part gates of hell

Ebony

A/N: Uhm, I honestly have no idea where this came from. It’s just a little blurb I NEEDED to get out there. There is no pairing because… Well, you’ll just see why. Again, I’m sorry. The only warning: FEELS

Originally posted by sunrisejared

Originally posted by zest-wincest

_____________________________

The bunker was eerier than usual as Dean’s bare feet padded along the twists and turns of the hallway. He knew today would be hard, difficult–maybe even more so than hell–but he couldn’t help but feel a weight crushing his chest. Something was missing, and it would remain that way until the end of time.

“Where did we all go wrong?” he muttered. There was concern in his voice, but a new breed of venom had crept its way into his being. That night had been a disaster on everyone’s part. They couldn’t close the gates of hell, the angels had fallen, and people were hurt.

Betrayal.

Bloodshed.

Despair blanketed the world, and it felt heavier with each passing day.

Meanwhile Sam drove along this deserted gravel road so many times the map was embedded into the depths of his memory. When his brother Dean was teaching him how to drive this was the first landmark they would hit. It wasn’t recognized by the masses; no one paid attention to a broken, run-down church. The fact was this was where his and his brother’s entire lives had been altered.

“I’m sorry I let you down,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Sam has felt hate run through his veins multiple times before. When he butted heads with his dad, when he lost Jess, when hellhounds dragged Dean to hell; the list was too long for him to recall. Now he could no longer feel a thing, since the hate began to pound against his ribcage and deafen his ears.

The brothers had been saved by angels, demons, witches, and countless hunters. Also, they had been duped by some of those people. Some they would see like a comet streaking in the nighttime sky, and others made it feel like their hearts had been pierced by the tip of an arrow. There was one, specifically, that made both their heads spin.

It was the day Sam and Dean Winchester lost their sister Y/N, whose eyes now shine like ebony and lips permanently set in a deceptive grin.

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Bayonetta + Culture: Rodin & The Gates of Hell

Rodin. A badass demon with a weird sense of humor.

A man who handles a bar called the “The Gates of Hell”, not a special bar mind you, it is just a place Bayonetta and Enzo hangs out.

And a place where Bayonetta will get her Infernal weapons.

According to Antonio’s Notes, this place was swarmed by thugs, rouges and demon hunters who were rough. They were bloodthirsty, always looking for a fight for money or glory. All of them waited for the next man to be devoured and torn apart from a demon. Their sense of reality was warped entirely when they entire this bar.

It was commonly called “The Dump” by most of the returning customers there. Anyone who calls the bar as its actual name, will instantly be known as a newcomer to the shop.

During the story of Bayonetta, the bar seems vacant and quiet. But Rodin doesn’t seem to mind. When you walk into his shop, you will most likely see him reading a blank book before you begin shopping.

Gameplay-wise, it is a shop where you can buy items, techniques, costumes, and weapons for your feet.

But… who knew The Gates of Hell was a reference to something?

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How to scare a digital artist.

You’re at your computer in the dead of night, blasting music into your ears while finishing your latest project. Your digital art application fills your whole screen while you scribble away diligently on your tablet. Suddenly your headphones cutout and whatever audio you were listening too goes silent. You check the headphone cord and audio source and they both seem fine. You try to go back to drawing but you can’t focus, your mind is scattered. You stretch out to help yourself relax but out the corner of your eye you see a figure.

You turn around.

Nothing.

You tell yourself your just exhausted, to many all-nighters, and go back to work.
About five minutes later you hear it.

Breathing.
Filtered and contained, as if from behind a mask.

You whip around again and are once again greeted by nothing but darkness. You tell yourself your just imagining things, but your not so sure.
You’re beginning to panic.
Calm down.
You close your eyes. Just breath.
Just calm down.
Calm down.
Calm.

You open your eyes.

It’s there.

Right next to you.

You can hear it’s clammy breathing again.
The darkness itself seems to drip off this being.
You can’t move.
It opens an orifice in its head that could barely be classified as a mouth. It’s jaws seem to part the way to the gates of hell itself, beckoning you in. Your mind feels as if it was splitting open, a migraine symphony with a terrible screeching chorus. You want to clutch your head but you can’t, you arms won’t move.

And just like that.

Silence.

Two words emit from the being.

Two words pierce the dead air.

