever you are suffering.”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Dean grumbled, feeling himself flush for some inexplicable reason. “Have it your way. I actually just came here to ask you if you wanted to come for dinner, but I’m guessing that Mr. Mopey Pants probably wants to eat about as much as he wants to talk.”

“That’s correct, Dean,” Castiel confirmed.

“Jesus,” Dean sighed to himself, regretting all of his life choices (as usually). Instead of doing the sensible thing and just walking away to let Castiel sulk by himself, he stepped into Castiel’s room and shut the door behind himself, extinguishing almost all of the outside light. Without bothering to turn on the ceiling light in return, he drew closer to the bed, stumbling in the darkness. Although he could not see with his eyes unadjusted to the lack of light, he knew the layout of the room well enough not to bump into anything -- besides, all he had to do was follow the always palpable existence of another human being in the room. Without so much as hitting his foot, his knees sank into the soft give of the mattress.

He wanted to sit down at the edge of the bed and have a calm and collected conversation with his best friend, as any normal person would do. What he wound up doing instead was not to stop there, for whatever reason: once his knees hit the bed, he suddenly found himself climbing on top of it, and since Castiel was all spread out on it, there was nowhere for Dean to go but on top of him. Not on top-on top of him, of course -- he did not press his body up against his, like some sexual fiend. No, all he did was try to lie down next to Castiel, and lied down on his arm and part of his thigh instead, though he tried to minimize the contact. However, he was apparently the only one interested in doing so because, despite their awkward positioning, Castiel made no move to withdraw from him and instead stayed rooted where he was, all spread out. 

As Dean adjusted his body, he thought he heard Castiel’s breath catch in the darkness, just so. For his own sanity, he decided to discard it.

“Cas, listen,” Dean began, “I know I’m not exactly the poster child for talking out your issues, but, uhm, I’m trying to do better. And encourage myself and other people to say when they got a problem. Be more open and all that. It’s a bit weird at first, I get it, but it does help.” That flush again, heating his skin. “Me, at least. It makes me feel better. Less alone, I guess. Less responsible for,” he made a throwaway gesture that could only be heard in the room, not seen, “everything, I guess.”

Castiel remained silent for a while, probaby mulling over Dean’s words. Then, he made a quiet sound of assent. “You do,” he agreed evenly, “feel responsible for everything.”

Dean could not help but groan. “Yeah, thanks, man. That wasn’t my point, though.”

“Yes,” Castiel said easily, “your point was that I should talk about whatever bothers me.”

Dean felt like rolling his eyes again. “If you got it, spare me your jokes.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, his arm twitching under Dean’s weight. He sounded surprised that Dean had gotten that his flat assessment had been an attempt at a joke and maybe a deflection -- as if Dean hadn’t known him long enough to be able to recognize his weird sense of humor that others often misunderstood as him being socially awkward.

“Yeah,” Dean huffed out, but there was no heat behind it. Just feeling Castiel’s arm and thigh under him was enough to keep him calm and somewhat endeared to the former angel, strangely enough. Maybe he needed to go out more.

“But,” Castiel began, pausing for yet another moment before commencing again, “but what if whatever bothers me is lying on top of me and trying to get me to talk about what bothers me?”

It took Dean a minute before he got what Castiel was driving at with his weird wording, and then he felt his body stiffening up. “You calling me a bother?” 

Right, he hadn’t come there to hear that kind of crap. If Cas wanted to be alone, then so be it.

Just as inelegantly as he had climbed onto the bed, he attempted to roll off of it. But before he could quite get up and leave the moody angel behind, there were hands grappling at his shoulder and hips, pulling him right back.

Dean grunted as he fell back against Castiel, who only tightened his grip to keep Dean in a weird kind of embrace. 

Suddenly finding himself winded, Dean could do nothing but stay where he was, Castiel’s arms around his chest and his face burrowed in his neck.

Cas smells so good, Dean thought in a moment of stupidity, incapable of not enjoying their unexpected proximity, Castiel’s hands and breath on his body. He wished they could stay like that forever, close and under cover of darkness, nothing but the two of them.

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, the warmth of the spoken name not just in Dean’s heart but also on his skin. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to see you like that?”

Dean, dumbly drunk as he was on Castiel, was far from understanding whatever Castiel was hinting at. “Wha--?”

“See you almost ripped asunder from those harpies, crying out and yelling my name--,” Castiel faltered, swallowing. 

Dean didn’t even remember calling out for Castiel specifically. He thought all he had done was scream and curse and hoping for either Cas or Sam to come and help him.

“And had they succeeded, there would have been nothing I could’ve done for you. I could not have healed you, put your body back together the way it belongs. The way it is right now.” 

With any other guy and under any other circumstances, the way one of Castiel’s hands suddenly roamed his body while the other held Dean tightly against his own body probably would have felt like someone trying to cop a feel against Dean’s will. Especially since Castiel did not exactly hold back, but panted as though holding back a sob while he touched any part of Dean’s body he could reach. As it was, Dean knew it wasn’t Cas’ intention to molest him or make him uncomfortable: it was self-reassurance, pure and simple. Something Dean understood instinctively, had needed more than enough times himself. Which was why he didn’t shy away or tell Castiel to stop. No, instead, he relaxed himself into his hold, and nuzzled back against his head.

“This what all of this is about, Cas?” Dean asked in a hoarse whisper. “You feel bad about not being able to mojo it all better anymore?” He could have probably been more precise in his words by asking if he felt bad about not being an angel anymore, but as much would have been understood; he did not mean to hurt Castiel any more than he already was hurting.

“I feel bad about seeing you like that,” Castiel deflected. Then, “I was scared when seeing you like that. Scared of losing you. And of being helpless to prevent it.”

There was a sudden lump in Dean’s throat. “You didn’t lose me, though. And you did prevent it.”

“Had I arrived even one moment later, Dean,” Castiel objected, pain thickening his voice, “then you would’ve lost an arm or two, or even your life. And I could not have healed you, restored your body. You might’ve died, Dean, and there would’ve been nothing I--”

That was about as far as he got because with a press of his lips, Dean cut him right off. Despite the shocked little noise that Castiel let out, he kissed back right away, his hand returning to angle Dean’s head to kiss him deeper, taste him wholly. 

It was Dean’s turn to be surprised when he felt Castiel’s tongue and lips immediately claim him that way, without any hesitation.

By the time they broke apart, both panting and staring at each other in the dimness, Dean had ended up with his back on the bed, Castiel hovering over him. 

“Don’t--,” Dean pressed out through heavy breaths, “don’t be a child, Cas. You didn’t come late -- in fact, you came at the exact right time to fucking save me. And you saved me with what you can do now, as a human, not as an angel. Without you, things might’ve gone downhill. Or they might’ve not. Who knows, maybe Sammy would’ve saved me.”

He could practically feel the frown above him.

“What I’m trying to say is: on a hunt, anything can happen. Might go good, and yeah, might go bad. It’s what we’re used to -- known all our lives. All we can do is give our best and hope it all pans out. And work with what we got. Same as you. Yeah, you can’t magically mojo all my injuries away, but you can kill any bitch with a blade like it’s nobody’s business. You’re quick and precise, and a damn asset to our hunts, if you ask me. And that’s what you should be focusing on. Thinking about the shoulda woulda coulda doesn’t help in any way -- think of what’s right in front of you, not what’s in the past or in the future. Ain’t nothing we can do anything about anyway. Well, not much, at least.”

Dean was proud of his little joke by the end there, but Castiel did not laugh. Did not even chuckle, that bastard. Instead, he made a contemplative noise as he listened and thought Dean’s words over again. 

“What’s right in front of me, huh?” Castiel reiterated thoughtfully, one of his thumbs tracing the line of Dean’s jaw and his lips.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and fought against the urge to kiss that teasing finger. “Not exactly what I meant, but yeah.”

“To me, that’s exactly what you meant,” Castiel said, with unprecedented lightness. “To not dwell on how badly you could’ve been hurt and how you screamed my name, but on how whole you are right now, how alive, thanks to me, and how much pleasure you could still receive.”

Dean was glad that Castiel could not possibly see how flaming his cheeks must have been. “That an offer, Cas?” His voice came out much lower than he had been going for, which however seemed well enough.“‘Cause lemme tell you, if it is, I wouldn’t mind showing my savior how thankful I am. How fucking alive.”

“It could be,” Castiel replied, his voice dipping in kind.

Which was an unexpected turn of events, if Dean had ever experienced one, and he had actually experienced many. But, true to his own words, he should focus on what was in front of him. What had, in fact, been in front of him for a whole damn while now, he had just been too chickenshit to reach out for it. 

Not anymore, though. Instead of drawing back and laughing it all off, diminishing the heat and warmth he felt for the weirdo on top of him, he laid a hand on Castiel’s cheek, let out a sigh, and pulled him back into another kiss.

#fanfic-corner #thank you for the prompt!! #destiel #spn #miriam writes #human!cas #fanfiction #hurt/comfort

[la5t-res0rt]

this was written several weeks ago in response to asks i was receiving i am posting it now it is very long the longest i have ever made and it is not very well edited but here it is in this final essay i talk about how shitty rae is about black people in her writing as well as just me talking about how her writing sucks in general lets begin

hello everyone 

as you may know i have received a lot of anons in the last week or so about issues of racism in the beetlejuice community both just generally speaking and also within specific spaces 

i was very frustrated to not be getting the answers i wanted because i typically do not talk about what i do not see but in an effort to be better about discourse i went looking through discourse from before my time in the fandom and i also received some receipts and information from my followers and from some friends

keep in mind that the voices and thoughts of bipoc are not only incredibly important at all times but in this circumstance it is important that if a bipoc has something to add you listen and learn and be better

i admit that when this happened i wasnt aware of the extent of what occurred and im angry at myself for not doing more at that time and i want to work harder to make sure something like this doesnt go unnoticed again

im a hesitant to talk about months old discourse because i have been criticized for bringing up quote old new unquote but this is very important and i am willing to face whatever comes from to me

lets talk about this

content from our local racist idiot that may be months old but its important

putting my thoughts under a cut to spare the dash but before i begin obviously this is awful

lets fucking unpack this folks

right out the gate op states that she supports artistic freedom but then within a couple words she goes against that statement

being entirely canon compliant isnt artistic freedom and even so if this person has so much respect for canon they wouldnt be out here erasing lydias obvious disgust for beetlejuice in the movie or ignoring lydias age for the sake of shipping that shit isnt canon either 

also we love the quick jab at the musical there hilarious we love it dont we because god forbid a licensed and successful branch on a media have any standing in this conversation but whatever

now lets scroll down and talk about the term racebending

the term racebending was coined around 2009 in response to the avatar the last airbender movie a film in which the east asian races of the characters were erased by casting white actors in the three leading roles of aang sokka and katara 

