#IT WAS A METAPHOR FOR THE HUNT FOR THE HOLE IN THE SEA KILLING HIM

[here-there-be-drag0ns]

Chip not having a gaping hole in his chest post-death is the hill i will die on, actually. I am on my hands and knees. Please I am begging yall. He does Not have a hole in his chest where his heart was thats Not how he died guys I'm begging yall (<- guy at the end of their rope /dramatic)

[adozentothedawn]

If you're still doing them, could I request a fill of the Pine (Hope, Pity) prompt from your flower prompt list? Seems like an interesting combination of themes to work with!

So... this escalated a bit, but then what doesn’t with me? Hope you enjoy!

-

The large courtroom was filled to the brim with people and Favaen was felt like she was being squashed. She wasn’t usually one to mind large amounts of people, but this time she felt out of place and ignored, without an actual reason for being here. The people around her whispered to each other, contempt filling their voices and making them ring far louder than they were meant to. Feet shuffled, arms swung around, faces contorted in anger, and the air was filled with malicious excitement. Favaen felt herself freeze, shoulders pulled up and legs ready to pounce, making herself a smaller target while preparing to defend herself, like she’d learnt back in the Magran temple. Not that it was truly of any use. No one here would physically attack her. Everyone in this room who might mean her harm had better ways to do so.

A hand landed on her shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, and Favaen looked up to Ydona, though it wasn’t much of an up anymore. Soon she would be taller than her mentor. The older woman gave her an encouraging smile, and even without hearing the words, Favaen knew what she was telling her. She’d heard the words many times before. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Favaen nodded, shuffling closer to Ydona’s side. If asked later she would deny it with vengeance, after all, she wasn’t a child anymore, but in that cramped room where no one would see, she reached for her mentor’s hand, clinging to it as though her life depended on it. The older woman showed no sign of noticing, only firmly holding on to Favaen as they were looking out over the fenced off area in the middle of the room, where a Woedican priest was preparing for the trial ahead.

The air was getting thicker, not only in the metaphorical way, and Favaen had to supress a cough. The Woedican priest was burning frankly ridiculous amounts of incense, and as it was a closed off room it couldn’t escape into the air around, as it would at an Eothasian service or at the beginning of a hunt of Galawain. Both Abydon’s and Magran’s priests knew better than to spread so much of the blessed fragrance in an enclosed space. Apparently Woedica was of a different opinion.

Finally, the priest seemed satisfied and took his place at the bench at the head of the room. The guards loudly stomped their spears on the ground and the room grew quiet. The silence did nothing to calm Favaen’s nerves though. Resentment and scorn were still burning as strongly as the insence, causing her skin to crawl uncomfortably, all too aware of what these emotions felt like, and what they could make someone do.

The doors leading into the empty area opened with force, banging into the wall, and making Favaen flinch at the noise. Another guard came in, dragging someone behind him by a chain connecting to a collar around their neck. As they passed them by, Favaen could see that it was a male orlan, barely clothed and fur matted with blood. One of his ears was torn, and the tip only hanging off a piece of skin in a gruesome display of cruelty. Favaen gagged, shutting her mouth as tightly as she could.

The man scowled at every one of the nobles he limped past, seething with as much hatred as everyone around him as he glared burning holes into every single person in his line of sight. Including Favaen. A shiver ran down her spine at the sight, both of fear and guilt, and even a small spark of defensive anger. She inched even closer to Ydona, seeking shelter as much from the malice around her, as from the turmoil it caused in herself.

In front of the bench with the priest the orlan was forced to his knees as the guard forcefully yanked on the chain and toppled him, his knees hitting the marble floor with a crack.

The priest started reading aloud the accusations against the man. Or not man, but property, technically. A slave that had killed his master, a well renowned noble, in an attempt to escape. Favaen had known this, had known why they were here, but actually seeing it was a different matter. She was torn in her judgment. On the one hand he’d killed someone, someone who had trusted him. Stabbed them in their sleep. On the other hand, she could see his injuries. Many of them too old to be from his time in jail.

Looking for an answer she turned to Ydona, but her mentor had no eyes for in that moment. Spine straight and rigid she watched over the proceedings, face tighter than Favaen had ever seen on her.

No richer for an answer she turned back to the trial just in time to see the priest end the accusations. The silence didn’t last, for as soon as the slaves muzzle was removed to allow him a comment, nothing more than a formality, he started cursing. Spit flying from his mouth he screamed all his hatred and despair into the priest’s face, who looked on, unimpressed. One hand movement by the Woedican priest and the muzzle was forced back onto the slave’s face, whose struggling grew more and more desperate, blood running in thin lines from under the shackles.

The priest spoke his verdict, death, to be carried out immediately. The room exploded with cheers. Shouts of agreement, slurs, promises of even more violence and the heady scent of incense filled the heated air. Favaen could feel her blood run cold. She hadn’t had any illusions about what would happen here this day, but she hadn’t been prepared for this aggression, this undiluted hatred, even as she herself couldn’t help but silently condemn the man shaking on the floor.

“I object.” The voice, though calm and almost soft, carried through the room, over the hatred and anger and with the same authority the Woedican priest had spoken with. Favaen looked up in surprise and looked at her mentor, whose face had taken on a look of serenity and peace that Favaen couldn’t help but envy. Ydona did not look at her, but squeezed her hand tightly, assuring her without taking her eyes of the judge, who didn’t seem surprised at the interruption.

The people quieted again, throwing the pair of Eothasians annoyed looks, tainted with disdain and disapproval. Favaen shrivelled under the damning attention, feeling almost like a toddler with the way she clung to her mentor.

“Cite your name and authority,” the judge ordered, his cold and unfeeling voice in stark contrast to the heated tempers of the audience.

“I am Mother Ydona, representative of the Abbey of the Dawnstars. I come offering sanctuary.” The judge nodded and gestured for the guards to take the muzzle off once again. Favaen didn’t know what she had expected, the still seething and burning hatred in the slave’s eyes hadn’t been it. Even though he was shaking where he was kneeling, fear radiating off him like warmth off the rising sun, he spit onto the floor in their direction.

“I don’t need your sanctuary, bitch!” he growled, salvia and blood spraying from his mouth. The muzzle was immediately shoved back over his mouth. Favaen watched the struggle in front of her, watched as the slave was slapped across the face as he attempted to bite the guard, and could do nothing but stare. She was outraged at the disrespect and at the same time sorry that this was happening at all, that a sentient being was treated like this.

Next to her she could feel her mentor deflate somewhat, still a firm pillar of support, but clearly saddened by the reaction displayed before her.

“The offer of Eothas’ sanctuary has been rejected. The sentence will be carried out immediately.” Ydona accepted the judge’s words with a nod, and stepped back a little, never letting go of Favaen’s hand.

The execution following was a gruesome scene, and Favaen couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. Blood sprayed over the floor, though not far enough to reach the cheering spectators. The corpse, only just a living, struggling kith, was still twitching as it lied on the ground. All those people around her, most of them nobles, priding themselves on their sophistication, revelling in the violence before them.

