#Men of Inked: Sinners Book 1

[tastywordgasms]

I got my copy! 📚 It’ᔕ ᖇEᒪEᗩᔕE ᗪᗩƴ 📚 CRAVE by Chelle Bliss iᔕ ᗩᐯᗩ𝕚ᒪᗩ𝔹ᒪᗴ ᑎᗝW! ஜீ𝒢𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒯𝒪𝒟𝒜𝒴ஜீ @ChelleBliss1 @authorchellebliss #ChelleBliss #ContemporaryRomance #Redemption #bookclub #bookish #booklover #booksta #bookstagram #bookworm #readersofig #readersofinstagram #valentineprlm @valentine_pr_

Crave by Chelle Bliss is now live!  Tate Gallo had a type – emotionally unavailable bikers who were more feral than serious relationship material. The day she turned thirty, she decided to make a change: No more biker boys. She deserved more. She wanted to be someone’s world. But then he stumbled in bloodied, bruised, and in need of help. One look into his dark eyes, and Tate realized her life…

[atinylittlepain]

Of Saints and Sinners - Chapter 2

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

read chapter 1 here

warnings | 18+ angst, canon-typical violence

a/n | A shorter chapter. Still very much in the exposition but we learn a little more about our girl!

“I’m like Ellie.”

Those are the words that keep replaying in Joel’s mind. Her words. That, and the image of her mottled back, the grave scars and the swirling black ink on top of them. They've made it back to town, only after promising she'd talk to him later that night, so long as he kept her secret. He had asked her who else knew and she had told him only Tommy and Maria and the men you came to Jackson with. Suddenly she wasn't so cold, practically begging him not to tell anyone. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she had been on the verge of tears.

He’s supposed to go to her house tonight, to get some more answers. He feels like his head is spinning because suddenly, there’s another person like Ellie. Someone else immune. He understands why she wants this kept secret. It’s the same reason he feels the pull to protect Ellie. She's valuable, and that makes her dangerous. 

He gets to her house late, already dark out. The curtains are shut but faint light seeps out along the edges. She lives with Alex and Steve, and it’s one of the two who answer the door when he knocks, although Joel can’t be sure which.

“Miller, what can I help you with?” The young man crosses his arms over his chest, making himself a little bigger, a little grimmer. He’s the one that can sometimes coax you down to the bar in town, Joel’s seen him even pull a smile out of you. 

“He’s here to talk with me, Steve, it’s alright.” She comes up behind her companion, squeezing his shoulder. The two of them share a look before Steve steps back, sulking back into the house.

“I didn’t realize he was your bodyguard.” She snorts at that, shrugging her shoulder to invite him in. “He means well.”

“Where’s the other one?” She tells him that Alex is on patrol tonight, letting him follow her down the hall to what he assumes is her room. She closes the door behind him. It’s sparse, a mattress on the floor, an old wicker rocking chair, and a few stacks of clothes. What draws his attention are the stacks of books next to her bed. She must have been picking those up for ages to have so many collected. 

She sits at the end of your bed and motions for him to sit in the chair. “Well, I told you I’d give you answers. So start asking questions.”

“Where’d you get all that ink?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Joel huffs. He’s not really sure where to start, that’s just the first thing that came out.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut. “Alex, he was an artist before – well, before. When I met him he had a gun made out of an old sewing machine motor, making his own ink out of ash and witch hazel. I’d let him practice on me. Figured anything would be better than what was already there.”

Quiet descends again. Joel wracks his brain, trying to find some thread of sanity, what to ask her next.

“That doesn’t sound real safe,” she fully laughs at that, pressing her palms into her thighs to stand up. “Look, if you just came to ask me questions about my tattoos, this conversation can be over right now and I can be out of here by tomorrow morning and no one has to know anything.”

“Listen, I’m trying to figure this all out too. I’m still having a hard time believing what I saw, what you told me. But I don’t see why you’re getting ready to fly the fucking coop. You got a good thing going here.”

Joel’s up on his feet and suddenly they're both in each other’s faces.

“Yeah, I do have a good thing going here, and I think you know better than most what a secret like mine can do to a good thing. I’m not gonna be turned into another person’s lab rat, do you understand?” Joel swallows, “another?”

“What?”

“You said you weren’t gonna be turned into another person’s lab rat. Is that what all those bites are from?” Joel doesn’t need an answer, he’s already got it in the way she shrinks back, gaze skittering to the ground. Something in him twinges at that.

“Does Ellie know about you?” She looks up at him again, shaking her head.

“I told you already. Only Alex, Steve, Tommy, and Maria know. And now, unfortunately, you.” She crosses her arms over her chest, letting out a long exhale.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone, you know. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Joel tries to sound genuine, but feels like he ends up coming off like a dope. “For some reason I’m inclined to believe you.” She sits back down on the edge of her bed, Joel leans back against the wall.

“Is that why you go out on those raids?” She looks up at him, questioning. “You’re immune. Feel like you can go out and play hero or somethin’?” She prickles at that, hardening her eyes into a glare.