whenever the term racebending is used in a negative light it is almost always a case of whitewashing like casting scarlett johansen in ghost in the shell or the casting of white actors of the prince of persia sands of time instead of iranian ones

this kind of racebending erases minorities from beeing seen in media and is wrong

all that being said however racebending has also been noted to have very positive after effects like the 1997 adaptation of cinderella or casting samuel jackson as nick fury in the marvel movies nick fury was originally a white guy can you even imagine

i read this piece from an academic that said quote writers can change the race and cultural specificity of central characters or pull a secondary character of color from the margins transforming them into the central protagonist unquote

racebending like the kind that rae is so heated about is the kind of creative freedom that leads to more representation of bipoc in media which will never be a bad thing ever no matter how pissy you get about it

designing a version of a character as a poc isnt serving to make them necessarily better it serves to give new perspective and perhaps the opportunity to connect even more deeply with a character it doesnt marginalize or erase white people it can uplift poc and if you think uplifting poc is wrong because it tears down white people or whatever youre a fucking moron and you need to get out of your podunk white folk town and see the real world

the numbers of times a bipoc particularly a bipoc that is also lgbt+ has been represented in media are dwarfed by what i as a white dude have seen myself represented in media is and that isnt okay that isnt equality and its something that should change not only in mainstream media but in fandom spaces as well

lets move down a bit further to the part about bullying straight people which is hilarious and lets also talk about the term fetishistic as well lets start with that

this person literally writes explicit pornography of a minor and an adult are we really going to let someone like that dictate what is and what isnt fetishistic

similarly to doing a positive racebend situation people may project lgbt+ headcanons on a character because its part of who they are and it helps them feel closer to the character and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that

depicting lgbt+ subject matter on existing characters isnt an inherently fetishistic action generally things only really become fetishistic when the media is being crafted and hyped by people who are outside of lgbt+ community for example how young teens used to flip a tit about yaoi or how chasers fetishize trans people

but drawing a character with top surgery scars or headcanoning them as trans is harmless and its just another way to interpret a character literally anone could be trans unless if their character bio says theyre cis and most of them dont go that deep so it really is open to interpretation and on the whole most creators encourage this sort of exploration because it is a good thing to get healthy representation out in the world

as for it being used to bully straights thats just funny i dont have anything else on that like if youre straight and you feel threatened and bullied because of someone headcanoning someone as anything that isnt cishet youre a fucking idiot and a weak baby idiot at that like the real world must fucking suck for you because lgbt+ people are everywhere and statistically a big chunk of your favorite characters arent cishet sorry be mad about it

lets roll down a bit further about the big meat of the issue which was when several artists were drawing interpretations of lydia as a black girl which i loved but clearly this person didnt love it because they have a very narrow and very racist and problematic view of what it means to be a black person

and before i move forward i must reiderate that i am a white person and you should listen to the thoughts of poc people like @fright-of-their-lives​ or @gender-chaotic it is not my place to explain what the black experience is like and it certainly isnt this persons either

implying that the story of a black person isnt worth telling unless if the character faces struggles like racism and prejudice is downright moronic 

why use the word kissable to describe a black persons lips now thats what i call fetishistic and its to another extreme if youre talking about a black version of lydia on top of that

the author of this post says herself that shes white so clearly shes the person whos an authority on the black experience and what it means to be a black person right am i reading that right or am i having a fucking conniption

how about allowing black characters to exist without having to struggle why cant a black version of lydia just be a goth teenager with a ghost problem who likes photography and is also black like she doesnt have to move to a hick town and get abused by racist folks she doesnt have to go through any more shit than she already goes through and if you honestly think thats the only way to tell a black persons story you need to get your brain cleaned

you know nothing about the complexities about being a black person and i dont either but you know wh odo black people who are doing black versions of canon characters they fucking know 

lets squiggle down just a bit further 

so the writer has issues with giving characters traits like a broad nose or larger lips if theyre a woman but if theyre a man suddenly its totally okay to go all ryan murphy ahs coven papa legba appropriation when approaching character design like are you fucking stupid do you hear yourself is that really how you see black men like what the fuck is wrong with you

none of the shit youre spewing takes bravery it takes ignorance and supreme levels of stupidity

do you really think you with your fic where a black lgbt+ woman is tortured and abused where you use the n word with a hard r to refer to her like that shits not okay its fucking depraved and yeah we know you love being shitty but like christ on a bike thats so much 

can we also talk about this

what the fuck is this fetishistic bull roar garbage calling this black character beyonce dressing her up in quote fuck me heels unquote are you are you seriously gonna write this and say its a shining example of how to write a black character youre basically saying ope here she is shes a sex icon haha im so progressive and i clealry understand the black experience hahahaha fuck you oh my god

on top of that theres a point where this character is only referred to as curly hair or the fact that the n word is used in the fic with the hard r like thats hands down not okay for you to use especially not in a manner like this jesus christ

oop heres a little more a sampling for you of the hell i am enduring in reading this drivel

oh boy lets put a leash on the angry black woman character lets put her in a leash and have the man imply hes a master like are you kidding me are you for real and what the fuck is with calling her shit like j lo and beyonce do you actually think thats clever at all are you just thinking of any poc that comes into your head for this 

also lydia fucking tells this girl that she shouldnt have lost her temper like she got fucking leashed im so tired why is this writing so problematic and also so bad

hold up before i lose my head lets look at some of her own comments on the matter of this character and what happens to her

hi hello youre just casually tossing the word lynch out there in the wide open world as if thats not a problem that is still real like are you fucking unhinged there have been multiple cases of this exact thing happening in our firepit of a country in the last five months alone like how can you still have shit like this up for people to read how can you be proud of work like this in this climate

and also what the fuck is that last bit 

what the actual fuck

i dont speak for black people as a white person but you do!? im sorry i had to get my punctuation out for that because wow thats fucking asinine just because one black person read your fic and didnt find the torture and abuse of your one black character abhorrant doesnt mean that the vast majority of people not only in the fandom but in the human population with decency are going to think its okay because its not 

i started this post hoping to be level headed and professional but jesus fucking christ this woman is something else white nationalism is alive and well folks and its name is rae

if you defend this woman you defend some truly abhorrant raecism

editors notes 

in order to get some perspective on these issues more fully some of the writing by the author was examined and on the whole it was pretty unreadable but i want to just call back to the very beginning of this essay where the person in question talked about holding canon in high regard but then in their writing they just go around giving people magic and shit and ignoring the end of the movie entirely like are you canon compliant or nah 

the writing doesnt even read like beetlejuice fanfic it reads as self indulgent fiction you could easily change the names and its just a bad fanfic from 2007

also can we talk about writing the lesbian character as an angry man hater like its 2020 dude and als olets touch on that girl on girl pandering while beetlejuice is just there like here we go fetishizing again wee

i cant find a way to work this into this already massive post but

im going to throw up

okay so thats a lot we have covered a lot today and im sure my ask box will regret it but this definitely should have been more picked apart when it happened

please feel free to add more to this i would love more perspectives than just my own.

#long post #racism #raecism #im so tired #thanks for reading

[davidmann95]

Hey David? Why is ours such a cruel and merciless God?

mirrorfalls said: (If you don't know what I'm talking about, your inbox should be filling up with more specific deets riiiiight about now.)

cheerfullynihilistic said: THE SNYDER CUT

Anonymous said: You don’t seem to think Superman’s public rep will take another beating from the Snyder Cut coming out. Honestly I thought you’d be way more upset than you seemed on Twitter.

Anonymous said: So uhh, against all thoughts and logic the Snyder cut is being released? Maybe as a mini series? Thoughts?

Anonymous said: SNYDER CUT!

Bullies. Jocks. Guys angrily asking if we know who their father is. Assorted dudebro nerd-oppressors of America:

You have failed us. You have failed us so hard. What else do we even keep you around for if not to head this shit off at the pass? Shame on you.

Okay, so seriously: I’m actually gonna put most bitching and moaning under a cut, because I know firsthand there are as many as several non-slavering maniacs out there who dug Man of Steel and Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice and who are simply and entirely reasonably excited that they’re getting this movie after all. I don’t feel like throwing a wall of text at them shitting all over this, so I’ll lead off with I think some fairly even-handed commentary on the real-world circumstances here, rambling speculation regarding the production, and some cautious optimism about the actual movie/s. THEN I’ll get to what I imagine most of you are here to see.

So totally in a vacuum: this is a cool, good thing. I’m the notorious theatrical Justice League-liker, but at best it was a compromised product due to the original creator - who like it or not clearly had an incredibly ambitious personal vision for these characters and their world - suffering a horrific tragedy forcing him off the project, and leaving his final stamp on blockbuster culture and a world he’d devoted years of his life to a flop with his name on it when he couldn’t even truly call it his own anymore. At worst, said tragedy was taken advantage of by suits to ditch him in the home stretch so as to try and shove out something ostensibly more marketable. But now because of a...very loyal fanbase, the man’s getting the opportunity and resources to rise like a phoenix and see at least some of his vision through in a huge way. That’s pretty remarkable.

Not in a vacuum this is fucking horrifying. I’ve already seen folks poo-poohing the reflexive fears that this will ‘set a precedent’, and they were right enough that I deleted my initial tweet on the subject because I didn’t think I could express my own opinion with any nuance in the space of 280 characters. Yeah, nerd whining definitely shaped Rise of Skywalker (another movie I enjoyed in spite of the circumstances of its creation). Hell, Sonic the Hedgehog crunched its CGI team prior to unceremoniously firing them to redesign his model thanks to outcry. That’s already a market force, and just to be clear upfront, if we can’t agree the predominant mode of operation for #ReleaseTheSnyderCut has been a toxic nerd harassment campaign when they spammed posts memorializing deceased actors and chased Diane Nelson off Twitter, we’re not gonna be able to have this conversation. And director’s cuts are you may have noticed also already a thing. But this isn’t changing direction on a project that’s already going to exist no matter what, this is turning back 3 years later on a commercial flop and dumping tens of millions of dollars into it, explicitly in response to that harassment campaign. It’s not *actually* going back and, say, remaking The Last Jedi, but by god to the naked eye it’s gonna be as good as for plenty of fanboys, and probably to some shortsighted execs as well. This is a new thing, and in this context it is a very, very bad one. Hopefully one that won’t amount to anything.

