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katsidhe · 3 years

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15.19 Final Thoughts

I was all set for disappointment after 15.18, but this was… good, actually! Not perfect by any means, but the beats it hit and the points it made were by and large ones I’d been waiting for all season. Where it wasn’t touching (and it was touching!), it was absurd enough for me to enjoy it heartily anyway. I wish that this episode had been split into, like, three, so that it could have spent the time it needed on wallowing.

I love the empty earth. Love it to absolute PIECES. Because it fits so, so well, right? The claustrophobia of the Winchesters’ lives writ grotesquely large. They’re the most important people in the universe, of COURSE they are, because Chuck feels like it, and of course they can’t die, of course they’re doomed to wander eternally—ughh I love it. It’s the natural, absurd, and absurdist conclusion to where this story has always been heading. I am so glad that they went there.

Sam’s heartbreaking guilt—his knowledge that his defiance in 15.17 was what led to this empty universe. Oh, Sam. Again sublimating his loss and his agony into personal responsibility. And the worst part is that he’s right. I love the tragicomedy of Sam and Dean’s offer to play along for Chuck, and that he refuses, preferring to watch them walk the earth alone. Honestly? if it had cut to black right there? I would be mightily pleased.

ok but SAM!!! if there was a winner of 15.19 (and therefore a winner of SPN in general? sure feels that way to me), it’s Sam. Sam defied Death and defied God (and in 15.17 defied Dean). Sam saved Jack, who was the key to everything. Sam got the assist on Lucifer. Sam tricked Michael. Just, GAHH, what a great episode for him.

I about lost my goddamn mind when Lucifer showed up, because I had lost any inkling of hope that he’d turn up again. Kinda figured that plot thread had been irrevocably dropped. I’m sorry for losing my faith, Show! I should have believed that you’d eventually give me a taste of what I wanted!

I predict this opinion is going to be a little unpopular, but I was so happy to see him. I don’t care that he was too quippy, I don’t care that he was gone in like six minutes, I don’t care that his and Michael’s fight was, again, anticlimactic (though at least there weren’t wires, t god). Here’s the thing. I don’t NEED my fictional suffering to be like, artisanal, and thoughtfully designed. I’ll buy that shit at Costco, in ten gallon drums. I’ll chug it straight from the bottle like trauma ketchup. I’ll watch Lucifer resurrected a thousand times, if it means I get to watch Sam’s FACE while they’re in the same room. PRAISE.

The corollary: the ABSOLUTELY AMAZING CONCEPT of the last five people in the entire world being Michael, Lucifer, Sam, Dean, and Jack, all stuck awkwardly in the Bunker. Omfg. This SENT me so hard I had to take a walk, I was laughing too much. What a ripe premise. What an ugly premise. I need fic, immediately, stat, stat means now.

Relatedly, I love the mental image of Sam unobtrusively going offscreen and getting the archangel blade and handing it to Michael and quietly hissing, “uh PLEASE ffs kill your goddamn brother.” Pfffffffffffffffff.

Deeply disappointed that Jack didn’t get a chance to say anything to Lucifer. Yet another thing that needs further treatment.

I’d figured Lucifer was telling the truth when he told them he was joining Team Kill Chuck. However, Lucifer’s willingness to be on board with Chuck’s plan makes, just, a ton of sense. He’s always had less to lose than Michael, when it comes to accepting his father’s olive branch, since he fell so far so long ago, while Michael is still teetering on that precipice. And Chuck’s just extended, basically, a massive apology to him by erasing all the people and places and stories that he favored over his children. Of COURSE Lucifer wants to be alone with his dad, the only chosen one left, in a universe that is finally pristine. Of course he wants to rub his new favor in Michael’s face. I just wish we’d seen and heard more of this. His resurrection wasn’t pointless at all, but it was underdeveloped.

Michael’s inability to separate himself from his father’s will at the bitter end is a tragic and somber end. Jake Abel brought his A-game again. I wish very deeply that we’d been able to see more of him this season: he is one of the few surviving people with genuine investment in Chuck as a person, and he had a deep, deep betrayal to unpack.

Chuck and his enemies: Billie was always too straightforward in her goals and motivations to be truly interesting as an enemy to Chuck; she is less a character, and more an avatar, a force of nature. She opposed him the way a river opposes stone. The Emptity is nearly disinterested in the whole mess—it just wanted to be left alone. The really interesting sources of conflict for Chuck were always going to come from his family: Amara, and the archangels. And I’m glad we got some of that conflict now, even if it was too little too late.

Both of his children were unable to separate themselves from craving his approval. It’s a dire, tragic condemnation of this immortal cosmic family. And it says something about the microcosm of the Winchesters, of them as the model for the stories Chuck enjoys, the stories he inhabits. Supernatural is a story about being trapped.

Sam somehow tricking both Michael and God? Sam, your BRAIN, it’s simply too big! but real talk how did he manage this? Does he still have the protection from Chuck’s sight via his now-erased God hole? I’m gonna go with yes, and in fact I’m gonna go a step further and pretend he still had that bullet wound this entire season, and that it healed when Jack took Chuck’s power, because now it makes even less sense than ever that the writers chose to erase that tantalizing physical connection. There, in my head, I’ve now fixed it.

Jack. Oh, Jack, what was the show ever going to do with you? The only thing it could, I think. I love that Dean, with absolutely no sense of irony, demanded Jack return with Sam and Dean to where he ~belongs, accusing him tacitly of selfishness, as if not three days ago he’d been egging him on to suicide. For Jack’s own sake, I am glad he is away from the Winchesters, and I hope he spends several decades talking to Amara and like, manifesting as a tree or something, to get some badly needed emotional balance and sense of scale. There is still so much wrong with putting this much power and responsibility in the hands of a browbeaten three-year-old. But, yes, my heart does swell at the thought of Sam’s imperfect love fostering the new God.

The image of Sam and Dean, broken bones, bloodied faces, laughing in the face of God like they’re insane is a pretty damn good one.

Also, Dean denying himself as the “ultimate killer”? Hahahaha so much to unpack there

My least favorite part was, predictably, the saccharine speech about #freewill, complete with the goddamn table carvings. I will certainly cop to really enjoying the montage, tho (but can anyone explain to me why it was like, almost-but-not-quite in chronological order? ).

I’m probably going to have more to say about all of this. Please talk to me about this episode. I’ll forgive 15.18, and hell, I’ll proactively forgive 15.20. Together with 15.17, 15.19 paints a more pleasing, more damning, and more fruitful conclusion for SPN than I ever dreamed I’d get.

#spn spoilers #15.19 #final thoughts #sam and jack #sam and lucifer #sam and chuck #chuck and lucifer #lucifer and michael #cannot believe I liked this!#cannot believe it gave me so many things I really wanted

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quibliography · 3 years

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The Left Right Game by Jack Anderson 🎣

Synopsis: This nosleep subreddit turned podcast is about Alice Sharman, an investigative journalist for the National Public Radio. A story about a paranormal road game is brought to her attention by a man named Robert Guthard who has found travel logs and instructions and wants to bring her along on his next trip. She joins a strange caravan of travelers also looking to play the Left Right game but the journey turns out to be much stranger than anyone could have possibly imagined.