“Hardly. I just need to get away from all this. It’s good. But it’s not real. Out there? That’s what’s real.” She's looking down at her hands, mumbling out the last of it. It’s quiet for a moment. Joel can understand that. That feeling like everything’s gonna fall out from under you eventually, because it always has, and you have to be ready for that inevitable plummet.

He studies her for a moment. The slope of her nose, her eyelashes falling over the tops of her cheeks. He thinks to himself that she would’ve been pretty, back before. Now, she's something else entirely, something that makes his breath kick in a way he’d be hard pressed to admit.

“You got any other questions?”

“Is Steve your – your man?” That one draws a laugh out of her that makes Joel reel. “You really ask the dumbest shit, you know that?” He hardly hears what she says, too focused on the waft of a smile across her face.

“I don’t have a man, Joel Miller. Just really important friends.” With that, she stands up, tilting her head as if to say are we done here? “So you’re gonna keep my secret?”

He nods, “you don’t have to worry about it, I will.”

She lets out another long sigh, opening her door and walking him back to her porch. As Joel’s walking out, he turns on his heel, “can I ask you one more thing?” She looks at him, expectantly.

“Why does everyone around here call you the saint?” 

“You’re out of questions. Good night, Joel.”

[bookloveravenue]

Harlequin Crew (book 1): Sinners’ Playground by Caroline Peckham & Susanne Valenti

Dead girls don’t feel pain.

But they like the taste of vengeance.

Maybe that’s why I came back to my hometown. Because it sure as hell wasn’t for the surf. But what else was I supposed to do when I found myself in Sunset Cove with twenty bucks to my name, the key to my enemies’ secrets hanging around my neck and a mouth full of grave dirt that wouldn’t wash clean?

I hate the Harlequin boys.

But this is the perfect opportunity to take what they owe me. Because once upon a time, they broke my heart, stole my life and sent me away from everything I’d ever known.

Fox, JJ, Chase and Maverick.

The four names tattooed onto my heart more permanently than any of the ink on my skin. They don’t just live in this town anymore, they rule it. And the view here may be beautiful, but the sun, sea and sand hide dark secrets.

The gangs. The lies. The violence.

It all lurks beneath a veil so thin that once you’ve seen through it, you can never close your eyes to the truth again.

But I don’t plan on closing my eyes. I have four devils set in my sights. And this dead girl no longer has anything to lose.

This is an enemies to lovers contemporary series where the girl will end up with multiple love interests and all of the characters are in their late twenties. Trigger warning: this series features gangs, violence, dark romance and jealous/possessive themes.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55762906-sinners-playground

********

January 2, 2023

My Review: 4/5 Stars

Rogue is having a day. Well more like the last ten years but let's start with today seeing as she wakes up in pain and her throat covered in bruises. Oh and did I mention she was buried alive in a shallow grave? Looks like her ex did a crap job on finishing the job. And the cherry on top for Rogue? She finds herself in Sunset Cove. The last place on Earth she wants to be. Not when the four boys--now men--broke her heart ten years earlier when they were forced to exile her for her own protection. Not that that means much to Rogue. She's now a ghost and dead girl walking and she is ready for some revenge. Her ex will get what's coming to him but until then she has to deal with Fox, JJ, Chase, and Maverick first. The Harlequin boys.

Well, not all have them are still together. Turns out, there may be some issues between Fox, JJ, and Chase and their once brother, Maverick. But Rogue has a plan. Long ago, they stashed some pretty important loot in a crypt that can only be opened by five keys. Each of them hold on. She just needs to get them back and she can run far away from the ones who broke her. She won't make the mistake of letting them in and hurting her all over again. And I have to give Rogue credit, she does not make it easy for any of them.

When Fox, JJ, and Chase catch her, they aren't planning to let her go. Well, Chase wants her gone. He won't let her hurt his brothers. Rogue broke them long ago and they barely survived. He won't chance it again. Fox is the opposite. He won't lose her. Not again. He'll do whatever it takes to hold on to her. Even if that means he's gotta be an alphahole more often than not. And as for JJ, he's not letting her go without fighting for her first. He's grown up from the last time they saw one another. He wants his chance. And then there is Maverick. We don't get much of him, but from the glimpses we do, he has definitely changed the most since we have seen him in the novella. Like Rogue, he broke, but he something else has taken his place. We'll have to see how much of the boy Rogue knew is left as the series go on.

A wild start to this series for sure. I respect the hell out of Rogue for not caving to any of them. They got a lot of groveling to do. Though I do get their side in wanting to protect her. At sixteen, all they could see for their options was losing her or her death. They rather protect her than see her gone forever. And though they tried to find her, she was already too far gone. And ten years is a lot of time to make up for every horrible thing all of them have been through. As usual that I've learned with CC and SV's books is a major cliffhanger. But lucky for me, all the books of this series are out and I can jump right to the next one!