As for the movie itself: what the hell is this thing going to end up being? I assume with this sort of cashola being pumped into it we’re not getting any slapdash greenscreen or storyboarded sequences, but four hours? Is it really just going to be an expanded and revised version of what we saw in theaters, or is this including content that would have been in the originally planned Justice Leagues 2 and 3? My understanding is that those were already compressed into a single Justice League 2 before plans collapsed altogether, were they maybe filming side-by-side and this’ll be the whole shebang? If not is Snyder going to hedge his bets and end this on a clean note, or keep it ending on a cliffhanger in hopes HBO will throw another $250 million his way to keep going? Does DC want to keep going? Would they give into fan pressure on releasing after all what was widely publicized as the first film of a duology or trilogy with dangling threads if they weren’t going to be at least watching the numbers to see the feasibility of returning to this in a bigger way? Not that I think WB execs would piss into Snyder’s mouth if he were dying of thirst at this point if he simply asked to be able to do Justice League 2, but if he floated that if they instead just give him a liiiiiiiitle more money he can finally deliver unto them their very own Avengers - one that they can work on even during quarantine since it’s mostly just VFX work left - and hey if it works out he’s got a sequel or two cued up and ready to go? Maybe they look at their scattered plans and say the hell with it and end up giving this a theatrical release and sequel with Snyder holding the reigns again if this ends up a killer app; stranger things have happened, if not many, and somehow this is already happening in the first place after all. Alternatively, if this succeeds, could they go “thanks and good on ya, totally do another, but it’s gonna be an HBO exclusive so you’re only getting a hundred million, figure it out”? Would Ben Affleck return? How much reshooting will he be willing to commit to even for this? And most importantly, since this is potentially going to be serialized as six ‘episodes’, will We Got This Covered count this as another ‘win’ since their bullshit rumor mill algorithm spit out “Justice League HBO TV show” recently?

As for the project itself: I ain’t subscribing to HBOMax for this bad boy, but once it becomes more widely available I can’t claim I won’t probably watch it. It’s basically a new movie about the Justice League, and if there’s anything I WOULD wanna see Zack Snyder do in the DCU, it’s the movie finally moving past pseudo-realism (aside from some of those dopey costumes) and leaning all the way into godlike superbeings bludgeoning each other through continents. I absolutely wanna see his aesthetic take on the Green Lantern Corps, and New Genesis, and time travel, and all the other weird promises of where his movies were going to go climaxing in a ridiculous super-war across all spacetime. It’s the same reason J.G. Jones was an exciting choice for Final Crisis before he had to leave, seeing a guy known for his work in an ultra-real grungy superhero style starting there and building up to seeing his version of absolutely wild cosmic spectacle. And no, to respond to one of the initial asks, I’m not worried about the impact on Superman. Everyone seems to have accepted this is its own distinct thing whether they like it or not, I think him getting to complete his ‘arc’ will quiet down many of the folks who like to yell at every other version as retro nonsense since now they’ll be able to be smug about having had the best take rather than pining for a lost finale, and I’m not interested in further Superman movies at the moment anyway with Superman & Lois in the pipe (which I was originally paranoid would be endangered by this when rumors first started floating, but if it’s been brewing since November then if they wanted to strike that down to ‘make room’ according to their Byzantine ever-shifting rules, they would have by now). Far as I’m concerned, as long as the other DC movies get to keep doing what they’re doing during and past this - even Pattinson in his corner, however that works - then totally let Snyder work out all his Wagnerian superhero bullshit for another flick or two. If nothing else, maybe we’ll learn what the hell that diagram up there is supposed to mean. And a plea I want to clarify upfront is wholeheartedly sincere: we’re already down the rabbit hole, so let Snyder to literally whatever he wants with his non-theatrically released Justice League. Zero input or veto power from outside parties. If he wants Flash to hang dong or Superman to say fuck or Batman to learn he’s Steppenwolf’s secret dad or Cyborg to learn he needs to eat babies to fuel his machine parts, let him go for it. Whole point is this is now his thing for people who want his thing.

Okay, beneath the cut the filter comes off, so go ahead if that’s your jam.

Hahahahahahaha this is gonna be such a fuckin’ shitshow you guys, Jesus Christ.

They’re giving the dude who did BvS and wants to make an Ayn Rand adaptation someday $30 million to take another crack at this monstrosity! 30 goddamn million smackaroos for four fucking hours of by many accounts roughly the same basic movie, except now presumably with what little coherency, fun, and clean character work the theatrical cut managed to pull off excised in return for weighty staring, ponderous pseudo-philosophical musings, hackneyed symbolism, aimless mythology teasing, and Steppenwolf I understand being decapitated by Wonder Woman at the end rather than taken back to Apokolips. I didn’t even spoiler mark that shit because don’t you dare pretend you care about the fate of Steppenwolf. I won’t have it.

I used to wonder if I was indeed missing the forest for the trees with these movies, that I was so inflexible in my personal image of these characters - even though I appreciate plenty of alternate takes on them and even some stories that bend or break what I consider their ‘rules’, just not these - that I was incapable of grasping or appreciating these films on their own merits as works of art using those archetypes in wildly different ways; even I could see there were good moments and interesting ideas on display despite seemingly failing to come together. No matter how much I personally deconstructed how and why it wasn’t working, I couldn’t do it to my own satisfaction to the point of stamping out that niggling little worry with how many folks whose opinions I respect love ‘em. Until I finally remembered that the Cadmus arc of Justice League Unlimited is totally the same basic story as BvS, centrally driven by an even worse take on Superman, and that’s still one of the best superhero stories of all time. These just stink by any merits, and while I think Justice League absolutely has the potential to be the most *entertaining* of the bunch, it’s not going to magically become *good* in the eleventh hour. Not to lift up Joss Whedon of all people as some kind of savior, I’m on the record that my love for Justice League as-is is some kind of inexplicable alchemical accident, but I promise that there is not going to be one single addition to this movie that’s going to make up for the removal of “Just save one person”.

Also I’m already not looking forward to dudes tweeting “whoa, he’s splitting it up into a serialized narrative, reflective of the sequential nature of the characters’ primitive native pictorial medium! Or mayhap in ode to the pulp film adventure serials which inspired those in turn! Even the Justice League children’s cartoon for dumb babies, which was itself...made up of episodes! That’s three references in the structure of the thing alone! The man’s operating on an entirely different level!” “God, isn’t it amazing how much better he understands the source material than you”, they shall say, about a man who I understand just very confidently referred to Doomsday in his livestream as having destroyed Krypton in the comics. Again, don’t you say they won’t, just the other day I saw folks tweeting they just realized that since Jor-El wears armor over his bodysuit that technically means Superman’s whole costume is underwear which means Snyder’s totally honoring that without putting him in ugly dumb red panties so checkmate, dorks.

(Okay, in fairness, I know Snyder was saying that’s his take on what happened to the moon in the past of the movies and maybe I only misheard that he thought that also happened in the comics, and it’s trivial information anyway. Still sucks though, that seeming out-of-nowhere Jax-Ur shoutout was like the one thing I liked about that otherwise interminable Krypton sequence. And why is there a second Doomsday? You did Death of Superman already!)

And further SPOILER thoughts below on the reported plots of 2 and 3:

It’s also an amazing, perfect sort of narrative synchronicity that the hypocrisy of Man of Steel in presenting Superman as a savior would (will?) be matched by the movies also rejecting that promise long-term. In there, Jor-El’s musings on the capacity of every living thing being capable of good, the closest the film has to a singular moral statement, are proven wrong when Zod has to be put down like a mad dog, and rather than the one who’ll bring us into the sun, Kal-El’s presence draws ruin from beyond the stars to our world. And again in BvS with Doomsday. And again in Justice League 1-3, where in spite of claims by Snydercutters that it’s okay for Superman to be a really lousy take on Superman because it’s totally supposed to take several movies after putting on the costume and calling himself Superman, including his own death and resurrection, for him to really, like, become Superman, man, he remains a liability to the end. His death lures in Steppenwolf, the Kryponian matrix in his genes is Darkseid’s goal, he becomes the villain of the first act of Justice League 3 - possibly of his own free will depending on which version you’ve heard about - and at the final showdown, it’s Batman who sacrifices himself to stop Darkseid and save the world and inspire the rise of superheroism, because Batman, you see, rules, whereas Superman, stay with me here, drools. A letdown given BvS was just about the one major story of the last 30 years to unambiguously conclude Superman is better than Batman, but not a shocker. None of what I understand goes down in these - iconography from the likes of Fourth World, Crisis on Infinite Earths, Death and Return of Superman, Rock of Ages, Final Crisis, and Injustice reused but stripped of all context and thematic weight that gives it meaning (even Injustice is built on the premise of having a ‘good’ Superman to contrast the dictator); Lois being the ‘key’ because of her connections to two men, one she married and one she bears; time travel that even by the very generous suspension of disbelief applied to it in a genre like this operates by two obviously completely different sets of rules in its only two uses, and is then used to write the entire second movie of the trilogy out of continuity in the first act of the third, making one and a half of these movies pointless - is shocking. It’s just more empty notions and unfulfilled promises offered up to a fanbase staking everything on the idea that all the tampering, all the wild swings, all the meandering, it’s all building UP to something, not possibly just a dude who doesn’t understand these characters but wanting to look very clever with them before building up to one more rad punch-up. So yes, make these movies. Let what can be gleaned from them as worthwhile be revealed, leave the rest of it up for examination to be judged as it deserves and let it, finally. Finally. Be done.

#Justice League #Snyder Cut #Zack Snyder #DCEU #Worlds of DC #Superman #Man of Steel #Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice #Superman & Lois #DCTV #Analysis #Opinion

[ashintheairlikesnow]

can you give us...Ryan's Attempt At Poem? :')

CW: Strong language, siblings being shit to each other just ‘cause. Crude references to consensual spice.

TIMELINE: Danny is 21 and a junior in college, Ryan is 19 and a freshman. Takes place one year and three months prior to abduction, about one year before Danny meets Nate for the first time.

“Dan, get in here and help me out!”

Danny groans, rolling his eyes. “Sorry, guys,” He says into the mic on the little headset he’s wearing. “Little brother needs me.”

“Man, fuck your little brother.” That’s Cam, who isn’t exactly Danny’s friend, but he plays all the same video games and Danny likes teaming up with him. Cam always racks up just an insane kill count.

Danny has a painful crush on him, like being a high schooler all over again. It doesn’t help that he’s Danny’s lab partner in his chemistry course, so they sit in incredibly painful proximity to one another twice a week for an hour.

“Careful, Cameron, if you say fuck you too loudly around Ryan Michaelson, he absolutely will,” Perry says, laughter along his voice. “Then you’d learn about a whole new world, buddy.”

“Hey, if Ryan Michaelson asked me to, I probably would want to discover a whole new world,” Cam replies, apparently unbothered. “I mean. Look, there’s pretty, and then there’s Ryan fucking Michaelson.”

“Ugh, gross, you guys. He’s my brother.”

“Yeah, but, like… you’d understand, right?”

