#I will save the world from its weakness || God-King Verse

[arialice]

Hey malevolent fans, let me tell you of the most malevolent coded album, Counterfeit Arcade by Shayfer James.

So many of the songs either in lyrics or vibes remind me so much of this show, so in a few words I'm going to attempt to explain my thought process about each song (be prepared, it's long)

Weight of the World - I don't have much to say about the lyrics. They kind of fit.

"That's just the weight of the world/We do what we must to stay alive/That's just the weight of the world/And we'll all be the weak and the weary sometime"

The instrumentals, tune and vibes is what really makes this song shine for me. Piano (obviously), the general deranged vibes and so on.

For the Departed - reminds me so much of part 20, thought I can't personally decide who's 'singing' the song. It lowkey works from both John's and Arthur's perspective.

"Save yourself/I am far beyond repair/They will bury me alive/But I'm not inclined to care"

More inclined to think Arthur because of the lines:

"Now I must finish what I started, oh-oh/I'll write a symphony for the departed/And I have no time for second chances/So I survive on bourbon, blood, and backward glances, oh"

"And so, the scene begins/Your cries become the wind/A desperate plea best left unheard/Then my contrived goodbye/A poet's pantomime/A drunken jester's final words"

Where we belong - this song. It's literally malevolent in a song. This is the most literal one. I would quote the entire song if I could, but here's some key lines:

"I know we're far beyond the point of no return/Let's say we light a fire and be the first to burn"

"Do you recall the day when we went wrong?/Time is flying/Ease your weary mind, we'll be alone"

"There's a freight train coming, barreling around the bend/There's a red light flashing, oh, ladies and gentlemen, this is the end/I do believe that we've a lesson left to learn/So take your seats, your salutations, and your turn"

"And on the way to our salvation, we'll be making plans/To overthrow the king and pick apart the promised lands"

L.V.S (Your Lady Waits) - makes me think about Oscar, specifically BlindFaith. Very much "you are my reason" vibes. I think it's the overall softness of the song, the emotion in it is so palpable.

"Oh, the mountains bow before ya/Oh, the clouds are open wide"

"Oh, and we, my friend/Will meet again"

"Upon this Autumn morn/Your laughter lingers on"

Villainous thing - This song is so, so, so obnoxiously Kayne to me, as in it feels like a song thats meant to be sung by him. The kinda cheery tune mixed with the lyrics sell it for me.

"Welcome, won't you come inside?/Oh I fear the passing year did not deserve you"

"Soaked and shivered from the rain/You have always been a delicate disaster" - singing about Arthur

"Waste no worry for the world/Let it be a tragedy of love and glory/While they wait by gates of pearl/We'll be building palaces in purgatory" - makes me think of him pitching the the deal with John in like a reverse psychology way. "Oh I'm sure Arthur is fine you can keep building your empire here in the Dark World, king."

Battle Cry - Works in general considering the 'monster of the week' trope this podcast sometimes falls into.

"Hear my battle cry, hear that mighty sound/They've come before and many more will try to strike me down/Hear my battle cry, hear that mighty roar"

The second verse is what really stands out to me though.

"I met a stranger on my way to here from God knows where/He won my lover in a dirty game of solitaire/He stole my crown and placed it crookedly upon his head/He turned around, I took him down and this is what I said" - again, thinking about part 20 (can you tell its my favorite?) The 'stranger' is The King/Hastur/Yellow/Whatever. 'But he's not a stranger?' He kind of is. After Arthur and John are together for so long, even the King admits that he doesn't know why his other half would pick Arthur. John himself had been making small steps at redemption, and just those baby steps made him pretty duffrebt from the King.

"You'll sacrifice the truth to justify your sins/But I don't need an excuse to let the darkness in" - again Arthur and the King. The King does 'bad' shit simply because he wants, yet when Arthur does something moraly 'bad', he has to justify it to himself.

Peace - Very part 31, aka Arthur's Scratch induced nightmare.

"I'd rather live alone than live a lie/I will never deserve peace" - the confessions we get from Arthur about how he felt about Bella

"I spoke to the ghost on my way to asleep/But the boards in the floor called my footsteps a thief" -reminds me of the argument with James. My line of reasoning is that James is the 'boards', and he's calling him a thief because he 'stole' Bella's life by stepping into it, marrying her when he didnt love her, if that makes sense.

"I will never deserve peace/I will never deserve peace/I will never deserve peace" - general self deprication

Diggin' Up Hatchets - makes me think of Larson or in general season 3. A little bit cult-y. It's mostly tune and vibes but the lyrics kind of work

"We're diggin’ up hatchets today/And sharpening the blades/In case, a stitch of hope remains/In this hell that we've raised"

"Hey! We're witnessing the waking of the dead/We’re ripping all the wires from our heads"

"We're burying mercy and grace/In unmarked shallow graves"

"There’s a plan for us lunatics and liars/We have faulty gears and wires/They can't save us, but they’ll do the best they can"

Under the Willow - John theme song in my mind, can't convince me otherwise. Song about discovering one's self and purpose.

"Mother, mother, I think I found my soul/While I was hiding under the willow"

"I've been the portrait of despair/Despite this hat and badge I wear/I've been a captive and a coward" - 'hat and badge' in this case is the crown and robe of the king

"I met a wise man under the willow/Lover, lover, look for me no more/I've been right here under the willow" - Arthur, obviously

"I've been a bastard and a fool/Rewritten nearly every rule/But I believe I'm worth redemption" - the redemption line alone is perfect.

Godspeed - the Jarthur divorce song. Arguing with someone but knowing that in the end you'll find each other again.

"There’s many ways to hide a heart that bleeds/But I prefer the ease of rolling up my sleeves" - might be imagining bit I sweat once John told Arthur that he wears his heart on his sleeve, if not I apologize.

"You’ve got some nerve to be coming/around with that card up your sleeve/And those thorns in your crown" - I think 'card up your sleeve refers to a plan, a secret, which John had many of

"Funny how the night is not as long,/when you depend upon/The dark before the dawn" - John deceiving Arthur many a times. Works well with the repeating line "I used to be someone that you could belive", Arthur starts ignoring and going against John (see, the entire thing with Oscar)

"Good luck, godspeed, I know I’ll see you again/I’ll always call you a friend indeed" - They always get over it and play nice again, until the next argument of course.

Have a Seat Misery - Coda and Intermezzo vibes. Short and sweet. Reads like a conversation between Kayne and Arthur.

"Have a seat, misery/Lord how I’ve missed you/Don’t go crying to me/That I kept you away for too long/Just put your feet up, friend/cause I read all your postcards/And in a way, I am happy to say/That you’ve never been gone"

"Let me light that for you/Seems your hand’s a bit shaky/We’ve got damage to do/And I know you’ll need smoke in your chest/So have a seat, misery/And don't ever mistake me/Of all of my friends, you know/You are the one I like best"

Conclusion/TLDR: Counterfeit Arcade by Shayfer James is, to me, THE malevolent album. Are some of these conclusions a stretch? Probably considering some of the lyrics I didn't present do actually go against the messages of the show, but I had fun writing this and the good(things matching up really well) outweighed the bad(some contradictions). Also go listen to the album or just Shayfer James in general

[riearchivistfornow]

Extreme Discipleship

TeensXcite 2014.12.20 Extreme Discipleship

The key verse is from Joshua Chapter 1:8-9

Judges 21:25 NIV

In those days Israel had no king; everyone did as they saw fit.

In those days, they had rejected God as their King and had man for kings, then they rebelled and they had split up.

The moment the people of God rejected Gpd as their King, everything went downhill for them. Things will get tougher.

James 1:2-4 NIV

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

If things are getting tougher, what do we do? As FCBC, we are called to be extreme desciples.

"Tomorrow may be tougher, but no matter how tough it is, we will match up and not let tomorrow break us." - US Navy Seals' motto.

Your life will get tougher and tougher everyday. We need to understand that.

"We were promised sufferings." - C.S. Lewis

1 Peter 1:12 NIV

It was revealed to them that they were not serving themselves but you, when they spoke of the things that have now been told you by those who have preached the gospel to you by the Holy Spirit sent from heaven. Even angels long to look into these things.

Don't find it strange that life will get tougher. God promised that he will be with us, not that life will be smooth.

Luke 9:23-25 NIV

Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self?

When you face troubles:

1. You must endure it and persevere.

James 1:3-4 NIV

because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

Enduring means to stand firm and stay put, but peseverance means to keep moving, dispite of that hardship.

Hebrews 12:1-2 NIV

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

We are called not to be Christians, we are called to be Jesus. We have to learn what it means to pesevere till the very end. We can boast of that victory of Jesus Christ. Jesus can pesevere because he draws his strength from the Lord.

Isaiah 40:28-31 NIV

Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

Are you going through tough situations in life? How we can go through tomorrow? it is by drawing from the strength of God. Are you going to draw strength from God when we are in troubles times.

We still need to have our own strength. When your strength is running out, he will renew it and give him your strength.

1 Corinthians 9:24-27 NIV

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like someone running aimlessly; I do not fight like a boxer beating the air. No, I strike a blow to my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.

Have you trained yourself up for tomorrow? Have you been doing your quiet time everyday? You must always train yourself for tomorrow. You must prepare yourself for hardship that is going to come. "Mind over Matter" works only when your method can work. It is not that simple. If you are not spirirtually ready then you will not be able to do it. The devil doesn't want you to finish the race.

Hebrews 12:1 NIV

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,

2 Timothy 4:7-8 NIV

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.

God is in it to see that you will finish the race. Satan wants you to finish the race.

"Success is not final, failure is not fatal. It is the courage to continue that counts." - Winston Churchill

Be strong and courageous.

James 1:12 NIV

Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.

"If you are going through hell, keep going."

Winston Churchill

2. We need to embrace whatever that comes tomorrow.

Embrace: To except willingly and enthusiastically.

James 1:2 NIV

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds,

We have to be able to consider it, our troubles, pure joy. A lot of us have the difficulty to endure and pesevere through. Why? Because we do not find it pure joy.

While other worldviews lead us to sit in the most of life's joys, forseeing the coming sorrows. Christianity empowers its people to sit in the most of this world's sorrows. Tasting the coming joy.

Before it is writen down in history, it is writen down in courage.

Matthew 14:25-31 NIV

Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear. But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.” “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” “Come,” he said. Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!” Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”

Deuteronomy 31:6 NIV

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”

"A ship in harbour is safe, but that is not what ships are made for."

"A great ship asks deep waters."

Many of us are hiding, as lomg as you allow fear to be in your life, we can never do great things.

The devil wants you to be afraid. Moses is a leader that led Israel, yet he was afraid to speak, he slurs and he stutters.

Hebrews 12:1-3 NIV

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

Jesus considered his own death pure joy.

Either step forth in faith or step back in fear. Fear feeds on fear, so the more you step back, the greater is grows and cripples you. The more you move forth in faith, the only thing you lose is the fear that hinders you.

[general-darius]

[“ i will see you suffer as i have suffered. “]

[ GOD OF WAR III SENTENCE STARTERS - Accepting ]

⸭ The warrior grabbed his axe, a weapon adapted to his own size, while remaining on his throne, his golden gaze electric, feral, even more than his beast’ that howled loudly, before baring its disproportionate fangs at the stranger.

⸭ The violent red glow emanating from the weapon grew even more intense as the intruder approached. Each time, its owner tapped the end of its handle against the cold marble ground, all dusty and greasy. The wolf probably had devoured a few guys right there. Darius didn’t budge once he estimated the weird man close enough. His voice rose, terribly guttural, so grave it seemed from beyond the grave.

“Only weaklings would speak in such terms, he spat curtly, frowning slightly. Suffering must be welcomed, not feared, for it will only make you stronger. I’m not scared of it, just like I ain’t scared of Death. You clearly belong to those people who only see of Death the shadow it casts, who only see in pain and rage a burden instead of a driving force.

⸭ With a toothy knowing grin, he added after a brief pause :

- We all suffer. We all have suffered. It’s only your appreciation of it that will make a difference… So keep whining while I rise up.”

⸭ Not even a provocation, despite what it sounded. It was more like a statement. The warrior’s nostrils flared, shivered slightly, just as his wolf’s muzzle as they both could smell the well-known scent of blood.

[odisn]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃  𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄  𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄  Æ𝐒𝐈𝐑  𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃  𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋 .

(      Thor Odinson’s undoing ,  Thor Odinson’s sacrifice .      )    

many will argue for years to come about Thor’s decision   -------------------   on the one hand ,  he should have ignored the history between Jötunheimr and Ásgarðr ,  removed arrogant thoughts from his mind ,  and led as a strategist instead of a warrior .    and on the other hand ,  the five doomed tasks were foretold ,  a closing chapter in Thor’s life as prince ,  king ,  or even leader of the realm .    without fulfilling that destiny ,  the nine realms would never be free of war and conflict . 

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 :  five years after Ragnarøkr .     Thor and the Asgardians have settled a few miles from Grundarfjörður ,  Iceland ,  Earth ,  and have successfully rebuilt their realm ,  with Thor leading as the King of this new Ásgarðr .

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 :     the conflict takes place in the depths of Jötunheimr .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 :     Útgarða-Loki ,  also known as Skrýmir ,  by which he will be referred to in the remaining text .

a giant's giant ,  a truly vast creature ,  the ruler of all of Jötunheimr ,  though legend has it he wasn't born on that icy realm ,  but came straight from Ginnungagap   ;   born of a point where mist ,  ice ,  and ash meet in those dark ,  gaping jaws .   he has and always will be Thor's greatest adversary ,  one that Thor hasn't been able to defeat ,  and likely never will .   the last time they fought ,  Skrýmir referred to Thor's mighty force ,  with the indefatigable Mjölnir ,  as a mere sensation of something falling from a tree ,  and landing on his body .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 :    Skrýmir is one of many creatures Odin   ---   through Thor   ---   wronged ,  hundreds of years ago .    a battle that was only initiated because of the Æsir’s long - standing hatred towards the giants ,  and one that seemed to escalate unnecessarily ,  leaving many Jötnar dead .    Thor’s battle with Skrýmir ended with Skrýmir shamed ,  throneless ,  and exiled for his remaining lifetime ,  until he found himself a chance at redemption .

Skrýmir learned of the death of Odin , and decided to take this opportunity to exact his revenge on Ásgarðr ,  but principally ,  Thor .      revenge not as a means to kill   ;  for killing the one who not so long ago saved so many realms from Ragnarøkr could initiate a war detrimental to the Jötnar .   but instead ,  revenge as a means to strip away title ,  a home ,  a people .

Thor has a dream in which Skrýmir summons him to Jötunheimr    ---   and initial deliberation confirms that this could be the setting for the fateful five tasks ,  the ones that may see Thor in ruins .    the king of Ásgarðr argues that not heeding to Skrýmir’s demands may be detrimental in and of itself ,  as it could lead to another war when Ásgarðr least expects it .     plus ,  on Midgardian soil ,  the humans could be the ones to pay the price .       he makes the decision to leave at first light for Jötunheimr ,  setting off with Loki ,  and two other warriors ,  Þjálfi and Röskva .    he fully expects to fight ,   as is the nature of the dynamic between the Jötnar and the Æsir .

at Skrýmir’s castle ,  Thor ,  Loki and the others walk through the vast halls   -------------------   and end up barricaded in by legions of Jötnar and monsters ,  essentially trapped in this room ,  to listen to Skrýmir's request .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃 :   I wish to regain my title at Jötunheimr's throne . I cannot do this while you ,  Thor ,  Son of Odin ,  remain King of Ásgarðr   ---   you are my undoing ,  my fall from power ,  as I intend to be yours .  

so here is my demand :  four challenges ,  of your choosing ,  in whichever feat you believe you can defeat either myself or a warrior of my choice .     if I win all of these challenges ,  I regain my rightful place on the throne of Jötunheimr ,  and you lose your place in Ásgarðr .    you're exiled from your lands until your dying breath .     if I lose but even a single one ,  you remain king ,  and i'll concede .

choose not to participate ,  and I will kill you all ,  and send my armies straight for your new Asgardian home .

relieved at the mention of four ,  not five ,  challenges   ---   and with conditions that seemed too easy ,  Thor agrees ,  and they swear an unbreakable oath ,  on Odin’s name ,  to the terms in this demand .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 .

𝟎𝟏 .         Loki ,  understanding that these challenges could revolve around anything ,  challenges Skrýmir to ,  essentially ,  an eating contest  :    Skrýmir agrees ,  choosing a being named Logi to compete against the trickster god .   given meat to consume ,  Loki uses their sorcery to double the quantity on their opponent’s table ,  thus slowing Logi down ,  but to no avail .    unbeknownst to Loki or the other Æsir ,  Logi is not a normal being ,  but a physical manifestation of  FIRE ,  specifically of Múspellsheimr   -------------------   the very fire that ravaged the realm of  Ásgarðr during their doomsday .  and this fire cannot be stopped ,  cannot be slowed .   Logi defeats Loki with ease .

𝟎𝟐 .        Þjálfi decides on a race of speed ,  attempting to run a race against anyone Skrýmir chooses .     a being named Hugi competes against Þjálfi ,  and across three races ,  Hugi wins every time   -------------------   running so fast that he meets his opponent several times in the overlap .    again ,  beyond the awareness of the Æsir ,  Skrýmir cheated and chose an opponent that represented  THOUGHT ,  a manifestation of memory and idea ,  which no - one could possibly outrun .

𝟎𝟑 .         Thor opts for a drinking contest ,  claiming he can deplete any vessel within minutes ,  regardless of volume .   two horns are filled with water ,  but Thor finds himself exhausted after only three ,  massive gulps .    again ,  the giant cheated ,  having filled his horn adequately but connecting Thor’s vessel to the oceans of Miðgarðr ,  which kept the horn full no matter how much Thor drank .

𝟎𝟒 .         angered by his loss ,  Thor picks another challenge ,  spotting a small ,  cat - like creature in the corner of the room .    the challenge he opts for ,  strategically simple :   if he can lift the creature ,  he wins .    Skrýmir ,  amused ,  agrees   -------------------   but try as he might ,  Thor only succeeds in lifting a single paw ,  the pet surprisingly heavy ,  immovable .    under the guise of a cat ,  this creature was actually the serpent Jörmungandr ,  which had unlocked itself from its coil around Miðgarðr moments prior to Ragnarøkr ,  and now wandered free along the world tree ,  finding itself in the land of the giants at this moment .

it should’ve ended there ,  but the prophecy dictated five trials ,  one way or another   ---   and Thor ,  enraged ,  was eager to redeem himself and win back his title to the throne .   they only needed to win a single task to bring Skrýmir down ,  after all .      unanimous decision for a final trial seals their fate .

𝟎𝟓 .         Thor picks a challenge around his best trait  :   his strength .    he demands a fight with a giant in the hallway   ---   and is jeered in response by all ,  implying Thor’s too weak for such a serious battle .   he persists ,  threatens ,  and in the end ,  Skrýmir concedes ,  mockingly finding Thor the oldest ,  frailest giant in the castle .     it should be a clear victory   ;   but Thor finds himself struggling to best the opponent ,  and eventually falls to his knees ,  defeated .    it’s at this point Skrýmir reveals his tricks ,  and speaks about how Thor wasn’t fighting a giant ,  but instead a manifestation of  OLD AGE ,  which no soul in the nine can evade .

it’s with this bright flash of light the Asgardians are sent back to Earth ,  the immediate disappearance of a castle ,  of armies ,  and of Skrýmir ,  replaced instead with a feeling of loss ,  of dread ,  of defeat .     Skrýmir’s damning final words linger in the skies ,  the atmosphere around them  :

“  now ,  for your sake and for ours ,  leave Jötunheimr ,  leave Ásgarðr ,  and never come back .   ”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 :     having sworn an oath on Odin ,  Thor knows what he must do .   instead of returning home ,  he sets out across Earth   -------------------   but not before holding a council with Loki and their companions .   together ,  they decide to leave Ásgarðr in the hands of Brunnhilde .   (         verse dep.   this would be Sif’s rule ,  given she is the rightful queen of Ásgarðr        )         Loki will ensure the realm’s safety .

and Thor instead ,  loses title ,  and his right to the realm ,  and becomes instead a protector of Miðgarðr   -------------------   living in seclusion in a cabin in the forest ,  somewhere across the world ,  his location unknown to all but one or two people . 

initial stages of reaction are difficult to control  :   Thor finds himself perpetually enraged ,  saddened ,  and full of regret at his loss .   there’s talk of storms that blanket entire countries ,  deluges of rainfall bringing talks of the apocalypse .   he drinks more than he should ,  gains weight ,  and refuses to speak to others .

but over time ,  Thor grows to accept his fate ,  relieved at the fact that the prophecy cost no lives on either side ,  aware of the part he played in ensuring peace ,  even if it was at a cost to him .    he grows more attuned to nature around him ,  emerging into civilisation only to meet friends ,  keep the Earth safe ,  or to feel connected with the new home he’s made for himself .

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Growing Hatred Toward Jesus (Matthew 12:22-32 and Matthew 12:38-42)

The heart of Christ was a great magnet that ever drew to it all human suffering and human need. The description given of Him in a quotation from Isaiah (42:3), in the verses immediately preceding this incident, are wonderfully suggestive. His compassion and His gentleness are depicted in the words, "A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out."