[cottoncandyjester]

Perfection (a theodore backstory part 1)

For those who were worried about me, thank you very much for the concern and kind messages I've just been dealing with job searching which killed my inspiration to write

decided to write part one for theodore's backstory sorry if it's bad I'm a little rusty

This story contains: objectification of women, lots of bible thumping, toxic relationship, sexism,talk of nurse and death,brainwashing?

"remember theodore, women are tools crafted by God himself to entertain men. As a man your job is to be the man of the house and guide your woman"

A ten year old theodore eyed his father with large for eyes, which shined with such admiration and loyal support towards his father it could be deemed a cult. As a young child theodore had his father's sexist and biblical ways shoved into his head, his ideas about women and marriage was very old fashioned yet theodore wanted to be just like his father.

He wanted a beautiful woman just like his mother, a woman who would wake up early to cook him breakfast and be at his beck and call, after all his father told him that was the job of the perfect wife..a wife obeys and a husband commands.

In his eyes his father and mother was the perfect example of marriage, he craved for that at a very young age. He was pressured to study hard to get into college so he can provide for his future wife and children by age twelve he was manipulated into thinking that this was how love was like, surely his mother worshipped his father because she was madly in love with him and wanted to be the perfect wife.

His father was far from a saint though, infact he was closer to the devil than theodore thought, his father was a man of secrets and many of them were in the attic which was deemed the praying room although no matter theo begged his father told him that he will have to wait when he's older.

That was the first time theo disobeyed his father, later that night he decided to get into the attic after all theo adored god and church as much as his father so he should be allowed right?

He used a chair to pull the string down watching as the ladder came tumbling down, with little hesitation theodore climbed the ladder and opened the attic door which was oddly unlocked almost like it was there for him to find.

Now seeing things like books and an altar would be common things to see in a praying room but theo saw something else that shocked him and forever changed him.

He saw naked women nailed to crucifixes with insults wrote on their bodies in red ink, he didn't understand what he was seeing. Was this some kind of prayer? Theodore couldn't wrap his head around his father being nothing less than perfect and a role model.

"feast your eyes on God's mistakes theodore, I'm doing God's work and soon you will do the same"

"m-me? S-same? But father-"

Theo heard his father walk from behind him towards infront of him, now gripping his shoulders and roughly shaking him which feared the young boy even more.

"theodore! Do you want to burn in the pits of hell? God made men stronger for this very reason, remember son women are tools meant to be used and guide by men"

Theodore wasn't sure about that anymore, this women were still people they breathed and laughed just like he did, they had dreams, desires and beliefs.

Does he believe his father or his own morales? He didn't even have time to think about it much since it seems his father was getting impatient so he stood theo once more snapping him out of his thoughts and back to reality

"Theodore, be a faithful son and help me. Or perhaps you would wish to be deemed a sinner...."

Theo felt hands wrap around his throat tightening slowly to the point where theo felt an overwhelming fear, the look in his father's eyes made theo start to cry as dark thoughts flooded his head of what his father would do to him if he were to reject this offer.

"sinners have no place in this world theodore, so are you a sinner?"

Now terrified of death he tensed up and whisoered out a meek and frightened no, a few seconds of silence went by before theo felt hands remove themselves from his throat now ruffling up his curly dark locks.

"good boy, god will reward you for this, now..let's have a man to man talk about your mother, a true sinner"

As theo felt tears run down his face he could only think about how corrupted his views have been the whole time..he was truly brainwashed.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                               Doyle Quillian, who is known by no other name;                                                       a 25 year old son of Brigit.                                           He is a pathologist at Asclepius General                                            and a medical specialist for the  MPPD.

FC NAME/GROUP: kim doyoung / nct, nct-127 CHARACTER NAME: doyle quillian AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 1st February, 1994 (25 years old) PLACE OF BIRTH: Dublin, Ireland OCCUPATION: pathologist at Asclepius General (full time), forensics (medical specialist for the police – on call for murders only), freelance comic book artist, poet and painter, sometimes teaches self-defence classes DEFINING FEATURES: He was often described as having piercing eyes and an infesting smile. He does look serious most of the times, mainly because he is concentrated, but also because his vision is quite bad (he does wear glasses, but not always). He has a birthmark on his hipbone in the shape of a flower because of his mother, and he has the phrase ‘qui tacet consentit’ (lat. silence gives consent) tattooed very small in his handwriting on the inside of his left middle finger.

PERSONALITY: Doyle is simply fascinating. From the way he talks to people, to the way he makes them feel. Even if they are just his little experiment, he offers them something they all crave for deep inside: attention. He is a master of words, and his honest and sharp tongue hits right where it should, when it should. However, he is quite distant, and does not let people know him. He is the type of person who would answer to ‘how are you’ with ‘but how are you’. The less people know about him, the better, because he is very private. Still, somehow, you cannot dislike him, even if he hurts you. He has the alluring charm of a cult leader, and strategy of a psychopath. He distrusts everyone, so it is natural for him to get suspicious and research people. His philosophy tells him that only dead men do not lie.