Danny sighs dramatically, making it loud enough to carry through the mike. His heart races, just a little, as he says, “But what if I wanted to show you  whole new world, Cam?”

There’s a silence, and then everyone starts laughing, and Danny is elated that nobody took him seriously, but also disappointed that Cameron didn’t take him seriously. 

Stop getting crushes on straight guys, Danny, you know it’s not going to work.

He’d sort of thought being gay as hell would mean he only wanted to actually be with actual gay guys, but… it doesn’t always happen that way. Whatever. Cam wouldn’t have noticed him even if he was gay, anyway - he was in a frat or some shit and Danny figured he probably wears way too much eyeliner for the frat guys to put up with.

But he looks really fucking good in eyeliner.

“Danny!” Ryan calls again, louder this time. “You and I both know you’re not playing right now, you’re just, like, talking shit with those guys - come help!”

“Okay, I mean it, I’m gone for now. I’ll tell him you all sent your fucking love and kisses and whatnot,” Danny says, brightly.

“Definitely tell him we sent our kisses,” Perry says. “Jesus fuck, Ryan Michaelson is hot.”

“Perry-”

“Yeah, yeah, later, Dan. We’ll tell you how hot your brother is when you get back.”

“… well now I’m not coming back.”

“No! We need you! You’re the second-best shot on the team! Only Cam does a better job than you.”

“Wow, what a compliment,” Danny says dryly. “I think I might melt into the fucking floor.”

“Little Danny-puddle,” Cam says, slightly soft, and Danny’s throat nearly closes up. Then he just logs out before he say something embarrassing, tossing his mic onto the coffee table and standing up, stretching his limbs. Ryan’s in the guest room this weekend - Danny had gotten a two-bedroom apartment specifically so Ryan could stay over whenever. 

Mom and Dad fucking hated when Ryan stayed here, and that was half the reason to invite him. 

“All right, dumbass, what do you need?” Danny says as he sticks his head through the door to Ryan’s room. He’s on his stomach on the bed, squinting at his laptop, head titled.

“I need help. I want to write Remy a poem for Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, my God. I am way too gay to help you write a poem for a girl, Ryan. Especially for fucking Remy fucking Alleman, the bitch.”

“Man, fuck you. Remy’s fucking gorgeous and sarcastic and French and like the smartest person I know.”

“What about me?”

“Danny, you are neither French nor particularly smart, but I’ll give you sarcastic.”

“I’m at least gorgeous, though, right?”

“Nah, man, you’re ugly as shit. All those freckles?” Ryan pokes Danny in the cheek, just over his cheekbone, and laughs when Danny shoves him so hard he rolled off the bed and hit with a thump. “Ow! Fine, I take it back! You’re… acceptably attractive under certain circumstances!”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask you to say.” Danny flutters his eyelashes, then holds out his hand to help Ryan back up onto the bed. “So why do you want my help, for real?”

“Well… Gay guys are good at romantic shit, right?”

Danny blinks at him. “Have you met me?”

“… fair point. You’re a dumbass on a good day. Well… you’re all I got, so come over here and look at it, tell me what you think. I want to, like, handwrite it on this really pretty paper I got, and then I’m gonna roll it up like it’s a scroll and tie it to a rose she’s gonna find in that tree we used to climb when we started dating. Does that sound romantic?”

“Yeah, that sounds like a fucking Hallmark card. Let me see.”

Danny flops down to look at the words sitting in the open Word document on the screen. 

“My gaming friends think you’re super hot, you know,” He says, sidelong. “Perry and Jay and Cam and shit.”

Ryan shrugs. “Everyone thinks I’m hot. Comes with being so fucking hot all the time.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you, too,” Ryan says primly. “And don’t you forget it.”

“How could I forget anything about you, you never leave me the fuck alone. Okay, so your poem.” Danny looks at the computer screen, gnawing on his lower lip, thinking. “Oh, man. This is… terrible.”

“Is it really?” Ryan scoots closer. “Like, too terrible to show her?”

“No you should definitely show her, she is going to fall on her ass laughing, and I want to be there to see it.” Danny’s mouth moves as he rereads it - he’s never been the best reader, although he does well enough reading for school. “Yeah, no, this sucks absolute donkey ass.”

“Shit.” Ryan deflates, a little, and Danny looks at him sidelong. “I just wanted to do something romantic.”

“Ryan, this is romantic. It’s just also terrible. It can be both things.”

“Yeah, but she’s French. They, like, get poetry and shit.”

“She’s French-Canadian, for starters, and don’t ever call her French to her face or she’ll kick you in it. Just give her your terrible poem and the rose and stuff. It’s romantic as hell, Ryan. She’ll laugh but she’ll keep the poem for-fucking-ever, I guarantee it.”

“You think?”

“I know, Ryan. Okay, I’ll help you maybe move some stuff around. I don’t know shit about poetry, but I mean… I can try. We’ll work on it together, get it the best it’s gonna be from the Michaelson boys.”

“So… still terrible.”

“Yeah, but what are you gonna do? If she cared about poetry, she’d date a fucking English major, right?”

“Right. But… but.” Ryan hesitates, just the barest hint of real vulnerability on his face. “She’ll still like it, even if it sucks, right?”

“She likes you even though you suck,” Danny pointed out helpfully.

“Hey now, of the two of us in the room who suck-”

“Shut up, asshole. Let’s get this done so I can get back to gaming, we’re doing really well in the rankings. Cam is talking about doing a couple semi-pro bits, like, signing up for meets where there’s money on the line.”

“Well if Cameron says to do it, of course you have to, God forbid you remember Cameron doesn’t even know you exist. Oooh, let’s write a poem for Cam for Valentine’s. ‘My hair is red, my eyes are blue, when I’m sucking dick, I think about you-’“

“Ryan, shut the fuck up! I do not think about Cam every time!”

Ryan brightens. “So… how often would you say you do? Ballpark estimate.”

Danny groans. “I’m going to punch you in the face. In the face, Ryan.”

“Mmmn, I’d look super hot with a black eye and we both know it. Anyway, help me with the poem first, I need to, like, learn some kind of penmanship or whatever so this doesn’t look like shit.”

“… yeah, okay.”

The two brothers settled in next to each other to consider the next line.

#microfiction #drabbles #original fiction #brothers #sibling bonding #which mostly means insulting each other #daniel michaelson is a tall smol bean #ryan michaelson is a good brother #anon asks about danny #Daniel Michaelson's story #just for fun #true fluff #fluff #humorous fiction

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Religious rant

My “Journey”: Southern Baptist -> Agnostic -> Deist -> probably Unitarian?

I believe in God, I have my reasons, but I don’t feel the need to make it anyone else’s problem.  You can’t prove God exists, you can’t push your beliefs on other people, your personal experiences do not negate centuries of empirical evidence.  The burden of proof falls on the person making the claim, not the audience; if we cannot prove something, then we can not realistically expect anyone else to start believing it.  I am a man of science, first and foremost.  The universe is 14 billion years old, all life shares a common evolutionary ancestor, the Earth is round, we’ve been to the Moon, creationism doesn’t belong in schools, being gay is a-okay, trans men are men, trans women are women, and an European swallow cannot lift a coconut.

I live my life within a narrow interpretation of the New Testament: don’t be an asshole.

Jesus was a real historical figure, there are extrabiblical sources that prove this, the question is whether or not he was indeed the son of God.  Hell if I know.  If God exists, then sure.  Either way, Jesus’s teachings were pretty bog standard: don’t be an asshole.

I believe that anyone can be a good person, regardless of religious background, and in fact many allegedly pious people are in fact the worst pieces of shit alive today.  People do horrible things in the name of Christianity, they pretty much always have (the Crusades, proselytism, genocide, the Republican party, etc.), and it makes it hard to believe anything the religion claims to promote when the leaders are all horrible people.  I cannot condone organized Christianity, there’s too much corruption and politicization.  I have to maintain my own mantra to stay sane: don’t be an asshole.

God loves everyone (yes, even the horrible ones).  God IS love, He doesn’t hate anything.  That doesn’t mean that everyone gets a free pass to do whatever they want with no consequences, He can still disapprove of a bunch of stuff, but if He is truly an all knowing all loving creator, He would weigh your actions and your intentions instead of just giving you a get-out-of-Hell-free card for saying you like his son; nepotism will get you nowhere!  There are no magic words you can say that will get you into Heaven.  If God exists, He knows if you are a good person.  He knows everything you do and why you do it, and He knows whether you actually believe the things you say/do or if you’re just saying/doing them to try and appease Him.  There are no secrets, He knows if you’re bullshitting Him, and He knows if you’re legitimately trying your best under the given circumstances.

If God is all knowing and all loving, why then would He choose to punish 70% of the world’s population for believing the wrong thing?  Why would He create people to punish?  Why would He damn them from the beginning?  Why would He create some arbitrary entry-barrier to the afterlife that involves the random chance of your birth?  That’s not fair.

Now I know life isn’t fair; life is demonstrably UNFAIR, everyone knows that, but I have to believe that in the grand scheme of things there has to be some order to the chaos.  Maybe that’s just hopeless optimism, but let me tell you that I am perhaps the most pessimistic person I know.  I am depressed and stressed and always underdressed, so I have trouble looking on the positive side of anything.  Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, putting off the inevitable until after I’m already dead, but I figure who the hell cares?  If I’m right, I’m right.  If I’m wrong, I stop existing and won’t be able to care anymore.

Oblivion is my greatest fear; I can’t even imagine not existing anymore.  I know that if oblivion is inevitable then there’s no use worrying about it, but it fills me with dread to think that one day I may just stop being.  Sure, I didn’t exist for longer than I did exist; I was dead for billions of years before I was alive, but the difference is that I was never alive before that “death” to think about it.  Now that I AM alive, I kinda have a vested interest in staying alive.  I kinda like being conscious, I can’t imagine going back to nothingness now that I have experienced somethingness.  Anythingness.  Ness, in general.

I don’t know what to believe, I don’t know what is right, I don’t know how I would even go about finding the answers, so I just have to accept that there are some things I can’t know and be done with it.  Ignorance is bliss,but I don’t want to be ignorant, so I’m still open to new things, I just can’t keep worrying about that which is beyond my control.

I am trying my best not to be an asshole.  I try to be a good person, I try to be kind and respectful, I try to use my privilege to help marginalized groups, and I am actively trying to unlearn the prejudices I was raised around.  No one is intrinsically good or evil, you just have to try your best to make the world for others a better place then the world you find yourself in now.