Favaen had seen blood and even death before. Of course she had, as an acolyte of Galawain or Magran you couldn’t avoid it. Technically she’d even killed before, a boar on her first actual hunt. This was different. This wasn’t a hunt for food or a controlled duel. This was a slaughter.

The execution was over, and still Favaen couldn’t stop staring. She was frozen on the spot, her thoughts circling over and over as she watched the blood run across the marble like thick juice, odd glints of light reflecting off the fluid. She didn’t know if it was the shock, the incense, or something else, but her feet were rooted to the floor so firmly, not even the shifting masses of people around her were enough to push her away. She felt as if the blood was flooding ever closer to her, extending accusing fingers of carnal rivulets, coming closer as if to choke her for her part in this, however passive.

Only when a familiar hand, far softer and gentler than her own, callused from years at the forge, landed on her shoulder and firmly pulled her away from the scene could she tear her eyes off the crimson sea of gore that hadn’t spread as far as the closest observer’s ornate boots. She stumbled along with the pull, blindly tripping after her mentor and through the mass of people, the smoke, and her own thoughts, knowing she would never find her way out alone.

In what felt both like an eternity and no time at all, Favaen found herself in front of the courthouse, the comforting rays of light shining from the afternoon sun caressing her face. Still caught in the memory of the last few minutes, she lifted her head and marvelled at Eothas brilliance, letting Him burn away the terrible pictures seared into her eyes.

After a while of losing herself in the warmth and comfort of the one she held so dear, she remembered that she hadn’t been alone. Blinking and slowly returning to reality, she looked around and saw her mentor, one hand still on Favaen’s shoulder, the other one holding Favaen’s own, a concerned but understanding expression on her face.

All at once Favaen felt herself crumble as the last bits of shock fell away, and she burst into tears. Immediately Ydona’s face fell as well, and she pulled Favaen into a tight embrace. Ugly sobs wrecking her body and streams of tears running down her cheeks, Favaen nuzzled her face into her mentor’s… no, mother’s shoulder, and let all that confusion and hurt and pain flood out of her like she’d done only once before. It didn’t matter that they were standing right before one of the biggest public spaces in the city, the world had vanished right alongside her composure. All that remained were the soft robes and gentle arms around her, the quiet humming in her ear, the gentle hand in her hair, and the comforting warmth of the sun overhead.

“I’m sorry, little one.” Favaen felt more than heard the words mumbled against her forehead, and though at any other time she would have protested, in this moment she didn’t mind the nickname.

It took quite a long while for the tears to dry and her sobbing to turn into quiet hiccups. It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt anymore, buts she simply ran out of tears to shed. Once she had calmed down somewhat Ydona pulled away, and Favaen couldn’t suppress the small sound of objection in between the sniffling. Ydona didn’t go far though, just moving enough to gently take Favaen’s face between her hands.

“I know it hurts, and I understand that you might not want to hear this right now, but I need you to understand that I didn’t bring you here to punish you,” she said, her grip on Favaen’s face both tender and comforting, as well as firm and not giving her a chance to look away. Through still glistening tears, Favaen look into her mother’s eyes, finding them full of solemn gravity, that she knew only from the few funeral rites she’d seen. Though wasn’t this what this was? A funeral for the part of her that had never seen such cruelty.

“What you saw in there was a tragedy born from another tragedy, born from many tragedies before that. What this man did, wasn’t right, just like what was done to him. What we as Eothas’ heralds must do, is pity these people, show compassion to them, and offer them a better way. Continuing this spiral and anger and vengeance, no matter how justified, would only bring more suffering. We must be the farmers planting the seeds of mercy if we want to see it in the world. But Favaen, though we must lead by example, do not ever forget that you have people to confide in. There are others who share our hope for the future, no matter if they follow our god or not. Lead them, but if you trust them, trust them enough to lead themselves sometimes.” Favaen nodded tearfully. Though she found it difficult to understand the words, deep in herself she knew them to be true. A small smile found its way onto Ydona’s face.

“Look at it like this, a seed cannot grow if you sit on it.” Through her slowly drying tears Favaen giggled, feeling slightly better, though what she had seen still gnawed at her and undoubtedly would for many years to come. And perhaps that was the point, she thought. To be bothered by these things, so that you may never stop striving to be better. To never stop hoping and working for another dawn and spring.

Something about her musing must have shown on her face, for Ydona’s smile grew even warmer and she pressed a soft kiss on Favaen’s forehead. After lingering for a few seconds, she pulled away again and offered Favaen her hand.

“Now, would you like to help me send him off?” Thankfully Favaen took the hand offered to her. Though it sounded strange, a funeral did sound like a good idea. Though a part of her had died in there along with the slave, she promised herself and Eothas in silence that she would make the most of it. She would lay to rest what had been lost this day, and make sure that a brighter future would bloom from it.

Together they made their way back home, always under the watchful gaze of Eothas, who they knew would lead them on to that better future they were hoping for.

[shirtlesssammy]

14x18: Absence

Then:

This show is toying with our lives, all for the sake of narrative symmetry.

Now:

Sam and Dean are back at the bunker with no Mary or Jack in sight. One beer and some ironic praising of Jack later, Dean tries calling Mary, only to find her cell ringing from another room. “Try Jack,” Sam suggests.

Several calls to everyone else that will probably be dead by the end of this show (I’m in a dark place right now, guys) later, their one lead is with Rowena. She has a spell that might track Jack and Mary. Cas calls Dean back and confesses his concerns about Mary being alone with Jack. He’s concerned that Jack isn’t ok, and then tells Dean about Jack mercy killing Felix. Dean’s already in hyper-freaked out mode so he doesn’t take Cas’s revelation too well. And by that I mean he hangs up on Cas. Good job, Dean, dealing with your emotions like an adult human.

Anyway, they need to find Jack, asap. Sam brainstorms the idea of tracking Jack’s cell phone. They quickly realize that he’s flying all over the world.

Jack eventually ends up back at the cabin, his battery almost dead.

He flashes back to memories of his time with Mary. The flashbacks are all in black and white and there’s just a brief flash of yellow/orange between them and present day (v. cool.) While Jack remembers Mary, he’s visited by his very own Hallucifer. UGH. Although, while I didn’t put it together on the first watch, I feel like watching Jack being tormented by his devil father shows that Jack’s soul is not gone. He is in complete anguish about Mary throughout this episode --not something someone without a soul feels. Anyway, the dark part of Jack’s mind tells him to accept what he did. Jack insists that it was an accident, but the devil on his metaphorical shoulder tells him to tell Sam and Dean that --see how far that gets him.

He plays with Jack’s emotions to the point that Jack blasts him away. Oh, Jack.

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean are on their way to the cabin. Cas is going to meet them there. Sam tries to reason away Jack killing Felix. “Really, with the snake?” OH MY GOD. I feel like Dean has TOO MANY emotions and they’ve all bottlenecked and can’t get out so he’s gone into angry reactive mode and I do. Not. Like.