This prophetic picture of the Messiah found its perfect realization in the life of Jesus. He was the friend of the frail, the feeble, and the bruised. In those days, men despised the weak. The deformed and the incurable were not considered worth saving - but were thrust out to perish. Jesus, however, had special compassion for that which was crushed or broken. He invited the weary to come to Him. The sick, the lame, the blind, the paralyzed and all sufferers soon learned that He was their friend. Wherever He went throngs followed Him, and these throngs were made up largely of those who were distressed and those who had brought distressed friends to be helped or healed.

Now it was one possessed with a demon, and also blind and dumb, that was brought to Him. Nothing is told of the manner of the cure. All we learn is that, "Jesus healed him, so that he could both talk and see." No wonder the multitudes were astonished. "Could this be the Son of David?" they asked. They thought that possibly a man who did such wonders might be the Messiah - yet it did not seem to them that He was. Or it may be that they feared to give expression to the feeling, knowing how bitter the Pharisees were against Him.

When the Pharisees heard what the people were suggesting, they became greatly excited and set to work to account for Jesus and His power. They felt that they must account for Him in some way, that they must give the multitude some explanation of Him which would satisfy them and prevent their concluding that He was the Messiah. In Mark's account of this incident, we learn that there were scribes and Pharisees present that day who had come down from Jerusalem to watch Jesus and to make a report of what they saw and heard. They set to work to create in the minds of the people the impression that Jesus was working in cooperation with evil spirits, and that it was through Satanic power, that He did the wonders they had seen Him do. So they answered the people's question, "Is not this the son of David?" by saying, "It is only by Beelzebub, the prince of demons, that this fellow drives out demons!" Beelzebub seems to have been an infamous name for Satan, probably having its origin in the story of Ahaziah's idolatry in inquiring of Baalzebub, lord of flies, a Philistine deity (see 2 Kings 1).

One thing to notice here, is the admission that Jesus had really done wonderful works, had actually wrought miracles. They did not attempt to deny this. They felt that some explanation must be given to the plain, simple-minded people who were following Jesus in such numbers. There was no doubt about the supernatural works. We find the same admission throughout the whole story of Christ's public ministry. Herod believed that Jesus had wrought miracles; and in his remorse imagined that John, whom he had beheaded, had risen from the dead. No opponent of Christ in those days ever even hinted that He did not actually do miracles.

Another thing to notice here, is the strange explanation these learned men gave of the miracles of Jesus. They frankly admitted them - but to account for them without confessing that He was the Messiah - they said that He was in league with the prince of evil! The giving of such an explanation of the power of Christ, shows a prejudice that was not only stubborn, but evil. Of course, it was intended also to discredit Jesus by impugning His character. They said He was an agent of the devil. Jesus claimed to be the Son of God and said He was doing His Father's will and the works of His Father. They sought thus to slander Him and make him an imposter, an enemy of God.

Wicked men often resort to the same course in our own days, when they are seeking to destroy the influence of Christianity. They cannot deny the good that is done - but they seek to account for it by alleging wrong motives in those who do the good. Sometimes they try to blacken the names of those who represent Christ. They start evil stories about them, to defame their character. That is, they accuse the saints of being in league with Satan.

The answer of Jesus to this charge is clear and convincing. "Jesus knew their thoughts." He well understood their motives. He knows all men's thoughts. We can carry on no schemes or conspiracies without His knowing of them. We can keep no secrets from Him. His answer was: "Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to ruin." This proved at once the absurdity and preposterousness of the charge His enemies had made. They said He was an agent of Satan. Yet He was not doing the work of Satan - but the work of God. Satan had a man under his power whom he was destroying. Jesus had taken the man, driven out the demon, opened his eyes and ears and healed him. Who could believe that He was in league with the Devil - and was thus undoing the Devil's ruinous work? "If Satan drives out Satan, he is divided against himself. How then can his kingdom stand?" This shows the folly of their charge. All the works of Christ were good works. He came to bless men, to save them, to heal the sick, to make the lame walk, to raise the dead. Are those the works of the Evil One?

One of the strongest evidences of Christianity, is in what it does for the world. In chapter 11 when the disciples of the imprisoned, John the Baptist came asking for Christ, inquiring whether Jesus was indeed the Messiah, they were told to tell John what they had seen Jesus doing, "the blind receive their sight, and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up." These were all works of love, and they proved that Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of God. Men are trying to prove today that He is not Divine, denying His miracles, taking away every vestige of the supernatural from His person, His life, His work.

But look at Christianity, not as a creed merely - but as a regenerating force. Look at the map of the world and find the white spaces which show the effect of Christianity in the countries where it has gone. Was it an impostor that wrought all this? Was it one in league with Beelzebub who left all these records of blessing, who transformed these countries? Was it an agent of Satan that made the home life of Christian lands, that built the churches, the asylums, the hospitals, the orphanages, the schools; and that has given to the world the sweetness, the beauty, the joy, the comfort, the fruits of love, which are everywhere the results of Christian teaching and culture? Could anything be more absurd - than trying to account for the mighty works of Christ - by saying the devil did them through Him!

Jesus gives the true explanation of His works in the words: "But if I drive out demons by the Spirit of God, then the kingdom of God has come upon you." Christianity is the kingdom of God - in battle with the kingdom of evil. The work of Christ in this world - is to destroy the works of the devil. This is a work in which every follower of Christ has a part. "He who is not with Me," said the master, "is against Me; and he who gathers not with Me, scatters abroad."

One of the most frequently misunderstood of all the words which Jesus spoke, is found in His reply to His defamers: "And so I tell you, every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven men, but the blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven." Does not this seem to refer to the act of the Pharisees, in imputing to the prince of evil - works which Jesus had done through the Spirit? One writes, "The conclusion of the whole is - you are on Satan's side, and knowingly on Satan's side, in this decisive struggle between the two kingdoms, and this is blasphemy against the Holy Spirit - an unpardonable sin."

Thousands of people, however, have stumbled at this word of Christ's and fallen into great darkness, fearing that they themselves had sinned a sin which never could be forgiven. There is not the slightest reason why this saying of Christ should cause anxiety to any who are sincerely striving to follow Christ. It may be said that those who have any anxiety concerning themselves and their spiritual state - may be sure that they have not committed such a sin. If they had committed it, they would have no concern about their soul. Actually, the only unforgivable sin - is the sin of final impenitence. All sin that is confessed and repented of - will be forgiven. "This sin of blaspheming the Holy Spirit is unforgivable, because the soul which can recognize God's revelation of Himself in all His goodness and moral perfection, and be stirred only to hatred thereby, has reached a dreadful climax of hardness, and has ceased to be capable of being influenced by His beseeching. It has passed beyond the possibility of penitence and acceptance of forgiveness. The sin is unforgiven because the sinner is fixed in impenitence, and his hardened will cannot bow to receive pardon."

"Much torture of heart would have been saved if it had been observed that the Scripture expression is not sin - but blasphemy. Fear that it has been committed, is proof that it has not; for if it has been, there will be no relenting in enmity nor any wish for deliverance." Alexander Maclaren

Accustomed as we are to think of the gentleness of Jesus, His lips ever pouring out love, it startles us to read such words as He uses here in speaking to the scribes and Pharisees who were contending with Him. "You brood of vipers, how can you who are evil say anything good! For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks!" We are reminded of the manner of the Baptist's speech, when he was calling men to repent. But we must not forget that love is holy, that roses become coals of fire when they fall upon unholiness.

The scribes and Pharisees demanded a sign, something that would assure them that Jesus was what He claimed to be. Sincere and earnest inquirers after, truth always find Christ most patient in answering their questions and making their real difficulties plain. When Thomas could not believe on the testimony of the other disciples, and demanded to see for himself the hands with the print of the nails - Jesus dealt with him most patiently (John 20:24-28). He is always gentle with honest doubt - and quick to make the evidence plain to it. But the men who here demanded a sign were not honest seekers after truth. Jesus knew their thoughts and spoke to them in words of judgment. They were an evil and an adulterous generation - estranged from God, false to Him. They had had miraculous signs - but they had disregarded them. Nineveh repented at the preaching of Jonah - and before them now was a great Preacher than Jonah. The queen of the South came from afar to hear the Wisdom of Solomon, and a greater Man than Solomon now stood before them. But they believed not, repented not. Impenitence gets no sign.

[jade-masquerade]

Simply Stricken

Written for @tlkfanficfest 2020 Round 2 for the prompt “Stiorra/Sigtryggr and their first kiss”

Stiorra sighed, the book in front of her no longer holding her attention. There were only so many dusty old tomes full of endless burh descriptions and donations made to the church and counts of barley yields she could read, and she glanced away from the words that had long since begun to blur together.

 Instead, her eyes wandered to the most interesting part of this dull, drab room: Sigtryggr himself.

 After Eardwulf had barged through those doors and she’d spent days listening to Brida demanding her head and all sorts of her body parts in turn, Stiorra had admitted in a moment of weakness that she felt safer with him here, and he’d spent as much time in here with her and the books and table games as outside training with swords and shields ever since.  

 She knew she should have hated him. She knew that she should have been angry and afraid. She knew he was dangerous, that he had killed. But so have Father and his men, whispered that conspiratorial voice she fought often these days. Maybe it was her mother’s strength or her father’s impetuousness, but Stiorra found she couldn’t muster a semblance of fear or ire anymore, at least not when they were here alone like this.

Once she’d been certain he hadn’t intended to harm her, she had asked if she was free to go. He insisted she was if she wished, her chambers evidently not well guarded if Eardwulf deep in his cups had managed to stagger served as proof enough of that. In that moment, though, she’d realized the entire city was full of men like that waiting beyond these walls, with nothing better to occupy their time than drinking and whoring and fighting in the streets. Besides, it was far better here than out there where she imagined Brida sat contemplating a thousand ways for her to die, and if she waited here, Stiorra knew somewhere deep down that her father would come for her. And until then, the stories Sigtryggr told were far more fascinating than listening to children whining or watching Finan and Sihtric playing dice for the thousandth time.

 Sigtryggr was an odd sort of Dane, Stiorra had to admit. He strangely seemed to have taken as much of an interest in scrolls and her stories as the sprawling palace and the chests of silver they had gathered from Winchester’s stores. Sometimes he would bring an object—a relic from the chapel, a platter with a verse inscribed upon it, a painting of a saint—from somewhere in the castle, or something to occupy himself, polishing his boots or scabbard, weaving together a hempen rope, the kind of work she’d expect a handmaiden to do, not a warlord, and he would sit and listen to what she had to say, whether it was telling him about the beliefs of the Christian faith, talking about her childhood, or teasing him about if Winchester had turned out to be all he dreamed. He entertained all sorts of her questions in turn, about his homeland and Irland and the sea and all he’d seen along the way, and she couldn’t help but be drawn into his tales of the world beyond the walls of Saltwic and Coccham.

 And she wasn’t blind either, regardless of what Brida threatened. It hadn’t escaped her attention that Sigtryggr was rather handsome, with his long hair and his armbands, clad in functional leather rather than a cape embroidered with gold or jewelry that served to do little other than belie exorbitant wealth. He looked so different from the shorn haired Saxons she’d been raised alongside, and perhaps most importantly, also unlike them he clearly washed.

 “Are you overcome with admiration?”

 She shook her head when she realized she must have been staring. “No. I’m bored.”

He smirked. Then there was that, too, those smiles that would have surely bewitched her in an instant had she been a weaker woman. “So I’ve heard.”

 She rolled her eyes. “My father’s stories made all of this seem exciting. And all that’s here is a list of dead men and their vassals and their lands and who cares.”

 “Lady Aelswith has assured me that her husband was a great man,” Sigtryggr said.

 “Oh, have you been spending a great deal of time with Lady Aelswith now?” She took her turn to smirk now, and then offered mercy at the look of bewilderment he wore. “He was, I suppose. He ruled with fairness and strength and love for his people.”

 “But?”

 She could not deny he was coming to know her well. “But it wasn’t as if he did these things all himself. He didn’t fight the battles, he didn’t bring in the harvests, he didn’t build the burhs. There’s scarcely even a mention of Lady Aelswith, either.”

 “Would there be? She tells me Wessex has no such thing as a queen. Aelflaed tells me different, of course.”  

 “Does it matter? Being a queen seems utterly boring, too.”

 The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Don’t all girls wish to grow up and become queen?”

 “No,” she shuddered. “I certainly didn’t. It seems awful, to do nothing but spend your days bowing and curtsying locked up in some palace. And I don’t want children, much less a kingdom.”

 “Oh? Have you discussed this with your intended?”

 She wrinkled her nose. “My intended?”

 “The man to whom you are betrothed. That’s what Saxons like to do, is it not? Find someone who can make them richer, give them power, or grant them lands, and marry their daughters off to them in exchange for their favor.”

 “Yes,” she admitted. It all sounded rather crude when he put it that way, and she supposed it was. Her mother had told her once of the man she’d nearly been forced to marry, her father’s cruel uncle who had stolen Bebbanberg, and how her brother, Guthred, arranged the match to solidify an alliance and receive reinforcements of men with no regard for his sister’s well-being or her wishes, and how her father had returned in time to disrupt the completion of the ceremony. Knowing her father, Stiorra suspected she left out some of the gorier details to make it fit for the ears of a child, but the passion of the act had always stuck with her, the reminder of the fierce devotion and the love they shared, and how so few were ever permitted to follow their hearts as they had. “Sometimes.”

 “So your betrothed…?” Sigtryggr prompted.

 They had spoken at length about family, hers and his alike, but this was the first time their conversation has strayed into this territory. “I don’t have one,” she said. “There’s no husband waiting for me. I’m not sure I even wish to marry, either.”

 “Ah, so you have preferred to take lovers instead, Stiorra Uhtredsdottir,” he said, winking.

 She felt her face flame. “No, I never even so much as… I’ve never taken a lover.”

Stiorra expected him to laugh, for him to look at her as a child just like everyone else, maybe to tease about her evident prudishness as she’d seen her father’s men rib each other often enough. But he only nodded, though he must have read her embarrassment, for he asked, “Are all Saxons so shy about these matters, too?”

 “I’m not a Saxon,” she said for what must have been the thousandth time, but this time she said it with a smile.

 “Then your Danish mother did not tell you of the joys that can be found with another?”

 “My mother died when I was still too young to talk of such things,” she said. “And the nuns and priests in Saltwic only droned on about purity and maintaining virtue… which makes Lady Aethelflaed herself quite the deviant if half of what they say about her and my father is true.”

 She grinned, though such a secret was scarcely one anymore, not for anyone who had seem them together with their own two eyes, and she flushed at the memory of how she had stumbled upon them kissing one time when she had come to bid him a farewell on his visit to Saltwic. Stiorra turned and ran before they noticed her interruption, and while it had been a bit awkward, she owed much to Lady Aethelflaed’s kindness and wished only happiness for her.

 “Lord Uhtred and Lady Aethelflaed? The daughter of King Alfred and Lady Aelswith?” Sigtryggr seemed amused at the prospect.  

 Stiorra nodded. “My father loved her, and she him. But they say before, she loved a Dane once. That he truly fathered her daughter, not Lord Aethelred.”

 She had never been bold enough to ask Lady Aethelflaed of it, but hearing of the tale had always excited her, and retelling it now was no different. She couldn’t help but think it romantic, despite its beginning and end and the loss of what could have been.

 “A smart woman, then,” Sigtryggr said. “Except if she loved your father, then why do they whisper he waits outside these walls when he could be the ruling Lord of Mercia?”

 “Lady Aethelflaed promised to remain chaste to placate the ealdormen and their god too, I suppose.”  

 He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Their god truly wants piety and obedience rather than free will and happiness?”

 “I don’t know what their god wants,” she shook her head. “For me to devote my life to a nunnery? Or am I instead to save myself for some repulsive old man and his bags of gold? Or some cruel lord with the right name and advantageous lands?”

 “You do not believe in their god?”

 She’d long ago lost faith in the god the Christians worshipped, the one King Alfred had tried to impress upon her to punish her father, but she’d also lost count of how many times she’d asked him, pleaded with the gods of her ancestors, begged anyone who was listening to free her from the boredom of first Coccham and then Saltwic, for someone to come along, anyone, and take her somewhere else, anywhere else, back to Winchester or Northumbria, and bring her adventure. Sometimes the gods had a funny way of showing their will.

 “I don’t want to believe in the existence of a god who takes that much interest in my cunt,” she said bluntly.

  He laughed, and soon she found herself laughing along with him.

 “It’s true,” she insisted. “I don’t care what they say about pagans, if we’re barbaric and wicked. At least our gods are not petty and selfish.”  

 “Our gods don’t care so much what we do so long as we entertain them,” he said.

 “Then they also must be rather bored with this siege,” she said, though she felt anything but now with the way she felt the air shift between them.

 Sigtryggr stood up and walked towards her slowly, nearing where she sat upon the table, books discarded at her side that couldn’t hold a candle compared to the way he seemed to study her now. “Then perhaps we should take it upon ourselves to amuse them?”

 She was struck by how he was even more handsome this way, stunning, strikingly. He was utterly compelling this close, tall, imposing with his scar streaking past his eye, and strong, her gaze following the muscles from his shoulders down to his forearms. At this distance, he was only himself, not a warlord, not more god than man as some of the others seemed to tell it.

 He hadn’t touched her since he’d taken the broken glass from her hand and talked her down from using it to mar her face, but she still remembered the way his skin felt against hers, warm and rough. He was even more hesitant this time as he reached first for her hand, and when she let her fingers thread through his, he brought the other up to stroke her cheek.

 It was nothing, really, no more than what perhaps a hundred other men had done to her, claiming they wished to admire her beauty or looking for a shadow of her father in her face or attempting to evoke a memory of her mother, yet the simple touch sent heat flooding through her.

 Stiorra wondered what he would do if she was bold enough to do the same to him, and gathering her courage, she decided to find out. She began with tracing over his scar, her fingertip lightly following the curved line, skirting around the edge of his mouth, skimming along his jaw, and then continuing over the hair that brushed his shoulders until her fingers slid against the leather covering his chest and curled around the hammer of Thor he wore.

 She found herself drawn to funny things this close: his eyelashes, the bob of his throat, the wisps of a beard gracing his chin, and when she had looked her fill, she brought her eyes up to meet his. She felt as though he saw her—not Lord Uhtred’s daughter, whether that was for good or for bad, not a captive or an enemy, and certainly not a child.

 “May I…”

“Yes.” She didn’t entirely know what she was agreeing to, nor did she care; she only knew that she wanted, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin.  

 The touch of his lips to hers was softer even than the feel of his hand on her cheek. It was strange at first, all of this, the way it felt, how he moved firm but gentle, slow and deliberate, even the fact that they stood in a room where King Alfred’s scribes had written of her father’s victories and the conquests of the Saxons.  

 It was nice, though, even as she wondered how she’d know, given she had nothing with which to compare it. She felt as though she was fumbling through the motions at first, merely attempting to mirror what he did, but then it smoothed into something even more pleasant, something synchronous as they found a sort of rhythm, and she paused only when she was certain she needed to breathe.

 This time she initiated as they resumed, one of her hands winding around his wrist, the other still entwined with his coming up to rest on his chest between them. Their kisses grew quicker, deeper, more desperate until he slowed the pace again.

 He lingered there against her, and seconds or minutes or hours could have passed, but Stiorra still was not expecting it when he pulled away, and it was so sudden she didn’t even have a chance to mask her disappointment.  

 Perhaps he’d stopped for an entirely different reason, though, and before she could stifle them, the words escaped. “Was I awful?”

 He grinned at her, his eyes darkened, and when he spoke again, his voice was deep, a low rumble in his chest, and it made her want more. “No. I simply find myself stricken.”

Stiorra nodded in understanding, her breath catching as his free hand slipped from her cheek to her hip. It had been just a kiss, but it didn’t feel like just anything as Stiorra reached up and swiped her finger over where his lips had touched hers. It felt like it could be something, could be everything.

 All her life Stiorra had been told of how she resembled her mother—in her looks, her strength, her wit—and she’d been told, too, of the gift of prophecy she’d possessed, of how Gisela could cast her rune sticks and see fate in the way they fell. That had always seemed like a strange business to Stiorra, but in that moment she wondered if she had inherited something else from her mother after all because as she looked back up at Sigtryggr again and returned his soft smile, she suspected she could see a glimpse of hers.

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): Before His Birth, His Birth and His Childhood

Death of Hazrat Amina

After spending a month in Medina with her son, the Master of the Universe (PBUH), Hazrat Amina decided to return to Mecca. They said their goodbyes to their relatives and left the city.

There were three travelers in this desert:  Hazrat Amina, her glorious son, and Umm Ayman. They were all considered exceptional in the spiritual realm. The breeze of longing and separation was blowing close by.

Hazrat Amina’s eyes resembled a stream of overflowing water when she thought about her husband who passed away at a very young age during the first months of their marriage. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) could not bear seeing his saintly mother’s teardrops; thus he began to cry ardently as well. His garment was soaked by his teardrops that fell like the rain.

Instantly, Hazrat Amina became ill while they were halfway through the road. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and Umm Ayman were alarmed. What could they do in the face of an illness that was only getting worse in its intensity of pain?