HISTORY: The Celtic goddess Brigit praises herself in being for the most part driven by her good nature. But it is in the nature of mankind – no exclusion to gods here – to get a little feisty, maybe a little adventurous once in a while. Still, she did not betray her oath to her father – never to bear children, for she was to help other women bear children. The oath never said anything about creating her own children. So she tried, for years and years. She made her first one out of metal, but he did not survive long enough to tell his tale. She tried again, made him out of twigs, but he could not speak so he chose to die. For centuries she tried to forge a child, for she could create none.

It takes two to give life.

He was a wealthy Korean man, who insisted that he was not vile. Perhaps his sweet smile, and kind face betrayed the women who adored him so. He had something for naivety, and those eighteen year olds were perfect for his experiments. Money buys immunity. So when they found the girls, one by one, mutilated, and unrecognisable, they did not think to blame him. They captured another, one that was not innocent, but no murderer. He escaped, and never looked back. Still, there was no denying that he was absolutely beautiful. And handsome people surely deserve to be forgiven for their sins, right?

Brigit forgave him. Whether it was because of the suffocating feeling of love or because of need is unknown. He liked her, very much so. He wanted to make her his, so infatuated he was. He fantasied about bathing in her sweet, virgin blood. But his carnal desire was not fulfilled. Brigit collected his seed, and transformed him. Now, legends can be wrong, or misguiding. The most reliable source talks about a plant, whose scent is so disgusting, it attracts maggots and flies. Yes, it does smell like rotten flesh. And he was transformed into one of those flowers, but what do we know anyways?

With her human seed, and her incredible talent, Brigit managed to forge a child, her first son. He was frail, and she feared he would die in her arms like the others. But he was a fighter. He survived, and they lived together for years. The story could end here, but stories rarely have a happy ending. The boy grew up as handsome as his father, and as talented as his mother. At the age of three, he composed a three verse poem about the frogs on their porch. At the age of five, he inked the tree in their garden on a scroll. At the age of eight, he broke a wooden plaque with his bare hands, and won a strength contest at school. And at the age of ten, he showed an incredible interest and talent in healing, tending small animals and later larger ones. It would have all been wonderful, if Brigit would have not gifted him with one more thing. The seed of a murderer.

His urges were easy to control at first. He never wanted to hurt animals, so tending to their wounds and helping them die has not raised any unwanted needs. And do not get him wrong, he really did try to control himself. But the lure of blood – you cannot understand, not unless you feel it. It started when he was fifteen, and was entering puberty – hormones moving all over. Most teens are motivated to do wrong things because of something so normal it is almost boring. He was unfortunate enough to witness a car crash. Most people would shy away from such experiences, some never really recovering, some would remember them forever and fear cars as a result. But he was not most people. He watched, fascinated as the blood dripped. It flowed and reached his feet, soaking his sneakers. It felt like a force was speaking to him, calling him. He fell on his knees, in the blood. His pants got soaked, his eyes closed, he felt it. A shudder of pleasure, no, it was much more. It was like he has been blind until now, like he has not had water in weeks. And suddenly he could see, and his thirst was no longer there. The authorities thought he fainted out of shock, and he was forced to go to therapy until they assured his mother there was nothing wrong.

Brigit knew better. She feared her secret would be uncovered, and her benevolent father will punish her for creating a monster. But she could not kill him. She just could not. So with her powers of healing, she tried to heal him. She left, made herself gone. Soon, the boy forgot her. Whether he wanted to or not, it is unknown. The only thing he remembers is a head of orange hair leaving, walking towards the sunset. He painted the exact image a thousand times, yet he never found his answer. He was sent to an orphanage, where he grew up until he turned eighteen. He worked very hard to get into college, and chose to study medicine. Well aware that he is special, he used his powers to help the less fortunate.

The story is not over yet.

Doyle, the name he chose for himself, is a part time night crawler – or in modern terms, killer. The chances of getting caught are so low, he is confident he will keep his hobby for years, and years. To drop all gruesome details, just imagine a trail of bodies everywhere he goes, and unsolved cases, or solved cases – under his assistance. Despite his thirst for blood, he kept his moral self in check. He killed out of necessity, so he targeted bad people. Or those he considered to be immoral. Paedophiles, thieves, abusers, rapists, and the like. He hunted them, and tortured them. There is no reason to cut the life of sinners short.

Eventually, he followed a group of friends to Mount Phoenix. Knowing they are special like he is, and with the promise of a better Neverland, he joined them on their one week journey to this mysterious place. And when he got there, he decided that he will never leave. The chaos never ends on Phoenix, and he is there to entertain it.