Once at the cabin, Sam finds the burnt corpse of Nick, and Dean, well, Dean finds a barren blast site of ash and nothing.

We cut to Cas, alone in his truck, flashing back to a memory of Mary and him soon after she came back. They were hunting together (despite the brothers believing she needed space to process her new world order). Ah, it’s quite a touching moment between the two of them and I’m getting sadder the more I watch.

For Sadness Science:

Especially this exchange:

Cas: I know you know this, Mary, but Sam and Dean, they’re glad to have you back. Whatever you still have to deal with and however long it takes, you should know they’re happy. Finally they don’t have to be so… so alone.

Mary: Castiel, they were never alone.

Mary’s words echo in Cas’s mind as he leaves his car to meet up with Sam and Dean. Once in the cabin, he finds Sam and Dean (who turns his back on him! Gah) and the charred remains of Nick. Dean insistes that they don’t know what happened, but if Jack did something to Mary --he looks at Cas and utters the words that will forever scar my heart: “Then you’re dead to me.” Cas takes Dean’s anger stoically, while Sam tries to reason with him. I mean, clearly, Dean’s anger isn’t at Cas, it’s at himself, at the circumstances, at the possible thought that he’s lost his mother AGAIN. (although this post by @tinkdw rings true and fits the lack of communication issues these two have had for some time now.)

Anyway, Cas gives his speech about Jack and his faith in him--and he’s using past tense!-- and I’m not ok. When Cas’s voice breaks at “We were a family and I didn’t want to lose that.”??? Bury me in a ma’lak box in the sea, guys.

Rowena calls. It’s nice to see that as Dean and Cas are breaking up, Sam and Rowena still are able to communicate. <3 <3 <3 Rowena can’t get a handle on Jack. “And Mom?” Sam wonders. “I don’t know what happened, or where she is, but I can tell you with certainty, Mary Winchester is no longer on this earth.” Fuuuuuuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkk. Cue Dean breaking a chair in 3-2-1…

Sam wants to know what they should do. “We fight. We fight to bring them back.” Dean wants Rowena to resurrect her. (Listen, I’ve read Pet Semetary...uh.) He barks at Cas to go to heaven and locate Mary. Sam and Dean are heading to Rowena’s place.  

We cut to Rowena working her magic, and folks, she is a sight.

There’s a knock at her door, and it’s Jack! Rowena offers to call Sam and Dean and Jack instantly shuts that down. He admits that he killed Mary and it was an accident. He needs Rowena’s help to undo it. Jack asks about a spell from the Book of the Damned. Rowena starts talking about one (and she looks ever so briefly at the door when she’s telling her story...LOVE that subtle bit of acting!!) The Necromantiorum spell requires simple ingredients and great power. There’s another knock on her door. Sam and Dean have arrived. Jack whisks her away to the bunker in a flash.

Cas walks through the playground at Heaven’s gateway, calling for an angel. Nothing but the wind answers him…

Meanwhile, Jack has flapped Rowena to the bunker to get ingredients. He sees marks on the floor and has a flashback about Mary. In it, she teaches Jack how to throw a knife. It goes poorly, but she is super supportive anyway. She even helps hide the damage to the floor. Mary Winchester, you are an A+ person! Sam approaches. He’s exhausted from the search for Michael-possessed Dean.

Mary tells Sam that she understands the parental guilt that Sam is feeling for not being there for Jack. She tells Sam that he’s amazing, brave and kind. I’m just gonna…cry in a corner for a while.

In the present day, Dean continues flipping out at Sam while he paces Rowena’s lushly decorated apartment. He circles back to Cas’s culpability, but Sam tells him that they both knew Jack was dangerous. Sam brings up the fact that he made the decision to use the soul magic to bring Jack back, unasked for by Jack. Sam admits that he peaced out on the bunker after Michael killed all the AU hunters, leaving the burden of parenting to Cas. Dean reluctantly admits that he���d let his guard down as well, ignoring Donatello’s warning about Jack.

Jack paces the bunker, looking a wee bit worse for the wear. Rowena tries to connect with him, but Lucifer butts in. He needles Jack about his plan to bring Mary back, painting it as a desperate ploy to get in good with the Winchesters again. Rowena gets to hear one side of the conversation and stays remarkably composed. It’s like a terribly uncomfortable cooking show.

Lucifer tells Jack that he’s just imagining the guilt and pain, as a soulless person. But COME ON, Jack is clearly suffering. This is more than self-preservation.

Rowena finishes collecting spell ingredients and asks for the last item: Mary’s body.

Um. Houston, we have a problem. Ashes apparently don’t count.

Sometime later, Cas stands in front of the sandbox. Just an ordinary, trench-coated dude hanging out alone in a playground. He tells Naomi that he won’t leave until he gets to talk to her. The portal ignites. Hey! Good job, Cas!

Dumah appears, gives Cas some extreme passive-aggressive sass, and asks him if he’s there for Mary Winchester. Um. Maaaaaaybe?

Cas tells her that he wants to bring Mary back, “Because she’s gone!” Hey. I’ll just be over here clutching a blanket around my shoulders to protect myself from all this grief everywhere. Dumah tells Cas that Mary is in a “special heaven” and has achieved peace, at last. We find all of this terribly unsettling, like the plot of this episode is a shark swimming around telling everyone that it’s a dolphin with sort of a wonky fin and just don’t look under the surface. Would you like to pet the strange dolphin? WOULD YOU?

Ha ha. Eh, sorry. Went a little off topic there.

Anyway. Back with Rowena and Jack, he flies her to the cabin and shows her the burn site. Rowena tells him that the spell won’t work without a body and the obliterated ash field is not enough. Jack decides he’s going to do the work himself, which Rowena thinks is a terrible idea. “A cardinal rule of magic,” Rowena cautions. “Disposition affects execution. And you are spinning. Whatever you bring back, it won’t be her.” Rowena refuses to help his mad scheme, compassion thick in her tone, and Jack tosses her all the way back to her apartment.

Rowena stands up, utterly pissed off, and calls Sam. She tells them what Jack is up to. “He’s desperate, confused, angry…” (Hmmm all emotions, you might say.)

She tells them that Jack may bring something terrible back with his attempted spell.

Cut to Jack who is attempting the spell. Oh man. He does the ritual and the skies open up in a heaving vortex of purple-black clouds.

While the spell works, Sam and Dean approach in the Impala. Jack cuts off Baby’s engine (oh NO HE DIDN’T) and finishes the spell.

Dean and Sam race on foot to stop Jack, but it’s too late. He greets them with, “It didn’t work.”

He flaps away and Dean races forward to something lying on the ground. It’s Mary Winchester….’s body. There’s no trace of life. Dean holds his mother’s body and flashes back to driving in the car with her late at night, headed towards or away from a case. She’s asleep on his shoulder and he looks down at her and just…

If you need me, I’ll be searching the nearby forest for my broken heart.

Jack holes up in some gross warehouse while Lucifer cozies up to him. Lucifer tells Jack that because of his failure to resurrect Mary, nobody will take him back into their lives. TFW won’t trust him anymore, so Jack can never trust them. Ugh, Lucifer, you’re the worst. (Man, I really look forward to the day when I won’t feel the need to type that anymore.)