My Quibs: Hot damn. I haven’t been so infuriated by a story like that in a long time. They say that good art makes you feel something and I went from curiosity to apprehension to anxiety to fear to fury to resignation. None very positive, but still. I don’t want to give anything away and it starts unravelling after only part 2 so I can’t talk much about content. I can however praise the *french kiss* excellence of Anderson’s prose. Aside from the standard spelling and grammar editing needed, the writing is fantastic. It creates a persona from a road, a microcosm from a caravan of characters, with callsigns that are just asking the reader to dig deeper. (More on that in a second.) Maybe because it’s in the guise of a subreddit post, casually thrown onto the internet in longer and longer stretches of time. [Those reddit comments look ready to pull off their heads waiting for the next chapter.] But Anderson manages to speak on so many levels: as a casual subreddit poster, as a professional NPR journalist, as a skeptic who is open-minded, as a believer who wants to learn the truth. I could go on and on but the other half of what made this so enjoyable was the “real” other half of the story. All the reddit comments (or as many as I could read before I realized I hadn’t eaten all day) going through theories, dissecting literary elements and symbolism, rage posting that it’d been 14 days without their story fix. My favorite comment insight was that “Ferryman” and “Bristol” - which is supposedly an old term for bridge - are two ways to cross a river, a symbolic representation of the road they travel. Mind blown. That’s something I would never have been able to recognize on my own. It makes it almost an immersive, interactive storytelling. Talking to the “OP” and asking after him, telling him not to play the game himself, speculating about his involvement. OP/Anderson was almost real which gave the story he was telling more sincerity. It’s a community involvement in a story that I don’t get outside of mainstream television, which to be honest has a ceiling on quality.

Should you read it? If you love seat-gripping, throw-popcorn-at-the-screen, supernatural stories. And I would highly suggest you read it before you listen to it, because despite the high-quality sound editing, they didn’t invest so much in the text-to-audio translating. During most of the last three chapters of the podcast I didn’t understand what the hell was happening and it became much clearer after I read the subreddit.

Similar reads? Many many comments compare it to Stephen King and I would agree. It has that same eerie quiet like a silent scream. The only difference is that King has a grittiness to his writing whereas Alice dictates like a journalist.

(Spoiler Alert!) Ooooookaaaay. So much to unpack that has already been unpacked a hundred times over in reddit. My mind is overflowing with all the awesome theories that I read I barely need to generate any of my own. [Quick side note to say that I love reddit. This was one of the few instances were I browsed hundreds+ comments and none were even slightly internet trolly. There was a lot of hate for Bluejay, but it was deserved. And two opposing camps about the ending, but that always happens. Anyways, props to the LeftRight reddit.] My favorite theories:

1. Besides the obvious Charon, Styx, Purgatory parallels, someone made a comparison to Dante’s Inferno and how each chapter was related to a sin. It became a stretch, but it was fun.

2. The forest child. A lot of thought about it being Bluejay, Bluejay’s aborted child, and then finally Marjorie and Rob’s child. Even though the story has more evidence toward the last, I like the symbolism of it being Bluejay. Her unwavering need for the game to be fake was naive and shedding light on it should lead to maturity but instead it distorts her even further.

3. The silent city being a parallel to Aokigahara where the inhabitants of one are from the other. And possibly other areas of the LRG being connected to the real world.

4. I like how people both loved and hated the ending. Personally, I was dissatisfied because a) a really gripping story has no good end, I will only be happy that it goes on indefinitely and b) I’ve never been a big fan of cosmic god-like involvement. I’m okay with it philosophically, but with all the comments saying that the road takes Alice to her destiny as this god-like creature, a physical embodiment of it is not my cup of tea. It diminishes our measly fragile Earth-bound existence.

What did you think of The Left-Right Game?

#the left right game #jack anderson #nosleep

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momtemplative · 4 years

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Saturday Afternoon, MACRO and MICRO

Definition of Macro: large-scale; overall. ie., THE FOREST.

Definition of Micro: extremely small. ie., THE TREES. Definition of Macro, here: The wild world at large.

Definition of Micro, here: The tiny home we inhabit, where we “shelter in place.”

MICRO—I sit here in our tiny RV that is parked in the driveway. It’s where I “go to write”, a creative parlor with wheels and a view of our magnificent choke cherry out the window that is just starting to think about blooming. (I don’t blame it for being hesitant.)

Months back, Opal and her friend pretended this RV was a rescue vehicle for dogs—all dogs but mostly pit bulls, a breed Opal feels is highly misrepresented. From where I sit, in the passenger seat swiveled to face the rear, there are four black-and-white photocopies of gorgeous dog portraits staring at me. One pit bull in particular looks straight through me.

I’ve purposefully resisted straight-up news, aside from my nightly installment of “Good News Network” and NPR’s weekly “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” radio quiz show. But living without allowing for the outside to seep in feels unhealthy in its own right. Selectively permeable would be the proper thing to practice now.

So I crack open my computer and dip my toes in the NY Times live coverage of the Coronavirus.

I can hear Jesse’s future voice in my head: How was writing?

Me: Good, but I’m feeling a tad suicidal now.

Him: Why?

Me: I read the news.

Him: Now why would you go and do that??

MACRO—“With President Trump having undercut the new guidance of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention by immediately declaring that he would not wear a mask himself, it was far from clear how many Americans would ultimately embrace the recommendation.”

MICRO— I return from the RV to find a house party of three people in my living room. Thankfully, my family did not get the memo that in this moment, life on the outside is complex and backwards. Ruth is on Jesse’s shoulders, no pants, shit-eating grin and fresh-cut bangs in her eyes. She shakes like a puppy with over-large ears and Opal twirls in her No ProbLLama nightgown to the Imagine Dragons song, Zero. Inside our little bubble, things are bumping! The sun floods the living room and even the anti-social cat seems obliged to hang out—from an appropriate distance.

MACRO—Governor Andrew Cuomo warns that, as infections passed 113,700 and deaths 3,500, New York State would reach the worst point of the coronavirus crisis within a week or so. He also said the state was using the machines for coronavirus patients at a rate that would exhaust its stockpile in just six days.

MICRO—Three boxes are stacked one atop the other in front of our door like a cairn. One box is for Jesse’s birthday next weekend, the others are for Ruth.

It’s looking like COVID-19 will spit us out the other end proficient in at least one new talent—Opal’s is roller skating. She insisted on using my skates, which she found while foraging for activities in the garage like a squirrel for food. After a few days of wearing those up and down the down-stairs hallway, and back and forth on the sidewalk out front, I was certain the future for her ankles was bleak and we ordered her a pair on Amazon that were her size.

Ruth observed all this unfolding and with no intention of leaving empty-handed. Unfortunately, toddler-sized skates are much harder to come by. So, many weeks into the future, Ruthy finally got her own skates that go over her shoes and are, frankly, awesome. She also picked out the tackiest Olaf helmet—with a carrot-nose that actually protrudes—after instructing me to “search on Amazon for Olaf now please.”