PANTHEON: Celtic CHILD OF: Brigit POWERS: Doyle is incredibly talented, and is lucky enough to succeed at everything he touches. He is an asset to solving murders, because he can read the dead better than anyone. He is an incredible fighter, martial arts run in his blood but he is not practicing. However, if there were a fight, he could easily face almost any enemy. He is an artist, in every sense of the word. Sometimes dreaming of a better reality, perhaps. He writes poetry in his free time, and blessed by his mother, his source of inspiration seems to never run short. STRENGTHS: talented in medicine, arts, and martial arts WEAKNESSES: has an uncontrollable thirst for blood and violence; he is mentally unstable and antisocial (despite not showing it) – he tends to isolate himself; his luck depends on circumstances, he is not a supernaturally lucky person and things can go wrong and he could be discovered; his emotions do not always work right, most of the times he cannot feel anything (sociopath tendencies); he could lose control of himself if he murders the wrong person – cannot mentally handle guilt

[la-knight]

For the writing 1, 2, 7

1: Describe the plot of your current WIPs in a single sentence each.

Ohmigawd…that’s hard…okay, let me make a list real quick.

The 12th Camellia: an autistic queer Mormon girl has to rescue her sister when her sister ends up trapped in their favorite VR MMO; Six of Crows meets Sword Art Online.

Bare Not Your Heel to the Coward’s Arrow: world-hopping fanfic to fix all the dumb shit that happens in CW’s Arrow

A Little Black Book and a Little Black Dress: World-hopping fanfic to fix all the dumb shit that happens in The Blacklist

Blow Northerne Wynde: a queer autistic woc Mormon girl and her sentient starship get hurled through a wormhole that takes her back to our time, followed by alien invaders who have seeded Earth with sleeping kaiju they intend to wake up to exterminate us; Pacific Rim meets Outlander, sort of.

The Edge of Darkest Devotion: Sequel to a finished fanfic about Loki’s motivation/redemption/character journey in Thor 1, Avengers 1, and afterward.

Empress of Ice and Oceans: Hades and Persephone, but using Yoruban and Russian mythology and starring two black leads.

Eidolon: If Romeo & Juliet were both Batman-esque vigilantes working for the Crown when the ghost of a homicidal necromancer and Jack the Ripper attack magical AU London.

Facets of Snow and Frost: World-hopping fanfic to fix all the dumb shit that happens in the MCU/MTCU.

Glass: industrialized magical urban fantasy version of Alice in Wonderland with a lot of gay poc kids fighting against the ridiculousness of a prophecy that says the female lead is going to be the dark ruler that will plunge the magical world into a new Dark Age.

Hallows: A genderfluid goddex tells the story of how they were kidnapped and forced to fight as a magical gladiator, then was blackmailed into betraying their home when they fell in love and their wife was used as a hostage against them (they’re telling their sister while rotting in a prison cell, but the sister doesn’t know if she believes them).

House of Gears: Teenage Jewish Cinderella’s little sister is kidnapped by the bogeyman, so she must crash a steampunk monsters’ ball with the help of her former not-so-imaginary friends (including a genderfluid Princex Charming/Sleeping Beauty and a lesbian fairy godsister) to get the sister back.

In the Dark of the Night and the Hour of the Wolf: Redemption fic for Hela from Thor Ragnarok (female villains almost never get the redemption fanservice male villains do). Ties into “Edge of Darkest Devotion.”

King or Captain, Sinner or Saint: World-hopping fanfic redeem Killmonger, ties into Facets.

The Lightning Bleeds Scarlet and Gold: World-hopping fanfic to fix all the dumb shit that happens in CW’s Flash (like Magenta losing her powers, Iris and Barry taking so long to get together, Barry’s dad dying, stuff like that). Ties into Bare Not Your Heel.

Once in the Winter’s Tide: Fanfic set between Winter Soldier and Civil War that ties X-Men, Blade, Spider-Man, and other things into the MCU, starring Bucky and a mutant woman with 4 kids and a dangerous secret. Ties into “Darkest Devotion.”

Once Upon a Time: Redemption fanfic for Nuada Silverlance, the villain from Hellboy 2.

A Palace of Ink and Stardust: Autistic woc Mormon girl falls in love with a changeling at her school and has to come to grips with being bisexual and Mormon (cute wlw fluff all around, with magic).

The Silver Princess: A bi Mormon healer’s apprentice falls in love with an Elven princess and the princess’s twin brother, while all three of them have to deal with a war brewing between humans and fae. All the queer poc rep.

Snow White, Blood Red: World-hopping fanfic to fix all the dumb shit that happens in Hellboy 2: The Golden Army, starring an autistic woc, a trans woc, and their gay best guy friend.

Yes, I have ADD. No, that’s not a joke.

2: Do you have anything published? If so, where? 

I’ve published several short stories and a poem. I’ve self-published my first two books, but they were heavily whitewashed at the insistence of the agents who originally repped them and I didn’t realize at the time how problematic that was (although I knew it was annoying af) so I’m rereleasing them fully restored to their original poc (and for the most part queer) glory when I have the time. 

As for my short stories, you can find my latest in the anthology Tomorrow’s Cthulhu, on my Patreon, or in the anthology New Legends: Caster - Castle - Creature.

7: What was the first novel you ever tried to write? If you’ve never tried to write a novel, then what was the first story you ever wrote?