At the bunker, Sam goes through old photos of Mary when Cas walks in. He tells Sam that Mary is in Heaven. “She’s at peace,” Cas says. Dean rather aggressively asks if Cas is just gonna take Dumah’s word on it, but Cas reports that Dumah took him upstairs and let him see Mary’s door. He opened it, and watched from the doorway as Mary lived in it. “She’s with John and there’s no sorrow. No guilt. Just joy.” 

Sam tells them all that Rowena thinks Jack just brought back an empty body. A replica, “incapable of holding life.” Ouch.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Sam asks, sounding lost.

“What we always do,” Dean says. Fight, right? Let’s FIGHT someone! Oh wait, no. What they “always do” is burn the bodies of their loved ones while clenching their jaws stoically.

We get a slideshow montage of Mary moments. MARRRYYYYY! ;__: (Boris: okay if they throw a new photo on the pyre every time someone dies, they’re gonna eventually run out of photos.) Cas tries to approach Dean in comfort but Sam holds him back and shakes his head as if to say, not now. The camera wheels away like a circling hawk, leaving the three of them alone at a crossroads. [Pun completely intended.]

Ceci N'est Pas Une Quote!

I don’t think Jack is well, Dean.

Who cares? It’s a snake!

I could heal you if you’ll let me.

It wasn’t bad. It was the absence of good, and I saw that in him.

I don’t know what happened, or where she is. But I can tell you with certainty Mary Winchester is no longer on this Earth.

Kids - they always surprise you.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[joytraveler]

Death Master 2 (continued)

The third stage is a gruesome swamp, which seems to be being used for a butcher's larder-- what with all the dead animals hanging from the trees!

"Ohhh that, that Sneaky Pete!!" Bea growls at her mysterious foe. The morbid stage ahead rather distracts her, however. "Maybe we... maybe we just shouldn't do this, we've had enough of this game haven't we??"

Glockroach: Leatherface is gonna be the boss of this HNV: It's this or Box Baby, Bea... make your choice

"Mmmm I sure do love Slaughter Swamp! Yep, just gonna mosey right along ahead there!!"

Of course the decapitated animals fall out of the trees and attack you. Why would they not, right? And bony arms grab at you from out of the swamp... And finally a towering pile of SOMETHING rises up out of the muck, surrounded by swirling will o' wisps!

Llord_Kuruku: ok wut john_brown: wait I thought this was a fantasy hack and slasher why are you fighting the poop emoji???

"THE GREAT MIGHTY POO!" Bea sings at the top of her voice! "Hehgegehehehehgggfff I don't wanna touch it, no!! Long range, gimme the torch, NO!" She has to chase after an annoying little ghost to get the torch to set her weapon ablaze!

Once the stack of brown stuff's gaseous little friends are destroyed, it weakens and collapses, leaving behind some sort of shrine, half sunk in the murk; Alonzo stares at it for a second, and there's another flashback.

"Here we go, nnng.. comfort food.. What's the happiest thing I have.." she reaches to the snack table.. "Yesss, gummy sharks.. Ok I'm ready"

The sunken shrine fades to a newer shrine in a brighter forest, where Alonzo is being led along by a shrine keeper, and shown two mosaics. One shows the Death Master, whom we already know, raising the dead from their graves. The other mosaic shows a different figure – the one who's been following you all along – who seems to be putting live people into graves!

john_brown: i really like the little world mythology this game is building Syrupentine: oh, it's like the Wizard of Oz! This guy's brother is hunting you for killing him and taking his place! His scythe, whatever

"Right, so I must be the Good Death of the North, meaning I have to be enemies with Elphaba now"

aroseahorseboy: now don't get me wrong this game is totally cool and gory and everything but! I feel like they are beating around the bush and not telling us about glem and his mom and dad!

Stage 4 starts with a horrible monster's maw, seeming to form the gateway to this next world. As Bea treks through, though, it becomes clear that it's no metaphor-- the whole next stage takes place inside the body of a vast dead creature!

pigbarrel: hey, its my house!! pull up a maggot and make yourself at home!

Sunlight shines through the many gaping holes in the monster's body, illuminating all the lovely scenes of Alonzo hacking his way through gigantic decomposers and detritovores, and running from collapsing vertebrae and certain things that are partially digested but still alive. The music even seems composed of various squelches and gurgles, to boot. A long, spiraling spinal staircase is the worst part, with a sea of roiling worms rising up after her!

"Hey, my followers! No autographs, please.”

Apparently this monster was a female, because the boss of this stage is a zombie egg, able to 'hatch' seemingly any number of appendages from under its calcified shell! At one point it becomes a pinwheel of wings and legs, and at least four shrieking beaks!

pigbarrel: and there's me, sorry for all the attacking HNV: I wondered if your Facebook picture was accurate, sorry for doubting you SugarGlyda: !!!!! oh its a perfect limb baby!!!

When the egg is finally stilled, Alonzo makes his way out onto a ridge overlooking a valley, that glows menacingly with purple evil. But, once again, we get a flashback; Alonzo and his would-be bride, embracing as they sit on the ridge together, watching as a magnificent, phoenix-like bird soars over the sunset-- in fact it's clearly the very bird whose ruined body you just journeyed through.

"I'm not crying internally, nope not me.. Made o' granite, be I."

TaichouSenseiKun: It's okay Bea let it out john_brown: why is this game so sad though?? HNV: We end up asking that about almost all of them honestly

To be concluded.

[jackisfromthemoon-blog]

Driftwood Tuesdays

There is a trailer park in my mind where a perpetual thunderstorm rages; the moms and dads howl and punch at each other as lightning flashes, each blow they land booms with the thunder, and the little children are tossed about like debris in the wind. When I close my eyes I can go there; I can feel my heart electric in the cool darkness as little feet pull me toward whatever trauma is taking place just beyond my bedroom door. I can still run my hand along the edges of the holes pockmarking the walls of the hallway between my bedroom and theirs, each about the size of my dad's fist or foot. I can hear her weeping as I approach one slight step at a time and feel the crisp thwack of leather piercing air and slapping hard on my mother's skin and reverberating forever in the tombs of my heart. I can see him above her, belt in hand. I can hear his tone, sarcastic, through slurred speech but can't make out the words. Mom lays fetal on the bed, her face caked in tears, her ribcage gyrating between gasping breaths, moaning in honest agony.

Are we all just scared children? Am I? I know he must have been scared. I know what it is to ride helpless in a body that is doing things I hate. I have tried to reconcile these kinds of scenes with everything that came later, the obsessions and compulsions, my self hatred and recklessness, all the selfish choices. Probably there is a line that can be drawn. What a terrible thought, that before we have any self determination at all, some shit that happens to us that punches a hole in the metaphorical boats of our lives so that we spend the years we should be learning to navigate the ocean of adulthood just trying to bail out water.