#don't be an asshole #religion #Christianity #rant #rambling #thoughts #God #jesus #Jesus is just alright #deist #agnostic #unitarian #unitarianism #agnosticism #deism #chrsitian #christians are mostly evil #I want to be one of the not evil ones #oblivion #death #life after death #afterlife

[brendanelliswilliams]

Misappropriated Language and Outmoded Ideology in the Church, and How We Might Move Beyond Them

A good friend and fellow priest posted this past Sunday on his Facebook page that he had been frustrated in trying to write a sermon, feeling that so much of the language he would normally use had been coopted and tainted by right-wing Evangelical white nationalists. The following was my reply to him (with a few minor points of clarification added here):

‘Fr. Karl Rahner once said that he thought the Church should fast from using the word “God” for at least fifty years, until we can all get clear about what we’re actually doing and saying with a term like that, and get deeply rooted and serious enough in our theological speculations to warrant its use. (Fr. Richard Rohr suggested we take the same approach with the name “Jesus”, and I concur; in fact, I think we are much more in need of fasting from this latter name than from the former.) It seems to me that there’s a great deal of wisdom in this approach. What you point out here is the principal reason why the “Jesus Movement” language so ubiquitous in the Episcopal Church today feels misplaced to me, and in fact really chafes every time I hear it. Don’t get me wrong, I love the Presiding Bishop and the basic elements of his vision, but I find this sort of language to be hitting the wrong chord. To me it feels ill matched with where the Church is at now, and where it should be going—and with where the world is at with regard to the Church. It partakes of precisely the same sorts of dissonances you’re highlighting. In the Western Church today we are always in danger of simply repeating platitudes, or unwittingly furthering falsities by allowing ourselves to remain stuck with misappropriated and imprecise language. Most peoples’ “Christology” in the West (if you can even call it that—maybe we should say “Jesusology” instead) is, in my humble opinion, really lacking the deep roots of the tradition. And that leaves us with a rather small and limited vision. This is one reason (among several) why I almost exclusively use “Christ” in religious discourse, or “Christ-Sophia”. I think we need that sort of lens again, which is both broader and more nuanced, and which, if we’re intelligent about it (rather than merely reactionary or political) can liberate us from all the heinous misunderstanding and misuse that has colored Christianity in the West for so long, and afford us a much more effectual set of linguistic and imagistic tools for legitimate transformation. Rahner also said, “Christians of the future will be mystics or they won’t exist at all.” In my view, that’s where we’re headed now from this particular crossroads, if we have the depth and courage to claim the calling of real religiosity. As I perceive it, that’s the divine invitation. And it can most definitely take us into a truer, more authentic, and more rooted place, away from all the baggage of the language and imagery you’re rightly lamenting.’

I saw a photo today from the Capitol riot on January 6th. In the background of the photo was one of what appears to have been many ‘Jesus Saves’ or similar signs present at that event. No doubt those folks also consider themselves to be part of the (‘true’) ‘Jesus Movement’. To be sure, their coopting of Jesus as a figure who supports their insane fundamentalism, egoic delusions, and desire for power is corrupt and evil, but I wonder how ours really differs, structurally speaking. The (white) progressive Jesus is ‘nicer’, but is our understanding of what such a figure really means and invites us into that much deeper than their reactionary, fundamentalist version of the same? Both expressions are drawn in essence from the same literal-historical trends in hermeneutics; it’s just that they emphasize different elements of received texts and interpretations. Granted, I strongly affirm that the emphases of right-wing Evangelicalism (and Evangelicalism at large, in fact) are objectively destructive and immoral, but fundamentally both interpretations play the same sorts of hermeneutical games: they operate in the same playing field, not only culturally (in a homogeneous container), but also religiously.

In other words, all Christians in the West are at some level responsible for this cancerous appropriation of Christian values. Even in progressive circles, in spite of our best intentions, we partake of the language, the dominator cultural styles and structures that have birthed and perpetuated all this toxicity. Until we face that head-on, how can we go about the real work of healing or ‘wholing’ ourselves into a mode of religiosity that is finally supportive of the values of Life, of Nature, of Divinity, rather than blatantly contrary to them?

One of the many problems we face now as people in the Church who want desperately to lead it in a direction of Life—rather than death, ignominy, political coopting, immorality, and corrosion—is that most Western Christians have a rather surface-level view of Jesus, and of Christ more broadly. So the toolkit we’ve been given to work with to articulate a better vision for ourselves is extremely limited. In the United States particularly, it should now be abundantly clear how tied up with right-wing nationalism, racism, and dominator values this theologically underdeveloped mode of Christian language has become. This means—obviously, I hope—that we need to expand and deepen our toolkit, drawing from the deepest and most life giving roots of the tradition.

The lack of adequate Christological understanding is not the fault of ordinary Christian folk; it’s what has been fed to them by their clergy, and it’s what was taught to most of those clergy in seminary for the last two or three generations. It’s what I call the ‘social Gospel, historical Jesus’ trend, and, in my view, this is a trend that has utterly crippled mainline and progressive Christian denominations, and in many cases created a notion of Christian religiosity as (essentially) little more than social justice work with a veneer of religious language. Of course, the work of justice is crucial, but what happens when we scrub away the Mystery, the experiential, inward transformation that is actually required to give rise to authentic justice, the richness of myth and symbology, leaving only this ‘social Gospel, historical Jesus’ layer of ideation? Well, as I’ve been saying for many years now: I think it is perfectly plain to see what happens in that case, as we now see it playing out all around us: the Church is collapsing, and (ironically) has almost no socio-cultural clout, which is the only thing it seems to have really desired for the last five or six decades.

I pray that people will finally be ready to move beyond all this, into something with real transformative capacity. But, alas, I suspect many, if not most, will not. So many Western Christians, of whatever stripe, seem absolutely determined to cling to all manner of outmoded and unhealthful aspects of Christian religious expression, language, and dogma, simply for the sake of safety, comfort, and security in the ‘known quantity’. And that, we can be sure, will lead us nowhere, both individually and collectively.

Might we not attempt to root our religion in actual religion? In other words, can we not learn once more to base our religious affiliation and practice on a legitimate and appropriately comparative understanding of myth, religious narrative, the ‘perennial philosophy’, and the actual aims of religiosity—namely, the science of spiritual transformation through initiatory, ascetical, liturgical, sacramental, and other modes of productive individual and communal sacred work? Haven’t we had enough of basing our religion on socio-cultural and academic trends in lieu of what actually transforms? Are the disastrous results of that finally clear enough for all to see? Of course, we must evolve with the times—I am by no stretch of the imagination a reactionary, and I am stringently anti-fundamentalist in every possible way—but this current disaster we now inhabit is what happens when, in the rush and distraction of that process of cultural evolution, we lose touch with the real root and purpose of the whole operation in the first place; that is, when we lose our memory and understanding of what religion is actually for and what it’s meant to accomplish in the human person.

I won’t enter here into the many additional issues related to male dominator language and the rest of the attendant cancerous threads that have long plagued Abrahamic religious expression, or their effects on Church and society; if you’re interested in all that, you might find some food for reflection in my book, Seeds from the Wild Verge. But here’s an idea: Let’s focus on the Blessed Mother for a while—very deeply: not just linguistically and imagistically, but theologically and practically as well, in a nuanced and committed fashion, not for purposes of political correctness but out of profound theological curiosity and a spirit of expansive internal exploration. God knows all you Protestant types out there could use a serious (and indefinite) dose of the Mother.

I was reflecting recently on what a truly sad circumstance it is that I often feel I can much more readily find depth and theological nuance in contemporary Hindu discourse on Christ, the Blessed Mother, etc., than I can in contemporary Christian discourse on the same. A terrible irony. It often feels to me as if we need to restore Christianity with inspiration from non-Christian sources—something I’ve done in my work with native Celtic traditions, but which could (and perhaps should) be done with inspiration from other arenas as well; for instance, from Vedanta, which has not only unequivocally maintained a far more refined and mature view of religion and its aims than most Christians have, but in fact often seems to possess a more mature view of Christianity than most Christians presently do.

Writing in 1963, Swami Prabhavananda astutely observed: ‘Of course there are millions of Christians today who attend churches regularly…but of those who do, few seek perfection in God. Most people are satisfied with living a more or less ethical life on earth in hope of being rewarded in an afterlife for any good deeds they may have done. Christ’s ideal of perfection is generally either forgotten or misunderstood. True, many people read the Sermon on the Mount, but few try to live its teachings.’

Now, almost sixty years later, that statement proves to be even more radically true than it was then. We have much work to do, friends, if we wish to restore the Church to something that truly transforms, which is truly relevant in a perennial way, and which is positioned not only to survive but to once more contribute something of inestimable value to the world. This will involve us, should we have the courage take up the task, in reclaiming the profound Mystery in Christian tradition, its ancient spiritual practices, and its expansively symbolic depth. May we set out with open hearts on that next adventure—and may we do so quickly.

Peace and every blessing,

Fr. Brendan+

#brendanelliswilliams #nature #earth #mysticism #ancestral #depth #journey #transformation #theosis #wholeness #holistic #reclamation #christianity #catholic #animism #femininedivine #blessedmother #celtic #church #rewilding #soul #spirit #perennialphilosophy #spirituality #spirituallife #religiouslife #awakening #spiritualawakening #priest #monk

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for 17th Sunday after Pentecost (Dominican rite)

Eph 4:1-6; Matt 22:34-46

“Love God, and love your neighbour” – this summation of the “great commandment” is so well-known. But maybe we know it too well because we often miss a crucial part, the bit that always strikes me most: “Love your neighbour as yourself” (Mt 22:39). And then I wonder, do I actually love myself?

For there always seems to be something about ourselves that we don’t love: our weight, our looks, our bodies. And so, many people religiously take themselves to the gym, or put themselves on special diets, or even undergo surgery to change their bodies. Or maybe we just don’t love who we are now – we feel like a nobody. And so some think that buying a new smartphone, or becoming a social media influencer, or even having the ‘right’ friends can make them somebody. But, often, what we’re doing is just finding different ways, through possessions or status or achievements to mask our fear – a fundamental fear of being found out that we’re really a nobody. Or at least, that’s how many people can see themselves. And it’s mainly because they don’t really love themselves. For, very often, many people can just about manage to love a version of themselves, a version that’s either acted out or projected into the future. And, sadly, for some people, belief in God and having a religious faith adds to the pressure – some might feel that we need to perform and behave properly and prove our worth to God.

But not if, as St Paul says in the epistle, we were “called to the one hope that belongs to your call”. For our hope is not placed in ourselves and our worth and on what we do. Rather our hope is in Christ and on what he has accomplished once and for all on the Cross. As St Paul says, our hope is in “one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one Father of us all.” And so, our Gospel, our Christian Faith, the Faith of the Church, says that God is Love.