The first story I ever wrote was in crayon when I was 4. It was a fanfic about how the Red Ranger fell in love with Rita Repulsa’s daughter (who was NOT the daughter of Lord Zed, so he was her stepdad) and while she was…like…wicked, you know, bad temper and chaotic neutral type, like Wade Wilson level morals, she hated being evil because it was too much work and she was lazy and she just wanted to date the Red Ranger because he was hot and nice to her.

The first NOVEL I ever wrote, I was 8 or 9, it took me an entire school year, and I wrote it by hand. It was called Catrina and Stephen: How an American Girl Became Princess of Monaco, and it was basically the adventures of this random girl who, on the eve of her 17th birthday, bought tickets through a magazine (I don’t know…) to the Coronation-and-Find-a-Bride Ball of Prince Stephen of Monaco, and her parents paid to fly her to Monte Carlo (in the middle of her senior year…for some reason) and the prince was like 19 and they met and fell in love a la Cinderella at the ball and got married literally the next day and had all these weird adventures and like, I shit you not, 35 kids (lots of triplets and quadruplets and I think a few quints).

I worked on it every day, in school, for bellwork. We got a writing prompt every morning and I always found a way to incorporate the prompt into the next chapter of my book. So literally one chapter might be them going to the grocery store and having to shop “like poor people” and the next chapter an evil scientist shrinks them down and they have to create a fort out of toothpicks and lincoln logs to protect themselves from a tarantula and rats, then in the next chapter they might scout an expedition to fucking Pluto and meet some eldritch alien horrors, but one of them fell in love with one of the kids (also being a kid, so cute “that’s my girlfriend” child love) and it became a star-crossed lovers thing that gets resolved by the UN. It was wild shit. 

By the end of the year it filled 6 composition notebooks, had over 150 chapters, and ended with Catrina and Stephen dying and the alien and princess taking over the Earth and forming an intergalactic empire or something, but it was cool because basically it was just, everyone can do whatever except bomb each other or torture people.

[fantasticworldoffanfics]

CREDENCE/GRAVES

                                              ——— (part 2) ——–

Fandom: Fantastic Beast and Where They Come From

Even longer list of fanfics :)….

top favourites, part 1

Believe In What You Can’t

Author: Crimson_Voltaire

Summary: "How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of good men, even if there are monsters in it." - Bram Stoker, Dracula 

Credence walks into a book store on a rainy day, and the world changes. 

Mob!AU Series

Author: themunchking (themuchking)

Part 1: Two-Headed Boy (Put On Sunday Shoes)

Summary: Everyone who knows Percival Graves knows about his boy, too.

Part 2: Sinner’s Delight

Summary: Credence is like silk, and he loves to be wrapped in it.Or—Credence greets Percival after a long day.

Perfect Fit

Author: classicasshole

Summary: Bonded Alphas Percival Graves and Theseus Scamander are looking for an Omega to add to their bond. Credence Barebone recently presented as an Omega and had to be removed from his mother's 'care'. He is exactly what the two Alphas are looking for.

sidenote: Credence/Graves/Theseus ship

What’s New PussyCat

Author: canis_m

Summary: Credence learns the Animagus transformation. It's all downhill from there.

My Greatest Weakness Is You

Author: CinnabunAngel

Summary: Credence loves Percival so he would do anything for the man...Including wearing lingerie, while still at MACUSA. Percival Graves is the most respectable man, can keep his composure, that is until Credence is in the room. Then his eyes go straight to his chewed up lip, how are they so distracting?? Or more so, I needed this and I ended writing this instead of sleeping...

The Boy In The Thunderbird Mask

Author: Binary_Sunset

Summary: It's been two years since Credence has set foot in New York City, and in that time, it seems his whole life has radically changed. He's travelled all around the world in the suitcase of a British wizard. He's seen creatures he never could have imagined existed. And now, after getting a job with MACUSA, he's heading back to the first place he ever called home.But with a new outlook and a strange fascination with a man he thought he knew, everything comes to a head at MACUSA's annual masquerade ball.

We Met, We Kissed, We Married

Author: TheSilverQueen

Summary: “Angels above and demons below,” exclaims the god. “You are one of Hecate’s children.”“Who?” says the boy.  The god rubs wearily at his brow. “Credence Barebone,” says the god, startling the boy, who had given his name, “what do you know of magic?”’

Percival is the god of pumpkin patches. Credence Barebone is just the boy who wanders into one of them.

What Is All This Sweet Work Worth (If Thou Kiss Not Me)

Author: Rrrowr

Summary: Credence had never felt more so than he did at Graves' feet, with a large hand settled over the crown of his skull. There were people all around them and Credence was wearing dreadfully little -- barely more than his underwear and a gauzy shawl -- but he felt safe.

"Darling," Graves drawled, tugging a little at Credence's ear. He was smiling as Credence looked up, eyes half lidded and drowsy with love. "Get me a drink from the bar. If you spill so much as a drop, you'll get a spanking."