All my life I have wanted change. I wanted to become the kind of little boy who did his homework and who didn't make scenes in class. I've wanted to stop picking my nose, to stop getting in fights, to stop crying in public. I've wanted to stop my mom having to pick me up from school because I overturned a desk in Art class, or because I threw a stool at the music teacher. Always I've been trying to stop doing the wrong things and start doing the right ones. Unfortunately I've wanted this change to happen sort of generally, and life is not lived generally; life is lived on particular tuesday nights, and on a given particular tuesday night it was likely that my young self was recovering from some particular horror, and it was more important that I allow myself the most pleasure possible than to do the thing that needed doing. Then on Wednesday morning, when the shame comes, it's very difficult to have another epiphany of change. At some point another voice becomes louder. Embrace the truth it says. This is who you are. You are not someone who can do the things he says he's going to do. You are flawed. Just live there. And so you do. And so I did.

I hate to think that I, a man of 30, am still bailing out that same water and therefor am still playing out the same drama as that scared child. How can that be? Surely sometime in the last ten years or so I've had the chance to right the ship? I don't think that my personal trauma was all that much worse than what a lot of others, people who have done much better at navigating the sea off life than I have, went through.

Addiction is a real bitch. It mostly comes to those of us who are already living lives of stress and disappointment, who already feel out of control – the water bailers. We are needy people. We are tired. When relief offers itself to us, we'll take that relief. No, we'll take double. Scratch that. Just give us the whole case, please and thank you. If being drunk or high that makes us feel good then we will be drunk or high. If its comes along who possesses that magic touch that pierces our darkness we'll declare them our emotional Jesus Christ (and we'll crucify them too.) It can be religion. It can be video games. For most of us its a long list of things we indulge in to excess to get out of our terror filled heads for 10 minutes or so. And this is bad. This is a life out of control. But the things, the alcohol or the sex, aren't really the problem at first. They're just things. But then one day, these things come alive.

Pretty soon, if we drink every day, our brains will decide that they need to drink every day, need it like it's fucking water. The thing that was designed to make us clamber out of our caves each morning and join the other hominids in hunting food and safety and sex is redirected and convinced that was it really needs is Jim Beam. How are we supposed to argue with the deep rooted guidance of our mammalian brains? Oh. With abstract reasoning, right? Surely the frontal cortex will be our salvation? Because we can see that its the liquor or the erotic chat rooms that are killing us we can stop, right? Did I happen to mention that this stoping has to be done on a particular Tuesday when we're going to have to first go to work with a hangover, get shit on by the boss because we half assed yesterday's paperwork, and then go home to a wife who rightly doesn't trust us and has some acute remarks to make about our behavior of late (or worse to an empty apartment with nothing to focus on but our own addicted mind), all of this couched in an existence primarily marked by feelings of isolation and fear – fuck if we can remember why. No. I think I'll go ahead and have that drink that my mind and body are crying out for. Logic and abstract reasoning can go fuck themselves. Truly.

And now, my friends, this traumatized person, this scared child desperately trying to bail water from his emotional boat while the water rises higher and higher with adulthood, is trapped in a new cycle, and has a new problem; he is an addict. Worse, the old feelings of inadequacy and helplessness are reinforced by the trauma of realizing (and he does realize, the frontal cortex is good for that much) he is an addict, and he can't quit the addiction for the same reason he couldn't stop punching those kids in the face and couldn't do his homework. He has other problems. The water still must be bailed. Each problem reinforces the other. If he'd felt helpless before, well, now he just feels fucked.

We try to stop. And maybe we can stop – for a week or two, but on some particular tuesday we fail, just like we did when we were little kids trying to do our homework. We fail like we knew we would, like we always have and always will.

My addiction is sexual in nature. Can I tell you about it? I mean really tell you? Would you really care to know? So much of my life has been lived underground, in that dark place I don't talk about and no one else can see. More than half of myself, hidden. I'm afraid to do this. Is it reckless to reveal the darkest secrets to the world? Someone has to, I suppose. To paraphrase Yoni Wolf, sometimes you have to scream something out or you'll never tell nobody.

My addiction started when I was 15, so that's 15 years ago now, half my life. Somehow I'll figure out how to communicate the dark side of those fifteen years, but life, is lived on particular Tuesdays, so I think for now I'll just tell you about a recent one.

A few weeks ago was Taylor Acoustics's birthday. Taylor and I had been growing distant for years now, but the love was still there whenever we did happen to find ourselves together. We hadn't lived in the same area for many years and I viewed the night of birthday celebration in the city as a chance to reignite the playful fire of our friendship and to start a new chapter, this one older, more grizzled, set in Downtown Detroit and with higher stakes. I had masturbated every day that week; it wasn't out of control to the point where I wasn't leaving my bedroom unless I was alone in the house or so that I couldn't look people in their eyes, but it did mean that with a little alcohol in me I could become tired easily, or go hazy, or become depressed and in the worst case start spilling that depression in ways subtle or obvious. So I had called up Binge and procured 4 Adderall pills to ensure I would have the energy for a night of fun.

The day of the party I dropped Prophesy off at work, came home, and realized that I had six good hours before I needed to head over to Taylor's. I think I held out for 10 minutes before my brain did the necessary math for the inevitable to occur. You see, one of the problems of the lifelong compulsive masturbator is that while the force of the compulsion only becomes a heavier freight train over time, the act its self holds less and less pleasure. Certain drugs and certain combinations of drugs can recruit novel parts of the brain to join in on the fun and generally make one feel like a teenager with his first high speed internet connection again. So when it occurred to me that I had the loving combination of amphetamine and marijuana readily at my disposal and six hours with nothing to do on my hands? Well – I didn't really feel like I had any choice in the matter.

The pill was a slow release 20, a lot for a guy with no tolerance built up, and I felt the sweet buzz of energy almost as soon as I gulped the water down after the pill. Soon after that I picked out a good sized nug of cannabis, broke it up with my fingers, and loaded the entire thing into my bong. I took hit after hit, rapidly taking as much smoke into my lungs in as little time as possible.

The internet connection at the house is such that I have to hold my computer up to the window, pay a few dollars for a 24 hour subscription to a local wifi service, and in this manner download all of the content I need before sitting or laying down to enjoy. In my current state of drug enabled efficiently and creatively, I collected pictures and stories with a sense of urgency and adherence to method akin to that of a speed chess player. For the first few hours my masturbation was ecstasy. Every model on my screen was a living goddess and testament to the divine nature of feminine sexuality. My fantasies as always undulated between the twin extremes of ultimate power and total humiliation. I'd always wanted to either own or submit, a perpetual teenager both worshiping what he couldn't have and wanting to control it. I was almost a god to my little psychic harem summoning submissive angels at will to fulfill my tiniest desires, and then at the next moment a slave, kissing the feet of a beautiful teenage queen with worthless lips while she casually scrolls her cell phone barely noticing me. Then I was the goddess herself and I imagined what life might have been with a different body, how powerful and beautiful and perfect I could have been, how I could have had slaves – slaves like me – and a life of erotic whimsy. Every so often when I felt the weed wearing off I would roll over and frantically grab my bong off the floor and take a hit before returning to my inclusive world of pleasure and shame. But as the hours rolled on, almost unnoticed, shame began to overrule pleasure, and logic threatened to intrude on my bliss.