It says,

W̭̫̰̗̮̘ͨ̽̂̕ ̰ͩ̊. R̘̯͚̹̺̠͈̀̉̒ͪ̈̚. ̧̰͗̆́́̌O̢̱̤̤̱̪̲͒̓̽͂ ̟͕͚̳͇̟̭̈̃͠. Ǹ̨͓͓̳̭ ̻̤͔͕̙͌. G̟̥̦̻̪̞̺̐͞ ̢͖̗͈̫̗̹̥̉ͪ̈́̓̃ͭ̚ ̦̏̎̀̅ ̳͉̲̘̻̌̐̆ͫ̑ͩ̈́.


L̶̠ ̣ͨ́̓̋̅. A͍͓̜̱̍̌́. ̤͖̜̺ͩͨ͒͑ͩ̚͡ͅY̭̯̣̝̗̤̻͒̿̀̈̌͗̃ ̥̯͂̊̒͑ͯ̿͢. E̜̯̟͚̱̦͍̎̓̌ͯ ̼̠̣͈̓̀͞. R̂̕.


You wake up in a cold sweat.

4

NEWSHOUR: 9/11 through the eyes of a first responder and his disposable camera

Anyone who was in the U.S. during the Sept. 11 attacks has their own images from that day imprinted in their mind. Ken George, a first responder to the events of that day, captured some of those images on a disposable camera that he took with him when he was ordered to ground zero the night of the attack.

George worked for New York City’s Department of Transportation at the time, working on bridges, fixing trucks, and ripping up and repaving roads. He thought he was going to direct traffic on the evening of the attacks, but when he got to ground zero, his assignment was much grimmer. The bulk of it involved removing debris — including body parts — in the aftermath.

“It looked like the gates of hell opened up and swallowed everything,” George told the PBS NewsHour.

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Through the Gates of Hell- Part 1

Summary: Set in season 2. Reader is with Sam and Dean after an encounter with a demon. The brothers soon learn that this is not an ordinary case, and that Y/N and Sam have a few important things in common, connecting them and sending the three of them on a mission to protect themselves.

Word Count: 2164

Warnings: Mentions of previous mild violence

A/N: So, I took the day off from requests, because I had this in my head. Not sure how long it’s going to be, but it will be in parts, and I promise to keep working on your requests in the meantime. Love you guys! XOXO

“No couch.” Sam dropped the motel key onto the one table and looked at the two small beds.

“I’ll take the floor,” you offered.

“That’s ridiculous. You are in no condition to sleep on a hard floor that’s full of diseases. Sam will take a bed, and you and I will just share the other.” Dean said.

You were too tired to argue.

“Fine. I’m going to take a shower,” you replied tonelessly.

Sam squeezed your shoulder comfortingly. “I’m going to order food. Do you need or want anything else?”

You shook your head and walked to the bathroom.

A zombie stared back at you from the bathroom mirror. Those dark circles underneath those dead eyes didn’t belong to you, did they? You looked down, not wanting to see the lack of emotion in your face.

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“After the fifth time Anna’s jaw fell open, Elsa lightly pushed it back up with the hand that was still held down by Anna’s own one.”
Hell’s Gate chapter 3 – by Invisibly Gone
Every time you come out with a new chapter I’m on that wagon of fanart ok.

I was reading till I came across this part ;A; I couldn’t resist to doodle..

Oh, but that place is legend. You won’t find a place like that today. People wanted to forget, you see. When graduation day is your best friend murdered in a duel, a former professor felled by a Death Eater, a Quidditch rival crushed by debris before your very eyes– reconstruction is not the first thing that springs to mind. How can one rebuild, after that? How can one put the pieces back together, as though nothing had happened?

Oh, maybe it would have been the right response. But we couldn’t all be Potter and Granger and Longbottom, could we?

No, we wanted to forget. And to have fun. We wanted to see Veela hostesses, a constantly-changing Charmed Backdrop, and the ceiling raining glittery powdered Runespoor scales on New Year’s Eve. We wanted new holidays, new fashions, and elf-made wine served in goblets made of werewolf claws and bent-out-of-shape galleons, money tossed aside like it was nothing. We wanted the stupid relics of Ministry culture tossed aside too, in favor of nude parties and Weird Sisters albums played with reverence, from start to finish at full volume, with no interruption. We wanted that old Knockturn theater of our fathers reclaimed, made our own pleasure hall. We used the old dressing rooms for groping, the great stage as a dance floor; and in the lobby we drunkenly voted, every morning before staggering home, whether to crown Snape’s portrait, or to set it aflame. It wasn’t the real portrait, of couse. Just some naughty scribbles that resulted from Finnigan and Thomas hitting the Firewhiskey too hard.