They had no solution other than to encamp underneath a tree’s shade that was 23 miles to the south of Medina. Strength and stamina had withdrawn from Hazrat Amina’s knees as she collapsed onto the ground without being able to contain herself. They covered her. Hazrat Amina was sweating due to the severity of her illness. Our Beloved Prophet’s (PBUH) teardrops fell out of fear of losing her and remaining motherless. It was as if everything came to a halt. There was no sound, and stillness dominated the sky.

Hazrat Amina lay on the ground in a weak state.

At one point, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was able to collect himself and he asked his mother, “How are you, dear mother?”

The mother, whose heart was a trove of compassion, did not want her only child to be upset. In order not to rouse to her dear son the fact that she quivered with intense pain, she answered, "I am fine, my dear, nothing is wrong”.

She lost consciousness after speaking those few words. This illness had now wrested her energy to speak. At one point, she was heard to have said “water”. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) brought water to his beloved mother at the speed of an arrow being sprung from its bow.

Hazrat Amina drank the water. She held the container of water and her beloved child’s very soft hands. She opened her eyes. She looked at our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) face that radiated noor (light) to her heart’s content, and caressed his hands with her motherly compassion.

At one point, the Master of the Universe (PBUH) slightly straightened out his mother’s position and put her head on his lap. The holy tears that dripped from his eyes were falling on his mother’s shoulders like April rain.

In addition to the anguish of losing her husband, was she now going to have to bid farewell to her son? This was an intolerable agony and an unbearable heartache. She was tormented more by this separation than the illness that she had been afflicted with. Yet, what could she do? This was an unchangeable decree of the Divine fate.

Hazrat Amina now understood that she could not be saved from this illness. In her final moment, with a feeling of deep longing, she looked at her radiant child’s face that shone like the sun, and as she smelled his hands to her heart’s content, the following words spilled from her tongue:

“You are the son of the man who was saved from the terrible arrow of death with Allah’s help and beneficence and in exchange for a hundred camels. May Allah render you glorious and relentless. If what I have seen in my dreams is true, then you will be sent as a Prophet by Allah to inform the sons of Adam of what is lawful and unlawful, and upon this, you will possess majesty and many gifts. You will be sent to complete the submission and religion of our forefather, Ibrahim. Allah is going to protect and withhold you and nations from idol worshipping and idols. Every living being will die and everything new will wear out. Everyone who becomes old will disappear. Everything is ephemeral, everything will leave. Yes, I am going to die as well. However, my name will remain forever because I have given birth to an immaculate child and am leaving a memorable and auspicious person behind me”. 

After speaking these painful and foretelling words, Hazrat Amina’s eyes lapsed and she surrendered her soul to Allah.

Place: The Abwa Village, which is located in between Medina and Mecca.

Date: 576 AD.

Hazrat Amina’s Burial

Our Beloved Prophet (PBUH) and Umm Ayman were frozen. In fact, their tongues were stiff. It was only our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) tears that spoke.

At one point, Umm Ayman was able to collect herself and she wiped the saintly child’s tears. Afterwards, she nestled and tried to comfort him. She said, “Do not be sad, and do not cry, my precious, Muhammad. We must surrender to Divine fate. Both life and possessions belong to Him. Everything has been entrusted to us; He takes back a trust just as He has given it”.

Our Beloved Prophet (PBUH) took a deep breath and said, “I know. I will always submit to His authority. However, a mother’s face is unforgettable. I am sad that I will never be able to see her face again”. Afterwards, he immediately gathered himself, wiped his tears, and said to Ummi Ayman “Alright, she surrendered that trust to its owner. We should submit her corpse to the soil so that she can be in peace”.

They submitted the corpse of the world’s most fortunate mother, Hazrat Amina, to the bosom of the earth. Considering the fact that she gave birth to the Master of the Universe (PBUH), who knows how and at what heights her soul rejoiced with the angels.

After the Burial

The duty of taking this precious orphan to Mecca had fallen on his nanny, Umm Ayman.

With all her effort, Umm Ayman was doing everything she could throughout the entire journey to not have him feel that he had been left motherless. She nestled him as if he was her own child and tried to comfort him. In fact, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) accepted her as a mother and began to refer to her with that title. Much later, he would pay her the compliment of being “the mother who came after my mother” each time he saw her. 

Both Motherless and Fatherless!

The radiant-faced Master of the Universe (PBUH) was now an orphan without a father and mother. However, he had a true guardian and patron. That Guard kept our Holy Prophet (PBUH) under His impeccable custody and complete supervision and protected him from all kinds of danger and trouble throughout the his entire life.

We are reminded of this particular incident in the verse, “Did your Lord not find you an orphan and give you shelter and care?” 

Years later, during the Hudaybiya Umrah, in the sixth year of the Hijra, the Master of the Universe (PBUH) passed through Abwa once more. With Allah’s permission, he visited his mother’s grave and tidied it up with his hands. Afterwards, he cried out of deep emotion.

The Sahaba (his companions) also cried after seeing his tears of longing and asked, “Oh Messenger of Allah, why are you crying?”

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) responded, “I remembered the compassion and mercy that my mother showed me and that is why I cried”.

The wisdom behind their early death

This question may come to mind here:

“Why did God Almighty not let his venerable mother and father see his prophethood and why they were not able to be Muslim?”

Badiuzzaman Said Nursi answers this question in his book “The Letters,” in The Risale-i Nur Collection:

“Through His munificence, in order to gratify the Noble Prophet (Upon whom be blessings and peace's sentiments), Almighty God did not put His Noble Beloved’s parents under any obligation to him. His mercy required that to make them happy and to please His Noble Beloved, He did not take them from the rank of parenthood and put them in that of spiritual offspring; He did not place his parents and grandfather among his community. However, He bestowed on them the merit, virtues, and happiness of his community. Indeed, if an exalted field marshal's father, who has the rank of captain, entered his presence, he would be overwhelmed by two opposing emotions. So, compassionately, the king does not post the father to the retinue of his elevated lieutenant, the field marshal.”

THE ISSUE OF THE BELIEF OF THE PARENTS OF THE PROPHET

Islamic scholars agree that:

"None of the noble individuals of the chain coming from Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham) to Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon them) was indifferent to the true religion and none of them blemished their heart with shirk (idol-worship, to associate anyone or anything with Allah) and kufr (disbelief, blasphemy)" 

Many Islamic scholars put forward with clear evidence that Prophet Muhammad’s (pbuh) parents will be among the people of salvation in the afterlife, through similar explanations. We can list those explanations as follows:

1) His parents, Hazrat Abdullah and Hazrat Amina, passed away long before their son undertook the task of the prophethood. So, they lived in the period of (fatrat) interregnum and they are regarded as people of interregnum. There is no torment of Hell for those who died during the period of interregnum. 

One day someone asked a well-known scholar Sharaf al-Din al-Munawi, "Are our prophet’s parents in Hell?"

Al-Munawi replied, "They passed away during the interregnum. There is no torment before sending down a Prophet" 

It is well defined in the Quran and hadith (saying or tradition of the Prophet Muhammad) that no one who did not hear an invitation of a Prophet will have torment in the afterlife. It is also known that no previous Prophet’s invitation reached Prophet Muhammad’s (pbuh) parents. So, we can say that they will have no torment in the afterlife and they are among the people of salvation.

2) There is no information that the Prophet’s parents were in shirk and kufr. On the contrary, they were among the “Hanif” people who were practicing the beliefs and traditions coming from their grandfather Prophet Ibrahim (pbuh), like Zayd Ibn Amr Ibn Nufayl, Waraqa Ibn Nawfal and others.

3) Another piece of evidence that they were not in shirk is a hadith of Prophet Muhammad (pbuh), "I come from a continuous line of clean fathers and always mothers" 

In the Quran, people of shirk is defined as “unclean people”. Since cleanness and uncleanness, faith and shirk, believers and unbelievers are opposites, and when we consider the above hadith, we must accept that no one from the ancestors of Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) was in shirk. 

In short, “While Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) is said to be a mercy to the universe by Allah, it would not be logical and harmonious with good manners to think that his parents, who carried him in their bodies before the sun of prophethood was born would be deprived of the prosperity and light of their sun. The parents of the Messenger of Allah lived in the Period of Ignorance (Jahiliyyah). They did not live during the time of the prophethood of Hazrat Muhammad (pbuh).”

Then, a believer should know and accept the following:

“The parents of Allah’s Messenger are surely from the people of salvation, people of Paradise and people of belief. Surely Allah Almighty will not hurt His dear messenger’s tender and compassionate heart.” 

The following stanza expresses that truth in a nice way:

While the sun of the two worlds were in the sign of bliss

How would Allah not give his parents honor?

Oh my heart! Look at the diver with equitable eyes

Would he take the pearl and throw away the mother-of pearl?

Its Meaning:

Is it possible that God Almighty will not honor the Prophet’s mother and father while Hazrat Muhammad (pbuh), who is the sun of the both worlds, is in the sign of happiness?

O my heart! Look mercifully at the diver! Is it possible that he will take the pearl and throw away the mother-of-pearl?

[buggie-hagen]

Sermon for Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost (8/8/21)

Primary Text | Psalm 34:1-8

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Dear People of God,

Psalm 34 has much to teach and preach to us. It is first and above all a very encouraging psalm. In just these eight verses this psalm bursts open with a litany of God’s promises—promises such as: the LORD answers those who seek him (vs. 4), the LORD delivers us from all our fears (vs. 4), that the faces of those who look to the LORD shall never be ashamed (vs. 5), that the LORD has heard the cry of this poor soul (vs. 6), that the LORD saves us from every trouble (vs. 6), that the LORD delivers those who fear him (vs. 7), and finally, that the LORD is good and happy are those who take refuge in him (vs. 8).

One must not approach this psalm with logic, nor can experience be relied upon. Logic will tell you, “Maybe God can deliver us from some of our fears, but certainly not all our fears, the LORD hasn’t saved you from every trouble, has he? Experience will also barrage you with doubts, saying, “Is the LORD really good? You can’t completely rely on God to be your refuge. God’s not that reliable, after all.” The conclusions of logic and experience though they may appeal to us, are in fact, fatal. Of course, if you look with your eyes and see all the terrible things you have experienced—whether it be a life-altering disease, the horrible death of a loved one, the betrayal of someone you trusted, the threat of someone with power over you, etc., etc…If you look at these, you may very well despair. And so, we must not and cannot rely on logic or experience. The promises of this passage can only be understood and received with the eyes of faith. Faith, that deep, abiding trust in God that clings to Christ alone, and absolutely nothing else. (pause) Martin Luther has an insight for us to help us trust that God is good despite all apparent contradictions, he says, “For this is the Christian art, which we must all learn, the art of looking to the Word and looking away from all the trouble and suffering that lies upon us and weighs us down.” And here Luther actually echoes verse 5 of the psalm: “Look to him, and be radiant; so your faces shall never be ashamed.” Luther, and the Psalm Writer, turn our faces away from absolutely all the darkness we encounter, and then they turn our faces to the LORD, to the Word, to the promise, to the Christ. What does that mean? That trouble, suffering, and darkness that weighs heavy are not the things we should rely on—we must only rely on the LORD Christ as the one whom we can depend and who gives us life.

It is the promise that God is gracious in Jesus Christ that certainly does and will deliver you from all your fears. What we rely upon is the promise of the Word, that is, the Word about Christ who “for the life of the world has given his flesh.” We know God has heard our cries because Christ is the bright, shining light of our faith. He gives you, yes specifically you who hear this message today many promises that stand firm against the troubles of this world. (grab hammer) In fact, Jesus’ Word is a hammer that breaks whatever darkness we face to pieces, like where Jesus says, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” (John 6:35)… “Everything that the Father gives me I will never drive away” (John 6:37)… “And this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day” (John 6:39)… “This is indeed the will of my Father, that all who see the Son and believe in him may have eternal life; and I will raise them up on the last day” (John 6:40)… “Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life” (John 6:47)… “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (John 6:51).

With the Psalmist, we can praise God saying, “My soul makes its boast in the LORD; let the lowly hear and be glad” (Ps. 34:2). This directs all us poor and beaten down souls to boast in the LORD alone. Do we boast that death and darkness and sin seek to overwhelm us every day we live? Never! There is never a time we go without the blessing of the LORD. We boast in the LORD. And we can because of Jesus’ death and resurrection has defeated all evil. We boast in the LORD who has given us his flesh as the guarantee that we will have eternal life. We boast not in our despair but in the Word of the Lord that will not lose any of us. In our First Reading today Elijah felt lost and was in despair and asked the LORD to take his life away (1 Kings 19:4). Elijah wanted to die. After all, he was in dire straits, Jezebel had it out to assassinate him. He didn’t see any escape. What was the LORD’s response? Did the LORD say, “Yep, we might as well give up”? Never! The LORD sent his angel who touched him and said, “Get up and eat.” And Elijah looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again.” (1 Kgs 19:5-6). Did the LORD give up on him then? Never! Instead, the angel of the LORD came to him a second time and said, “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.” Elijah got up, and ate and drank, then he went in the strength of that food” (1 Kgs 19:8). God provided ways to strengthen and establish Elijah. And just as God had compassion on the despairing Elijah, so he has compassion on you. He beckons you too, whatever you are going through, to get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you. And so, he provides the food of his own body and blood under the bread and wine. Indeed, Jesus instituted the Lord’s Supper to strengthen you. The Lord’s Supper is food for the journey, it is for all who are weak and feel their need. Every time you partake of it you can be assured that you are given eternal life, salvation, and the forgiveness of sins. Indeed, in the Word and the sacraments God both gives and does his promises to you, so that you may know that the LORD is good. God attaches his goodness to the words of proclamation, to the bread and wine of the supper, and to the water of holy baptism so that you will have a word that delivers you from all your fears and all your troubles. Now I declare unto you what the Lord has commanded me to do: I forgive you all your sins in the name of Jesus Christ. No matter where life takes you (even if it’s to Oklahoma), you shall never be lost, nor shall you perish. In his Word he turns you away from all your troubles and to himself. And in him you shall never be put to shame. You have eternal life which can never be taken away from you; for the sake of Christ.

[quillyfied]

Mega Good Omens Fic Rec Post 1

OH BOY Y’ALL IT’S HERE

This is the first string of fics I would wholeheartedly recommend from my bookmarks (probably first of three, we’ll see). There are 65 fics sorted into 9 categories: Jaunts Through History/Canon; South Downs; Post-Apocalypse; Bus Ride/Night Before/Heaven and Hell; AU/UA (UA is Universe Alternate, where everything is the same, just...a bit to the left. I feel like that term has more nuance, idk); Soft; Touch-Starved/Body Worship/Wings; Bonus; H/C /Whump/BAMF. These will be the same categories for every fic rec post in this vein. I try to include warnings for sex and gore, if applicable, but please check the tags of each fic before you read, just in case.

Mega GOmens Fic Rec Post MASTER

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I BROKE A LINK OR MISATTRIBUTED SOMETHING.

I don’t read explicit works and I’m not a big fan of Human!AUs so there’s not any of those, but there’s a bit of just about everything else. Please enjoy! Hope the ReadMore works, sorry for folks on mobile if it doesn’t!

JAUNTS THROUGH HISTORY/CANON

1. Bright With His Splendour – Daegaer (T, specifically book-verse. This is an exquisite look at the developments in Crowley himself, especially as it relates to his war-related traumas in the War in Heaven and later WWI. The Arrangement is Aziraphale’s idea here, which is awesome. Highly emotional and visceral.)

2. Whatever Road We Choose – @ri-writing (T, the one where Aziraphale gets jumped by some demons and Crowley nurses him back to health, and Aziraphale has to confront his worldview when he realizes Heaven never responded to his call for help. Quiet and powerful as Aziraphale starts to realize Crowley isn’t everything he thought he was and maybe Heaven isn’t, either.)

3. Linked – @chekhov (T, the one where Crowley shows up in Bukhara and Aziraphale has to pretend to capture him so his angel intern doesn’t destroy Crowley entirely. Has a lot of fun moments and emotional growth in play. And yearning. Lots and lots of yearning.)

4. The Demon Favourite – @kanna-ophelia (T, the one where Crowley is posing as a nobleman and manages to build himself a little ramshackle family, and Aziraphale takes care of them when Crowley gets himself discorporated. Extremely tender, lots of Crowley cooing over babies.)

5. Akashic Records – @penig (Generally G, one T, the series where Crowley is head-over-heels from the start and broadcasts it loudly, and Aziraphale is in Panic Protective Mode. The series is gorgeous and vibrant, the characterizations are so spot-on and yet fresh, the dialogue is perfect, the character growth is delicious. I can’t gush enough about this one.)

6. But The Old Love Was Not So – BuggreAlleThis (G, the one written in the style of Le Morte d’Arthur about Aziraphale’s final few days in the court of King Arthur. Hilarious with the promise of emotional pain to come in the second half.)

7. flightless bird (dumb, wild, and free) – JennaCupcakes (@veganthranduil) (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale make out for half of history while Aziraphale has an ongoing existential crisis about being a broken angel. Poignant, sensual, culminates in a deliciously fraught confrontation where Aziraphale has to finally sort himself out and Crowley says some hard but true things. I once spent three hours trying to find this fic again without remembering the title so now it’s kinda ingrained.)

8. Nanny Knows Best – @patricianandclerk (M, rest of series is T, the one where Crowley endures some truly horrible experiences while serving as Warlock’s nanny. Adorable relationship between Warlock and Crowley, and it’s only getting better. The dynamic with Aziraphale is nuanced and beautiful. Rating for sexual harassment and groping, and it’s a bit of a difficult read at times during those moments, so be careful.)

9. The Holy Essence of Experience – Dragonsquill (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley have loved each other almost since the beginning, but have been very careful to not put a name to it. The yearning is real and so gorgeous. The scene just before they come up with their plan to avert Armageddon haunts me.)

10. The Arrangement – @writeonclara (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley try to get a handle on this sex thing. Non-explicit, hilarious, and unique! I can only assume the rating will probably be going up, which makes me sad because it’s hard to find nonexplicit fics that still deal with what sex brings to a relationship, but what’s written for now is well worth it.)

11. And After – @randomacts13 (T, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale work through their self-worth and have lots of flashbacks. The first one involves Crowley taking care of a seed that keeps dying and leaving another seed behind, which is not at all feeding into his self-hatred; the second has Crowley and Warlock gluing coins to the sidewalk; the third is about Aziraphale on a one-way flight to Complete Mental Breakdown if he doesn’t get some help for his anxiety and repressed emotions soon.)

12. The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops – emmagrant01 (E but only for the sixth chapter, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley have shared five kisses throughout history and one where they meant it. People like me who don’t like explicit material can skip Chapter 6 (or just read until they smooch) and go straight to the epilogue. The rest of it is amazing; every kiss is believable in context and has such good lead-up. Very romantic, very good.)

13. Round and Round the Garden – SanSanFanFan (G, the one where Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth get up to some hanky-panky beneath a willow tree while Warlock sleeps in his pram. Just sweet and silly fluff.)

14. Flecks of Light and Dark – volunteerfd (T, the one where Aziraphale learns to deal with his emotions. Has a really beautiful recurring thing of Crowley and Aziraphale making up stories of who they’d be if they were human, and Aziraphale doing his best to do good and help even when Heaven ties his hands.)

15. Before the Water Rises – VitreousHumor (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale become friends while helping a village make rafts to escape the Flood. Has a lot of really cute moments and some pretty exquisite romantic tension.)

16. Beneath the Stars – @brooklynbabybucky (G, the one where Crowley asks Aziraphale to cut his hair. Just has some really lovely imagery and a sweet bonding moment.)

17. lit in the darkness – @toedenandbackagain (M, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale share a bed sometimes throughout history. Warnings for some sexual content in chapters 7 and 14, but each chapter has its own warnings in the description. Presents some beautiful bonding moments and the absolute finest pining known to man.)

 SOUTH DOWNS

18. The Play’s the Thing – volunteerfd (G, the one where Aziraphale is cast in the local production of Hamlet and Crowley is trying his best to be supportive of his truly awful actor husband. Hilarious and light and absolutely a classic.)

19. Parsley, Thyme, Sage, Daffodils – @mostweakhamlets (NR, the one where Aziraphale has a cooking YouTube channel and Crowley is camera-shy. Tackles PTSD in a really thoughtful way and is Peak Soft Cottage Husbands aesthetic, it really packs in the most warm fuzzies in a small package.)

20. to carthage then i came – @lvslie (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale move to the South Downs and learn to work through their issues around being together and being their own people after cutting ties with Heaven and Hell. Poetic, poignant, the last chapter is a thing of absolute beauty. Very heavily symbolic, that one.)

21. A Better Place for Us to Be – @befuddledmackem (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale tour a particular cottage. Deeply emotional, the Absolute Best Real Estate Pr0n if you also secretly watch HGTV and weep, has completely ruined any future house-buying opportunity I might have because nothing will be this sweet and perfect.)

22. Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak – trieduntrue (M, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale move to the South Downs and very carefully orbit into something more like a relationship. Exquisite tension, beautifully-done pining and slow-burn, really fun bits of world building. M is for a sex scene at the very end but it’s easy to skip over, it’s small.)

23. reasons wretched and divine – @stammiviktor (T, the one where Crowley storms out after a fight and finds himself in an actual conversation with God. Highly emotional and a great look into Crowley’s head, both in how he feels about God and how he feels about Aziraphale.)