Each of those treasured items are contained in the boxes on our porch. I jump into our current porch-sanitizing routine (bleach wipes and spray lined up on the porch without apology)—wipe box, open, wipe down package inside, wash hands thoroughly.

You can practically hear Ruth buzzing as suits up for a jolly, though quick to be exhausting, skate around the block. Her uniform killed, and would have worked as well for Halloween, Burning Man, a rave and a roller derby—mixed patterns for shirt and pants, knee pads and skates from Trolls, Olaf helmet. When she velcroes her final skate, I hear a faint, prayer-like utterance from Jesse: dear god. She is an eye-full that could save a life.

MACRO—Trump is getting help with the November election. His campaign just rolled out a new ad, titled “Hope,” featuring appreciative quotes from Gov. Cuomo and Gov. Newsom of California. With the lives of their constituents at stake, they’ve given him the made-for-TV sound bites he was never able to extract from Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky.

MICRO— Thank god for these kids. If I were being force-fed the news then led to an empty house with, maybe, a roommate-peer who is also stressed and bloated with sad information, or if perhaps I were old and alone, I’d be struggling in an entirely different way. Sure, I have my moments of fantasizing about what it would have been like if COVID and shelter-in-place came at a time before or children, during a time when I could have relished cleaning and reading and making a weeks-long retreat out of an unsavory situation. But the fact is, these kids keep the scales level.

Not to mention the fact that affection is built-in. Even though Ruth is less interested in snuggling than she is in building block-towers or submerging every toy she owns in water, we seem to be touching constantly, in this or that way. Hugs from Opal and Jesse, snuggling on the couch for a show, holding hands on our walks around the block—it’s all-inclusive. The fact that this is not the case for everyone is something I am well aware of.

MACRO—Jared Kushner has embedded his own people in the Federal Emergency Management Agency; a senior official described them to The Times as “a ‘frat party’ that descended from a U.F.O. and invaded the federal government.” As The Washington Post reported, Kushner’s team added “another layer of confusion and conflicting signals within the White House’s disjointed response to the crisis.”

Kushner, you can’t shatter us. Young girls in roller skates win every goddam time.

MICRO— Our block continues to be paradise. Any interest we had six months ago in selling this house has been waylaid and, thus, we are appreciating our home base in a truly different way.

As we make our way down the block with two girls on their respective wheels, we holler at our beloved across-the-street neighbors, friends of 14 years. They sit, mysteriously, at a card table in their front yard, as if they are having an invisible garage sale. We exchange a boisterous, level-12-volume conversation from across the street, talking over each other and at the same time, expressing everything we possibly can in the tiny window we have while the girls scoot away on their skates.

The corner that turns on to the bike path and is covered with ancient ponderosa pines smells musty and earthy and perfect. Like every camping trip ever taken. Every hike through the woods. A momentary dose of equilibrium.

When we circle back, our neighbors are still outside.

One of them asks, “Hey, have you guys been wearing masks outside?”

“No, Governor Polis just suggests it for any public place—grocery, whatever.”

“We saw a few people driving by with them on.”

“Yea, so did we, we saw a few people out walking with them on, just outside.”

I guess the point is, if it’s not gonna hurt, you might as well do it. Hell, if we are in this far—as is shelter-in-place—then we might as well take it all the way. To pick up the slack for people who aren’t doing what they should be doing. (We are actually yelling all this in conversation across the street.) The idea that some people would still not be doing what they are supposed to be doing is ludicrous. I’ve vented my rage at the college students of America over St. Patty’s Day, but they are all home by now, are they not? So who are we talking about here?

Fact is, as I just learned today, there are still five states that are not mandatory shelter-in-place. (I’m sorry, what??)

MACRO—“I can’t lock the state down,” said Gov. Kim Reynolds of Iowa, which has recorded more than 600 confirmed cases and at least 11 deaths. “People also have to be responsible for themselves.”

MICRO— Opal has been loving her evening ritual of putting Ruth to bed. She says it’s one of her most ‘special times of the day,’ though it happens only a few times a week. She takes her little sister down by the hand, gets her jammies on and teeth brushed, reads to her, the whole precious nine yards. She does that tonight, leaving Jesse and I to the quiet of ourselves and our space-sans-kids in the family room.

Jesse promptly dozes off in the rocking chair. I lie on the floor with eyes closed in star-pose, taking up some glorious space. These days are taking a toll. But it’s also true that I laughed so hard on four different occasions this afternoon that I buckled over twice, slapped a knee and wet myself.

So much is going well in our tiny Microcosm that sometimes it’s easy to forget the Big Picture Macro. Ignorance is indeed not far from a certain cheap kind of bliss. It makes sense why people do it, why people feel the need to avoid discomfort. But, ultimately, the mind knows when it is missing something. The soul knows when it is being cut-off. Our beings can feel when humanity is suffering, whether or not we choose to admit it to ourselves in so many words.

“Mom!” Opal whisper-yells from down the hall. “Ready!” Meaning, she’s ready for me to come and finish Ruth’s bedtime with a song. But by the time I get to Ruth’s snug and utterly safe kid-room, she is fast asleep.

4/4/20

(all quotes in italics come from the NY Times live coverage of the coronavirus from the previous week.)

#momtemplative #HeatMamaWords #mindfulparenting #micromacro

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thisisthevoice · 4 years

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tumblr science never fails to impress me

#personal #text #ppl on here dunk on conservatives for misusing science however they want and then so many ppl do the same thing. outstanding #i love this microcosm of hell i inhabit

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a-mountain-ash · 6 years

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Shoulders

Currently studying the musculoskeletal system of the shoulder, so have a love to letter to Dean’s shoulders written by Cas <3 Probably could have gotten more into the anatomy but it’s as awkward to do that as I expected. Anatomy of Destiel is definitely a work in progress. Here on AO3!

Building Dean's shoulders was my favorite part. The shoulder is a miraculous joint, but I didn't understand as such until had to reassemble it atom by atom. It might be assumed that the brain or the nervous system would be more delicate work, but they were simple. Neurons connected to neurons in tightly woven paths on intricate trajectories, passing messages amongst one another through carefully calibrated chemical signals. In a way, it works very much like a microcosm of heaven, each region serving a role to ensure the greater whole is functioning well. That is precisely why it bored me. I had no part to play in the wonder that makes each brain unique. Dean's soul would do that once I'd returned it to its body. The shoulders, however, are beautiful, complex things.

In theory, they shouldn't work. In reality, they do and they don't. Evolved with impeccable complexity to ensure maximal mobility, the shoulder is a thing of delicate cooperation between a host of competing demands. It must freely swing in complete arcs of motion, lift heavy loads, and dexterously manipulate objects, all while hanging from the body connected to a socket the size of a dollar coin by a host of thin of tendons and ligaments. Beyond the pure biomechanical enigmas are the sociological ones. The shoulders metaphorically hold all our burdens, and their pain and their dysfunctions represent the individual struggles of each human's path through life. This is why Dean's shoulders were my favorite part.