You're going to be a piece of shit for Taylor's party.

I jerked off a little harder, even though my boner was becoming smaller in my hand and the pleasure less tangible.  

They're going to be able to smell the shame on you.

I scrolled through stories looking for a darker fantasy to pull my consciousness back down into the pleasure cave and away from the voice. I didn't want to think of the other friends who would be there that night and how I would inevitably act like a ragged street dog around them – too aggressive and too needy all at once. I went back to the task at hand.

This is fucking sad.

Then my phone, a $20 flip phone I had bought specifically because of it's lack of internet access, started buzzing. I grabbed it and looked at the screen. A text message from Innocence, wanting to talk. Sorry, Innocence, not today. A minute later it buzzed again. My mom calling. I hit silence. I went back to stoking myself. Each time it buzzed a little shock of fear struck my heart. Once the mind gives itself to the fantasy world, reality becomes the ghost. A minute or an hour later it buzzed again. Mom again.

I stood up and propped my Macbook against my window sill for more downloading. In order to do this I had to move one leg off the bed and sort of shimmy my foot on the floor until it had penetrated the layer of crap – books, dirty clothes, papers, odd objects of which I do not know the origin, that cover the space of my bedroom floor while kneeling with the other leg on the bed so as not to have to attempt to make room for that foot as well. I felt like a child and like a rat. During this operation I did not lose focus on the task at hand for a moment. I stood this way, gathering pictures and stories, these ones more extreme in their fetish content, for I don't know how long; I only know that when the phone buzzed again my right leg was spasming in little bursts, my ankle on the floor had begun to ache from supporting my weight, as did my dick from being manhandled while at half mast. The phone kept buzzing, each pulse a screaming banshee of shame.

Your grandpa is dead or some such thing. She's desperate to reach you. She knows her fuck up son isn't picking up the phone because he's busy being a fuck up. She's disgusted. She's scared. She hates you.

I turned the phone off and threw it on the floor.

Time stood still for my hand and my dick, but my fantasies got darker with the sky. I contemplated finding a bad mistress, a real sadist who would make my life hell. I don't mean that I just fantasized about this; I mean that I considered actually doing it. I would find a woman like this somehow and give myself to her. I'd give her all of my money, my birth certificate, my social security card, my debit card. I'd help her to make a video of me in humiliating positions, and then I'd make a list of embarrassing people she could send it to me as blackmail if I ever misbehaved. I'd order a chastity device for myself and give her the key. I'd be her slave. That was what I deserved, to be a slave. With the adderall and weed still powering my brain I plunged into previously unexplored depths of specifics. I imagined myself seeking out bitchy women and then presenting this idea to them. I created a power point presentation in my mind which I would show them in order to convince them that having me as a slave would be beneficial to their lives. I even posted a craigslist ad with this premise. I wanted to feel insane. I was no longer masturbating about sex or women; I was jerking off to my own shame and I'd never felt more erotic.

Around seven the adderall started to wear off. I hadn't come and my body ached from being held stiff. My dick hurt and was probably bleeding. None of this felt good anymore. I found my phone, and with great effort decided that I'd better call my mom back incase someone really was dead. No one was. She wanted to have dinner with me that night. I told her I couldn't make it and my voice shook as I apologized a little too emphatically. But that was all it was.

I also had texts from Taylor Acoustic but I was in no condition to go out. Any plans had to be canceled. This night would be another trophy on the mantle of the addiction which had already stollen so much from my life. Anyway, this was no time for philosophical contemplation of my condition. I had work to do. I took another pill.

I jerked all through the night to more and more humiliating fantasies, trying to push the sense of erotic shame to its brink, but the magic was gone and now the models weren't quite pretty enough or else didn't fit with my fantasies. The stories I found were either poorly written or didn't echo properly with my fetishes. My brain demanded some deeper depth of perversion to re-ignite the intensity but, drugs or no, my body simply wasn't built to maintain sexual stimulation for this long. My dick was soft in my hand half the time though I never stopped pumping. I kept getting up to take another hit off the bong and download more pictures, but my leg was throbbed with pain when I stood on it and reality's encroachments became sadder and harder to ignore. On and on this went. The shame felt like real shame and I wanted to push it away. My right hand kept stroking. My left hand kept clicking. Story, picture, story, this model, that one. The birds chirping outside my window mocked my pain. My body ached. Each stoke hurt my dick. Finally, around 11 in the morning 22 hours after I'd casually swallowed that first pill, I found my release.

So that's what a specific tuesday can be like in the life of an addict. I've told you the details, but I don't know how to communicate the horror of being trapped in a body that does these kinds of things, that seemingly can't not do these kinds of things. In my best moments I love life, I love intimacy and connection and love. But then sometimes I go into a trance where I worship the idea of these ideas exact opposites. Such insane helplessness. And yet it always feels like its my fault. This is not something that happens to me, its something I do. Am I a freak? A pervert? There is a line of logic which says I should embrace these things, I mean, I'm not hurting anyone. I hear this line, but I can only say that whether I'm hurting anyone or not, I do not want to keep doing these things, from my innermost core I reject them. They are terror to me. They are hell. I do not want them. I will not embrace them.

I spent the next two days in bed. My nervous system was shocked to fuck so I couldn't sleep. Most parts of my body hurt and I could hardly touch my dick even to pee. I laid there in the darkness contemplating my condition and laughing at my brain's little fantasies of change. This would not be some rock bottom experience launching me into changed life. I masturbated again as soon as I could.

[automatismoateo]

17 year old british ex-muslim. Here are my reasons for leaving. Potential ex muslims will read for a eureka moment :) via /r/atheism

Submitted June 27, 2017 at 03:57AM by boredashellitsinsane (Via reddit http://ift.tt/2sgpR8V) 17 year old british ex-muslim. Here are my reasons for leaving. Potential ex muslims will read for a eureka moment :)

I’m 17 years old, live in the uk. Born into a muslim family. Thanks to the help of relatives and various others i was able to leave and currently live away from my parents. It’s a crazy world lol

Alright so below is a combination of every possible reason you can think for leaving Islam. Every one of these points combined together to result in my removal from the religion. I hope by this some potentially shaky muslims who read this will wake up, and realise that their doubt is founded upon good reason and that they have every reason to keep looking for the right thing to do. Ex-Muslims are not idiots who know fuck all about their religion. In fact they know so much they begin to hate it. It's often people that start studying the religion seriously having had an open mind prior to doing so that apostate. They realise that shit honestly does not make sense, and regardless of how you look it, continuously explaining stuff away with "god willed it, that's how it is" gets a bit tiring mentally. We are humans. We have reason and we cannot live comfortably knowing that we are hiding things from ourselves in order to remain 'stable'.