Honeypot

Author: inb4invert

Summary: It wasn't about Grindelwald. It wasn't even really about Graves and his wounded alpha cop pride, either. What Piquery and Detective Graves had both known, the unspoken thing that swirled around like a curl of black ink suspended in the depths of their mutual stare-down, was that this was about the omega. The one Graves knew would be haunting his dreams tonight, languishing and panting all unseen in the sweat-dampened sheets of his empty bed.

Sweet Like Honey

Author: kovisk

Summary: He still had it somewhat, but a new identity was to be ushered, because he'd been careless, because he'd slipped up for a doe of a boy with dark hair and poppy lips soaked in opium, drug enough for them both.

Prosperity

Author: projectoverlord

Summary: ‘There’s a really handsome guy over there,’ he signs, and as she starts to turn he makes a frantic, ‘Queenie! Don’t look at him!’

AU Credence was born deaf, and his past has left him insecure about the likelihood of anyone ever really loving him.

Consort

Author: TheZ1337

Summary: Percival Graves decided to buy a sex slave, to help around the house of course. What he gets is an emotionally jaded and highly anxiety-ridden Credence Barebone whose not good at anything, except being in bed.

Early In the Morning

Author: gold_pebble

Summary: Graves couldn’t really remember when he had first started living for the Sundays, but there he was, in bed with the prettiest boy in the world, ready to spend the morning in lazy sex.

Devil’s Kiss

Author: shionch

Summary: (No magic / Modern AU.) Credence Barebone, an impressionable young man from a poor family, all-but-accidentally (it might or might not be Newt Scamander's fault) meets Percival Graves, a handsome & well-off older man. It leads to a strange relationship, with neither Credence nor Mr. Graves being certain how it might end.

Sins Of The Father

Author: Anonymous

Summary: Graves takes care of his son through every heat he has, and has him almost wrapped around his fingers.

Ripped At The Edges, But Still A Masterpiece

Author: writingramblr

Summary: Percy is a Fourth Year Wampus, who comes across a new First year wandering the halls.  He doesn't mean to rescue the kid, but it ends up happening anyway.  Percy Graves, retriever of strays. Stray would-be Obscurials, that is.

What Can I Do?

Author: NaughtyLokiStories

Summary: Graves comes home and finds Credence distressed and in his obscurus form. He does his best to please his boy and make him feel better.

Harmony

Author: projectoverlord

Summary: The guard escorting him, who wears the name tag Scamander yet introduces himself as Theseus, shows Graves to the tiny cell that he will call home for the next twelve months. It’s empty, but when he goes to place his things on the top bunk, the guard chuckles. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Credence likes the top bunk.”

It Was Easy (Natural As Breathing)

Author: projectoverlord

Summary: Credence has spent his entire life in a shadow of orders barked down his spine, every movement under strict control. And now everything is different, and new, and he is drowning in his own freedom. Percival is there to guide him through.

The Stripper!AU Series

Author: intravenusann

Part 1: I Like The Way Your Body Moving (I Like The Way You Spread Confusion)

Summary: While attending a faith conference with his family, Credence Barebone finds an opportunity to leave behind his small, ordinary life and indulge the fantasies he's always carried inside his head — if only for a few hours.

Part 2: I Like The Way Your Heart Is Blooming (On And On, You’ll Never Be Mine)

Summary: After a wild time at the strip club with Mr. Graves, the best night of Credence's life quickly turns into the worst when he tries to return to his family. If he doesn't go home to New York, where will he go? Will he ever see Mr. Graves again?

Part 3: Would You Ever Take A Chance With Me? (Would You Ever?)

Summary: Just as Credence feels settled into something like a routine with his found family in Atlanta, his sisters arrive in the city. Also what exactly is his relationship with bartender/strip club owner/general hottie Mr. Graves?

Pretty Little Thing

Author: gold_pebble

Summary: Out of all the omega boys in the world, Percival had been so lucky to find one that didn't need to get into heat to beg for his cock.

See You On The Other Side

Author: bluebeholder, Truetomorrow, writingramblr

Summary: After recovering from Grindelwald, both Percival Graves and Credence Barebone have been putting their lives back together, with Credence working in MACUSA under the watchful eye of the Goldsteins, while Percival tries to pretend he doesn't feel obsolete.They're friendly, but neither of them wants to make the next move.Help comes in the form of a magical toaster.

Breaking & Entering

Author: writingramblr

Summary: Graves is a Gentleman Thief with a dash of vigilante, on the way to his next target, he stumbles upon a veritable princess in a tower. Or, Credence lives in Grindelwald's attic and likes to sleep naked.

Enraptured

Author: Anonymous

Summary: Graves' pet is very distracting.

Spoiled

Author: Kaleido_dance

Summary: Percival Graves, following the wishes of his dark master and old friend Grindelwald, seduces the obscurial to get him to join their side in the fight for the greater good. But he loses himself in Credence's charming innocence while trying to teach him about love and sex, and ends up adopting him as his son, giving him everything he can think of and spoiling him to his core.