24. The Sprawl of Life – @dietraumerei (T and G, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale settle into village life quite well. Has sex-positive asexual characters, which is fun (brief note about that: it’s not explicit, but the places it happens, there is clear leadup and it can get a bit intense, so take care of yourselves). Has touches of angst that balance beautifully with the fluff, lots of BAMF Aziraphale for the soul.)

25. Seashells and Fingerpainting – Vagabond (@waffleironbiddingwar) (T, and I recommend this one specifically from the series, can be read independently: the one where Gabriel is sent to the South Downs for a time out. This is quite possibly the best Gabriel character study I have ever seen; it’s tender and heartbreaking and somehow you find yourself rooting for Gabriel to figure out why he’s being punished despite yourself. All the warm fuzzies. All of them. Read the whole series, it’s great!)

 POST-APOCALYPSE

26. Laugh When It Sinks In – @tenoko1 (G, the one where Crowley helps Aziraphale build a home in the bookshop flat. Another one that feeds right into my interior decorating itch. So sweet and uplifting, will absolutely make you feel proud of Aziraphale.)

27. Chosen and Unchosen – Bookwormgal (T, the one where the kids have to go save Aziraphale and Crowley from Heaven and Hell. Has some EXCELLENT Warlock characterization and some really good tension between him and Adam, and the angst is properly upsetting. A right good adventure romp that’s really starting to ramp up.)

28. Resonance – Macx (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale become something Else. Good world building, beautiful romance, and Gabriel getting told off. Love how Crowley and Aziraphale growing into their new roles is handled, and how Adam unexpectedly ties in at the end.)

29. Falling Heavenward – @kanna-ophelia (T, the one where Crowley unexpectedly has to win his angel back because of a really twisty deal with Heaven. This one is a pretty wild ride, but I would say the centerpiece is Fallen Gabriel, who becomes Asmodeus. It becomes a battle for Aziraphale’s heart, though Asmodeus isn’t in it for the feels so much as the revenge, obviously. Really interesting premise and something to read if rooting for Crowley is a way you like to spend your time.)

30. A Leisurely Stroll Down – Saturniidae (@Saturniiddae) (M, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale have to fight for their relationship. Has some sexual content that isn’t explicit, and gore that really sort of is. I have thrown things and cried a little at this one, but that was the price for reading while it was still updating. Absolutely gorgeous in every way. Also has God speaking through a household object and it’s hilarious.)

31. From God’s Perspective – Unfortunately (T, the one where God comes down personally to interfere in Her children’s business. The absolute best portrayal of God in any fic ever, really humanizes her in the best ways. I love how she interacts with her angel and demon children. It’s almost more of a character study of God than anything. And yes, the Sound of Music is sung.)

 BUS RIDE/NIGHT BEFORE/HEAVEN AND HELL

32. Worth Knowing – summersage (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley discuss the Fall and manage Miltonian angel sex despite it. Has a take on how the Fall works that I was thinking about but couldn’t find words for until this fic, and it’s absolutely fantastic. The Miltonian angel sex is esoteric and weird and not at all erotic, but it is beautiful. The mortifying ordeal of being KNOWN indeed.)

33. Legendary Lovers; Your Hand in Mine – @tenoko1 (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale regroup in a hotel instead of his flat and have a bit of a knock-down-drag-out. Crowley is angry and scared and so in love he can’t stand it, and Aziraphale is practically going at light speed in confronting and knocking down his own barriers, and it’s highly emotionally charged and wonderful.)

 AU/UA

34. Love of My Life – @ellewrites4 (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale get together very early and make it work all throughout history. Gorgeous romance, and the fallout from the Holy Water caper and the bandstand breakup are EXQUISITE. Peak emotional turmoil, sweet boundary negotiation, forgiveness and love and anxiety and fear—just delicious.)

35. True Love and High Adventure – @grifalinas (T, the one that’s a Princess Bride au. Absolutely on-point casting, wonderful writing style, the perfect escape fic for a little while. Incomplete but still worth the read.)

36. Inverse Omens – @amuseoffyre (T, the one where Aziraphale is a demon with a p0_rn shop and Crowley is an angel running a community center from a bombed-out church. Y’all recommended this to me on my demon!Aziraphale rating post, and it’s AMAZING. Perfect characterization and a wonderful retelling. Warning for Chapters 11 and 12, Aziraphale’s Nanny Ashtoreth messes with the Dowling parents in far more direct ways and there’s scenes of Mr. Dowling jerking it, so take care, friendos. Also Aziraphale makes the filthiest double entendres and it’s delightful. Also also Crowley needs all the hugs.)

37. A Blaze of Light – @wingedspirit (T, the one where Crowley is Raphael and he and Aziraphale make a Pact instead of an Arrangement. This one is a wild adventure, friends, and a riveting one. The Pact puts an interesting spin on their developing relationship, and by the time it gets to TV canon, it’s already off the rails in the best ways. Also Crowley has some pretty heavy depression that manifests in his former Archangel-level powers blowing up a bit, which is cool. Should be wrapping up soon and I’m pumped for it!)

38. it’s high time that you love me, cause you do it so well – mygalfriday (T, the one where Crowley can’t physically say the word “love” but can diddly dang well show it if he wants. Already super sweet but the confession scene at the end is just incredible.)

39. Hold the Line – sum_nemo (T, the one that’s a Pacific Rim AU. I adore PacRim, you guys, and this one is just *chef’s kiss*. Puts Crowley as Raleigh (lost his twin sister copilot) and Aziraphale as Mako and includes a pretty painful shared past between them, which is already simmering and delicious. Can’t wait to see where this one goes.)

40. The Truth Remains – @wanderingalicewrites (NR, the one where Crowley was Raphael, had a good relationship with his siblings, was in love with Aziraphale, and knew he was destined to Fall. Aziraphale is still in mourning for Raphael and Crowley is still working out the point of his existence, so there’s some very good pining and existential dread up in the mix. A highly interesting take on the situation and very, very good at punching you in the feels with the flashbacks to Heaven and how different things are now, especially with the other Archangels. LOL it just updated while I was writing this and I am UNDONE, I am in PAIN, the bandstand scene always hurts but NOT LIKE THIS. ALSO MORE ARCHANGEL FEELS, HOW DID THIS HAPPEN)

41. Everything Dark and Unseen – @enjambament (M, the one that’s a Psyche and Eros retelling. After the Fall but before Eden, Heaven and Hell need a truce, so they marry Crowley and Aziraphale to keep the peace in a symbolic sort of binding. A beautiful romance, an excellent action sequence, the cutest OC creatures, the best OC angels, and I wish there was a continuation of how canon progressed with this monumental change in their history bc I am THIRSTY for more. Rated M for a kinda-sorta sexy scene but there’s not really Efforts sooo…it’s more sensual than sexual? I guess? Either way, highly recommended.)

42. The Name of the Star is Wormwood – LusBeatha (T, the one where Crowley was Raphael and the Fruit of Knowledge of Good and Evil was a fly agaric mushroom. It is exactly as eccentric as it sounds, but presented in such a way that it actually makes sense. It jumps around in time, but the storyline taking place in the present is looking like Armageddon 2.0. Beautifully written, great take on canon.)

43. Sticks and Stones – @justkeeptrekkin (T, the one where Crowley takes on the guise of Casanova while trying to get over Aziraphale and Aziraphale shows up, whoops. GORGEOUS imagery, the most scrumptious pining, and if y’all appreciated the 2005 Pride and Prejudice dance scene, the one in here will about blow that one out of the water, if you can believe it. Knocked the breath right out of me.)

44. Yearning to Hold You Close – @guanin (T, the one where Aziraphale has a relationship with King Richard and asks Crowley to help save him, and there is a big sticky mess of feelings when they realize Richard and Crowley look almost exactly alike. In part inspired by David Tennant playing Richard II. A delicious, delicious emotional quandary where Crowley and Richard both wonder if Aziraphale only loves them because they look like each other, and Aziraphale doesn’t know how to say what he feels. Very sweet, very emotionally fraught.)

 SOFT

45. Just This Once – @julia-writes-fanfic (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale kiss in the 90s and it’s amazing. The drunk 90s kiss is already good, but them revisiting it sober in 2010 makes both even better.)

46. A Sky Full of Stars – @kedreeva (G, the one where Aziraphale takes Crowley someplace where they can see the cosmos. The first GOmens fic I ever bookmarked, so I felt like including it, because it’s unbelievably sweet and has amazing visuals.)

47. The Serpent and the Seagull – @ineffably-good (G and T, the series where Aziraphale misses Crowley so he gets a little pet snake. Frederick the snake is among the best of the GOmens OCs, hilarious and foul-mouthed and once Crowley starts being able to understand him, it only gets better. Frederick likes helping his pets work their problems out so they’ll leave him alone to sleep. It’s extremely cute.)

48. The Discerning Black Swan – @lwtis (T, the one where Crowley is definitely not projecting on a black swan desperately trying to court a white mute swan in St James’ Park. I love how Crowley interfaces with his emotional problems through the swan, and the visual of the two swans is gorgeous.)

49. What A Demon Dreams – @whatawriterwields (G, the one where Crowley has some weird dreams, dude. I love the symbolism and the imagery in this one, it’s really vivid. It’s hard to pull off a concept like this so I respect how the author is able to do it and make it work.)

 TOUCH STARVED/WINGS/BODY WORSHIP

50. Sunlight – crorvid (M, the one where Aziraphale is a touch-starved angel. Doesn’t deserve the M rating, in my opinion, but Aziraphale does feel the touching during their makeouts very intensely and it’s incredibly satisfying.)

51. The Curious Attractiveness of Others – @giddygeek (T, the one where Crowley finally gets to groom Aziraphale’s wings and Aziraphale gets to show Crowley how tender that can be. Another one with some great world building tucked into the corners, and emotionally satisfying grooming.)

52. Broken Wings – werebear (@werebeary) (T and M, the series where wing grooming is incredibly intimate and I got the vapors from the tenderness. Also the first time I saw anything about preen glands. The second one is rated M because the preening gets a bit…intense. Not sexual, exactly, but it’s close. Very passionate.)

53. Birthmark – Linebreaker (G, the one where Crowley has a scar on his lower back and a sad story to go with it. This one needs a bit of a harder rating, imo, and there’s one line that’s a bit Much, but otherwise it’s a sad and beautiful look at a potential reason why Crowley hates the fourteenth century so much. Lots of Crowley body worship packed into few words, very satisfying.)

54. They Are A Pale Picture of You – @ineffablefool (T, the one where they go for a walk during winter and things are just Soft. Ineffablefool has a wealth of body-positive asexual GOmens fics, but I think I like this one best, it’s sweet and adorable and some jerk who insults Aziraphale’s weight rightly gets the worst day of his life. Also Crowley compares Aziraphale in his winter wear to a plump little bird and it’s cute imagery.)

 BONUS

55. Ineffable Bureaucracy Drabbles – Shift7 (T, the series of short fics where Gabriel and Beelzebub are kinda-sorta falling into friendship and being very judicious about it. Lots of paperwork, very orderly.)

56. Ineffable Bureaucracy – @eshnoazot (T and G, a series of longer fics where Gabriel and Beelzebub are navigating a careful arrangement of their own. Still lots of paperwork, of course, but there’s also emotional friction and conflict resolution. Excellent characterizations. Wednesday night Thai and Friendship night is a+++++. Gabriel deffo called a board meeting to talk about his feelings.)

57. A Bentley Sang in Berkeley Square – CastielHamilton (G, the one where the Bentley is sentient and a good, good girl. She is doing her best and I love her. Basically the series from her point of view.)

58. Fairest and Fallen – VitreousHumor (T, the series where Beelzebub and Gabriel encounter each other a few times and Gabriel tries his best to remember their shared pre-Fall history. Poignant, sad, and beautiful.)

59. Observer Effect – SquarePudding (T, the series where the Grigori in charge of recording Aziraphale’s Earthly movements starts to ship him and Crowley and records their romance. The Grigori, Rezathaniel, is a precious baby who needs to develop a better palate outside of “greasy literal garbage” and has 0 chill when it comes to their ship. They’re kind of like a celebrity blogger at this point but watching their character growth in the first story is very sweet.)

60. Soul of Vellum, Heart of Chrome – @29-pieces (G, the one where the Bentley and the Bookshop are sentient and very protective of their owners. This one is going to KILL ME with the plot I wasn’t expecting—Heaven and Hell are hunting Aziraphale and Crowley down again, so the Bentley and the Bookshop do their best to help. They’re doing so good and I’m so proud of them, it’s not their fault things went a bit south. Precious beans. Good, good things.)

61. Real Fire and Brimstone Stuff – @jessikast (G, the one where college-age Warlock helps accidentally summon his Nanny and a lot of things start to make sense. A very sweet story about Warlock getting closure and getting back in touch with Crowley and Aziraphale through the weirdest means possible.)

 H/C /WHUMP/BAMF

62. Broken Hallelujah – @atlantis-is-burning (T, the one where Hastur comes to kill Aziraphale and Crowley and it’s ugly, folks. It is kinda gory and it is injury-ridden and painful, very touch-and-go for a bit. It ends well, though, and Hastur gets his, which is the Best. Tore me up one side and down the other in all the best ways.)

63. Fall Here – @marbledwings (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley are easing into a relationship in fits and starts, and then Crowley gets snatched. This one was AGONIZING to wait for it to update, so be glad it’s complete, because it gets pretty dark for a while. Be warned of torture, though it’s mostly implied and it’s the aftermath that’s dealt with most. It absolutely sticks the landing at the end, and has a great characterization of Michael.)

64. how deep the sand – Handful_of_Silence (G, the series where Aziraphale is trapped in a glass bubble in a wizard’s basement for fifty years and the ensuing aftermath. Feels mostly book-verse, but there are some cues from the show. Intense and realistic and emotional and heavy, drags you through the darkness and you appreciate the light all the more for it. A beautiful story.)

65. you taught me how to love, (it’s me who taught you how to stop) – @clankclunk (G, or the one where Aziraphale comes to find out that you can’t just rush into a relationship after six thousand years of repression. This one is absolutely murdering me. The angst is real. The hurt is real. I’m hoping the fluff and comfort promised in the tags is coming soon because WOW. Has a fantastically haunting view of what happens to angels, who are highly emotive beings, when they fall into depression. And Crowley’s adverse reactions to praise and love are so realistic and painful. Ouch.)

[thezodiaczone]

Gemini Compatibility

GEMINI + ARIES (MARCH 21 - APRIL 19) ♥♥♥♥ You're two high-strung, passionate Fire signs who both like to be the Alpha dominant. As such, you'll need to toss the hot potato back and forth, submitting to the other's rule—at times through gritted teeth. Acquiescence may not come naturally, but it builds a necessary trust. Aries is a paradox: you're the zodiac's infant (its first sign) and its gallant hero (you're ruled by warrior Mars). You want to save the world and be saved at the same time. You'll need to occasionally allow yourself to play wounded knight or damsel in distress, and let your mate charge to your rescue. However, don't spiral into neurotic helplessness or analysis paralysis. Nobody can beat a topic to death quite like you can—but that's what therapists are for, Aries. Neither one of you can be saddled with the emotional care and feeding of an adult baby. You're too independent for that. When your problems gain too much mental gravitas, it's time to move—literally. Disperse your Martian angst and anger with lots of physical exertion. As fellow adventurers, you travel well together. Try snowboarding, exotic bike tours, Costa Rican rainforest expeditions. Passionate sex is another antidote to prickly feelings for your high-touch sign. Like Aries Hugh Hefner, you have a champion libido (and an awesome sense of entitlement). Some Aries couples may mutually agree to flex the terms of your monogamy, although the jealousy it stirs might not be worth the trouble.

GEMINI + TAURUS (APRIL 20 - MAY 20) The stubborn Bull locks horns with the willful Ram, nostrils flaring, heads bowed in determination. So begins a fierce but fiery courtship, as splashy and menacing as a Pamplona stampede. Aggression, however uncivilized, is part our Darwinian natures. It certainly is for your signs—who possess an arsenal of steamrolling tactics, from doe-eyed charm to old-fashioned philistine strong-arming. No weak-willed mate will survive your natural selection process. Nor should he. Neither one of you feels safe in the arms of a mate who can't protect you. Thus, your initial faceoff is simply a warning shot: Show me your strength so I can trust you. Once the fanfare is over, you make a great team—like British pop royalty Victoria (Aries) and David (Taurus) Beckham.

As tight as two mafiosos, you like to dress up and flaunt your natural superiority over the rest of the animal kingdom. The deal is sweet for both of you. Taurus gets an attractive show pony and a lusty mate to satisfy his Earthy libido. Aries has a lifelong provider and benefactor to supply creative freedom and endless playtime. Issues can arise if Taurus grows too possessive or tries to tame independent Aries. Indulgent Taurus will need to remain active to keep pace with the energetic Ram (read: lay off the nightly steak frites and vino). You both crave attention, but don't go looking for it outside the relationship, unless you want a real showdown. Like two tots in a nursery, you share a favorite word: Mine!

GEMINI + GEMINI (MAY 21 - JUNE 20) We'll spare you the joke about there being four people in this relationship, mainly because it's an understatement. Like twin kaleidoscopes, you're each a fractal pinwheel of personalities that re-pattern at the slightest twist. Good news: versatility is a virtue in Gemini-land. Monogamy, not always easy for your restless sign, becomes a non-issue when your mate embodies more personas than Sybil. Dyed-in-the-wool dilettantes, you never run out of things to discuss. Clever Gemini rules communication: your ideas come fast and furious, and you love to debate. Intellectual tussling is a turn-on, although you must take care not to talk over each other. Remind yourself: listening skills are just as important as a well-crafted sentence. The pop psychology technique of "mirroring" (listening, then reflecting back your mate's communication) can be shockingly effective. Your main challenge is making time for each other, since you're both forever juggling any number of jobs, businesses, classes, hobbies, social circles and whatnot. Gemini is a collector; your home can resemble a natural disaster zone, piled to the rafters with books, newspapers, DVD sets from your favorite screenwriter, old-school vinyl, vintage costume jewelry. Forget couples' counseling: a cleaning service or storage unit can save this marriage. (Thank God for the Internet and YouTube.) With your wonder-twin powers, you can start a creative business together. Just make sure to hire a team of Earth or Water signs who can finish what you start, since you'll both leave a trail of loose ends. Light the spark, and let others keep the flame.

GEMINI + CANCER (JUNE 21 - JULY 22) Cancer is an emotional Water sign who loves to nest and bond; Gemini is a restless Air sign who prefers intellect over sentiment. You have similar interests, different temperaments. In many cases, this works out anyway. You both adore culture, the more obscure the better. You love to discover new bands, read novels by controversial authors, gorge yourselves at the jewel of a restaurant tucked into an undiscovered neighborhood. You bond over TV shows and bargain-hunting for treasures (you both have a thrifty streak). No flea market, tag sale or eBay store is safe from your scouring, and your home can resemble a bizarre gallery of antiques and modern gadgetry. The tricky part is when you lapse into astrological auto-pilot. Cancer is the zodiac's mother, who heaps on affection, nurturing and well-intended care. To Gemini, this can feel like clinginess and smothering. Gemini is the zodiac's fickle tween, waffling between bouts of dependence and asserting autonomy. There will be moments when Gemini greedily laps up Cancer's doting, and others when mama bird is roughly pushed away with a sarcastic, heart-piercing insult. Cancer must work hard not to take these moments personally—otherwise, the Crab lashes back with a below-the-belt barb, and it turns ugly. Remember, Crabcake: it's not you that Gemini is rejecting, it's your overprotection. Get a pet to dote on instead. Gemini needs space, Cancer needs reassurance. Memorize this formula.

GEMINI + LEO (JULY 23 - AUGUST 22) ♥♥♥♥ You make great friends, since you both love to gab about everything from the Times to the tabloids, Ferragamo to flea markets. Conversations are fever-pitched and fascinating; you're both well-versed culture hounds. Romantically, the temperature may be tepid, though. Leo is a Fire sign ruled by the blazing Sun—the regal Lion wants to be consumed by passion, heat, devotion, attention. Gemini is an Air sign driven by speedy, information-gathering Mercury. Listening to The Leo Monologues, which span from political diatribes to emotional melodramas, is sheer torture. When Gemini dares to interrupt the King or Queen, suggesting that s/he actually GET TO THE POINT, hell breaks loose. Leo must learn to take Gemini's tough love and unvarnished feedback in stride, not as an ego assault. Unconventional Gem should assent to traditional romantic gestures: red roses, the Tiffany bauble du jour. Learn to adapt. Gemini rules the hands, and will need to put them on affection-hungry Leo more often, since the Lion is greatly reassured by touch. And yes, as an Air sign, Gemini will need to blow a little smoke you-know-where; Leo can be a nightmare without regular doses of praise. Gush and flatter—it won't be the first insincere thing to pass through Gemini's lips. Leo should keep a battery of patient friends on speed dial. Gemini may have multiple personalities, but as a romantic partner, s/he can't be your de facto shrink, psychic hotline, career coach, parent and social director. Spread the demands around.