What this means is that we don’t have to prove anything to anyone. God just loves you; he loves me. And the proof of God’s unchanging love is the fundamental fact that you and I exist; we have life and being. For our very being, and all that is – all created things – are constantly held in being, maintained in existence, by the power of God’s Love. If God stopped loving us, stopped willing our being, we would simply cease to exist at all. Hence, we Christians know that the fact that we’re around at all is because God, pure Love himself, simply wants us to be. We don’t have to prove our worth – it just matters to God that you and I exist. For in God’s eyes every human person is a somebody, and he loves each and every human being so much that he became Human alongside us, and suffered and died for us. “One Lord, one faith, one baptism”, says St Paul. And through holy Baptism, Christ claims us for himself, and says that we belong to God our Father.

It was with joy, therefore, that I read in the newspaper this past week of the baptism of a child called Wilfred. He was baptised at Westminster Cathedral, and so saved from his sins, and incorporated with you and me into the Mystical Body of Christ. Together with him, and indeed, together with all the baptised, no matter what they have done, we objectively share through this one baptism: one Lord, one faith, one hope, one Father of us all.

I was especially dismayed and surprised, therefore, to see a number of Catholics going online and decrying this baptism because of the moral actions of little Wilfred’s parents. Wilfred Johnson’s father, as it happens, is currently Prime Minister of this country, and Wilfred’s mother, Carrie Symonds, is herself a Catholic. The moral irregularity of their relationship, and the personal morality of the parents of Wilfred is, for some, an impediment to Wilfred’s baptism. Some have said, shockingly, that Wilfred should not have been baptised because he had such unworthy parents who had done such scandalous things, and were living in sin.

In reply, let me turn to St Paul: “God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.” (Rom 5:8) The problem, it seems to me, is that some Catholics still think that man has to be worthy of baptism; that we have to prove our worth before God before he can love us, before we can have access to his grace. But this is heresy. Last Monday was St Matthew’s feast day, and the Gospel for that day reminded us of Our Lord’s rebuke to the Pharisees: “Go and learn what this means, `I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.' For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Mt 9:13) For again and again the Lord confronts us with this basic awesome truth: that one is called into being; that we exist and have life; and that he offers us the grace of salvation not because we are lovable, but because he, our Saviour and God, is Love. But if we do not know and experience the gratuitous love of God, then it is harder to love ourselves, and even harder, then, to love others.  

We find the fact of God’s love hard to to grasp because our experience of love is often far too human – there is always some self-interest in our human loving which is why we have an anxiety about not being ‘good enough’, ‘pretty enough’, ‘funny enough’, &c. for others to love us. But God’s perfect love means that he gains nothing from us, needs nothing from us, wants nothing from us. Pure Love just wants to give, and pour himself out for our sake, for our good, for our delight. Thus God gives us life and salvation as a gift which means that your very existence, your being, you, are a gift; a grace.

Ours, therefore, is a Gospel of grace, and this is the crux of our Christian Faith. Do we believe in this pure Love? Do we believe that God loves us even if we think we’re unlovable? Indeed, God loves me, even if others think I’m unloveable? Too many people think that God’s love is conditional, and that we have to earn God’s love, and this terrible heresy keeps many people away from the true Faith. Therefore, St Paul proclaims our “one hope” in Christ alone, and in his love for all men, made visible on the Cross. Many people say they do not believe in God, but we Christians say that regardless of that God believes in them, which is why he gives life to all people – both good or evil – and he offers salvation to all Mankind through Jesus Christ… even if your dad is Boris Johnson! Only our God of Love is like this, and it is him the Church bears witness to, it is him that we preach.

Belief in the gratuity of God’s love for you, for me, is the most crucial thing if we’re to live out the great commandment. Hence Pope Benedict XVI said: “Those who are unloved cannot even love themselves. This sense of being accepted comes in the first instance from other human beings. But all human acceptance is fragile. Ultimately we need a sense of being accepted unconditionally. Only if God accepts me, and I become convinced of this, do I know definitively: it is good that I exist. It is good to be a human being. If ever man’s sense of being accepted and loved by God is lost, then there is no longer any answer to the question whether to be a human being is good at all.”

Brothers and sisters, if we wonder why so many in our world are sad, joyless, and in despair, and many turn to the false acceptances of drugs and pornography, it is because tragically many of us do not love ourselves. And we cannot because we do not know the profound love of God. We might have been told it, but we have not experienced it. The Dominican theologian Fr Herbert McCabe suggests that if we want to know God’s love, we must begin with gratitude, which means being thankful for what is, thankful for the gift of being alive, with my particular gifts and circumstances, and not just wishing that things were different, that I was better looking, thinner, cleverer, richer, or whatever. Rather, ponder these words of St Paul: the one God is “Father of us all, who is above all and through all and in all.” Sometimes, this love for myself, and gratitude for who I am requires an act of faith.

Therefore, McCabe says that “it is our faith that God loves us that makes us able to love ourselves and, through that, to be grateful for the gift of ourselves. This gratitude for being is the first thing we mean by loving God”. From this comes gratitude for the gift of my person, my humanity, of me, which means that I don’t want to harm myself by sinning. Rather, I love myself, and so I love God by trying to to live and use my body, my mind, my whole being in a way that glorifies him, the Giver of every good gift (cf James 1:17). This is what it is to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind” (Mt 22:37) And then, finally, we can love our neighbour as ourselves. This means that we are grateful for who they are, that they exist, and we see the other person as God’s gift. It means that we delight in them, and in their being around. And it means that we care for their happiness and flourishing too which is why we want to reach out to them, and we rejoice when they are baptised and can receive the sacraments, and we pray for the grace of repentance and for a daily deeper conversion to Christ throughout their lives. We pray that they will love God more and more. This is my prayer for Wilfred Johnson, and for his mum and dad, and indeed, for all people, for this is how I can best love my neighbour: I pray, in the words of Our Lady of the Rosary at Fatima, that God will “lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of God’s mercy.”

Photo credit: Crown Copyright

#baptism #salvation #love #self #God #neighbour #charity #Wilfred Johnson

[thelonely]

MAJOR ep. 28 spoilers

(find it on ao3 here)

Mama has been to more than her fair share of funerals.

Well, if you can call them all funerals. Her line of work didn’t do kindly by folks looking for a traditional burial. All too often, she’d had to scoop up ashes post-battle and spread them, collect bones and dig holes for them, lose sight of a coworker mid-fight and never catch hide nor hair of them again. There were too many anomalies to be explained, too many questions raised. Seeing those names slowly sink on the “Missing Persons” list and knowing still hurt, after all these years.

And hell, some folks in the past didn’t want to go through the ceremonial bullshit; they just wanted some dirt over their remains and a salute, before sinking off into that eternal sleep. Fair enough.

Mama’s definition of a “funeral” wasn’t always clean enough to entail the hearse, coffin, and grave plot. It was the exception, rather than the norm.

Which is why she’s surprised that Ned Chicane, of all people, wanted—and got—a traditional funeral. Let alone a crowded one.

(Maybe it was for the theatrics of it. Scratch that, it was definitely for the theatrics of it.)

Ned Chicane, once again, brought the town together—they had watched him go down the first time, and they were here to watch him go down for good. They owed him that much.

Duck and Aubrey and Mama and Barclay, Jake and Leo and Kirby and Sheriff Owens, Agent Stern and Hollis and Kevin and Eugene. People who loved him, people who dealt with him, people who hated him. People who disagreed with him, people who were inspired by him, people who thought he was a scam and disgrace. In this little ski town where everyone knows everybody, it does not go unnoticed that two particular people are missing. But, considering the circumstances, no one can blame them.

The residents of Kepler hover by the graveside as a priest says a few words; Ned didn’t strike anyone as a particularly religious man, but the sentiment is nice, regardless.

Duck gets up and chokes out a speech—it’s hard to tell if it’s due to the occasion, or just public speaking nerves. But he gets through it nonetheless, talking about the mysterious man that one day emerged as the owner of the once-dinky Cryptonomica, and how he wasn’t an open man but he was an amicable one. A brave one.

And because Ned had no one else that was willing to speak, the speeches end and the crowd breaks briefly before burial.

The Amnesty Lodge group gathers, talking idly with flowers and programs in their hands. It’s probably the first time that Mama has seen Duck not in the ranger uniform—but of course, he’s still wearing the hat. Barclay has trimmed his beard close, and Jake is in dark hues instead of neon ones.

Aubrey is also not her usual self. That much is obvious to anyone with any degree of familiarity with her.

The normally chatty magician is quiet; she stands eerily still, hands curled in her black dress as she listens to everyone chat. Her weight is subtly shifted to her good leg—she refused to use crutches at the service.

Mama is used to strange situations: to magic and monsters and violence. But nothing ever feels quite as strange, quite as wrong, as a funeral.

“I wish I had some… some, I don’t know, some cryptid keychains I could drop in, instead of these flowers.” Duck raises his bouquet accordingly: pink carnations. “I mean. Twenty-two years, and I never saw a damn flower in his place, not once. Did he even like flowers?”

“If he did, I sure doubt he would’ve told us—or if he did tell us, whether we would’ve believed him,” Mama replies. “Damn near everything that came out of that man’s mouth sounded like a lie. I don’t think dropping flowers will be an egregious sin against him.”

“I thought about maybe bringing some Nerf darts. I guess that wouldn’t go over too well, though, huh—”

Suddenly, Jake nudges Aubrey’s arm. “Hey, look.”

His pointed finger gets the group’s attention; they all turn to look at the item of interest: the grave marker, a couple yards away. They hover for a moment, scouring the letters. Eyebrows lower, foreheads wrinkle. Aubrey averts her eyes.

“Well, this sure solves that mystery, don’t it,” Mama finally says.

The marker reads: Edmund Kelly Chicane.

“I found it on some legal documents around the Cryptonomica,” Kirby pipes in from behind them, noticing their stares. His black suit fits baggy around the legs and tight around the belly, and it feels alien to see him without an RC Cola in hand. “Seemed more official, to put the full name on it.”

Mama nods and Kirby turns back to whatever discussion he was already having. The group is quiet for a beat. Then:

“...Just feels wrong,” Duck mumbles, removing his hat and shifting it from one hand to the other. “Having his full name out here, well, it’s like—like seeing the guy naked. Jesus Christ. Let the man have some privacy, he freakin’ beefed it.”

Mama stares for another moment, then: “I think I’m partial to ‘Ned Fuckin’ Chicane.’”

That earns a small laugh from the group—from everyone except for Aubrey. Mama looks at her with barely concealed concern, but Aubrey doesn’t seem to notice.

“Okay, but really: this all feels wrong. The flowers, the name—hachi machi,” Duck says again with a note of disgust. “This ain’t Ned’s style.”

“I’m not exactly sure what else we’re supposed to do?” Barclay says. “He’d at least like the high turnout, if that’s any comfort.”