Not all of this is my own content. Much was collected from answers around Quora but were written better than I could have so I included them. I did have my own complete stuff written painstakingly by myself. which i posted on Quora. Unfortunately I wasn't anonymous and it went viral and that fucked me over in the real world. Now that I'm away from that shit I thought I'd post again.

why does Allah always threaten us and intimidate us into loving him?

Every Muslim on this planet has one thing in common, the Holy Quran. Regardless of different sects and books of hadith, everyone believes Quran to be the perfect word of God. So after having concerns with Islam in general, I analyzed the Holy Quran. The following are some of my major objections derived from the Quran that made me leave my faith.

Islamic Heaven

The image of heaven is painted like it's a fantasy of a 6th century arab; Lavish silk clothing, jewelery, young boys circulating wine, full breasted, large beautiful eyed virgins, shades of palm and banana tress, rivers of honey and milk, meat of the fowl etc. That heaven is not for anyone else or for all times. And it's not intended to be a metaphor. (the verses are spread out in the Quran).

Murdering a child and Moses

In an event, a man kills a child in front of Moses. Upon inquiring,Moses is told that the child would have grown up to be a non believer and that would burden his Muslim parents (verse 18:74- verse18-82). Implying it's ok to murder a child because he may not grow up to be a Muslim.

Miracles

The many fables about miracles. Moon splitting in two, fish swallowing a prophet, miracles of Moses and Jesus etc. People who wrote the book didn't believe them to be metaphors. They believe it literally happened. How's that any different from myths found in other religions?

Adam and Eve

The story of Adam and Eve as the initiation of creation on earth. It doesn't relate with evolution, which makes sense. There are many holes in the story. Are we then the product of incest? One couple can't populate the earth. Why would God create his own game set the rules, watch as Satan tells them about the tree and then freaks out afterwards. Unless that too is somehow a metaphor.

6 days of Creation

At one point it states , God says be and it happens. But then He needs 6 days to create the universe. Theists say, the time is different for us. For us it's 6 days, for Him it's a moment. But that's only speculation and an excuse for this inconsistency. (verses : 32:4, 50:38, 7:54, 57:4, 25:59)

Allah controls everything

Allah chooses not to interfere, hence our free will. But Quran has inconsistencies on the matter. At several points it says Allah guides those whom He wills, He controls who becomes a Muslim. If I'm searching for Him and He decides that He doesn't want me as a Muslim, i can't do anything about it. Also He says that family and children are less important than him, which doesn't sit will with me. A religious person can leave his family if God tells them too, can murder his child, can do anything if God tells them to. And how does one know that the voices or dreams they're having are a mere product of their mind and not some universal celestial being sending vague signals?

Expressing loudly is frowned upon

Verse 31:19 indicates that if you speak or laugh loudly you sound like a donkey. This expression, one would expect from a child, not from an All knowing God. He created the donkey to be ridiculed? And to use this analogy, a celestial being can do better.

Christians and Jews

Earlier on Quran says they are both allies, people of the book. When they don't acknowledge the prophet or Islam and keep their faith, Quran curses them. The Jews were cursed first, when their relationship got bitter with Muslims, during the battle of trench. Quran said Christians are nice as they have monks and priests who are truthful. Then they were cursed too. It said not to take either of them as allies and may Allah destroy them. And then Jews are prohibited fat of animals. This sounds more like the intentions of the prophet rather than inconsistent commands of Allah. But you can marry their women to spread Islam, in hopes that they'd convert. (verses : 5:51, 5:82, 9:30, 6:146)

Context based signs

Allah talks about signs in the universe for His existence. But all these signs were observable in the 6th century desert. Ships, seas, childbirth, moon, sky without pillars like a plane, rain, sun, palm trees, pomegranates, grapevines, creation from sperm, rivers,earth laid out,mountains, having sons as wealth, hunting and tents from hides etc. Nothing even outside of the context. Elm and oak trees provide a greater shade than palm trees. They're never mentioned. The evidence of signs is not convincing to a person looking for God in modern times.

Battles

Violent verses during battles aren't really objectionable. Except a few. For example the verse 8:67 says to not have slaves unless you spread massacre across the land. But the tone of the verses is barbaric. Striking necks, fingertips, slaughter etc. The same message could be delivered in a much better way if the said God is humble, kind and hates unnecessary violence

God, punishments and genocide

One can't really judge God on the scale of human morality. But His kill count is much higher. He admits He kills nations in their sleep at night or noon. He's no divine, humble, mature celestial being. He's jealous and vindictive. He creates pigs and monkeys as symbols of insult and mockery, then turns humans into those animals. He says when you're in power, do not show mercy. But then the prophet showed mercy at conquest of Mecca. Maybe that's another inconsistency. Cursing an ancient Arab like Abu Lahab in the divine Book of guidance seems trivial and petty for a God. He says don't attend the funerals of your non Muslim friends. And there's even a verse (22:15) that says if you don't believe in the prophet, try and hang yourself with a rope from the ceiling and see if that changes anything. That's an All wise God’s message. And He says if you're told to kill yourself for God, that is better for you .Verse 59:5 justifies the cutting down of trees in a desert. It's all a game, He creates and destroys. (verse: 32:26, 5:60, 7:4, 66:9, 111:1, 5:33, 4:65)

Rulings

Marrying your adopted son's wife is totally fine. You can never call him your true son. The person you see as your daughter in law can be your wife. This would only induce feelings of hatred between the son and his father. 100 lashes to a couple who consensually has premarital sex. Why? You don't know them, they're not hurting you, no one's being raped. You barge into their lives, lash them in front of an audience, humiliate them and be pleased with yourself of having done a noble deed. If you want to educate people about sex, it's their parents job. It's their families concern. It's not Allah's concern. It's not your job to lash anyone. Cursing gays when it's not a choice and God made them that way.

Slavery

Yes, Islam liberated slaves of the 6th century. They were treated as daughters, sons, sisters, brothers. They were fed and clothed like their masters. They could demand freedom. But God knows better that in the modern world, good treatment of a slave is no excuse to own a human being. Slavery wasn't banned by Allah like wine or pork was. There was a contract that stated this man or woman is your property. Owning a human being is wrong. If God could add a clear verse about not consuming pork, what prevented him to add a clear verse about not owning human beings? Why leave that to vague examples and Muslims doing mental gymnastics trying to somehow make it sound reasonable?

Sexual slavery being allowed in Islam. Now that is absurd. How can that be allowed in Islam, that would be hypocrisy. So u mean premarital sex is totally a "No-No" but having sex with your slaves, even if they if are married is absolutely fine?

Women

Woman were given many rights and they too were liberated in Islam. But then it stopped. It's clear from reading the Quran that it's from a male's perspective in which woman at times are treated as inferiors. She can't divorce in the same way a man can There has to be two female witnesses for one man, so if one female forgets the other can remind her Marrying any four women and amongst your many many concubines, but women don't have the same choices If a woman is raped and can't produce four witnesses. She might even get punished herself. She wouldn't get justice Verse 24:31 says “…. And let them not stamp their feet to make known what they conceal of their adornment…” Meaning, a woman should not move in a way that reveals her body. It restricts you in illogical ways. You play sports, you're sinning. You can't dance, get excited and express it. One can beat women if she cheats (yes I've heard the miswaq example) the woman can't beat a man.