GEMINI + VIRGO (AUGUST 23 - SEPTEMBER 22) Gemini and Virgo share a common ruler: speedy Mercury, who zips around the Sun gathering light and information, then disseminating it to the masses. You're both natural communicators with a thousand ideas and opinions. Romance is a cerebral affair for your intelligent signs. Conversations spark into lively debates; asking each other "What do you think?" is akin to foreplay. Although Virgo is a more staid Earth sign and Gemini is a breezy Air sign, you share a "mutable" quality. That means you're flexible, and you can adapt to each other's quirks. Good thing, since you each have a bevy of rigid, borderline obsessive-compulsive habits. (Virgo's can include folding underwear into identical, neat little squares; Gemini's usually involve hoarding, starting new hobbies or impulse shopping.) You both love control, though Gemini is loath to admit this, while Virgo flies the flag. At times, you may wrestle for dominance, a habit you'll need to overcome for this match to work. Virgo's nagging can take the wind out of Gemini's sails; Gemini's sketchily researched half-truths set off Virgo's trust alarm. But combine the depth of Virgo's cautious planning with the breadth of Gemini's boundless curiosity, and you've got the total package. You can make great parents, too, since your styles tend to complement and you'll divide up roles with ease. Gemini can help serious Virgo lighten up, and responsible Virgo can help ground the easily distracted Twin.

GEMINI + LIBRA (SEPTEMBER 23 - OCTOBER 22) ♥♥♥♥ You're compatible Air signs with silver tongues and gilded wings, a magical match indeed. Libra is a pretty pixie and Gemini is an impish sprite. Your meeting rouses the fairies and gnomes, stirring up mischief in your midst. You love to mingle and schmooze, and you'll chatter like two little tree monkeys, gabbing a mile a minute. But will the breathless excitement last? Getting past the superficial romance stage is the challenge. You're both so indecisive that nailing down a commitment is like catching moonbeams in a jar. That said, the illusionary quality of your relationship is a magic you both enjoy. It's when life becomes too real that you vanish in a pinch of enchanted dust. To make this last, you'll need to dip your toes into the murky morass of intimacy, then learn to swim. Money can become an issue between you, particularly the way you spend it. Gemini is ruled by intellectual Mercury, and would rather invest in college degrees, a film collection, enriching travel. Libra is governed by beauty and pleasure-loving Venus, and splashes out on art, couture, custom suits, spas. You'll need separate wings for Gemini's books and Libra's handbag or shoe collection. You have different approaches to romance, too. Libra loves a lengthy courtship with all the trimmings, but Gemini bristles at picking up too many tabs, especially with Libra's extravagant taste. You'll probably need to keep separate accounts to avoid meddling in each other's purchase habits. Cut up the credit cards, too—many happy relationships can be destroyed by debt. Don't let that happen to you.

GEMINI + SCORPIO (OCTOBER 23 - NOVEMBER 21) You live on completely different planes, which either turns you off or utterly fascinates you. Both of you are accustomed to reading people like flimsy comic books, then tossing them aside. Here, your X-ray vision fails to penetrate each other's psychic shields. Mutable Gemini is the shape-shifting Twin, home to a traveling cast of personalities. Intense Scorpio is shrouded in mystery and bottomless layers of complexity. Being baffled leaves you without the upper hand, but it also stokes your libido. You're piercingly smart signs who love a good puzzle—this is your romantic Rubik's cube. The challenge sets off sexual dynamite. You tease each other with cat-and-mouse evasions, neither of you making your attraction obvious. This prickles your insecurities, daring you to strive for the other's unbroken gaze. No two signs are as quietly obsessive as yours! There will be frustrating moments, too. You're both prone to depressive spells, and swing from giddiness to unreachable shutdown. Clever mind games edge on cruel or callow, breaking the trust that Scorpio needs. At times, airy Gemini may not be emotional or sensual enough for watery Scorpio; in turn, the Scorpion's emotional and physical passion can be overwhelming to Gemini. However, if you combine your strengths, you'll go far. Gemini is dilettante and a trivia collector who's always got a pocketful of creative ideas. Instinct-driven Scorpio rules details and research—this sign hones in like a laser and masters his chosen field. Whether it's starting a family or running a business, you can be an indefatigable team, with Gemini playing the rowdy ringmaster and Scorpio running the show from behind the scenes.

GEMINI + SAGITTARIUS (NOVEMBER 22 - DECEMBER 21) ♥♥♥♥ You're opposite signs that actually have much more in common than this label suggests. Gemini rules the so-called "lower mind": common sense, reasoning, facts, hard data and intellect. Sagittarius governs the "higher mind": wisdom, philosophy, consciousness, ethics, metaphysics. Together, you find sweet neurological nirvana. You're both restless adventurers who hunger for knowledge and experience. With Gemini's curiosity and Sag's nomadic nature, you get antsy in commitments unless there's a lot of excitement and variety. Boredom is simply not an option for your signs, and you're both involved in a billion projects. Scheduling issues are your biggest hurdle, but for true love, you allow nothing to interfere. Take globe-trotting Sagittarius Brad Pitt and Gemini Angelina Jolie, who traipse the continents with their ever-growing brood. As best friends and playmates, they make their own rules about love and family—and you will, too. Conventional coupling holds zero interest for your signs. Your main difference is in disposition. Air sign Gemini is cooler and distant compared to Sagittarius, harder to read emotionally. The fiery Archer has a hot temper and wears his heart on his sleeve. Still, you make each other laugh; you're both clever, entrepreneurial and quirky. You do best with a common goal that's a thousand times bigger than yourselves, and you'll dream up many. However, you may need Brangelina-sized paychecks to fund your lofty visions. Who has time to consider the bottom line when you're focused on reaching the top? Take time to consider the practicalities before leaping off the cliff. Knowing you, you'll jump anyway.

GEMINI + CAPRICORN (DECEMBER 22 - JANUARY 19) A metaphor for this match: a music producer combines a soulful 1970s classic (Capricorn) with funky electronic hooks (Gemini) and delivers a mashup that's either a mess or a chart-topping hit. You couldn't be any more different if you tried, yet you can really benefit from each other's natural resources. Gemini is ruled by speedy Mercury, the lightning-fast trickster who speaks in silver-tongued half truths. Capricorn's overlord is Saturn, the cautious, conservative planetary patriarch, who only trusts that which stands the test of time. Gemini is versatile and restless, like a fusebox with a million criss-crossed wires. Capricorn is the dutiful ox who carries the yoke and plows the field, rarely diverging from routine. While Capricorn's dogged consistency and family loyalty can frustrate Gemini ("How can you let these people walk all over you?" Gemini asks, referring to Cap's elderly parents), it also grounds the scattered Twins. Gemini is Capricorn's one-man circus, keeping the Goat amused and entertained, adding color to his monochromatic world. You both have a lusty, experimental side, too. The magic really appears when you get physical, which happens fast, since your sexual attraction is intense. In fact, Capricorn is one of the few signs that can spike Gemini's jealousy. There are so many people who rely on sturdy, supportive Cap, and Gemini doesn't like to compete for the spotlight. To make this work, Gemini will have to accept that Capricorn's loyalty extends to family and lifelong friends. Stoic Cap will need to show a little more emotion, since impish Gemini needs to know he can get under Capricorn's skin. It will take time to work out the kinks, but the erotic tet-a-tets will be worth the trouble.

GEMINI + AQUARIUS (JANUARY 20 - FEBRUARY 18) This match of compatible Air signs can feel a bit like high school romance—teasing, texting, movie dates with jumbo popcorn and licentious groping during the previews. You bring out each other's breezy, buoyant spirits, and that's a plus. You'll bond over TV shows, favorite sci-fi novels and superheroes, obscure philosophers, music. With your clever comebacks and verbal repartee, you could take a comedy act on the road. Although you can both be overly cerebral at times, you prefer laughter and light conversation to emotional melodrama. Eventually, though, you need to get out of the shallow end of the pool. Intimacy is a challenge for your signs. We're talking true intimacy—being caught with your pants down and no clue how to get them back up. Telling each other your entire life stories in monologue form (which could have happened on the first date) doesn't count. You must soldier through the post-infatuation "awkward phase," or you'll end up feeling like buddies. That would be a shame, as you can make excellent life partners and playmates. The biggie: you'll both need to give up fibs and lies—particularly lies of omission. You're excellent storytellers and politicos, gifted at crafting a spin to fit your agenda. However, the naked truth is the only way out of the Matrix. Though it may topple your PR-friendly public image, it's a necessary risk you must take to build the character and depth of a lasting commitment.

GEMINI + PISCES (FEBRUARY 19 - MARCH 20) You're both dual signs: Gemini is the Twins, and Pisces is symbolized by two Fish swimming in opposite directions. You're pop psychology's poster children for commitment-phobia. Are you in or are you out? It depends on the day, the mood, the cosmic alignment. Obviously, this is no way to run a relationship—but wait. Here's a golden chance to peer into love's looking glass and see your own shadowy Id mirrored back. Yes, your psyches and hang-ups are as bizarre as Alice's rabbit-hole tumble into Wonderland. Pisces, you really can be as needy, emotionally exhausting and manipulative as Gemini says. Gemini, you are indeed capable of being a double-talking, evasive ice-tyrant with a heart like polished marble. And…so what? If you can actually own your dark sides—which we all have—you're also capable of spreading tremendous light. You must negotiate your differences with transparent honesty, though. Pisces is an emotional Water sign; Gemini is an intellectual Air sign. Unless you balance the proportions, Gemini drowns in Pisces' undertow and the zodiac's Mermaid suffocates from breathing too much oxygen. Gemini must strive to connect emotionally, and Pisces will need to lighten up. Perennial dissatisfaction is also a killer. Don't say you want something, then refuse to be happy when your partner provides it. Gratitude is an intimate act: it requires you to acknowledge that your partner can reach you, a vulnerable place. Two words to save your relationship: "Thank you" and "You're right."

[pamphletstoinspire]

Solemnity Of Saint Francis of Assisi, Confessor - October 4

Today is the feast day of Saint Francis.  Ora pro nobis.

Of the Value and Dignity of the Soul

The greatest care ought to be taken of the soul, for man has not many, but only one. If God had given us two souls, as He has given us two eyes, or two feet, then should one be lost or taken away, we might guard and save the other. But as we have received only one, very weak and languishing, assailed by three most powerful enemies, and exposed to the fiery darts of the world, the flesh, and the devil, it is not lawful for it to repose securely for one single day, but it must always be striving and fighting. The Apostle gives us to understand how continual this warfare must be, when he says: ‘Our wrestling is not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers.’

In war, or in a battle, some time is granted to the soldiers to refresh their bodies, to lay aside their arms, to rest from their labours, and to recruit their strength; nor are they, during severe cold, compelled to rest at night exposed to the inclemency of the season, but are allowed to pass the winter in the city. But it is different with wrestlers; for then only can they be permitted to breathe, when one being overcome and thrown to the earth, the other goes away in triumph. The strife with our enemies can never cease, the time of fighting is the whole time of our life, the end of our life will be the beginning of rest; and only after death will the demonwrestler retire, after having endeavoured most strenuously to conquer us in death. Let us, therefore, most earnestly beseech Our Lord to protect us by His grace, and, in the midst of so many dangers, mercifully to defend us from our enemies. Nothing, alas! is more vile than the price for which we sell our precious souls. On the slightest occasion we cast it into hell, and for the smallest and most insignificant reward we deprive it of the inestimable treasure of Divine grace.

Saint Francis, the son of a merchant of Assisi (Pietro Bernardone and his French wife Pica Bourlemount), was born in the year 1182.   While his father was on a business trip in France, Pica gave birth to a boy whom she called John – a good religious name – but Pietro on returning called him Francesco – in his appreciation of all things French – and it stuck.

by Father Francis Xavier Weninger, 1876

St. Francis, the great founder of the order which bears his name, a man endowed with heavenly wisdom and especial gifts, and who, on account of his fervent love to the Almighty, is called the Seraphic, was born at Assisium in Umbria, and in a stable to which, by the advice of an unknown beggar, his mother had been carried to be relieved of the pains she suffered. His father was a wealthy merchant, and he destined Francis to follow the same occupation. Although the child was bright and cheerful, he never associated with evil companions, in order to keep his innocence unspotted. To the poor he was ever extremely compassionate, having made the resolution to dismiss none without alms. One day, when he was overwhelmed with business, a beggar asked for some money to buy bread. Francis, in his hurry, refused it, but no sooner had the man gone, than he remembered his resolution, and running after the beggar, gave him a rich alms and vowed never again to refuse any one who asked him: and this vow he faithfully kept.

Hence, when one day he met a poor man in the street, he gave him his new clothes and clothed himself in the rags of the beggar. At another time, while he was taking a ride, a leper came to him begging; Francis dismounted, took a piece of money and gave it to the poor man. When the latter stretched out his hand, deformed and emaciated by the terrible disease, Francis took it into his own and kissed it most tenderly. When he had remounted, he turned to look for the leper, but could no where perceive any sign of him; from which he supposed that either an angel or Christ Himself had appeared in that shape; the thought of which filled his heart with great comfort, and, at the same time, animated him to still greater liberality. After this event, he began to wean his heart more and more from all temporal things, sought solitude and became more fervent in his prayers. He begged the Almighty most earnestly to favor him with the grace to know how he should serve Him henceforth as his Lord and Master. During this prayer, Christ appeared to him, hanging on the cross and covered with wounds. This vision filled the heart of St. Francis with such devotion to our beloved Saviour, that he could never think of His passion, or look upon a crucifix without shedding tears.

After several miraculous events, by which the Almighty gradually manifested to St. Francis His will, it happened that, one day, when he assisted at Mass, he heard in the Gospel the words of Christ: “Do not possess gold or silver, or money in your purse ; nor script for your journey, nor two coats, nor shoes, nor a staff.” (Matt, x.) At these words, the holy man felt his mind illuminated and his heart stirred with deep emotion. It seemed as if God said to him that this was the rule by which he was henceforth to regulate his life ; and immediately giving his money to the poor, he put off his shoes, clothed himself in a rough penitential garment, which he girded about him with a knotted cord, and determined to lead henceforth an apostolic life. Going among the people, he began to exhort them to penance with such force and zeal, that he not only converted many sinners, but also drew several pious men to offer themselves as disciples in his austere manner of living, and as co-operators in his holy work.

When the number of these had reached twelve, St. Francis sent them into different villages and hamlets to preach penance after his example. Instead of money, he gave them the verse of the Psalm: “Cast thy care upon the Lord, and He will nourish thee.” As greater numbers came daily, who desired to be his disciples, he gave them certain regulations. Pope Innocent III. confirmed these regulations in 1209, at which time St. Francis and his companions most solemnly made their profession of the three vows of religion. This was the beginning of the celebrated Seraphic Order, which, divided into several branches, has worked, and still continues to work so well for the honor of God and the salvation of souls. When the Order had thus been confirmed, the holy founder went with his disciples to Assisium, where he made his dwelling in a small lonely cottage, that stood near the little Church of Portiuncula. At this place, where the Blessed Virgin was especially honored, St. Francis passed much time in praver and fasting. He lived on alms, and sent his disciples into the surrounding country to exhort the people to penance and to teach them to lead a Christian life. The Benedictines, to whom the above mentioned church and the ground near it belonged, gave both to St. Francis, that he might build there the first house for his Order.

The greatest care of the Saint was bestowed upon his disciples and spiritual children, whose number daily increased. He endeavored to lead them in the path of virtue, and to make of them useful members, that they might work for the salvation of men; and to effect this more thoroughly, he tried to be an example to them. Penance, which he and others of his order preached, he practised most austerely on his own person. He very seldom partook of food that was cooked, and when he did so, he strewed ashes over it, or destroyed its taste with water. Besides the usual forty days’ fast, he observed another fast of the same length, after the festival of the three holy Kings. The same he did from the feast of the holy Apostles, St. Peter and St. Paul, until the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin. To these he added another forty days’ fast in honor of the holy Archangel St. Michael and all the Angels. At night, he slept, on the bare floor; a stone or a piece of wood served him for a pillow. He scourged himself almost daily to blood, and exercised himself in all possible bodily mortifications. The cause of this rigor towards himself was not only to do penance for his former sins, but also to prevent himself from falling into others, and to keep his purity unspotted. Hence, when the evil spirit tortured him with unclean thoughts, he cast himself into the snow, and remained in it until he was almost frozen.

His humility was not less than his mortification. He would not allow any one to praise him. “Praise no one,” said he, “who does not stand securely. No one should be praised, until we see how he ends.” And again: “No one is more or less than he is in the eyes of the Almighty.” One day, a pious brother of the Order asked the Saint, what he thought of himself. The Saint answered: ” I think that there is no greater sinner upon earth than I am.” When the brother asked how he could say so with truth, he replied: ” If as many mercies had been bestowed upon the most wicked of all men, as have been bestowed upon me, I do not doubt that he would have been more grateful and more pious than I.” His humility made him refuse the priesthood, as he deemed himself unworthy of it. He greatly honored the priests, saying: “If I should meet an angel and a priest, I would first kiss the hand of the priest and then duly honor the Angel; because I owe him the greatest veneration who holds the most holy body of Christ in his hands and administers the same to others.”

What shall we say of the poverty which the Saint chose and most warmly recommended to his followers? What of his love of God and man What of his devotion to the passion of Christ, to the divine Mother and the Saints? What of his other virtues, of which the examples are so numerous, that this whole work would hardly suffice to relate them? He refused, after his conversion, to possess anything as his own, and rejoiced when he had to suffer want. During his prayers, he was frequently transported out of himself, by the intensity of his devotion, and could say nothing but, “My God and my all!” Only to name the most High, filled his heart with such burning love that his whole countenance seemed to be on fire. Charity towards men actuated him to nurse the sick most tenderly, to aid the poor to the best of his ability, to comfort the sad, and to be all to all. His wish to convert the infidels and to give his life for Christ’s sake, moved him to repair to Syria and Egypt, where he preached fearlessly before the Sultan of Babylon the truths of Christianity, saying that they should kindle a great fire and he would go into it in order to prove the truth of the Christian faith.

His devotion to the Passion of Christ was so great, that God would recompense it with a miracle until then never heard of. When St. Francis, two years before his death, kept, according to his custom, the forty days’ fast in honor of St. Michael, on Mount Alverno, he fell into ecstasy on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, and saw that a shining Seraph came down from heaven towards him. The Angel had six wings, and between these appeared the crucified Saviour with His five holy wounds. At the same moment, the Saint perceived in his side and on his hands and feet, bleeding wounds, like those which the Saviour bore. These wounds or Stigmata remained until the death of St. Francis, and although he endeavored to hide them, he could not prevent their being sometimes seen during his life and many times after his death. The Saint suffered great pain in these wounds, which was a source of great joy to him, as he hoped that this would make him more conformable to his Saviour. Two years later, the Saint became mortally sick, and knowing the hour of his death, he requested to be carried into the little Church of Portiuncula, where, after having received the holy Sacraments, he lay down on the ground, and gave up his soul to his Creator.

Before he expired, he exhorted his disciples to follow punctually the rules of the Order, blessed them, and among other things said: “Remain always in the fear of God. Happy are those who persevere to the end in the good which they have begun. I am now on my way to the Lord, and will commend you to His favor.” He then told them to read to him the passion of Christ from the Gospel of St. John. After this, he began to recite the 141st Psalm, and when he had reached the words: ” Bring my soul out of prison. The just wait for me till thou reward me,” he ended his holy life. This took place in the year of our Lord 1226. Long before while bitterly weeping over his sins, he had received the divine assurance that they were forgiven. In the same manner, it had also been revealed to him that he would go to heaven. Although this gave him great consolation, he did not mitigate the severity of his penances, nor cease to repent of his sins, as he said: ” If I had only once committed a small sin, I would think it sufficient cause for weeping as long as I live.” Many books have been written about the life of this Saint and to relate the many and great miracles which he wrought both whilst he lived on earth and, after his death, by his intercession in heaven. 

Francis had acquired land and set up a hermitage on Mount Verna. While praying there during a forty day fast in preparation for Michaelmas, he had a vision on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross 1224, where he received the stigmata or the five wounds of Christ.

Suffering from the wounds as well as from an eye disease, for which he received treatment but to no avail, he returned to the Portiuncula where he spent the last days of his life and died on the evening of 3 October 1226, singing Psalm 141. One legend says that on his death bed Francis thanked his donkey for carrying and helping him throughout his life, and that his donkey wept.

In 1228 Francis was pronounced a saint by Pope Gregory IX, who as Cardinal Ugolino di Conti had been his friend and protector of the order.

SAINT FRANCIS From “The Little Flowers of St. Francis of Assisi,” 1476

At the time when St Francis was living in the city of Gubbio, a large wolf appeared in the neighbourhood, so terrible and so fierce, that he not only devoured other animals, but made a prey of men also; and since he often approached the town, all the people were in great alarm, and used to go about armed, as if going to battle. Notwithstanding these precautions, if any of the inhabitants ever met him alone, he was sure to be devoured, as all defence was useless: and, through fear of the wolf, they dared not go beyond the city walls.

St Francis, feeling great compassion for the people of Gubbio, resolved to go and meet the wolf, though all advised him not to do so. Making the sign of the holy cross, and putting all his confidence in God, he went forth from the city, taking his brethren with him; but these fearing to go any further, St Francis bent his steps alone toward the spot where the wolf was known to be, while many people followed at a distance, and witnessed the miracle.