But Duck is barely listening. He pivots, looking at the scene around them: the townsfolk, the marker, the rows of chairs, the grave itself, the program in his hands—

And then he gets an idea.

He slides a pen out of his front pocket, flips the program over, and jots something down in loose letters. Clicks the pen closed and stares at his handiwork for a moment. Rips off that last page.

Aubrey, standing to his right, merely looks up at him with the question in her eyes. Duck, catching her stare, turns the paper towards her.

It reads: Fucking.

The park ranger shrugs. “This felt like something he’d appreciate more than just some stinkin’ flowers.”

And with that, he strides towards the grave, gives one final look at the coffin within, and drops the piece of paper. He glances up at their group. He mouths the name: Ned Fucking Chicane. And then he walks back.

This action does not go unnoticed. As Duck makes his way back to their group, other attendees peer into the grave—some laugh, some look appalled, some smile nostalgically.

“Duck,” Barclay says, his voice verging on giddy. “Where did you come up with that?”

The park ranger doesn’t seem to share the same excitement for the act. As he gets closer, he slaps a hand to his face, head bowed.

“What did I just fuckin’ do,” he moans under his breath. “I go to a man’s damn funeral and drop curse words on his grave? Have I gone bonkers? Why didn’t any of you stop me?”

“Duck—” Mama interjects.

“Fuckin’ hell, guys, I might as well have just shouted a big ol’ cuss in the middle of his final rites—”

“Duck, stop. No, look,” Mama says, planting a firm hand on his shoulder and giving him a small shake. “Look.”

Pens have emerged from pockets and purses, and the residents of Kepler are scribbling on their own programs. They write, and then they line up.

Everyone contributes something.

Boss, Bastard, Conspiracy. Danger, Superstar, Entrepreneur. Black Diamond, Flamboyant, Brave. Fuckin’, Effin’, Fucking.

The coffin is almost entirely concealed by paper. Middle name after middle name tumbles down into the hole, and it takes a good twenty minutes for the stream to taper out.

Aubrey watches her friends and neighbors drop their pieces in. And yet, she can’t bring herself to join. She just doesn’t know what to write.

(After everything… what could she write?)

She still hasn’t written anything by the time that they’re told to gather around for the end of the ceremony. Feels a swell of panic when the first shovel breaks the ground and tosses earth onto the pile.

Dirt cascades into the plot and the town watches silently as his titles are buried—until the only name that remains is the one on the gravemarker.

And then the service is over. People hover by the filled plot, saying final goodbyes to each other, exchanging hugs and words. It’s a flurry of movement for all but Aubrey.

Instead, Aubrey thinks.

She thinks as she says goodbye to the other attendees, telling her that they’ll see her soon. Barclay says he’ll have some soup at home. Duck says he’ll pop into the Lodge sometime tonight.

She thinks as the bulk of the town shuffles away, quiet conversation bubbling between them:

Remember when Ned crashed that stupid drone into a tree and the national parks office got flooded with calls of Mothman sightings for three whole days? Remember when he had the live studio audience of kids for Saturday Night Dead, and how he scared them senseless by dressing up in a yeti costume and jumping them? Remember when he went on Google Reviews and made the Cryptonomica the most upvoted place in Kepler—. And then they’re too far away to hear.

She’s almost alone: just her, Mama, and a heavy silence remain. And finally, Aubrey writes something down.

She walks on numb legs to the grave, coming to a slow halt beside it. With a slight wince, she bends over and slots her paper into the freshly turned dirt. She rises and gives it one final glance.

Mama calls from a few yards away, eyes shining with sympathy; Aubrey nods and rejoins her.

“You ready?” Mama asks, her big hand spanning Aubrey’s entire back.

“Yeah. I… I’m ready.”

They slowly move away, towards the trees. Neither of them look back.

A lone piece of paper flutters in a soft wind, unread.

The sun sinks and the stars twinkle into existence overhead, clear and cold. They shine brilliantly, beautifully over the headstone, and while the man beneath them is gone, this final middle name is not.

Written in careful, cursive letters:

Friend.

#taz #the adventure zone #taz amnesty #taz spoilers #ned chicane #taz fic #sar.writes #MAJOR spoilers but. i got v sad thinking about all of this + had to write something

[fragiledewdrop]

11 Questions

Rules: Always Post the rules. Answer 11 questions, then make up 11 new ones and tag 11 people. Inform the person who tagged you that you answered their questions.

Tagged by @vengefulnoob , which I am very happy about because I love these questions.

1) If you had the chance, would you go to the International Space Station?

Are you kidding me? Hell yes!

2) What are your greatest irrational and rational fears?

Irrational: spiders. They terrify me to a level nothing that can’t at least mutilate me should

Rational: dying young, but also dying old and sick and bedridden and alone. I am especially afraid of those illnesses that steal your mind and your memory. I have seen too many loved ones succumb to them.

3) What distinguishes love from lust or a crush to you?

Love is different from lust because when you love someone there are feelings involved that go beyond physical attraction and desire. The difference between love and a crush is more subtle: when you have a crush on someone, you tend to idealize them. They are beautiful, charming, perfect in every way. Well, no human being is like that. No two people fit together like puzzle pieces without jagged edges. At this stage, half of what you think about the object of your affections is the fruit of imagination or projection. I start to think and talk of love when I have seen beyond that rosy tinted veneer, when I have witnessed facets of the ugliness that hides inside everyone-flaws, bad habits, despair, neurosis, whatever is there- and that has not been enough to drive me away. On the contrary, it has  made my feelings stronger. When you love someone you are prepared to go through thick and thin with them, and you have to know what “thin” looks like for that particular individual.

Having a crush means seeing only the rose, loving means seeing the rose and its thorns and wanting to cradle it close to your heart anyway, bleeding be damned.

(There are limits to this, of course. I am not talking about accepting abuse, just the inevitable flaws that every human being naturally hides behind their best facade. And this is just one possible interpretation anyway. )

4) Who is the one person you’ve looked up to most in life?

There have been many, but I think it’s my father.

He is not perfect, but he is so strong and so gentle. He taught me resilience and sacrifice and loyalty. He taught me to welcome strangers with open arms, to help whenever I can. He taught me the difference between good and bad when I was not yet old enough to discern it on my own. He taught me to have passion for learning and that no field or job is inferior to another. He thought  me to think for myself.He taught me about nature and mountains and adventure. And, maybe without realizing it, he taught me about love through his actions. He taught me that people can change if they really want to.

He also taught me half the curses I know ,and impatience, and perfectionism. He taught me that the gentlest people need an outlet for their anger and frustration.

He taught me songs and stories and ballads.

I love him for all the good things and for all the bad things and I want to teach him how to be better and happier in return.

He is one of the best and yet most imperfect people I have ever met, and I wouldn’t be who I am without him.

(Nor without my mother, but this asked for one person and my relationship with her is a tad more complicated)

5) Given a choice of historical figure to take to the current day, who would it be and why?

Leonardo da Vinci , because I think that, give a little time to study, he would be great t inventing new way to harness renewable energy. He would be a wonderful ally in the fight against climate change. If nothing else, he would find a better solution than the Mose for the flooding of Venice.

Plus, he would be so enthusiastic about all the advancements in science in the last few centuries! I would relish the opportunity to tell him that he can perform autopsies without having to smuggle bodies through the night (in catholic universities too!)

6) Is humanity, in it’s totality, a thing to be celebrated or reviled?

I don’t have a clear answer to this question. I think about it often and my opinion changes.

I will say this: even though history and observation show that we are capable of great evil, they also show that, even in the direst of circumstances, we (or at least some of us) will find a way to do good. That is enough for me to have faith in us, and to fight daily to tip the balance in our favour.

7) At your lowest points in life, what has picked you back up again?

My family.

8) You’re about to see the most incredible thing the universe has to offer, something so spectacular that you will be unable to ever describe it or photograph or video it adequately, but you have the chance to take someone with you to experience it too. Who is it?

Either my brother or my best friend. I guess it would be the one who needs it most at the time, but it would gut me to choose.At least I know that they would understand.

9) Is it better to be born good, or become good through force of effort?

Okay, I’ve had this question on the back of my mind since I first read it, and let me tell you, it made for one intense dinner conversation.

My instinctive reaction is to reject anything that precludes the existence of choice and free will, but I tried to play devil’s advocate and think about the benefits of a world inn which everyone is born good. At first glance it would be perfect: no violence, no crimes, no terror. But then comes the question: what does it mean to be “born good”? How do you define “good”? Is there even a universal answer to that? And what about that theory according to which we are good as long as we act according to what we think is good? If those who killed Jesus really thought what they were doing was the right thing, than they can’t be considered evil, or even at fault. If those who crammed children into gas chambers really, truly thought it was for the good of the world, they are not evil. Hell, they might even be considered heroes, in their own eyes. I have always thought this kind of extreme relativism is wrong: there is something else, outside of what we think or believe, that determines whether an action is good or evil. But we have to allow for the possibility of this being a factor when we speak of people being “born good”.

There is also another problem. As beautiful as a world without evil might be, it is simply not the world we live in. It follows that, if some people are born good (and therefore incapable of evil), some people have to be born “bad”. What is the point, then, of teaching children the difference between good and evil, or of rehabilitating prisoners, if the evil in them cannot be washed away? And how long until the “good” people decide hat it is best (and indeed “good”) to kill all the “evil “ones, or exile them, or deport them? Are we really back to predestination? Why live at all, if you are born evil and there’s no chance for you to change it?

This system doesn’t allow for mistakes or redemption. In its effort to be good it’s actually merciless.

We are not “born good”: just look at children and how thoughtlessly cruel they can be with themselves, or with animals.

We are born in a gray zone, and we can make what we want of ourselves, including trying to figure out what the difference between good and evil really is. We can fall, and we can get up. We can change. That is beautiful, and I think it’s closer to the reality of things.

In the end I am always horrified by anything that denies me choice on an ontological level. I prefer to live believing I can build my own fate, even if it turns out to be an illusion, because otherwise, what even is the point?

10) Which D&D statistic is most valuable to you? (strength, dexterity, intelligence, wisdom, charisma, and constitution)

I have never played D&D, unfortunately, but I think I’d go with wisdom. I sorely need it.

11) How does this make you feel?

It makes me smile, It’s brilliant!

My questions:

1) Are things worth doing even if you know they are impermanent?

2) If you could see you favourite play or musical, live, anywhere in the world, which would it be, where, and in which language?

3) If you could magically learn to speak any language, which would it be?

4) Regardless of what you believe in, which scares you more: reincarnation, the idea of an afterlife, or the idea that we dissolve into nothing after death?

5) What’s the last book you read?