Dean's soul is a thing of beauty: sad, dark, loving, eternally willing to change, even when his mind is not. He carried that heavy soul in the set of his shoulders, wide and protective. The muscles of his trapezius were knotted in tension from late nights hunched over books seeking salvation from his fate in Hell. The bone at the back of his humerus was compressed and fractured from too many poorly controlled shots with a rifle when he was too young to handle the gun correctly. The ligaments holding his shoulder together were too stretched and too loose from one too many demons flinging his body by the length of his arm. The smooth surface of his left scapula splintered and broken from being thrown into a wall by his father in a drunken rage after the shtriga almost killed Sam. That one always catches a little when lifts his arm over his head, the muscles unable to coordinate their firing just right anymore after the ancient injury. Often times his right hand falls asleep when he drives his Impala because the nerves running beneath his collar bone are compressed by the lump there in the middle from when a ghost through him down some stairs and it set at the wrong angle because he didn't go to the doctor.

I dared not heal any of Dean's old wounds. I knew not the man, nor how humans viewed these flaws in their architecture. Within the confines of my old vessels, I'd felt not pain, nor the physical limitations of a flesh body. My grace had healed all damage upon habitation, and any natural biomechanical imperfections affected me not. It was impossible for me to say whether humans held any sort of attachment to them, and regardless, my job was not to change Dean Winchester, and at the very beginning, my job was all that I was.

Despite that, I couldn't help but be changed by this first encounter and the shear vastness of its impact showed in the mark I inadvertently left upon Dean's skin when I raised him from Perdition. The first time I saw the mark, a woman named Pamela showed it to me. I sensation I did not recognize at the time flowed through me and I bowed me head until she forced me to show my face. I know now that that sensation I felt at the time was shame, at having let the experiences of my time with Dean overtake my intentions and control. I'd left him branded, physically marked by the intensity of my time rebuilding his vessel. That handprint was a sign of the joy I'd felt melding his muscles and bones and soul all together in one delicate and masterful collaboration. Dean would hold the world on his shoulders and I had built those shoulders. They were perfect.

And yet they almost failed.

I thought I had done so well, blending the four tiny ligaments into the ring of cartilage that completed the ball and socket. I thought my collar bone and shoulder blade would work in perfect concert to lift Dean's fist in rebellion against Michael. I had almost been wrong.

But Dean succeeded. He surpassed what his vessel should have been capable of enduring and there I saw new beauty that I had not before. It was a beauty I was incapable of producing or experiencing for myself, and therefore I was all the more drawn to it. Yet at a time I was most drawn to it, I could not let myself have it and so I stayed hidden and did what I had not allowed myself before. I changed him.

When Dean played catch with Ben and winced in pain because the tendon holding tight to the top of his humerus got trapped each time he threw the ball, I healed it. He could play with Ben all he wanted now, and not feel pain.

When he made love to Lisa and the rough surface of his shoulder blade cut jaggedly across his ribcage in stuttered motions that should have been fluid, I smoothed its path.

When he pushed and pulled the rake across his yard until the reds, and oranges, and browns of the leaves crowded together in on neat pile and the years of wear and tear shot pain through his bicep with each stroke, I eased its inflammation.

I no longer heal Dean in the shadows of secrecy. He knows that I've erased the evidence of his father's abuse and his stolen childhood. He now asks for me to clear the signs of the most recent monsters. I relish in each moment, finding beauty in creating a new existence for Dean, free of old pains, open to new futures.

I can't heal this new wound though, cut deep through layers of skin and muscle, fractured bone and severed nerves. The monster inhabiting Dean put him back together as best he could, but this wound could not be healed properly, burrowed too deeply by just the right weapon.

The bones inside are held together by glue. The nerves trace their intricate patterns through his muscles and joints, but the impulses are sluggish and congested, blocked by where the channels and pathways didn't form together just so. When the muscles contract, there's a hitch in their path where they try to work through scar tissue. Worst is the skin, sealed together by hasty stitches and poorly dressed, so it bunches up in a keloid formation. Dean sees it every morning and remembers. I see it and remember, too, for his memory is now mine.

Dean's shoulders are still my favorite. They carry his burdens, they carry my grace, they hold me close when we are finally alone. This time, I cannot heal the evidence of his traumas, but I can lend my own shoulders in lifting them.

#anatomy of destiel #Destiel #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #cw: mention of abuse #because that's what I headcanon between john and dean

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tankun · 7 years

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can u recommend me some bottom!yoongi sugakookie fic?? ty

Of course!! I’ve actually thought about making a fic rec, but I just never got around to it. We shall see :> I had to stop myself from picking all of the fics to rec. I have so many that I love ahaha here you go:

Cigarettes, Liquor, Sweet as Sugar by SongMaelin – Jeon Jungkook has a lot of bad habits. Smoking, drinking, promiscuity… Min Yoongi just has one. Jeon Jungkook.

Friendly Neighbors by Thetrash – This is a compilation of three stories about SugaKookie getting together… With smut in there of course.

Bite Me by Sugashark – Jungkook had finally made it to University, moving closer and closer to reach his lifelong goals of becoming a Doctor.He never thought his life would be dragged into hell, when an encounter with a dark figure leaves him bound for life and with an unexpected roommate.

Push my face into the bed by Thetrash – Yoongi has a wet dream and texts the wrong person.

mind, soul, and body by hakho – In which Yoongi and Jeongguk spend their first new year’s eve as a married couple staring at the stars and fucking in the back of a van like horny teenagers. (or that fic where Jeongguk is a sappy motherfucker - sorry, husband-fucker)

Nightstick by vhope – Jeongguk’s phone buzzed and lit up, dredging him from his fitful sleep. The digital clock on the table announced that it was too early in the morning for it to be anything other than one of two possibilities: Either there was a major problem at the precinct and he was needed right away, or Min Yoongi was horny.

temporary love by strangedesires – "Don’t think,“ Jeongguk whispers, “Yoongi, don’t think, just kiss me, please.” Yoongi thinks. He thinks a lot. So telling him not to think is… Well, futile.

Redolent by wickedqriosity – Yoongi returns home to Orange County after two years at Seoul University and moves into a shared apartment with his younger brother, Taehyung. A memento discovered during the move triggers flashbacks of an intense, illicit affair with the 16 year-old “neighbor kid” in the weeks before Yoongi left for Grad school. As if his brother was not already chaotic enough, Yoongi is soon pulled into the bizarre microcosm of the building’s inhabitants and forced to re-examine his ideas of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. And the “neighbor kid” is now his roommate.

because it’s a meaningless dream anyway by hakho – when chuseok comes around, the world stands still for just a moment, and yoongi and jeongguk can finally catch their breaths. Underground Rapper!Yoongi + Idol!Jungkook = Secret Fuck Buddies (with angst)

soft melodies and softer touches by strangedesires – 22:39; I see the way you look at me, hyung. Yoongi’s world stands still, and in that moment, he wants nothing more than to wring Jimin’s neck. It’s Jeongguk, it has to be Jeongguk, who else would it be? Yoongi knows many dancers–unfortunately Jimin’s one of them–but there’s only one that he’s on close terms with, and whose number he doesn’t have.Jeongguk. It’s Jeongguk. It’s fucking Jeongguk. (OR: Jeongguk’s a contemporary dancer, and Yoongi is his academy’s pianist).