The wolf, seeing all this multitude, ran towards St Francis with his jaws wide open. As he approached, the saint, making the sign of the cross, cried out: “Come hither, brother wolf; I command thee, in the name of Christ, neither to harm me nor anybody else.”

Marvellous to tell, no sooner had St Francis made the sign of the cross, than the terrible wolf, closing his jaws, stopped running, and coming up to St Francis, lay down at his feet as meekly as a lamb. And the saint thus addressed him: “Brother wolf, thou hast done much evil in this land, destroying and killing the creatures of God without his permission; yea, not animals only hast thou destroyed, but thou hast even dared to devour men, made after the image of God; for which thing thou art worthy of being hanged like a robber and a murderer. All men cry out against thee, the dogs pursue thee, and all the inhabitants of this city are thy enemies; but I will make peace between them and thee, O brother wolf, is so be thou no more offend them, and they shall forgive thee all thy past offences, and neither men nor dogs shall pursue thee any more.”

Having listened to these words, the wolf bowed his head, and, by the movements of his body, his tail, and his eyes, made signs that he agreed to what St Francis said. On this St Francis added: “As thou art willing to make this peace, I promise thee that thou shalt be fed every day by the inhabitants of this land so long as thou shalt live among them; thou shalt no longer suffer hunger, as it is hunger which has made thee do so much evil; but if I obtain all this for thee, thou must promise, on thy side, never again to attack any animal or any human being; dost thou make this promise?”

Then the wolf, bowing his head, made a sign that he consented.

Said St Francis again: “Brother wolf, wilt thou pledge thy faith that I may trust to this thy promise?” and putting out his hand he received the pledge of the wolf; for the latter lifted up his paw and placed it familiarly in the hand of St Francis, giving him thereby the only pledge which was in his power.

Then said St Francis, addressing him again: “Brother wolf, I command thee, in the name of Christ, to follow me immediately, without hesitation or doubting, that we may go together to ratify this peace which we have concluded in the name of God”; and the wolf, obeying him, walked by his side as meekly as a lamb, to the great astonishment of all the people.

Now, the news of this most wonderful miracle spreading quickly through the town, all the inhabitants, both men and women, small and great, young and old, flocked to the market-place to see St Francis and the wolf. All the people being assembled, the saint got up to preach, saying, amongst other things, how for our sins God permits such calamities, and how much greater and more dangerous are the flames of hell, which last for ever, than the rage of a wolf, which can kill the body only; and how much we ought to dread the jaws of hell, if the jaws of so small an animal as a wolf can make a whole city tremble through fear.

The sermon being ended, St Francis added these words: “Listen my brethren: the wolf who is here before you has promised and pledged his faith that he consents to make peace with you all, and no more to offend you in aught, and you must promise to give him each day his necessary food; to which, if you consent, I promise in his name that he will most faithfully observe the compact.”

Then all the people promised with one voice to feed the wolf to the end of his days; and St Francis, addressing the latter, said again: “And thou, brother wolf, dost thou promise to keep the compact, and never again to offend either man or beast, or any other creature?” And the wolf knelt down, bowing his head, and, by the motions of his tail and of his ears, endeavoured to show that he was willing, so far s was in his power, to hold to the compact.

Then St Francis continued: “Brother wolf, as thou gavest me a pledge of this thy promise when we were outside the town, so now I will that thou renew it in the sight of all this people, and assure me that I have done well to promise in thy name”; and the wolf lifting up his paw placed it in the hand of St Francis.

Now this event caused great joy in all the people, and a great devotion towards St Francis, both because of the novelty of the miracle, and because of the peace which had been concluded with the wolf; and they lifted up their voices to heaven, praising and blessing God, who had sent them St Francis, through whose merits they had been delivered from such a savage beast.

The wolf lived two years at Gubbio; he went familiarly from door to door without harming anyone, and all the people received him courteously, feeding him with great pleasure, and no dog barked at him as he went about.

At last, after two years, he died of old age, and the people of Gubbio mourned his loss greatly; for when they saw him going about so gently amongst them all, he reminded them of the virtue and sanctity of St Francis. 

[hamelin-born]

Throw Me To The Wolves Inspired

@secret-engima I blame you for this ficbit/worldbuild lore. I kept wondering about stories, and a comment that I tossed out in a world build about how Galahd’s motto might as well be ‘We Remember’ in this ‘verse and I - I wondered about the stories that are told. 

tagging @sparklecryptid @ertrunkenerwassergeist @starsilvereld @theotherguysride and @charlottedabookworm @aniseandspearmint

Harken and attend, children of Galahd, blood of the Storm. Listen, for I tell you a tale that my parent told me, and their parent told them in turn, all the way back to the beginning of the story. I tell you the tale as it was told to me, and as you will tell it in turn. 

I tell you this tale, for it is true. 

Remember. 

Once, many years ago, after shining Solheim had fallen and before the rise of steel-bright Lucis, there were two brothers. There was an elder, gentle as the dusk, and there was a younger, fierce as the dawn. They were the descendants of a mother who had taken the scattered tribes of a nameless land and the remnants of dwindling Solheim and united them under a single banner, and the mother had named the banner Lucis. Lucis, for light, Lucis, for the rise of a new dawn, and Lucis for her name - which was Lucis Caelum, the House of Heavenly Light, and so had their family been called ever since. 

Yet into this land had come a shadow, and the shadow was the Scourge of the Stars, for none could stand before it. Men, women, the young, the old - all fell before its touch, and deamons sprang from its shadows to search out those who had never felt the touch of the disease. Walls could not keep it out, nor could swords defeat it, and the people suffered and wept and died. 

And called to the gods to save them. 

The people called upon the Infernian, lost Ifrit, who had been patron of hearth and home. They cried for the Archaean, steadfast Titan. They begged a boon of the Hydrean, fierce Leviathan. They sang to the Fulgarian, swift Ramuh.  They wept for the Glacian, cold Shiva. 

And the people were desperate, and in their desperation, and they called upon the patron of the House of Heavenly Light. They called to the War-God, the Draconian, whose name I will not utter here. And the Lord of War, the Three-Sided Blade, heard them. 

Children, it is a terrible, terrible thing for the gods to turn their eyes upon you. But the people were desperate. 

And the gods, led by He Whose Name Is Unspoken, came to a woman. Came to a mortal, whose family were drawn from the Land of the Shadows, balanced between the light and dark. And the gods made of this woman their messenger, who would carry their words to the ends of Eos - and this woman was the first Oracle. 

Her name was Aera. Remember. 

Now. Of the two brothers of the House of Heavenly Light, the eldest’s name was Ardyn, and the younger was Somnus. The eldest, as I have said, was gentle as the dusk, which wipes mortal cares away and brings with it the promise of rest. The youngest, as I have also said, was fierce as the dawn, which strikes away the night and forces the eye to attend. 

And to these brothers Aera-the-Oracle brought the words of the gods. 

And the gods had decreed this: that of these two brothers one would be known as the King of Light, and the ending of the Scourge would come from their house. 

Ardyn heard the words of the gods and was glad, for he loved his people as the shadows love the sun, and his heart was heavy for their suffering. And in his blood flowed the magic of the Crystal Kings, the magic that was a gift in the long-since-lost from the War God himself, and from lost Solheim. And Ardyn was a healer, and he took a healer’s staff in hand and donned the white robes of a physical to scour the land and draw forth the Scourge from each and every victim. And with him walked Aera-the-Oracle, who guided his hands and spoke to him of secret confidences which are not for us to know, but are of the tender secrets that pass between lovers. 

Somnus heard the words of the gods and was glad, for he loved his land as the sword loves the light of the sun at noon, as the hammer loves the nail. And in his blood flowed the magic of the Crystal Kings, the magic that was a gift in the long-since-lost from the War God himself, and from lost Solheim. And Somnus was a warrior, and took a sunbright sword in hand and donned the armor of battle to scour the land and them clean of the Scourge. And his hands were guided by the draconian, and by the voices of those who did not rise in dissent as he quarantined the infected and put them to the torch. 

And the two brothers were as the moon in its pattern of light and shadow. For Ardyn waned as his task continued with every strand of Scourge he drew from another’s flesh, caging the disease in a prison of his own skin and bone. And he waned, waned as the sickness of a hundred, of a thousand, of ten thousand sank into him, until the sun hurt his eyes and his blood ran black - but he bore it cheerfully, smiling through the pain, for he loved his people and he loved his gods. And Somnus waxed, waxed as he put men to the torch and led the bright armies of the land of Lucis into battle against the sickness that had threatened to devour him, and he smiled as the infected screamed for mercy and his men cheered his ruthlessness. 

And ten years after the gods had set before them this task, Somnus came to Aera-the-Oracle, and asked of her: Whom shall the gods choose, to be King of Light? And Aera-the-Oracle answered him, that it should be Ardyn the Healer, whom the people loved. 

And Somnus Lucis Caelum was wroth, and in his heart dwelled thoughts of deep, deep shadow. 

And a certain day came, when the brothers were to be presented before the Crystal that was the Heirloom of their House. And on that day, the King of Light was to be announced, and Lucis would bow before him and rejoice in the choice of the Gods. 

And on that day, fierce Somnus cried out to one and all that he was the King of Light, beloved of the Gods, the chosen King - that from him would come the ending of the scourge - through fire and blood and steel. And warlike Somnus cried further that the gathering of the brothers was a trap laid for his footsteps. 

And Somnus took his spear in hand, and impaled his brother so that the blood rushed through him. And Ardyn fell to his knees as the dark blood rushed from him, as the brother of his blood raised his sword for the killing blow. 

Listen, child, and remember. 

Aera-the-Oracle gave way to Aera-the-Woman, and Aera-the-Woman threw herself between Somnus the Untrue and the man she loved. And he did not stay his hand, but the bright blade fell and drank deep of her blood. 

And Ardyn, Ardyn the Gentle, Ardyn the Healer, watched as the woman he was to marry fell before him. And in him the voices of a thousand screaming deamons rose, and he wept tears of dark scourge as wrath rose in him like a hungry tide and he threw himself at his brother, screaming. 

And brother fought brother that day. The younger with bright steel and the blood of his kin upon his blade, the eldest with rage and grief and the Scourge of the Stars that lurked in his blood. And when Ardyn, Ardyn who loved the gods turned to the Crystal for its Judgement, the War-God who lurks in its shadow turned upon him - for his blood was rife with the Scourge, and the War-God would have no truck in one such as he. 

No matter that Ardyn had set forth at his bidding to cleanse the land of the Scourge. No matter that he had, personally, saved thousands through sacrifice upon sacrifice, by drawing the Scourge from their own veins and trapping it in his own. No, the war-god rejected him, and Somnus cried in victory - And Somnus cried out further that his brother, his eldest brother, was his brother no more but a deamon in truth - for did not his blood burn black as night? Did not weakness dodge his steps? 

And Somnus struck down his brother there, before the Crystal that was the heirloom of their house. And Somnus, Somnus Kinslayer, Somnus Kingkiller, felt no regret as he claimed the crown of swordbright Lucis. 

Yet, as the gods told him, and as Somnus learned, to his shock and wrath and disgust, his brother would rise again each time he was struck down. For such was the power of the Scourge within him that it would not allow him passage to the Beyond. Child, it would not let him die. And so the King of the Gods declared Gentle Ardyn, Ardyn the Healer, outcast and accursed, to be imprisoned for all time on barren Angelgard - until the Chosen King should slay him, and in so doing slay the Scourge. 

And Somnus the Betrayer, Somnus the Deceiver, Somnus Kinslayer and Kingkiller, joyfully did as the gods bade him. 

But the story does not end here.

Because before Ardyn the Healer joined his heart to that of his beloved, Aera-the-woman, in promises of love and of a marriage that would never be, he was a man. With a man’s hungers and a man’s follies, and a man’s simple desires. And of those desires came Vitae, the child of his blood - the child of whom Ardyn had no knowledge. 

Vitae was a child of the House of Lucis Caelum, and by all rights such a child should have been presented before the House to receive training in the magic that flowed through the blood, the magic that can kill the unwary wielder. Yet the affection of Vitae’s mother had kept them close and kept them secret, for even in those days Kings were not kindly disposed to bastards. And when Somnus the murderer, Somnus the Kinslayer, struck down Ardyn the Healer, they were glad of their silence. 

Because the Somnus, and through him, the War-God, declared that the gifts of his brother, the gifts of magic other then that of swords and the terrible power of the battlefield, was anathema. He would not allow it to persist, save in the line of the Oracle, and all others who could heal with a touch and ease the bright bloom of pain in another were to be put to the sword. To his own children, his own descendants, did he bind this, calling it a duty to rid the line of accursed children. 

And Vitae, the child of Ardyn’s blood, knew what fate would await them should their Uncle-by-blood learn of their existence. 

Yet Aera-the-woman had some kin remaining in this world, and for the love their had borne her and the love she had borne Ardyn did they seek out the child of Ardyn’s blood and bid them to flee. Flee, to the end of the world and beyond, flee as the hounds and the hunters dodged their steps - run, they bade Vitae, run and fight another day if you must, but run and LIVE, child. And Vitae, Vitae who was no older then you, children - Vitae ran, even as the blood of the Oracle did all in their power to obscure their track. 

Vitae ran, as the House of Heavenly Light proclaimed them abomination. Vitae ran, as the solders of Lucis closed in on the trail. Vitae ran, with the echoing words ringing in their head - run, and remember, and live. Vitae ran, ran through mountains and across plains, ran from the living and from the dead, from the sun and from the shadow. 

And always, Vitae remembered. 

Until at last, one day, Vitae came to the sea-shore. And there was a boat, and there was a storm rising upon the waters. 

And Vitae heard the hunters behind them.

And so Vitae threw themself into the boat, and cast themself upon the waters. And laughed, even in their fear, to see the sea unshackled before them, to feel the Storm close down about them - laughed for the glory of it, for the thrill, for the beauty in sea and storm. 

And the waves unspooled before them, and the storm-winds drove them forward, until they landed on an island. An Island for which Lucis had no name as of yet - but an Island that was one of three, and island named by those who lived there and loved fiercely. 

And the island’s name was Galahd, and the tribes opened their arms and their hearts to Vitae. And Vitae walked the Storm, and wove beads into their hair, and  in time grew to become a mighty chief. 

And the Storm and the Sea named Vitae Ulric, the Wolf-Lord, for many deeds great and small alike. And that is the beginning of Clan Ulric. 

And to their children, Vitae told the story of Ardyn and Somnus Kingkiller, and asked of them this: that they remember.

And over time, as the members of Clan Ulric married and intermingled with other clans, so too has the blood of Ardyn, Ardyn the Gentle, Ardyn the Healer mixed and mingled until it is the blood of Galahd. Until magic is our inheritance - one we keep hidden from the rest of the world. For we still remember Vitae, and the Hunters who dodged their heels, and the great oath of Somnus Kinslayer. 

Somnus Childkiller. 

For once in a handful of generations will a child be born to the house of Heavenly Light, a child whose magic is not of war and the battlefield. An infant who, by the law, must be taken to a certain place in the wilderness and left there alone - for if the parents of the child slew it outright, they would be called minelayers. But if an infant is left tot he mercy of the wild and dies of exposure, of hunger and thirst and animals, why then, their hands are clean of such blood.

But the Clans of Galahd remember, and keep watch upon this place. And when a child is left there to suffer and die, the child is named Ulric, and their family bears them home, home to Galahd, where they are loved and taught and told this: remember.

So Galahd remembers. 

We remember Ardyn the Healer, Ardyn the Gentle, Ardyn the Betrayed. We remember Somnus Kinslayer, Somnus Childkiller, Somnus Betrayer. We remember Vitae Ulric, and we remember the hunters. 

Will you remember?

[frischkasekuchen]

Carrie Au(Death of Margaret White)

Part 1

Part 2

Credits:

Verse provided by the Good News Bible

Hetalia- Hidekaz Himaruya

Dreamtalia, its characters that were used and Nevo- Kyokyo866

Vanya(Mentioned)- thriftlita

Carrie- Stephen King

Warning:

Religious abuse/themes/trauma

Child abuse

Blood

Beheading/Decapitation

Knives

Minor swearing

Self-Loathing

Starring:

World(Nicholas) and Reve as Carrie White

Nevo’ nik(Nathan) as Margaret White

The girl hurried back at once to the king and demanded, “I want you to give me here and now the head of John the Baptist on a plate!”  

This made the king very sad, but he could not refuse her because of the vows he had made in front of all his guests. So he sent off a guard at once with the orders to bring John’s head. The guard left, went to the prison, and cut off John’s head; then he brought it on a plate and gave it to the girl, who gave it to her mother. When John’s disciples heard about this, they came and got his body, and buried it.

(Mark 6, 25:29)

Reve and Nicholas finally arrived in his quaint neighborhood, the only place free of the stink of smoke. The two trekked down the sidewalk together in silence once more. The blood covering them had begun to go cold, making them shiver.

From what Nicholas could see his father was still awake. Flickering light was pouring out of the house, and everything got warmer the closer they got.

When they entered the house, it was almost covered head to toe in lit candles. Nicholas had Reve hoist his skirt up as not to light it afire. 

Nicholas led Reve into the bathroom and began to run some hot water. He then turned to Reve, who was quietly sniffling while clenching balls of the dress’ bloodied fabric. Nicholas patted Reve’s shoulder to get his attention. Reve’s head perked up, it was hard to see, but he was crying.

“Hey, could you sit down for me?” Nicholas asked.

Reve obediently slumped to the floor, twiddling his thumbs. Nicholas joined him on the floor and an arm around him. He began to sing:

 My soul longs after you

As the deer panteth for the water

You alone are my hearts desire

And I long to worship thee, 

Reve gradually began to sing along, albeit softly.

You alone are my strength

My shield,

For you alone does my spirit-

Nicholas stopped singing abruptly as Reve sang along.

Reve asked, “Is something wrong?”

“I should be asking you that!” Nicholas replied.

“Whaddya mean?”

“You’ve been quiet since- you know! I know this might be a stupid question; but are you okay?” Nicholas asked hesitantly.

Reve twitched, “I’ve turned us into monsters! I killed Ludwig and-and you killed a lotta people! If I hadn’t brought you up onstage- maybe I could’ve saved lives.” 

Nicholas cringed and stared at the reflective wall, he wasn’t wrong. He looked at his reflection, dyed in blood to the point it looked like red skin, like a demon.

“I can’t go back home! The police will come after us- we’re gonna go to prison!” Reve nails began to grow out once more as his breathing quickened. 

Nicholas had to remedy this situation and swiftly, lest his father make a fuss. Nicholas cradled  Reve’s head in his hands and pushed him to his chest, letting him listen to the sound of his heartbeat. Nicholas gently ran his fingers through Reve’s bloody and tangled hair. 

Reve’s breathing seemed to slow down gradually by the sound of Nicholas’ heartbeat. Even now, at eighteen years old, something as simple as a heartbeat soothed him. Reve being childlike and carefree was something Nicholas always liked about him. Yes, the boy was well aware of vulgar subjects but was surprisingly innocent. 

When they first met, Nicholas swore he was an angel. The unwarranted kindness, porcelain skin and white hair- Nicholas thought Luciano had finally killed him that day. From that point on both the boy and his father called Reve a heaven-spawn.

“Nicky?”

“Yes?”

“The bath’s overflowing.”

“Fuck-”

--------

Nicholas sent Reve upstairs to get a nightgown after they’d cleaned up. Unlike Reve, Nicholas always had a change of clothes in the bathroom. Nicholas let out a sigh of relief as Reve seemed to be finally calming down. All he had to do now was replenish himself. 

When Reve dressed himself, he gave himself a good look in the mirror. Clean, but still a murderer.

‘I’m not a monster.’

‘You didn’t have to kill him- y’know. He asked you out, offered you dinner, gave you a kiss- and this is how you repay him?’

‘I’m not a monster.’

‘You have no self-control.’

‘I’m not a monster.’

‘He had a family, people who’ll miss him and you killed him.’

Reve began crying again, holding himself up on the dresser and watched as his tears fell onto the dresser. 

‘You absolute turd, Luciano was right and you know it.’

Reve gasped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see it was Nicholas’ father.

“Why are you crying dear boy? Had your heart broken?” Nathan asked, rubbing Reve’s shoulder.

‘No you didn’t. You fucking killed him you shit stain-’

Reve nodded wordlessly.

Without even offering, Nathan embraced Reve. “Don’t worry about it, happens to the best of us.”

Reve didn’t like Nathan, not one bit, but he needed someone- anyone to hold him. Reve hugged him back and muffled his sobs into his chest. 

He sat down Reve on the bed and said, “I have to go downstairs for something all right? Then you can tell me what happened.”

Nathan left Reve alone in Nicholas’ bedroom, he knew what he had to do.

--------

Nicholas was helping himself to some strips of bacon in the kitchen. He heard footsteps coming down the stairs. 

Nicholas peeked outside the doorway to see Nathan, with an arm up his sleeve.

Nicholas shot him daggers, “What do you want?”

“My sweet boy, my own flesh and blood. I should’ve killed you earlier.” Nathan purred, approaching Nicholas.

Nicholas backed away in both paranoia and confusion, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I was weak, and let the raven loose on the world. I let you loose on the world.” Nathan pulled out a dry and crumpled wash cloth from under his sleeve.