6) Liberté, égalité, fraternité : which is more important to you and why?

7) What’s your favourite beverage in winter?

8) To be or not to be?

9) A place in your country that you wish more people would know about and visit?

10) Which do you think is sweeter: pleasure, or the expectation of pleasure?

11) Which do you prefer, this or this ?  (I hope they make you laugh)

I am going to tag the usual people. I I forget you and you want to do it, do it anyway. Firstly, @procasdeanating because I have a feeling you might like both some of the answer and the question; @vengefulnoob because your questions were interesting, and I hope mine are too (and that the answers were ok); @awed-frog even though you know you probably don’t have time (un abbraccio a tua figlia. Spero che qualcosa in questo post ti faccia sorridere); @justsomeonerandom17 ; @snovolovac ; @pod7et ; @yourobriensource (sono curiosa); @maryshelleey  ; @leeaneea ; @vivianecarstairs

Have Fun!

#11 questions #tag games #ask games #about me

[automatismoateo]

A God that rapes human beings, and even delights in the act, is not a God that is worthy of any worship. via /r/atheism

Submitted July 20, 2020 at 05:39PM by MelodicEarth2 (Via reddit https://ift.tt/2ZKHnGr) A God that rapes human beings, and even delights in the act, is not a God that is worthy of any worship.

"I [God] will gather all the nations to Jerusalem to fight against it; the city will be captured, the houses ransacked, and the women raped." (Zechariah 14:2)

"Does disaster come to a city unless the LORD has done it?" (Amos 3:6)

Raping women by conquering lands is a very corrupt human behavior throughout history, a very scary and disgusting human behavior indeed. Read about the Red Army, how those whom the armies conquered had raped all the women ages 8 to 80, forcing themselves into their bodies. Try reading the diaries of the women who were raped. And you do realize little girls were raped as a result of God's decree as well right? The soldiers partaking in the Red Army invasions were told not to do such things, but they still engaged in those evil acts. Imagine when God sets your heart to conquer a land, how much more atrocious and uninhibited your actions would be to those women, those little girls? In their eyes they were nothing but meat supplied by God. And Jesus caused it all. The mothers tried to kill themselves along with their daughters to escape this fate of being mass raped.

Why is the Bible immoral? Well, we see the evil of human beings, how they rape children and women whom they conquer in war. The victims of these rapes, lets say they go to the Bible for comfort, surely, the great God, the righteous judge of all the earth must have an answer to these sort of things? Surely God would never condone, never act in such a way that these vile men during the Red Scare did, right? And she opens the Bible and what does she read?

She reads that God does the exact same thing, and delights in it-- the rape of women.

The LORD does whatever pleases him, in the heavens and on the earth" (Psalm 135:6).

God did not regret this action, rather, it was a judgement, and the Bible tells us:

“Yes, Lord God the Almighty, true and just are your judgments!” (Revelation 16:7)

We are to celebrate his judgements.

A God that does this to human beings doesn't deserve any persons' worship. The question is not whether God exists or not, the question is, would a moral man worship an immoral God? The answer is yes. They will, just as moral men blindly followed Hitler, while he baked Jews in the ovens -- all the while God burns those who disagree with him in Hell.

Women have felt the pain of rape because of Jesus Christ. Christians shouldn't go telling people that Jesus loves them without telling them that Jesus also used human beings to cause pain and suffering to others. Like playthings. A Christian is telling people that a rapist is loving, or even worse, hiding the fact that this god is a rapist, and imploring others to believe in him.

Jesus in the New Testament admits that he is the God of the Old Testament, "Before Abraham was, I Am", which of course is God's name, the Tetragrammaton, YHWH. So he just admitted that he is the God which made mount Sinai smoke and shake. Also, John tells us in the New Testament that the vision of God which Isaiah saw in the Old Testament was in fact Jesus Christ, indicating again the God of the New Testament, Jesus Christ, was the one that had these girls raped. It's his own confession. In addition, the Biblical concept of God is a Trinity. This means that when God rained down rocks and fire upon Sodom and Gomorrah, Jesus was not absent, nor was he opposed to the act. Rather he was there, with Father and Holy Spirit all in unison making the act happen. This is the same with every other case of God's atrocities in the Old Testament, whether it is rape or murder.

Here is the answer to why God treats human beings in the way that he does:

"When a potter makes jars out of clay, doesn’t he have a right to use the same lump of clay to make one jar for honorable use and another to throw garbage into? (Romans 9:21)

God looks at many human beings as trash. That's why he can mercilessly drown us, burn us, toy with us, rape us. God looks at humanity in this way, he created them so that's why he tortures them like a child torturing a pet. That's why in the Bible God specifically ordered the kidnap and rape of women. God is worse than the most wicked of men. But Christians share this same mentality, they look at human beings as trash -- wicked, sinners, they even look at themselves in that manner. We can talk all day about the follies and so called sins of human beings, but all this from a God that is worse than any devil or man. It is an immoral burden to place upon people. In the passage you read in Zechariah, God is the one bringing the evil and the good, again, playing with human lives as he sees fit. So what if there is rape and murder as a result of your toying with man?

We can throw away our own reasoning and say man can't decide morality for themselves. But I'll tell you this, it isn't to be decided by this God. We look at God as the one that decides what morality is and isn't, yet his actions are contrary to what is stated of him in the Bible, "Will not the judge of all the earth do that which is just?" A 6 year old knows that these acts are evil. The human spirit knows what evil is.

"Thus says the LORD, ‘Behold, I will raise up evil against you out of your own house. And I will take your wives before your eyes and give them to your neighbor, and he shall lie with your wives in broad day light." (2 Sam. 12:11)

God is angry with David for killing a husband and raping the wife. Did God stop the killing and rape? Nope. God sat by and watched, doing nothing. God decides to punish David and one of the punishments is to take David’s wives and allow them to be raped. Um…what…the…heck?!?! The women get raped. That’s David’s punishment. This is God. He’s supposed to be all-knowing. How is it not possible that part of that all-knowing does not involve coming up with a punishment that doesn’t punish the innocent? This leads us to 3 options, and only 3 options. Either God is truly stupid and thus immoral, or there is no God, or God is immoral while not being stupid-- which amplifies his immorality to an even greater degree.

What is the nature of the sexual act contemplated in Deut. 21:10-14?:

"When you go forth to war against your enemies, and the Lord your God has delivered them into your hands, and you have taken them captive, And you see among the captives a beautiful woman, and desire her, and take her for a wife -Then you shall bring her home to your house, and she shall shave her head and do her nails, And she shall remove the garment of her captivity from her, and remain in your house and weep for her father and mother a for month, and after that you may approach her and have intercourse with her, and she shall be your wife. And if you do not want her, you shall send her out on her own; you shall not sell her at all for money, you shall not treat her as a slave, because you "violated" her."

We shall focus on the expression "violated her," 'initah in Hebrew, from the root 'anah. It is in the translation of this word that an attitudinal difference between the Targumim becomes apparent. In 2 Samuel 13;11-14, the story of Amnon and Tamar, the root 'anah is used twice: "do not violate me," and then "he overpowered her, he violated her, and he lay with her." If we understand "and he lay with her" to mean "and he had intercourse with her," we may understand from the juxtaposition of the two concepts that 'anah can be considered sexual violence. That is, in this instance the use of 'anah together with "had intercourse" seems to imply actual rape.

This seems to be the case as well in Gen.34:2, the story of Dinah and Shechem. There the text says: "He [Shechem] took her, and he lay with [had intercourse] with her and he violated her [vaye'anehah]." 'Anah alone would not mean necessarily rape, but simply sexual violence of some sort. Rape is again implied here by the use of 'anah and "had intercourse" together.

The idea of rape may also be expressed with other terminology. In Deuteronomy 22:25, 28 we find the verb "had intercourse" used with the verbs "took hold of," "grabbed", to imply the idea of forced intercourse i.e. rape. The verb 'anah is used alone in Lamentations 5:11, Ezekiel 22:10, and Judges 19:25, and from the context in these instances seems to imply rape.

We must recognize, however, that though it is important to determine what is meant by 'anah in Deuteronomy 21:14, rape is only one way of exerting sexual violence. Clearly sexual violence is conveyed in all the quoted instances where 'anah is used. Thus although there is no specific mention of rape in Deuteronomy 21:14, the word 'initah implies that the woman's consent (if any) to intercourse was due to her circumstances.

The expression 'initah is particularly poignant, a point that seems to have been recognized in both the Onqelos and Neophyti Targums. Onqelos actually uses the root 'anah in his translation, while Neophyti 1 has "you have exercised your power/authority [reshut] over her." Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, on the other hand, considers 'anah to be only actual intercourse, translating with the verb shamash, and thus failing to transmit the Bible's sensitivity to the captive's powerlessness.

Numbers 31: 17-18

17 "Now therefore, kill every male among the little ones, and kill every woman who has known a man intimately. 18 "But keep alive for yourselves all the young girls who have not known a man intimately.

So what do you think God/Moses, or whomever had in mind; sweet-talk and flirt with the young girls? These sex deprived 50 year old, 30 year old, 25 year old guys hitting on these children and teenagers?

The texts says Israelite warriors are commanded to kill everyone except young virgin women, whom they are permitted to keep for themselves.

Men. Capturing women. Capturing young women. Capturing virgin young women.

It's incredibly obvious what it's saying.

The mere idea of the God of heaven ordering the death of women and innocent children so outraged Thomas Paine that he said such a scenario was sufficient evidence in and of itself to cause him to reject the divine origin of the Bible (1795, p. 90). In fact, he condemned the Bible for its moral atrocities, and even went so far as to blame the Bible for virtually every moral injustice ever committed. He wrote:

Whence arose the horrid assassinations of whole nations of men, women, and infants, with which the Bible is filled; and the bloody persecutions, and tortures unto death and religious wars, that since that time have laid Europe in blood and ashes; whence arose they, but from this impious thing called revealed religion, and this monstrous belief that God has spoken to man? (p. 185).

As you read the Bible,

You suddenly notice the children of Israel are precisely all the time being ordered to covet. Being enjoined to covet, being told they must envy and hope to annex the lands, the animals and the women of neighboring tribes. They kept going by greed. By the thought that soon, all these peoples properties shall be ours. And that we'll be licensed to take it by force, and kill them and have the land but not their people. This is perhaps why there are no prohibitions against, say, slavery, rape, genocide, or child abuse in the 10 Commandments.

It's not a matter of leaving these out or applying situational ethics to a time that was not ours. It's not that. Such things have always been known of and usually deplored. It's more I fear that such terrible things as rape, enslavement, genocide and child abuse, were just about to be mandatory during this time. They're just about to be forced on people as things they must do if a conquest was to continue,

#reddit