Kerosene and Desire by minyoongi6275 – Min Yoongi needs a new roommate after Namjoon ditched him to live with his boyfriend. Jungkook is more than willing to be that new roommate .

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heartfeltinspirations · 4 years

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(via The Afterlife: A Definitive Guide) A Guide to the Afterlife (Channeling)Stories about the afterlife -- and what life is like on the other side -- can be found in almost every culture across the world and have circulated in texts and religious doctrines throughout history. We all want to know what happens after we die. For many people, then, it is enormously life-affirming to know that our brief sojourn on Earth is not just a series of random events without meaning, and that a greater purpose lies ahead for us in another world. To help draw my own conclusions about the afterlife, I decided to ask the Michael entity for their input, and channeled the following answers using twenty-six questions. Descriptions of the afterlife are as varied as they are similar, and often impossible to validate. In the end it comes down to what resonates the most for you. Some of the answers may be surprising -- even startlling -- but in either case, a fascinating journey lies ahead. What is the afterlife? Following the death of the physical body, the soul is released from its earth-bound vessel of flesh and bone, and with the assistance of a guide, passes through the etheric tunnel (the familiar passage with a beckoning light at the end) that exits into a higher plane of existence -- often referred to as the spirit world, the astral plane, the afterlife, or in your Christian terms, heaven. During a near-death experience, is the person getting a glimpse of the astral? Near-death experiences, if not hallucinatory, do offer glimpses of the astral. Although, as the soul is still corded to the physical body, the visions get skewed with interpretations related to earth-based belief systems and expectations. More so, the vision lacks clarity and often assumes elements of fantasy and mysticism. This is no fault of the viewer. Unless otherwise trained, a soul still connected to the body tends to see the astral with a little distortion. Is Heaven the same as the astral plane?Yes and no. Common depictions of heaven, as recorded in religious doctrine, are fictitious representations of how the astral was perceived from a religious perspective. In some communities on the astral, where beliefs about a Christian deity are deeply ingrained, pearly-white gates may surround the property. Baby souls or young soul priests looking for congregations to inspire, tend to flock to these areas, the astral equivalent of the mid-western United States. Belief systems, especially those backed by deep emotional convictions, are allowed to manifest on the astral unfettered till the nature of the beliefs change and soul feel ready to choose the next stage of development. Is Hell a real place? Hell, under the guise of its biblical associations, is just a way of deferring guilt and not taking responsibility for the evil doings of man. Hell is not real in the sense that the physical is real or the astral is real. In some instances hell can be the internal suffering of a tortured soul made manifest using the malleable clay of astral energy, but these hellish constructs are fleeting and illusionary. In a more real sense, hell is the state of a mind disconnected from essence (or the true self). What is the afterlife like? Is it similar to Earth?The astral plane (or afterlife) is roughly positioned over the same terrestrial space which you would call Earth (or in our terminology, the physical plane as it pertains to the cycle of incarnations in your system). The essential difference is that the astral sphere vibrates at a higher rate, transcending the vibrational rate of the physical plane's molecular structures.The other notable difference is that areas of terrestrial space are unlimited in this dimension, and the geographical terrain can greatly expand. While the familiar landmarks and other distinguishing features of the Earth still remain (the oceans, the mountains, and so forth) the malleable nature of the plane allows for unlimited deviations of the geography, all dependent on the imaginative and creative desires of those occupying a particular region. On the astral plane, beach front property is available to all who can imagine it. Limitations of space, far too common on earth, do not exist on the astral. Think of the astral as a giant erector set whose only boundaries are those of the imagination. As we said, certain Earth coordinates still exist, but all familiar landmarks may get enhanced and re-envisioned, dependent on the whims of an individual creator or host of co-creators. Your cinematic depictions of the astral as an ever-changing canvas, with each color and brush stroke charged with emotional intensity, is not far off the mark. The astral is more about the inner manifestations of its inhabitants, whereas the physical concerns the outer. This is why physical existence is so chaotic and seemingly without order. A connection to the inner self doesn't easily manifest on Earth, giving physical existence a sense of randomness that seems solely driven by Nature. Is there night & day on the astral?Since there exists an astral version of the sun, the moon and all the celestial wonders in the Universe, yes, an earth-like equivalent of night and day does exist on the astral. Not all souls choose to abide by such familiar cycles, and in their individual world they may surround themselves with an endless sun or an endless night. Visitors to these unexpected defiances of natural cycles may feel off-kilter or out of sync, so most souls choose to reside where natural earth cycles still continue. Does the afterlife feel solid to souls? Solidity is just an illusion and only pertains to the corresponding experiential plane where one resides. For all intents and purposes, this is solid enough for most. The astral plane, then, does have a feeling of solidity for those who vibrate at that level. Unlike the physical, though, the astral has more give and take, and while the walls of a dwelling will feel solid, with a little effort an astral body can pass through them. What do we look like in the afterlife? Do we have bodies? Many souls prefer the use of recognizable bodies in the afterlife, although they are not necessary. On the higher levels these bodies are often traded for light forms, but this is the personal choice of the soul. For souls still in the reincarnational cycle, the use of bodies is more common and helps keep the soul in touch with their former and future lifetimes on earth. As far as a particular look, most souls assume the age level from a previous lifetime where they felt most in the prime of their life. But there is no rule of thumb here. Souls often present themselves differently to people depending on how they were most remembered by that person. Can souls on the astral see what's happening on Earth? Earth-time events are not seen as much as they are felt energetically, like waves that crash against a shoreline. The stronger the event, the larger the wave. To actually SEE what's happening on earth requires visitation, and outposts operated by astral ambassadors routinely monitor what's occurring on earth, charting current events to gauge probable outcomes. Spiritual guides, of course, also help track life on earth at a microcosmic level, and an enormous body of collective information can be passed on to interested parties. In other words, networks in place assist in exchanging and retrieving information, not dissimilar to the information superhighway you know as the Internet. While some bleed-through from the physical to the astral occurs, these are two different worlds and their natural life rhythms run separately. Can our deceased loved ones hear us? And do they ever visit? An energetic bond exists between all loved ones that is even more pronounced on the other side. The connection is well-established and not easily removed. This could conceivably become a nuisance if the channel of communication was perpetually open, and certain buffers are in place. Hence, communication with a loved one is more successful when directed with strong intent and immediacy. Loved ones do watch over you in an energetic sense, taking note of fluctuations in your auric field that deviate from what is normal for you. They can also make personal visits, and they see into your world from the outside looking in, a quasi-fourth dimensional perspective, as if your life were contained in a fish tank. Do the souls of animals exist on the other side? Animals (and beloved pets) do exist on the astral, since all living creatures are endowed with a soul. Animals, however, differ from human beings in the way that their souls are energetically configured. Dogs, for instance, evolve under the umbrella of a collective group known as a hive soul. Lacking the complexity of the human soul, non-sentient creatures rely on the collective experiences of their hive soul to help guide their perception and understanding of the world. The natural instinctive mechanism so apparent in animals comes from this connection to the hive soul, which allows them to quickly tap into the past experiences of their greater soul group when faced with an obstacle or challenge. The dispersion of animals across the astral is generally in select areas chosen for their continued development as a species. This does not mean animals never intermingle in human populated areas of the astral, but their home base is mostly among their own kind. Domesticated animals are seen more frequently in co-habitations with human souls, but these arrangements are visitations rather than the lifetime durations encountered on Earth. How do people live in the afterlife? In towns? In homes?Souls tend to congregate according to belief systems and energetic connections. It is not unusual for astral cities and towns to develop based on ties to cadre groups, cadres, and entities. These groups often incarnate together so the connections naturally draw them together again on the other side. Some souls are content to reside in these comfortable arrangements, but more adventurous souls may choose to live in out-lier regions -- an astral wilderness of their own creation -- yet they are not as isolated as it may seem, since souls can be together within a flash by mere thought or intention. Do they live in homes?Many do, especially on the lower astral. What do people do in the spirit world?On the astral plane, a soul -- now removed from the daily struggles of survival that once demanded so much -- explores more authentic aspects of self formerly repressed during an incarnation (either out of necessity or from a lack of opportunity). Latent talents, select interests, or personal causes are now nurtured and developed, laying the groundwork for further exploration. What people do, however, is as varied and unlimited as the stars in the heavens. With no agendas imposed or deadlines to reach, all that spurs a soul to seek another lifetime is an internal mechanism, like a ticking clock still connected to Earth-based time, that nudges and creates a yearning to reach for something more. Can people read books, watch movies, or otherwise enjoy previous earthly pleasures? The earthly pleasures once enjoyed do exist on the astral, and in many cases are even grander and more emotionally expansive than they were on the physical. Music, for instance, can reach heights of emotional ecstasy unavailable to those on earth formerly bound by the limitations and audible spectrum of sound waves. As spectacular as the music on the physical can be, when compared to the vibrant richness and wonder of the astral, it is like a flawed imitation of the real thing, similar to paint-by-numbers renditions of great works of art.What about books and movies on Earth?Souls who have developed archival skills, that is, souls with an affinity for accessing Akashic energy, can retrieve earth-based documents and related minutiae, such as books and movies. Specialists are also available who will retrieve these records for you, similar to the way a document is downloaded on the Internet. This retrieval is not as popular as you might think, since the choices for entertainment on the astral are exceedingly more vibrant and rich. An example would be comparing the scratchy reel of an old silent movie to a Blu-Ray disc-- except even the Blu-Ray pales when compared to what's possible on the astral. Regarding earthly pleasures, what does it look like to see a performance of a musical in the afterlife? Are there cast members or is it all in the mind of the creator? Are performances scheduled? Musicals, or any live performance for that matter (such as theatrical plays, orchestral concerts, or solo acts) will energetically attract souls most in