“I thought my teachings would fix you. But you let the blood in that demon’s eyes lure you away from the light with its scent, you dog.” he growled.

“We’ve been over this! Vanya isn’t a demon, he’s an angel if anything!” Nicholas barked back. 

“YOU’RE THE DEMON, YOU’RE THE DOG!”

Nathan cackled, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a knife.

‘Mama’s butcher knife-’ Nicholas thought to himself, before pinning Nathan to a wall from afar.

“Let me go Nicholas, this is the only way He can save you!” he cooed.

Nicholas dropped Nathan as he lost focus in fear, his knees unfortunately gave in as well. The exhaustion had finally caught up to him. No matter the situation, even with these powers, his father always struck fear into him- he always had control.

“REVE- REVE HELP!” Nicholas screamed as Nathan was getting much closer to him by the second.

Nathan soon had Nicholas backed up against the stove, trapping him in a corner. Luckily the cavalry had arrived, and knocked Nathan over. Nathan dropped the cleaver in the scuffle.

“BOY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Nathan said he squirmed under Reve’s weight.

Reve pulled Nathan up to his feet, only to grab him by his hair and slam him against a nearby cupboard. 

They both pulled and clawed at each other’s hair, slamming each other into walls. Reve took the initiative not to kill Nathan, just to lock him away. Reve let out a inhuman screech once more when Nathan nearly tore his hair from his scalp. Nathan had to cover his ears, forcing himself to let go of Reve. 

Reve grabbed a nearby broom and tripped Nathan over causing him to fall on his stomach. As Nathan tried to stand up, Reve picked him up by his ankles and began dragging him. 

“LET ME GO!” he screeched hoarsely.

Reve surveyed the house for a place to isolate Nathan, and a certain room caught his eye.

‘The prayer closet!’ Reve thought to himself as he struggled with Nathan’s legs trying to kick him. Reve reluctantly released one of Nathan’s ankles to open the door. As Reve opened it, Nathan tackled Reve and accidentally closed the door behind them.

Nicholas picked up the cleaver before going to investigate. He held out the knife, so if Nathan jumped out at him he’d be injured. 

Nicholas stood in front of the confessional’s door as he heard something fall and thud against the door. The boy cautiously opened the door and felt something warm at his feet. 

He peered to see it was a head, Nathan’s bleeding head. 

Nicholas looked back up to see his father’s headless carcass, slouched on top of Reve’s body.

Reve was sobbing, wheezing:

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”  

(Author’s Note: The thing Nevo is talking about-the blood eye thing? I decided keeping Vanya’s eyes red and having Nevo deem him a demon to further demonstrate Margaret’s worldview. While keeping Reve’s white hair and have World and Nevo assume he’s an angel. A lot of Nevo’s dialogue is based on Margaret’s strange and twisted version of Christianity/the Bible; with calling men dogs lured in by the scent of blood(period), saying Eve was weak and let the raven(sin) loose on the world. But in this case, Adam(Nevo) was weak and let the raven(World) loose on the world(The Prom). Also the reason why I made both Nevo and World the White household is due to their God-complexes. The use of growling and barking is based on Margaret's belief that men are dogs.)

[saiyanblood2]

Songs for some darkest timeline stuff, re: Vegeta IV, Tarble, and Future Trunks:

-Tarble never getting sent to Planet Tech-Tech and having to stay in the Freeza Force after Planet Vegeta gets destroyed:

1. "Peacemaker", from The Mechanisms' album High Noon Over Camelot.

With Vegeta IV as Gawain and Tarble as Mordred.

"GAWAIN:

Oh, Peacemaker, where you gonna run to?

Oh, Peacemaker, are these your friends?

Oh, Peacemaker, what'cha gonna do now?

Is this your end?

Oh, Peacemaker, nowhere left to hide now.

Oh, Peacemaker, you have failed.

Oh, Peacemaker, draw your gun now.

And end your tale.

MORDRED:

No path past hatred’s stain

I see that hope for unity made me a fool

Corpses leer 'round Gawain

Tell me dear brother is this how you’ll rule?

Narrator:

'And so Mordred fought, seeing in each slain Saxon the face of she who saved him. And as his cheeks grew warm with tears and blood, so too his heart grew cold.'

MORDRED:

Oh Warmonger, is this what you wanted?

Oh Warmonger, is this all you know?

Oh Warmonger, is your world so empty?

Just friend or foe?

Oh, Warmonger, see ’em flee before you.

Oh, Warmonger, watch them fall.

Oh, Warmonger, their flowing blood implores you

To heed its call."

-For if Future Vegeta got revived after Future Trunks deals with the androids and Future Cell, and Vegeta going all Majin when Babidi shows up and Future Trunks (and maybe Future Tarble, if he's alive) having to fight him. Or, in the worst case scenario, kill him:

1. "Once and Future King", from The Mechanisms' album High Noon Over Camelot.

[Narrator singing:]

"A broken man lies in the rust that's stained his whole life through

The blood that pools beneath him doesn't change the metal's hue

Like rainfall long forgotten, Mordred's tears in his wounds do sting

To Arthur in his arms he sings, 'You're the Once and Future King'

[...]

[Note: Mordred's parts in purple and parentheses, overlapping with the Narrator.]

A kiss upon his forehead binds, at last,

His son's goodbye (We could saved them all, yet you could not see)

Just one more shot will send him out into the

Endless sky (Now you'll always be the Once and Future King)

Here at the end of history,

As the final high noon rings (The key

Was in our hands, yet you could not see)

Mordred sits and waits without the Once and Future King (Now you'll always be the Once and Future King)"

With, obviously, Future Vegeta as Arthur, the Once and Future King, and Future Trunks as Mordred.

(If Future Tarble is alive in this timeline, then Mordred's parts could fit him, too. He wouldn't want his nephew to have to kill his own father, no matter how much of a selfish bastard Vegeta is. He especially wouldn't want Future Trunks getting hurt.

Gods, if anything cemented Future Tarble's resolve to kill his own brother, it'd be Future Vegeta hurting Future Trunks. Tarble loves that boy like his own. He wouldn't want anything to happen to him. Especially not... this...)

This is also the kinda general mood of my main timeline when Vegeta goes all Majin at the World Martial Arts Tournament, too.

-For Future Tarble and Future Trunks. Mostly if Future Tarble died to the androids and never got to really see his nephew grow up. And for if Future Tarble was then brought back after Future Trunks defeated the androids and Future Cell. He'd feel so guilty for not being able to be there for his nephew. For being too weak.

This especially works for a Future Tarble that a) was closer to my main timeline, where he was involved in the plot pretty much since the Saiyan Saga, b) survived past the androids arriving (probably by fleeing, so he can be there to help raise his nephew and take care of Future Gohan) and rampaging around and c) couldn't save Future Gohan from being killed by the androids. (And also possibly losing an arm.)

Especially if he was there when Future Trunks found the body. Especially if Future Tarble found the body with him. He'd hold the boy while Future Trunks cried and screamed to the heavens as the boy went Super Saiyan for the first time.

This also kinda fits my main timeline's Tarble, too, especially by the Goku Black arc in Super.

1. "II B: Unrest in the House of Light" by The Protomen, from their album, The Protomen (2005).

Most of it fits Tarble's feelings of frustration and guilt and regret at not being strong enough to protect his family, but it'd ESPECIALLY fit Future Tarble in the verse where Future Gohan died.

Tarble's protective of kids, and I think he'd feel a special kinship with Gohan because Gohan is so peaceful by nature, despite Gohan's latent skills as a fighter. And Tarble would get that, because he's like that too. He doesn't like fighting and hurting people, but he'll do it if its to protect innocent people and his family.

Tarble looked after Gohan from the Saiyan Saga onward, especially on Namek. He basically looked at the kid and was just like, "Is anybody gonna parent that?" and then didn't wait for a response.

In the verses were Freeza killed him and Vegeta with that Death Beam to the heart (Tarble hurled himself in front of his brother to try and stop the beam, or to at least slow it down, but it didn't work), Tarble would spend his last moments turning to Gohan, smiling through the blood bubbling out of his mouth, and trying to telepathicly tell the kid that everything was going to be okay.

He wanted the kid to remember him smiling.

He'd spend his time fighting the androids with Future Gohan and helping Future Gohan train Future Trunks. They'd be like family to him, I think. So when Future Gohan died...

"There was another who came before you

He was a hero, and your brother and my son

He fought the darkness, the darkness won

And he fought bravely, and he died bravely

[...]

And I am sorry, because I was wrong

And I'd take away the weight his shoulders had to bear

[...]

That story's finished. That story's ended

Understand there's nothing more that we can do

And I will not risk losing you

[...]

"So you will stay here. You will obey me

And I will keep grieving for the son I sent to death

You are all that I have left

You need to know

You are not him

This fight's not yours

You cannot win!"

I think the main thing that would keep Tarble's faith in humanity alive would be Bulma. Like, he likes humans well enough, too, even if he still feels out of place with them sometimes, but mostly it's his sister-in-law that inspires him. He sees the best of humanity in her- and in Gohan and Trunks.

-You could tweak pretty much all of The Protomen songs that deal with Dr. Light, Dr. Wily, Protoman, and Megaman to fit Future Trunks.

1. "IV: Vengeance" by The Protomen, from their album, The Protomen (2005), could also fit Future Trunks especially well, especially with regards to his feelings towards the androids and Cell.

"Send your armies

There's no man or machine

Who can stop me

And you'll soon see

I come for vengeance

For the first Son of Light

And I'm ready, and I'm willing, and I'm prepared to fight"

Tarble's precious baby nephew has some anger/vengeance issues.

Honestly? So does Tarble.

[charlemange1]

Ask of the Lesser (Frankenstein/Lovecraft Works): 1 Paradise Lost

“I say to you againe, doe not call up Any that you can not put downe; by the Which I meane, Any that can in Turne call up somewhat against you, whereby your Powerfullest Devices may not be of use. Ask of the Lesser, lest the Greater shall not wish to Answer, and shall commande more than you.”

—The Case of Charles Dexter Ward

“…did I solicit thee

From darkness to promote me?”

—Paradise Lost

Some folks are born destined for greatness. Others live content in ignorant mediocrity, never knowing what could have been. Then there is me. Born into wealth, but barred from inheritance. Raised to be great, but crippled from illness. Dinning amidst kings and counselors, yet ever aware of that unseen barrier separating me from them. Was that not my first memory? My brother halfway out the door, glancing back to remind me I was too little to follow. Too weak. Left behind while he set out to make a name for himself. A name that has haunted me long after fleeing Geneva.

“But I am alive,” I whispered. Whether it was to my drink or the cockroach circling its rim, I could not say. Usually I could handle the memories, but tonight was the four-year anniversary of my brother’s death, and by God I longed to forget amidst this shabby tavern.

Taking another swig, I half listened to the men behind my lonely table clank mugs and bet on who was the lowest on Fortuna’s wheel. Their strange accents branded them fellow refugees.

“The revolutionaries ransacked the whole farm!”    

“Well, the bloody peasants welcomed Napoleon in my city! I had to flee with only the clothes on my back. You know how the French handled their own revolution. Can you top that, mates?”

My heart ached for these poor souls. Seeking connection through tragedy, I tipped my chair back to face them.

“Illness struck my mama down when I was a boy,” I said.

“Did it?” The grit on the central speaker’s face cracked beneath a mocking smile.

“Yes, and our trusted family maid strangled my little brother. Shortly afterwards a good friend was murdered abroad, and my dear cousin’s neck was snapped on her wedding night. The pain of it drove my papa to an early grave and my surviving brother insane. The servants thought our family cursed and fled, and I followed suit when the riots escalated.”

Silence fell over the already solemn tavern. A few men on the sidelines glanced up.

“I’ll be dammed,” someone called. “We can toast to that! To…”

“Ernest,” I raised my glass, holding back a cough. “Ernest Frankenstein.”

The tavern chanted my name with a bitterness only hardened refugees could master. Many of them had likely been noblemen or magistrates, all pointless titles once the fever of revolution had gripped the masses. The upper class had been blamed for every economic and social injustice, and in the fires of vengeance, not even my deceased parent’s philanthropy had saved the Frankenstein villa from rioters.

From the lakefront I had watched the flames devour my past, present, and foolishly assumed future dwelling. I would compare it to Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Paradise, but they at least had one another. What had I? A few hastily gathered heirlooms and happy memories trapped inside coffins? Wretched world! Paradise was lost to me the day Captain Walton presented my last family tie in a casket. He had found Victor half-frozen in the Arctic, chasing imagined monsters he blamed for the misfortune that plagued us. My poor, hysteric brother! I downed the rest of my drink, so much for burying bad memories. As I tried (and failed) to get that miserable captain from my mind, I pulled a few silver francs from my pocket. I would last three months, best. The only heirloom I had not bartered for bread was Victor’s pocket journal, and I doubted the ravings of a madman would fetch a high price. Taking my cane, I started toward the splintering door. A little girl dashed in front of me and I clutched the counter to steady myself. She pranced to the bartender and tugged on his pant leg with tiny hands. The patches on her dress were the same fabric as his pants—his daughter no doubt.

“My apologies,” the bartender bowed to me while shaking off the girl. “Turn away for an instant and the children wreak havoc!”

“You are fine,” I nodded. The girl held an empty bowl in her sooty fingers. William had been around her age when Elizabeth and I had first taken him to the lake to catch crawdads. The memory made me smile, and I dropped a few francs on the counter as I passed. “Feed your family.”

Two months now, but I would manage. A tall gentleman with arms crossed over his half-buttoned coat opened the door for me, and I thanked him before stepping onto the dirt road. The moonlight enveloped the surrounding forest in dancing silver. If I walked all night, I could arrive in the next town by morning, presuming my legs could carry me that far. The sooner Ingolstadt was behind me, the better.

A multitude of steps thundered after me. Biting my lip, I continued onward.

“Pardon me, Monsieur Frankenstein.”

There was venom in those words. I turned to face the group of three, recognizing the badly buttoned coat of the man in front who had held the door. I had not anticipated such a broken-down tavern housing learned readers. It seemed that in times of war even the mighty seek to forget the world.

“I presume you have read that captain’s so-called biography of my brother?” I interrupted the expected affirmative. “You should know that Victor was aliéné, completely insane.”

“Graverobbing will do that to a man,” Button Boy’s meaty fingers flexed. “As will lurking around God’s domain doing the devil’s work!”

The absence of people in the streets was not lost on me. Most people had wisely laughed Walton’s narrative off as a madman’s rambles, but others saw their deepest fears galvanized within Victor’s delusions. Thrusting their terrors of a quickly modernizing world onto who they saw as the ultimate embodiment of progression gone wrong. They had taken fiction for fact, and once they made the connection between him and I, well…

“Tell me, Ernest, are you aware of the concept of the hereditary taint?”

“Oh my, I just realized that I have important business elsewhere,” I backed away and thumped against solid muscle. Fingers gripped my boney shoulders as a hoarse voice whispered into my ear.

“It is the belief that characteristics are passed from parent to offspring.”

“Interesting. A fine theory to consider while being on my way…”

Button Boy took a bold step forward. “Characteristics like madness, for example, taint the entire family. It is only a matter of time before they all go the same way.”

Victor’s journal weighed heavy in my pocket.

“Good sirs, I fear you are mistaken,” I said, straining my neck to the man restricting me. “I have been an invalid since boyhood. These bones are incapable of mimicking my elder brother. If you hold that biography so dear, you would know that I had no say in his monster’s creation!”

“Perhaps.”

The tone was not reassuring.

“I am not my brother,” I jerked around but the hands easily held me. “Release me! Or I-”

Button Boy stuffed a rag between my teeth to stifle my pointless threats. What could I have said? That wounding me would have them tried by my high standing dead father and jailed by my dead country? You have nothing, Ernest. You are nothing now!

The exhaustion in my heart made my pitiful thrashing falter. My head fell against my attacker’s solid chest, soaking the shirt with sweat. If this was the climax to nineteen long years of suffering, why had I been born at all? What was your intent, Lord?

“This is for the good of humanity,” Button Boy leaned in close. Had William also stared into the eyes of his killer? What were his final thoughts as the maid he loved choked the life from his little body? Fingers gripped my throat and I gagged.

A shout came from somewhere, though my world had shrunk to those two murderous eyes. Out of the night, a fist punched Button Boy’s head with a force that broke his grip. I gurgled a choked gasp and collapsed on the road as the man behind me fled toward the trees. Light and dark wrestled for my vision as shouts and sounds of flesh on flesh erupted nearby. A new man whose blond curls drooped from wet sweat wrestled with Button Boy. Though Button Boy boasted a greater strength, his slim opponent easily dodged his fists and hit back with the skill of a man well-versed in human anatomy. Button Boy leaped up to strike the stranger’s face, but the taller man easily knocked his fist aside and punched his jaw with a force that sent him reeling. Button Boy clutched his mouth as he rushed off, dodging bottles the tavern hurled after him. The blond watched his escape with icy eyes before walking over to me.

“Is the boy injured?” the bartender called from the doorstep.

“Slightly stunned, but he will recover. I shall tend to him,” the stranger called back with enough confidence to convince the onlookers to file back inside the tavern. Better to avoid conflict than catch the eye of the wrong people.

“Can you walk, Monsieur?” the stranger asked with a poorly disguised American accent. He plucked my cane from the ground and handed it to me as I staggered to my feet.

“I am fine. Thank you, kind sir. Who knows what ditch I would be in now, had you not arrived,” I shuttered, extending my hand that he shook with the upmost class. A peculiar odor clung to him that I had never smelt before.

“Anything for a Frankenstein.”

Our hands dropped and I tried to cover a bad tear on my pants. “I take it you knew Papa, in better days.”

Better days. When my parents regularly welcomed renowned scholars to our villa. Justine had kept little William and I occupied while they discussed politics and theory. My throat burned from more than the aftertaste of cheap brandy. Justine. How could we have known what she was capable of?

“I never had the privilege to meet your father,” the stranger shuffled his shoe in the dirt. The moonlight reflected the fine quality of it. “Though Victor told me he was quite distinguished in your republic.”

My head lifted. “You knew my brother?”

“We shared several classes here at Ingolstadt,” the stranger explained. He looked to be in his late 20’s, what Victor would be now, had he lived. “Victor must have mentioned the name Joseph Curwen in passing? I was his chief competition.”

“I am afraid your name is new to me, Mr. Curwen,” I admitted. “From what I could gather, Victor would forget this place if he could. He guarded his secrets, I fear.”

“To a fault,” Curwen muttered. “It is a great shame. Your brother was a genius. Truly the Modern Prometheus of this age!”

“A fitting name,” I muttered. “Eagles feasting on your liver day after day would make even the greatest man go insane.”

“I heard he passed away, if this is to be believed.” Curwen pulled a book from his satchel. Even in the low light, I recognized Walton’s publication. “A great loss for humanity, to lose a mind as cultivated as his. It is quite the coincidence that I should meet you, Ernest, I was on my way to visit his grave and pay my deepest respects.”

Poor man! I owed him the truth, horrid though it was. “I am so sorry, Mr. Curwen, but Napoleon runs Geneva now. The Frankenstein tomb could be desecrated for all I know.”

“But not destroyed. It would be there in some form, correct?” Curwen’s voice fell to a whisper and I shuttered despite the warm breeze. “You would know your native land better than I. Could you take me to your brother?”

“Suicide,” I stumbled backward. Having just escaped death, I had no intent on testing my luck.

“I shall make it worth your while,” Curwen returned the book to his satchel and pulled out a piece of strange jewelry. It looked to be a tiara, though the patterns etched on its front held an unearthly splendor unlike any I had seen from Europe. The moonlight sent the golden coat sparkling, though the reflection suggested some foreign alloy.

“What metal is that?”

“One that will fetch a fine price,” Curwen winked and tossed me the tiara. I scrambled to catch it in time. “Us merchants have our secrets too.”

I tipped the headpiece back and forth, ever aware of the loose change rattling in my pocket.

“Please Ernest, merchantry may be my occupation, but respect for the dead is my duty,” Curwen gave a dramatic bow, perhaps an American attempt at being cordial? The habits of foreigners were largely unknown to me, when they visited our villa, Victor’s company was understandably preferred to mine. Yet hearing this stranger speak of my infamous brother so fondly was a gift in and of itself, and, I reminded myself, he had saved my life.

“I cannot promise you results, Mr. Curwen, but for the sake of my brother I will assist you as best I can.”

Curwen shook my hand again, how I missed such kind contact! “It would be much appreciated, Monsieur. We shall embark tomorrow. Until then, you must rest at my residence.”

“Really?” It was as though I were a human and not an assumed madman’s relative or corrupt aristocrat!

“For Victor’s brother, it is the least I can do,” Curwen turned from the tavern. “Come now, the university is nearby.”

“University?” my cane plunked in the dirt. “You cannot mean Ingolstadt University?”

“Where else?”

“But they closed earlier this year! From financial troubles, if I recall?”

“Which makes it the perfect abode to rest in peace,” Curwen chuckled, as though the last bit were humorous. “I assure you it is safe. The few remaining stragglers fled when the French invaded.”

Break in? Did this man consider me a criminal? Closing my eyes, I reminded myself that I was not much anymore, us invalids had to take what we could. Without Papa’s cushion of wealth, the sooner I accepted that reality the better.