Warbeck showed up, and got a booth to herself, and we all stood and gawked even though she was Mum’s celebrity and not ours. A couple of Ravenclaws hawked potions that made you see things you couldn’t believe. Cho Chang, always the best-looking girl in the room, wearing crup-bone earrings and her old flame’s portrait in her miniature locket, took up with Krum; and they had a booth to themselves as well. Hannah Abbott wasn’t married then, just had an arrangement with a fellow Hufflepuff, and they showed up one night with a supposedly famous Dark Wizard huddled between them, and had everyone shrieking and making a fuss about it for days, until Hannah confessed it was just her brother, and they’d only wanted to do it for a laugh.

Almost everyone was there: in spray-charmed pink Death Eater masks, in Muggle bikinis, wearing hollowed-out cauldrons for skirts, in rank-smelling dragon-hide jackets, in nothing but gold paint. 

The Ministry shut it down that same decade. The owner, some Nott in our year, boasted a bit too much about the profit he’d made (bankrolled by Malfoy, until he lost out in that suit to Parkinson; you could sometimes see them sitting and arguing in their booth, but they never mingled, not that anyone would have wanted them to). And people claimed the manager – that Goyle – had murdered someone in the back room. Goyle claimed it. We all laughed. He was on a potion at the time, and probably joking. And we had a murder night, where the walls dripped blood, and a night where half the patrons were rumored to be werewolves, and even a night where a goblin drank too much and was found dead the next morning in the alley.

Yes. That place was a legend.

If you managed to make it past the door, that is.

Tomorrow

Like when you said
you hoped I wasn’t afraid
of the dark, and I said
not if I’m with you. Because

we are made of more
than light; our shadows
give us depth and contrast.
And while the world

celebrates more superficial
happinesses, we relish
an existential ray
of sunlight on our souls.

Because I know that we
together are something greater
than the sum of our parts –
and if even we were driving

through the very gates of hell,
if I were with you,
I’d still feel pretty okay.

© 2014 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

Okay, I have a headache but I’m gonna ramble and meta, and blarg…

So, we talk a lot about this idea the when Carver took over from Gamble he had a clear three act plan, but that’s been accordioned out because the show keeps getting renewed. After last night I firmly believe that to be true.

Carver took a bold move going into season 8 by giving us a one year time jump. When we got into that season we had a Dean that was hardened from losing someone he loved and a year of living as a pure killer; then we had Sam who had sinned by not looking for Dean. We set up themes then of breaking down or reworking their codependency, but they continued to fall into that cycle. Sam took on closing the gates of hell, in part to atone for the sin of disappointing his brother.

I think if 8 had been the last season we might have ended with Sam dead, hellgates closed and Dean and Cas together.But the series got renewed for Season 9, and so they had to stretch it out and explore things. I think the idea was to slowly take Dean and Sam to extremes of where they were at the top of season 8 and we’re finally seeing that play out now. What we have is a very, very dark Dean whose darkness scares and alienates his brother, and a Sam who is screwing up and needs to atone. It took a while, but finally Sam has done something that Dean can legitimately be mad about (just as Sam was legitimately mad at Dean for Gadreel). Going into season 11, Sam is going to have a lot to atone for. hell, he could be still doing bad things as the season progresses.

I say all this because three episodes ago Metatron found the demon tablet. And I think the series, or maybe this arc, will end with the closing of the gates of hell successfully. And it will probably be Sam that does this, again out of a sense that he needs to atone. Especially if Sam uses the book to cure Dean and releases some sort of biblical damnation on the world.

So, yeah. That’s a long way of saying, I see why we got here and I can see where they may be going. Season 11 is going to be interesting.

So guard your entire body, especially seven parts of it. For verily Hell has seven gates, through each of which a particular group is destined to enter. The only ones designated to enter these gates are those who disobeyed Allah by means of these parts, which are: the eye, the ear, the tongue, the stomach, the private part, the hand, and the foot.
—  (via the-fault-in-our-iman)

anonymous asked:

What does the Latin on your heading mean?

It’s actually Italian! It comes from Dante Alighieri’s Divina Commedia from the fourteenth century. The words “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate” mean “Abandon all hope, you who enter [here]” and are part of what’s written over the gate of Hell. Here’s the passage itself:

“Through me the way into the city of woe,
Through me the way to eternal pain,
Through me the way among the people lost.
Justice moved my High Maker;
Divine power made me,
Wisdom supreme and primal love.
Before me nothing was created
If not eternal, and eternal I endure.
Abandon all hope, you who enter.”

These words, in sombre colour,
I saw written on the arch of a gate.
(Inferno, Canto III, ll. 1-11)

Chilling!