alignment with the aesthetic values associated with the work. In other words, all expressions of art will resonate with others on a similar wave-length and they will feel drawn to attend a particular performance, without the need of advanced promotions or scheduling. Since a soul on the astral can be several places at once, getting pulled to an impromptu performance by Beethoven, for example, is not the interruption it would seem, and is diametrically opposite from the perspective of those on the physical, where the level of focus is one thing at a time. In some theatrical plays and musical performances, the writer or composer indeed engineers the entire performance themselves, dividing parts of self to act the roles or perform the instrumental parts. Such virtuosic displays, however, are more rare, and most creators choose collaborative performances where -- in the case of a musical -- familiar performers that the composer once worked with gather for the show. Rehearsals are rare, mainly because on the astral the physical limitations of a vocal instrument or the memorization of dialogue is not a hindrance. On the astral, the idea of practice or rehearsal is more akin to exploring new ways of expressing the work. The stage sets used in live performances, such as musicals or plays, are holographic in nature, where the backdrops and props change to suit the settings and context of the story. The phrase live performance is perhaps a misnomer in the exact definition, as these shows can be tuned-in on a psychic level without attending in person, and a resonance of the event can also be found and replayed, the astral equivalent of the TIVO or DVR. Overall, artistic works are generally performed in two ways: a standard interpretation of the work, where performance practices during the period of its conception are honored and adhered to, and a more improvisatory interpretation, where the writer or composer performs the work in the ways he originally conceived it -- but later rejected for various reasons -- or in a new way that evolves the work further. On the astral, all acts of creativity continuously change and evolve and are never static. Is there a form of entertainment enjoyed on the astral that's not found on Earth? Yes. One form of entertainment (that's also highly instructive) is to play out the many forks in the road not taken during a physical incarnation. In some sense this is actually a serious form of study, but many souls also use this as a diversion or a form of play. So many instances occur during a lifetime where a certain choice may have led to interesting (even delightful) experiences that it can be fun to see where these divergent paths may have led. The possibilities are endless for a soul that wishes to explore every nook and cranny of a particular lifetime. And some souls will replay these experiences, almost like a form of comfort food. Do these forms of play involve following parallels?The sense of play we refer to here may involve certain potentialities or parallel threads in a lifetime, but in most cases do not. Parallel paths are likely charted to completion when a certain choice would have led to significant change in that lifetime. The playful scenarios we mentioned are less significant and more like what might have happened if you had gone to the prom with Jennifer rather than Susan -- or similar escapades that would be fun to explore but are not necessarily significant in a life changing way. As mentioned earlier, these scenarios can also be instructional, and souls on the astral routinely reconstruct events from their life where they choose to behave differently in a situation, or learn, through practice, to handle a difficult encounter with a mindset that is more spiritually awake.As I channeled about life on the astral, the term Epochal Layers came to mind. Is this valid? The concept of Epochal Layers is valid. Significant periods in the timeline of any culture leave indelible markers in the fabric of the astral that resonate long after their ruination on earth. They may be visited and explored. An astral visitor to Egypt, for instance, would encounter an area similar to modern Egypt, save for the obvious modifications due to the consensus reality of those residing there. With a little training, however, referred to as the shimmering effect, one will receive glimpses -- that seem to shimmer in an after glow -- of what once was in a particular area. It is possible, without getting too technical, to dial through these significant epochs of time that still resonate, and thoroughly explore them. These time loops, so to speak, are historically factual representations of the area. Some souls even choose to live in these timelines from the past, mostly because they were once comfortable with them or just feel nostalgic. Ancient Greece is a popular epochal layer on the astral, both for visitors and those who choose to live there. Adventurous souls may even visit earth when it was once an enormous super continent and encounter some of the strange creatures that once roamed the planet. Many find the large insects more unsettling than the surprisingly docile dinosaurs. The astral plane seems like a joyous place to exist. Is there a dark side? Some souls on the astral do lack the sophistication and spiritual awareness of others, and souls returning from earthly incarnations where their darker sides ruled their personal choices and behavior, leave karmic wakes of devastation and anguish. Even these souls, however, who now face lifetimes of karmic repayment, are partially cleansed of their prior actions by the healing light of the astral, a universal solvent that helps to restore balance in even the most troubled and damaged souls. This is not to say that the gravity of their prior actions is ignored, but with help from guides and wisdom teachers, their original soul agenda can be restored. Do people still judge and exclude others? People are still people, even on the astral. Despite the availability of unlimited love and support, angry souls do exist and their fear may override better judgment. Unlike the physical plane, however, no one on the astral can be harmed when angry outbursts escalate to acts of violence. The astral body cannot be broken. The violence of the emotion is still not a comfortable encounter, and intense sessions of counseling are suggested for those that wallow in destructive, emotional states. Unresolved issues brought back to the physical for reexamination are not always met in a favorable light, and the vicious circle will continue. Are there places on the astral that are not safe to visit? Not as much on the astral. Although earth-bound fragments, bloated by the weight of their ignorance and malice toward those still living, have become too dense in vibration to exist on the level of the astral world. Neighborhoods inhabited by these lost souls are located somewhere between the vibrational midpoint of the physical and astral realms. It is a spiritual dead zone that those visiting the earth plane are advised not to visit. In many ways it's similar to the skid row districts on earth, and special envoys of missionary souls periodically canvas these areas, searching for souls to save. It is not a place of purgatory or even a hellish region, just a bleak repository of sad and misguided souls whose disheartened beliefs about their reality have temporarily exiled them to a forgotten land. Eventually these tortured beings are rescued from their plight. How is the astral body constructed? Could it be explained scientifically? The closest thing in science that would explain the structure of an astral body is particle physics. To simplify our answer, all molecular and atomic structures have astral counterparts that exist at higher vibrational levels. In layman's terms, this means that what exists on the physical is in some ways a carbon copy of what already exists on the astral. The energy has simply been stepped-down to accommodate physical plane constructs and the physics associated with it. The key to understanding this process is simple: nothing is truly solid. Solidity is just a parlor trick of the physical universe. The table before you, for instance, feels solid, but a life form whose molecular structure oscillates at lower or higher vibrational rates could easily pass through the table. This illusion of substance allows separate worlds of experience to exist together simultaneously in a single unit of mass consciousness, despite their apparent separateness. Is there a form of government in the afterlife? Governing bodies do exist in the afterlife, but they are not based on hierarchical positions of ever-increasing power. Instead, these positions are volunteer-based and perfectly matched to the particular talents and personal attributes of the soul temporarily seeking the position. There are no laws passed or contentious legislature to bicker over, just a collective body of like-minded souls with an interest in serving others. A detailed description of these job positions would be too numerous to list, but the general thrust of most volunteer activities involves an infrastructure of cross-networks that support the spiritual development and aspirations of its residents. Cooperation is perhaps the chief organizing principle of these governing bodies. Does the astral consist of multiple levels of development? Levels of development do exist on the astral, as well as on other planes of existence. Each level consists of certain milestones that act as markers of that development, and souls gradually become lighter and decrease in density as they progress up the ladder, so to speak. There are seven levels in total, with stages in between. These stages of learning, all in multiples of seven, continue throughout the planes of evolution. The lower levels of the astral are used for the reincarnational cycle involving the earth-plane. The first level is for new arrivals (and some astral projection occurs here), the second level is for temporary settlements (day to day living), and the third is for guides, teachers, or more advanced souls finished with their incarnations but still reincarnating for special purposes or select missions. Graduation to the fourth level comes after the completion of the reincarnational cycle, with the potentialities of the astral now fully realized and brought to bear. Levels five through seven brings an increased awareness to connections between larger soul families, and these groups are gradually reunited and energetically coalesced into a unified whole. Students of the Michael teachings would call this the recombining of an entity, a group of around a thousand souls or more. If Earth were to become uninhabitable as a result of any of a number of catastrophes, would there still be an associated astral plane? Or if it is just not habitable for humans, but some plant and animal life remain, would there be an astral for them?Understand that the region known as the astral extends well beyond the comparatively small space encompassing your planet Earth. The veil of the astral, in effect, shrouds the entire Universe. In a mass extinction event, which we do not see as a major probability at this time, the astral does not close its doors for business. The locality is simply less occupied. Any life forms remaining on earth would continue their cycle as long as environmental conditions remained somewhat livable and provided viable opportunities for growth from the experience. Since astral realms are heavily governed by the consensus reality of its inhabitants, the general appearance of the locality would change to accommodate those life forms still participating in a cycle. Why is the Universe so big? And does the astral mirror it all?The enormity of the physical Universe can not even be measured in mathematical terms. The Universe as you know it is just one microcosm of many other universes, all staggering in their enormity, all expanding and evolving in a perpetual state of creative outpouring that, to be quite honest, we don't entirely understand. The astral is indeed a part of it all, as are the other dimensional realms, reaching all the way back to the Tao (or God). What is the purpose of an afterlife? In terms of the reincarnational cycle, the afterlife is a temporary layover (although this can involve centuries) where the soul can regroup, recharge, access what was learned, and lay the groundwork for the next lifetime. Considerable growth results from not only having the experience but from revisiting those life experiences from a place removed from the original drama on stage. Considerable preparation also goes into planning the next lifetime -- at least on an essence level (or higher self). This involves charting the life task, choosing the overleaves to accommodate, vetting suitable parents, making agreements with others that facilitate the life plan envisioned, and setting up appropriate obstacles for continued growth.