Outside of the Quran, there are many other problems with the mere idea of God. One look at innocent children dying of horrible diseases, being tortured in pain, may make a logical believer question the idea of a merciful loving God.

Or if one digs deep into history and looks at the religion's role models, they're found to have done some questionable things. They were people of their time. Who did some good and some bad things. Definitely not the perfect examples of character.

And if one does a philosophical analysis of religion. It's about getting rid of your own individuality to serve men in power who claim to talk to God. To obsessively idolize a man, called the perfect human being. If you're born different in this religion, you're labeled a sinner. Organized religion suffocates dreamers and free thinkers. It makes them guilty of their ability to fly and many cut of their wings to fit in. I for one am glad I took the leap of faith away from my indoctrination.

1) According to Quran mountains prevent earthquake or the shaking of the earth. in Sura Al-Anbiyaa (Chapter 21 verse# 31) It says " And We have placed on the earth firm mountains, lest it should shake with them”

If Mountains are there to stop the earth from shaking, then why do we see so many earthquakes in mountainous regions?. For example, Japan is a mountainous zone but it has 1500 earthquakes every year.'Shaking of the earth' and earth quakes mean the same thing right? Mountains are created because of the movement of tectonic plates. They do not stablize the earth or prevent shaking of the earth. This verse is clearly in error

2) The Quran In Sura Al Mulk (Chapter 67) Ayaat # 5 it says

"And We have adorned the lowest heaven with lamps, and we have made such (Lamps as) missiles to drive away Satans, ... "

So the stars were created by Allah as missiles to throw at the devils? In order to not let them eavesdrop on the heavenly council?

The first ayaat says stars are lamps that is fine but lamps (stars) are not thrown at devils

3) Why does the Quran say Allah prevents the sky from falling into the earth? The Holy Quran in Sura Al Hajj ( chapter 22 verse# 65) says

Pickthall:He holdeth back the heaven from falling on the earth unless by His leave. Lo! Allah is, for mankind, Full of Pity, Merciful.

As we know the sky is vast. So how can it fall into the earth?This sounds absurd.

4) According to the Quran honey comes from the body of the bee. In Sura an Nahl An Nahl (chapter 16 verse # 69) says

YUSUFALI: Then to eat of all the produce (of the earth), and find with skill the spacious paths of its Lord: there issues from within their bodies a drink of varying colours, wherein is healing for men.

A bee makes honey from the collected then chewed up pollen from plants. The bee never actually swallows and or digests the pollen. Honey does not come from the bodyof the bee. The bees chew their nectar through their mouth. After that nectar is dried out in the honeycomb and honey is formed. The verse in Quran is scientifically incorrect.

Homosexual men are to be killed. Homosexual women however, are subject only to lashes.

Wasn’t Quran supposed to be a book that is “The Guidance for All Mankind”? Then why is it written in words so difficult that they are beyond the comprehension of normal people and even majority of the so called scholars. Literally no one understands it properly with everyone having their own interpretation of it’s words.

The Quran assumes a flat earth which has physical places into which the sun sets and rises from. Since the earth is a rotating sphere, the sun does not set in any particular place and you can never travel to "the spot" where the sun sets nor a place where it rises.

Till, when he reached the setting-place of the sun, he found it setting in a muddy spring, and found a people thereabout. We said: O Dhu'l-Qarneyn! Either punish or show them kindness. - Quran 18:86

Till, when he reached the rising-place of the sun, he found it rising on a people for whom We had appointed no shelter therefrom. - Quran 18:90

We created the heavens and the earth and all between them in Six Days, nor did any sense of weariness touch Us. - Quran 50:38

The earth first formed around 9 billion years after the Big Bang. The Quran, however, repeats the prevailing middle eastern myth that the earth and universe were formed in six days.

This minute fact that the prophet had a desire to marry his adopted son's ex wife and suddenly a verse in the quran states that its a command by allah and its perfectly fine to do so. What it seems to me that Mohammed just made up a verse to suit his own desires

There’s a story in the Kuran about a king called Dhul’Qarnain (he of the two horns) who conquered the world of his time from east to west. a devoted king who feared god, was just, and fought Gog and Magog(another Sci-FI version of old aliens) , but it turns out that this was an ancient myth about Alexander the great, who was a polytheist (not monotheist), tyrant, a mass murder, and who loves men in his bed rather than woman (not being homophobic here but just to prove that Mohamed got his fairy tail completely wrong.

The christian king who wanted to destroy the Kaaba, he brought his elephants, he set off from Yemen, crossed the whole Arabian desert, but was defeated in Mecca by firing birds (from Allah). An elephant who needs at least 200 litres of water daily and a 3 tons of herbs/vegetation to eat could survive a journey of nearly a month in one of the driest deserts on earth. Go figure.

Even if warned, disbelievers will disbelieve. Allah has placed seal on their heart and hearing, and they are closed from accepting Allah’s guidance.

Thoughts - Really, this is the all merciful, all powerful Allah who prevents people from accepting guidance, brands them as disbelievers and then says its okay to kill them? And if Allah places a seal on the heart of disbelievers, then where is the glory in killing them, or preaching to them in an attempt to convert?

Allah mocks them(the hypocrites) and increases their wrong doings.

Thoughts - If Allah can increase the wrong doings, then why can’t he decrease them? Isn’t he all powerful? He increases the fallacies of the disbelievers, places a seal on their heart, prevents them from accepting guidance, and then throws them to hell fire. Sadist much?

Doubters will go to hell.

Thoughts - Wow, what an way to prevent logical questioning! What kind of power does Allah have if he cant even clear doubts.

Echoes the above sentiment. Basically says that no questioning/curiosity is allowed. Questioners are sinners, disbelievers and will be condemned to hell.

Thoughts - Hello, hell.

There is no compulsion in religion.

Thoughts - Finally! A joke in this book. LOL!!!

And we shall cast terror into the heart of disbelievers.

Thoughts - Why? They have been made disbelievers by the will of Allah. Allah increases their fallacies and throws them into hell. And even then,that much of sadism isn’t enough? Right now, I need to read the “No compulsion in religion” line again. I need a good laugh.

6:14 - Muhammad said that he is the first to be commanded among those who submit themselves to Allah as Muslims.

Thoughts - This screams contradiction and cooked up theories. What was all that stuff about Jesus being sent by Allah and that he had declared that he was a Muslim. This verse contradicts directly with - 5:111, 5:112, 3:67.

Mostly from what I observed that muslims don’t tend to question their own religion which contradicts the basic logical reasoning to everything that’s happening around them and just act blindly to everything that has been proved scientifically.

"Also I think if it happened and there is a GOD out there, he will forgive our disbelieving. If he created our mind to think at everything, so it’s nature to think that religions doesn’t make sense. I don’t believe in him because I’m some bad guy, but because I have no clue of his existence."

People need to open their eyes and see the reality of the hate-obsessed cult that is Islam.

Hoped this helped out some you :)