“Alright, as long as no one will mind.”

**

Curwen and I made quick work of sneaking past the dark neighborhoods and French watchposts to the university’s outer gates. The night enveloped the massive buildings within to leave them warped pillars of shadow. I had kept away from this place for good reason. On this very campus those shadows had sprung and consumed my brother, spitting out the shaking husk that arrived home for William’s funeral. Curwen opened the unlocked gates effortlessly. There was no creaking, as though dark forces meant to fool us. The air weighed thick in my lungs.

“Come along, Ernest. Thankfully, I took the initiative to drag a few sofas into the library for my leisure. You may rest there.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. I stayed close to Curwen as he led me by torchlight inside one of the buildings and down several stone corridors that seemed to stretch forever. Finally, he stopped by a warped wooden door that opened to reveal shelves upon shelves of books lining the cobbled walls. Several piles of tossed volumes lay scattered from the hastily abandoned move.

Curwen chuckled as he stepped inside and began lighting the mounted torches.

“Does something humor you, Mr. Curwen?”

“I was thinking of your brother,” he said. “This library would close after dark, but Victor was never the type to grovel at authority. We would alternate between causing distractions so the other could sneak in and study! I presume he roped you into similar mischief, did he not?”

Curwen stopped by a cluttered desk and quickly placed several of the open books into his satchel. I seized the moment and blotted my runny nose with my coat-sleeve.

“No, I was Victor’s junior by seven years. I am afraid he never did much with me at all.” I could still see Victor’s sneer as he left for university so soon after Mama’s death. Free from his weak, invalid baby brother. “Did he mention me much?”

Curwen continued lighting torches with his back to me. “Victor kept his home and work life in private corridors. You likely noticed that in his letters!”

“He never wrote home,” my shoulders fell. “Not once.”

“Do not take it personally. Men of Victor’s caliber often find themselves so caught up in their work that the real-world slips by.”

“What sort of work?” I questioned, watching Curwen place another book in his satchel before buttoning it shut. “Mr. Curwen, surely you do not believe Walton’s lies?”

Curwen paused, choosing what to say. Victor had done that too. Shifting through information, pulling out the choice details.

“He worked in the sciences. Victor was a genius, as you know,” Curwen walked out the door with a nod. “Now rest, Ernest. We shall start for Geneva tomorrow.”

The door shut and I was left alone in the disorganized room. I picked up a badly bent copy of A Vindication on the Rights of Women and returned it to the shelf. Reading had never come easy to me like with Victor. I was still a child when my parents had abandoned their academic aspirations for me and left me to my own devices. A fine thing for a young boy, perhaps that was why I had found Victor’s insistence of making a scholar out of me so tiresome. He had appointed himself as my principal instructor, and not even Elizabeth’s sweet voice pointing out the obvious had swayed him…

“Ernest lacks the constitution for these theorems and formulas, cousin. He ought to strive for a more peaceful occupation, such as a farmer,” she said, almost pleading.

“Nonsense,” Victor muttered. He pushed another book in front of me, as though my confusion would be overpowered by his desire alone. “He is more than capable of being a lawyer, or a judge like Father. If he would just apply himself!”

“Victor,” her voice grew quiet. I still heard her. “You know his mind is incapable of severe application.”

“Well, I do not care for boring books,” I jumped up and Victor’s handwritten lessons scattered. “Or being a boring farmer! I will be a great soldier, fighting off vicious invaders and going on adventures!”

Victor and Elizabeth had shared a look. I did not understand at the time, but even back then they knew my limits. My weak frame could never survive the grueling life of a soldier. The trappings of my flesh outweighed my dream. I abandoned such fantasies soon enough. Probably for the best, there was no longer a Geneva to fight for anyways.

“But you are sleeping on silk tonight,” I lectured my inner demons while brushing dust from an old sofa. “And fate has been kind enough to gift you a companion! I am no longer alone, there is much to be thankful for tonight.”

Warmth spread through me as I sunk into the cushions. Curwen needed me, and as the torchlight shadows danced on the ceiling my thoughts left the past to focus on how I might aid the generous American in the future. My mind was at peace, though sleep eluded me as I slipped in and out of consciousness. It must have, for the shapes within those swaying shadows had no place in the waking world! A ball of sprawling tentacles flickered forward and back in some wicked séance while very human shapes danced around it to an unheard beat before crumbling to dust. Those horrible shadow tentacles licked up the dancers’ remains with an eagerness that paralyzed my limbs from silent terror. Then the tentacles leaked down the library walls to consume me just as the knowledge stored here had devoured Victor.

**

The next morning, a voice speaking in an unknown tongue shattered the nightmare. Curwen stood over me expectantly, speaking that same foreign language again with raised eyebrows.

“I take it you do not speak English?”

“No,” I yawned, rubbing my eyes to hide growing shame.

“I apologize, your brother was fluent—”

“I am not my brother,” I curled my trembling fingers around my cane. We could talk after leaving these cursed grounds behind! “But I can take you to him.”

NOTES:

Of all the characters in Frankenstein, few have been slighted as much as Ernest. He switches from sickly invalid farmer in the 1818 version to aspiring soldier in 1831, but despite losing just as much as Victor, he gets brushed to the sidelines by the end. The aftermath of the insignificant sole survivor of the Frankenstein house is just too good to not explore, and who better encapsulates the insignificance of us lonely humans more than the works of H. P. Lovecraft? Or amplifies it more than the disastrous French Revolution sweeping across Europe around the same time the events of Frankenstein take place? Considering Joseph Curwen spent nine years abroad in Europe studying dark arts, including necromancy and graverobbing, it didn’t seem like much of a stretch to write this crossover.

Scholars typically place the events of Frankenstein’s in the 1790’s, so for this adaptation I have Victor dying in 1798 and Ernest fleeing shortly after when the peasant riots in Geneva were escalating in want of reform. Since Curwen was stated to be killed in 1771, I have bumped up the events of Dexter Ward to overlap with the timeline of Frankenstein. This crossover serves as a prequal to Dexter Ward and sequel to Frankenstein, taking place in 1801, after Ingolstadt closed in the real world amidst financial troubles/French Revolution as well as near the tail end of Curwen’s nine years abroad in Europe, as stated in Dexter Ward.

Please comment and let me know what you think! ^^

[tyrantisterror]

TT Rambles: Building a Kaiju Cast

As far as I’m concerned, the kaiju renaissance is in full swing - not just because of movies like Godzilla: King of the Monsters and Pacific Rim, but because of all the original novels, webcomics, etc. that the kaiju fandom is publishing.  It’s beautiful to see all these new kaijuverses blossoming.

and I want to see more of them

It takes me back to that brief, shining period in the early 2000′s where there were DOZENS of thriving kaijuverses on Deviantart, all with weird and wonderful takes on giant monsters that oozed with style and creativity.  God that was a good time and 

I want to see more

So, as a person with a semi-successful kaiju-verse of my own, I’ve been thinking about how I could encourage people to make more kaiju beyond, like, just making my own and hoping it resonates and inspires people like the kaiju-verses that I see inspire me.  And then my teacher brain got to thinking - one of the best ways to help people create is to give them structure to build off of.  So that’s what I’m going to do.

Friends, enclosed here are some written instructions on how to build a fun and dynamic kaiju cast.  You don’t have to follow these rules to the letter, mind you, but if you don’t know where to start, this might help.

Step 1: Pick Your Flavor

There are more ways to make a kaiju story than you may realize, as the genre is deceptively diverse despite its obscurity.  However, for the sake of simplicity, I’m going to try to reduce it to two main categories:

Hero Monster(s) saves the world from evil monsters

OR

Hero humans attempt to save the world from evil monsters

This is a crucial fact to figure out before you make your kaiju cast, because the differences between these two variants will inform how you structure your monsters.  In the first approach, the monsters not only need personality and motivations, but character arcs, and benefit from being as distinct from each other as possible.  In the second, the monsters generally have to be a bit simpler and less, well, person-y, so we don’t feel as bad when they’re cut down by the heroes.  They also tend to be more uniform in appearance, origin, and personality, to make the division between humanity and monster more clear cut.  The first approach will generally result in a “humanity needs to be more open minded and compassionate to those we deem as other” sort of message, while the latter will generally show how humanity needs to pull together in the face of catastrophic threats.  On the surface these two story routes may seem very similar, but the differences between them are important ones.

Step 2: The Main Kaiju

In addition to OC kaijuverses, another big trend in the glory days of the DA kaiju fandom was revamping/redesigning the cast of the Godzilla franchise.  There were dozens of different takes on it, and a friend of mine noted a peculiar but important lesson that could be learned from each of them: if you looked at how each artist redesigned Godzilla himself, you could basically predict how the rest of the monsters would look.  This is because Godzilla is the crux of his universe - all the other monsters are designed to play off of him, and thus any change made to Godzilla will be reflected in the rest of the cast.

You can see this in other stories as well - Batman’s cast is built around his gothic horror/detective fiction roots, Spider-Man’s around his teen drama/sci-fi genre mashup, etc.  As a general rule, stories are tailored to their protagonist, and in kaiju fiction, the protagonist is generally one of the giant monsters.  Therefore, figuring out your main monster is important, as they will ultimately shape the entire story.

Now, when I say “protagonist,” I mean this in the “main/most prominent character” sense, rather than the “hero” sense.  Your main kaiju may be a bad guy - they may be the villain of the story, the face and root of its conflict.  Alternatively, they may live up the hero label in every sense of the word - one of the coolest things about the Kaiju genre is that it sports a LOT of heroes that are also non-human characters.

If you are going for the second variation of the kaiju genre - that is, the “Humans destroy evil monsters” story - your main kaiju still matters, even though it likely isn’t a prominent enough character to really qualify for protagonist status.  In shows like Evangelion and Ultraman, or movies like Pacific Rim, there are still essentially “main” kaiju - that is, kaiju who define the style and approach that monsters in the series will take.  Often they’re the first monster the heroes encounter - Knifehead from Pacific Rim, for example, establishes early on the aesthetic and rough personality of the giant monsters featured in the movie.  Other times they show up later in the story to make a big impact - Red King and Gomora in Ultraman both showcase the creativity of the show’s designs while having unique personalities and power sets that really leave an impact on the viewer.

When creating your main kaiju, consider the following questions:

- What if your monster’s main motivation?  Is it looking for something?  If so, what?  Is it seeking revenge?  If so, why?  Is it defending its territory?  Is it investigating civilization?  Is it searching for food?  Company?  The greatest kaiju characters have clear and defined motivations to bring them into the plot, just like all good characters do.  What is your monster’s drive?

- How tough is your monster?  Kaiju generally get into a lot of violent conflicts, so determining how much punishment your monster can both withstand and dole out is important.

- What are your monsters’ vulnerabilities?  This includes both physical weaknesses and psychological ones.  Are they weakened by the cold?  Incapable of flight?  Slow moving?  Quick to anger?  Stupid?

- What strengths/powers does your monster have?  Can it heal fast?  Is it smart?  Does it have unique weapons?  Is it creative?

- What quirks does your kaiju have?  Is it gluttonous?  Cocky?  Graceful?  Clumsy?  Does it beat its chest or dance in triumph?  Does it cackle maniacally while wreaking havoc?

- What is your monster’s relationship to humanity?  Does it hate humans?  View them as food?  Feel indifferent to them?  Is curious about them?  Cares for them?  How does humanity feel about it in turn?  Does this relationship change over the course of the story?

- What is your monster’s attitude towards other monsters?  Is it hostile towards them?  Friendly?  Indifferent?  Does its attitude vary depending on the monster?  Is its attitude mostly consistent with a few exceptions?  Does it have friends?  Enemies?

- How did your monster come to be?  Is it an atomic mutant?  A mythic beast?  A space alien?  A prehistoric creature from a forgotten age?  We’ll dive into the archetypes associated with these origins later, but keep the question in mind.

Part 3: Other Kaiju Roles

Once your main kaiju is figured out, you can start building the cast proper in reaction to it.  There are LOTS of ways you can do this, but I’m going to focus on a few common roles supporting kaiju have to play:

- The Arch Enemy: the King Ghidorah to your kaiju’s Godzilla, the Gyaos to its Gamera, the arch enemy is exactly what it sounds like: your main kaiju’s recurring nemesis, a big bastard of a monster that your main kaiju absolutely hates.  You don’t have to limit yourself to one of these, of course - most main kaiju in fiction have a LOT of enemies, since monster battles are one of the main draws of a kaiju story. At the same time, most kaiju stories also tend to have one kaiju that is more wicked than most, whose grudge with the main kaiju is more vicious than normal.  Creating an arch enemy for your main kaiju is a good way to give your story structure - every protagonist needs a primary antagonist to struggle against.

- The Guardian of the Earth: a lot of main kaiju tend to be anti-heroes, often starting off as enemies of mankind before slowly becoming protectors of the earth.  As a result, a lot of kaijuverses often include an explicitly good kaiju who exists in contrast to both the main kaiju AND the main kaiju’s enemies.  If the Arch Enemy kaiju is often what the main kaiju could become if they don’t change their ways, the Guardian of the Earth is what the main kaiju usually works towards being.  Or, in short: every Godzilla needs a Mothra to be the angel on their shoulder.

- The Damage Sponge: Sometimes there are kaiju who are famous not for their prodigious destructive power, but rather for their ability to endure ridiculous amounts of damage, even by kaiju standards.  The damage sponge normally isn’t the main kaiju, since the main kaiju’s job is to establish a baseline, while the damage sponge is defined by being more durable than other monsters.

- The Runt: a smaller than usual kaiju, who often compensates by being faster and more clever than the usual kaiju.

- The Giant Among Giants: the kaiju that makes other kaiju feel small, generally used to escalate the plot by its sheer power.

- The Rival Turned Ally: since kaiju generally socialize by fighting, most kaiju friendships begin with an unsuccessful fight to the death.  Often your main kaiju will have at least one friend who began as a bitter enemy.

- The Big Eater: In large kaiju casts where the kaiju have different motivations and morals, there will almost always be one kaiju whose ethos can be defined as “neutral hungry.”  It’s not good, it’s not evil, it just wants to eat, and unfortunately everyone else looks like a viable meal.

- The Brute: while all kaiju are generally violent and tough, the Brute takes it to another level.  Its violence will be more extreme, its bloodthirstiness beyond compare, and its raw strength will surpass most if not all of the other monsters on the cast list.

- The Clever Bastard: like the Brute, the Clever Bastard makes for a harder than normal fight.  However, instead of relying on sheer strength, the Clever Bastard uses cunning to make the fight more vicious, being a devious schemer who thinks significantly more than the average monster.  It may also have more than a few tricks to its biology to help it as well, and generally manages to throw the heroes off guard by doing things they wouldn’t expect.

- The Innocent: in a world full of violent monsters, this kaiju is a notable exception for its sweetness and (relative) vulnerability.  It means no harm and often has few ways to defend itself, and as a result is generally imperiled by the more vicious and bloodthirsty giants in the setting.  The main kaiju may actively try to protect it, though the harsh world of kaiju means its likelihood of survival is rather slim.

Part 4: Kaiju Archetypes

Ok, now that we’ve talked about the more substantive personality based stuff, let’s get onto some fun surface details.  The origin and design of your kaiju are important in their own right, but work best when they are made in service of your kaiju’s personality and role in the story.  A lot of people start with these archetypes first - “I’m gonna make a fire breathing reptile!” - and while this can result in a good monster design, it doesn’t necessarily translate into a memorable kaiju character.  Tailoring the design and origin to your kaiju’s role and personality, on the other hand, is more likely to result in a character we remember, since the design is now more than a surface detail - it’s an extension of the character.

Archetype 1: The Fire Breathing Reptile - best exemplified by the big two, Godzilla and Gamera, almost every kaijuverse has at least one big reptilian monster, and that monster likewise almost always has the ability to breath fire.  It calls back to the many European dragon myths, and is just a fun visual in general.  This archetype is so prolific that many modern kaijuverses actually skip it because it’s considered cliche, but while it may be hard to make a fire breathing reptile kaiju standout, the trope is still a classic and one many people think of as synonymous with the genre.

Archetype 2: The Big Ape - similarly, King Kong has made giant apes a staple of the genre, to the point where they are almost as common as fire breathing reptiles are.  King Kong vs. Godzilla in turn made it customary to pit these two archetypes against each other, and as a result every kaiju story that has both a fire breathing reptile and a big ape will almost always portray them as natural enemies.  The Big Ape is one of the archetypes that is most likely to be presented as sympathetic/heroic, following the logic that more closely related to humanity a creature is, the more noble it must be.

Archetype 3: The Magnified Bug - since kaiju are in part defined by being way bigger than an animal has any right to be, one of the most extreme visuals you can bring to a kaiju design is to take something that is normally very small and make it HUGE, because this emphasizes just how exaggeratedly big the kaiju is.  As a result, giant arthropods - insects, spiders, etc. - are very common in the genre, as they really sell the idea of kaiju being unnaturally enormous creatures.  Magnified bugs are generally not treated as sympathetic kaiju for the same reason big apes usually are - if we treat “more human = more good” as true, then bugs, being distantly related to humanity, can’t be very good creatures.  However, there is at least one prominent and notable exception to this rule, and to be honest it’s a rather shitty rule anyway.

Archetype 4: The Mechanical Doppelganger

Ever since Mechani-Kong stepped onto the silver screen, it has been a tradition for a main kaiju to have a robot or cyborg made in their image as part of their rogues gallery.  Hell, even Gomora from Ultraman got one, and that’s a show where the monsters aren’t protagonists!  Like the previous tropes, this is one that comes to mind when people think of the genre, as countless parodies (including an infamous episode of South Park) have shown.

Archetype 5: The Alien Invader - a monster from another planet, with all the strange biological quirks such an origin implies.  In Monster Saves the World kaiju stories, the alien is usually brought in late in the tale to heighten the stakes by delivering a stranger threat than the usual kaiju.  In Humanity Saves the World kaiju stories, however, most kaiju tend to be alien in origin, which is used to justify wiping them out since they are an invasive species by nature.  Alien kaiju are rarely sympathetic or heroic.

Archetype 6: The Mutant - whether the result of atomic fallout, genetic engineering, pollution, or some other unnatural mistake, the mutant is a new lifeform whose monstrous form is the direct result of humanity breaking the natural order of things.  A LOT of kaiju are mutants, as the kaiju genre began during the atomic age as a direct reaction to the discoveries of what radiation could do to living creatures (discoveries that ranged from “Wow these radioactive fruits are really big!” to “Oh god this radioactive man is full of tumors!”).  When a mutant is in a kaiju story, it exists at least partially to point out how humanity is screwing up.

Archetype 7: The Prehistoric Monster - often (but not necessarily) going hand in hand with the fire breathing reptile, the prehistoric monster is a kaiju whose kind lived millions of years before humanity evolved, in a time when giants ruled the earth.  It is only a monster now because the world moved on while it didn’t - small creatures took over while it slumbered in some hidden location.  This trope is becoming less common now that science has marched on and we treat the giant fauna of prehistory less like monsters and more like, y’know, actual animals, but it’s still a fun one to play with even if it has little basis in actual science.

Archetype 8: The Sea Monster - the ocean is full of weird animal life, and creatures are able to get much larger underwater than they can on land.  As a result, giant sea monsters are a trope as old as story-telling itself, and are particularly prominent in kaiju fiction.  Sea monster kaiju have a tendency to be particularly huge and abstract as kaiju go - one of the perks of hailing from a relatively alien environment.

Archetype 9: The Mythic Monster - While the earliest kaiju stories lean more sci-fi than fantasy, the genre quickly stretched to take elements from both.  As a result, it is just as common to see kaiju based on real life myths as it is to see ones that are atomic mutants or space aliens.  In fact, some of the bigger names in the kaiju genre have even alternated between having sci-fi and mythic origins, being atomic mutants in one tale and guardian monsters of ancient kingdoms in the next.

Archetype 10: The Defense Robot - Often (but not always) overlapping with the Mechanical Doppelganger, this enormous mecha is humanity’s ultimate weapon in the struggle to survive a world filled with kaiju.  The actually effectiveness of the defense robot varies from story to story, but they often have greater offensive capabilities than flesh and blood kaiju while at the same time being a lot less durable.  The Defense Robot rarely gets out of a battle unscathed - though it just as often comes back with a new remodeled look to fight another day (and also sell more toys).

Archetype 11: The Human Kaiju - most common in Humanity Saves the World from Kaiju stories, the human kaiju is, well, a human who becomes a kaiju.  Sometimes it’s a temporary transformation, other times it’s permanent.  Human kaiju are almost always the main characters of their given story, as the story potential of a human who can take the fight to the monsters is VAST.

Archetype 12: The Blob - our final archetype will be the blob, because sometimes you just want a big ol’ heap of goo in your story.

Conclusion

To reiterate, none of these things should be considered “requirements” for a kaiju story.  Think of this as a set of guidelines rather than strict rules to follow.  Many of the best kaiju stories have thought outside these archetypes, roles, and character questions, so you should by no means feel constricted to follow these ideas to the letter.  However, if you want to start on your kaijuverse but don’t know where to begin, please consider this as a starting point.  If you work with this approach, I think you’ll be on your way to making a fun cast of giant monsters in no time!