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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In his 1944 play No Exit, the French existentialist thinker Jean-Paul Sartre trapped three strangers together in a drawing room and called it hell. Each member of the trio snipes at the others, experiences hatred and obsession, and drives the others crazy. They slowly realize that they’ll never escape these people. That’s their eternal fate.

Ever since, one of the work’s most enduring cultural contributions has been the oft-misquoted phrase “hell is other people,” which isn’t a mantra for misanthropes or introverts, but a rumination on how we can’t escape the gaze of others. As humans, we rarely stop viewing ourselves through others’ eyes — and that, to Sartre, was hell.

I’ve often theorized that all sitcoms, or at least all ensemble sitcoms, are actually set in either purgatory or hell and try to do roughly what Sartre did in No Exit. Stick a bunch of humans in a mostly enclosed space — an apartment, a newsroom, a bar called Cheers — and watch them bounce off each other, fall in love, drive each other crazy, and maybe learn some lessons about the nature of being and goodness for several seasons.

Movies rarely allow their characters to stay in the same place for long. But when they do — in, say, Twelve Angry Men, or Rope, or The Hateful Eight — they often take on those same sitcom qualities. There’s not much to do on a single set other than talk, argue, and manipulate one another.

That’s what these films are best at exploring: They show how people perceive one another and what they do to shield themselves from the gaze of others. And, of course, it all happens while we’re gazing at them, too, judging them by the choices they make.

All of these themes converge in Bad Times at the El Royale, an ambitious and kind of bizarre movie about religion, salvation, and who we really are. Technically, it’s set in a hotel that straddles the Nevada-California state line, but the otherworldly air at the El Royale gives away the game: This is a movie about purgatory and judgment, and whether anyone really can earn their way out.

A salesman, a priest, and a singer walk into a hotel. (Or do they?) Kimberley French/Twentieth Century Fox

It’s definitely no coincidence that the writer and director of Bad Times at the El Royale is Drew Goddard, who made his feature directing debut with 2012’s The Cabin in the Woods but cut his teeth writing on shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer (which is set at the literal mouth of hell) and its spinoff Angel. He currently serves as an executive producer on The Good Place.

For this film, Goddard shifts the location to a fictional novelty hotel called the El Royale, at the border of Nevada and California near Lake Tahoe. The El Royale was once a favorite haunt of stars and celebrities — photos and headlines about Marilyn Monroe and the Rat Pack grace the walls — but it lost its gambling license a year before the movie’s main action begins in 1969, and business has slowed to almost nothing. Just one employee, a young man named Miles (Lewis Pullman), now handles everything from the front desk to housekeeping to bartending.

A thick red painted stripe bisects the El Royale, right down the middle of the parking lot and the lobby. On the west side is California, which is “warmth and sunshine,” according to Miles; on the east is Nevada, full of “hope and opportunity.” The two sides are decorated differently, and the hotel lacks a Nevada liquor license, so you have to drink on the California side, where the rooms also cost a dollar more per night.

One night, a bunch of strangers show up at the hotel: a priest named Father Daniel Flynn (Jeff Bridges), a gregarious traveling salesman named Laramie Seymour Sullivan (Jon Hamm), a singer named Darlene Sweet (Cynthia Erivo), and a mysterious and glamorous young woman who signs in to the ledger by simply writing “fuck you” (Dakota Johnson).

There’s something fishy about everyone, and they’re all eyeing one another. But in the manner of strangers in a hotel, they don’t get too friendly, even after Father Flynn asks Darlene if she’d like to eat dinner with him.

Dakota Johnson in Bad Times at the El Royale. Kimberley French/Twentieth Century Fox

It quickly becomes clear that something is about to go down, especially once the blue skies turn to a dark and stormy night. But after The Cabin in the Woods, any movie made by Drew Goddard is expected to be full of twists, and Bad Times at the El Royale delivers on that promise — so outlining what happens next in any detail risks spoiling the fun.

What I can tell you is that, as the plot continues to thicken and it becomes harder for anyone to imagine leaving the hotel, Bad Times at the El Royale turns theological, or at least philosophical. Who is bad? Who is innocent? Does it matter what we believe? And what really makes us who we ultimately are?

Bad Times at the El Royale boasts a cast of versatile performers in Bridges, Hamm, Johnson, and Erivo (who sings, gloriously) — as well as Chris Hemsworth, who plays a Charles Manson–like cult leader. All of these talented actors are conventionally attractive by Hollywood standards, but over their careers, they’ve each shown a range that verges on that of a great character actor instead.

The sort of balancing act they all must perform — making you wonder whether what you’re seeing is genuine or subterfuge — makes the first half of the film feel like an Agatha Christie–style thriller, in which a crowd of mysterious strangers are brought together and a crime occurs, even as it’s seeding the philosophical reflections still to come.

But there’s a lot packed into this movie: ruminations on the 1960s in America, race, war, religion, music, surveillance culture, and much more — so much that it’s probably inevitable that some of it just doesn’t work.

The best parts of Bad Times at the El Royale feel like scenes in a play, with groups of characters isolated in some of the hotel’s rooms before they eventually all end up in the lobby, talking to and second-guessing one another. The resulting conversations, suspicious looks, and passing of judgment are when the actors are able to shine.

But at one point, the storytelling turns nonlinear, with the same moments shown a bunch of different ways, and it’s not clear it adds much to what the film is trying to say. The same goes for flashbacks that fill in backstory for some of the characters — you can see how both techniques might make parsing the plot a little easier, but in spelling out the details, the movie loses some of its allusive punch.

And yet there’s a strange charm to Bad Times at the El Royale, which never really shows its hand. Part metaphorical (which it jokes about halfway through), part homage to old Hollywood, part whodunit, and part social commentary on an America reeling from mid-century chaos, it’s overstuffed but still feels controlled.

Chris Hemsworth plays a charismatic cult leader in Bad Times at the El Royale. Kimberley French/Twentieth Century Fox

In the end, one of the movie’s biggest questions is whether we can atone for our wrongdoing on Earth, and who does the atoning. If, as in some religious traditions, purgatory (or a place like it) is where sinners are sent when they aren’t quite bad enough for hell and are given the chance to earn their way to heaven, then the El Royale — set on a dividing line between two places, inhabited by people who misbehave in complex ways — is a fairly obvious stand-in for that place. It’s an existential crossroads.

The film’s purgatory also functions as a microcosm of an America trying to get a grip on its sins from the 1960s; Richard Nixon, J. Edgar Hoover, cruelly casual racism, roguish celebrities, doomed Hollywood starlets, hippie cult leaders, gruesome random murders, and the Vietnam War are all in the story’s background. In their own ways, each of the characters represents some element of that decade that could be seen through rose-colored glasses or much darker ones, depending on who’s looking. (One of the plot’s surprises involves literal looking.) And they’re all acutely aware that if they’re found out for who they really are, there may be consequences to pay.

I won’t spoil them here, but the afterlife symbols arguably get a little heavy-handed by the end of the movie, and that can make it feel ponderous — like it’s trying to explain its own concept rather than inviting viewers to discover it for themselves. And yet, in its best moments, the movie does avoid becoming too literal. Bad Times at the El Royale is most effective when it makes us work to discern what people really mean by the words they’re saying.

Jeff Bridges and Cynthia Erivo in Bad Times at the El Royale. Kimberley French/Twentieth Century Fox

It’s a compelling film about coming near to the end of one’s life and trying, with a bunch of other people, to figure out what kind of afterlife you deserve. And it suggests that redemption might be available, even to characters who may have committed the worst sins they can imagine.

But not just because they say they’re sorry. In Bad Times at the El Royale, it’s not the gesture of repentance, being sorry for one’s sins, that’s important. Rather, it’s the act of confessing those sins that matters. People are always talking about confession in the El Royale, and those who earn their way out of the state-straddling hotel are those who speak freely about their past misdeeds in time for someone else to see them for who they really are. If you confess, someone can absolve you — even if they’re not the one who was wronged, and even if they’re not particularly religious themselves.

To cram all that into a two-hour film is impressive, and so even when it stumbles, Bad Times at the El Royale feels like a deeply weird and wondrous accomplishment, especially coming from a risk-averse major movie studio like 20th Century Fox. It taps into something that cinema and TV have been obsessed with for decades: how we can be saved, who saves us, and what we need saving from. And when it works, it’s a good time indeed.

Bad Times at the El Royale opens in theaters on October 12.

Original Source -> Bad Times at the El Royale turns a once-glamorous hotel into purgatory, with mixed results

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