Penitence, Absolution, Salvation

Author: KissMeCthulhu

Summary: (Modern AU.) Mary Lou Barebone is convinced that the new principal of the local high school, Percival Graves, is a wizard, and ceases homeschooling Credence to send him to investigate further. However, in order to get close to Graves, Credence has to keep getting in trouble so he is sent to the principal’s office. Unfortunately for Credence, Mr. Graves takes discipline very seriously – especially when it’s a pretty boy causing all the trouble.

Silent Souls

Author: Yeoyou

Summary: Percival Graves didn't allow himself the delusion of thinking himself a good man. But neither did he believe that he was particularly bad. So the rumour that he had no soul should have been without foundation. And yet the suspiciously spotless skin of his wrist seemed to say otherwise. For what other explanation could there be for the absence of any markings, any words stitching his soul together with another's, than that he had no soul at all? No soul. No soulmate. The logic was irrefutable.

Safe From The World

Author: Truetomorrow

Summary: Credence and Percival were roommates in college; now Percival is an up-and-coming lawyer, and Credence is in his last year of undergrad on a trip to visit Percival. They are best friends. Sometimes they undress each other. It's platonic. Totally platonic. (Until suddenly it doesn't have to be)

Call Me When You’re Sober

Author: hiikigane

Summary: Having a roommate sucks when you're a socially awkward gamer/programmer starting your first year in college. It sucks even more when you're a studious, uptight senior who applied for a single room in the first place. But Credence and Percival learn to get along and with a little outside help, learn that being roommates can be pretty fun.

Detachment

Author: projectoverlord

Summary: The first sign of trouble for them is always Queenie making that face. The one that she is wearing right now; her mouth open just a little, eyes wide but vacant, like she is a thousand miles away. By now they know that look. It has them all on their feet immediately, gearing up and getting the jet primed to go.

AU Percival is part of the Superhero team known as the Aurors. Obscurus is the thorn in his side that gets innocent people killed and refuses to join his team.

Sweeter Than Honey

Author: ozean

Summary: Basically where Percival Graves gets off on getting a certain Credence Barebone off and then paying him for the "experience."

Tucked Away We Are Found

Author: nerdygaycas

Summary: Credence Barebone survived that fateful month of November after the metro attack, but MACUSA deemed him a hazard to himself and the rest of the world, and so he was sent to Kästner, the place where ill-fated witches and wizards, untreatably sick or mentally disturbed, suffered in shame, completely forgotten. Exactly one month and eleven days had passed since Graves was officially reinstated in his charge, but despite his best efforts to forget the whole ordeal, like a cut that would not stop bleeding in his mind: Credence, the Second Salemer boy. Haunted by the weight of his conscience and a strangling sense of duty, Graves decides to travel all the way up to Kästner, and pay Credence a long-overdue visit.

We Fight Ourselves

Author: writingramblr

Summary: Germany's Ambassadors come to MACUSA to discuss ever evolving laws and borders that may change, but instead of keeping things professional, Director Graves manages to end up on the other side of a seduction game that just may turn his worldview upside down.

The Name Game

Author: secondsodomites

Summary: Credence first sees Graves at a bar. Two days later Graves waltzes into Kowalski's Bakery & Deli and shenanigans ensue.

Anomaly

Author: projectoverlord

Summary: Everything goes quiet. In the boat, underneath the blanket, is a man.

AU Percival is a pirate captain who finds Credence unconscious in the middle of the ocean in a little boat.

There’s Nothing Wrong With Me (Loving You)

Author: intravenusann

Summary: When Credence — who has been living with the Goldsteins for six months now — learns that Mr. Graves feels ill, he does whatever he can to make sure the man is… comfortable.

more fics: part 3

[darkmarxsoul]

THE INSANE SMILES DX: A SUPER MARIO TALE REIMAGINED

Hello everybody! Happy October 6! In commemoration of the release of Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga + Bowser's Minions, which happened today, I decided to take a leaf from Nintendo's book and remake something of my own. Back in 2009 I began a Super Mario fan fiction trilogy called The Chaos Trilogy, which kicked off with the first chapter of the first installment: The Insane Smiles. This story starred Fawful from the first three Mario & Luigi games and Dimentio from Super Paper Mario, coming together to enact sweet vengeance against the ones responsible for their demises. A whole lot of crazy stuff spiraled out of control after that, which reflects the totally unexpected development of the trilogy from my own perspective as the writer. Given Superstar Saga + Bowser's Minions, or Mario & Luigi RPG1 DX as it is called in Japan, is a fresh and fancy remastering of the original Game Boy Advance game, I decided it would be fun to celebrate its release by writing a fresh and fancy remastering of the first chapter of this fanfic. In my opinion it's a lot better now, and for anybody who read the original, you may get a kick out of this. Feel free to give the original a read-through as well to see how I've improved! Just in case anybody is wondering, no, I have no plans to rewrite the rest of this story or its two sequels. This was more or less just a fun exercise, and that is all. Any new readers who want to know how the rest of it goes should check out the original series, written from 2009 to 2013. It's not written quite as well as this in my opinion (at least not until near the end), but it's still pretty fun! Thanks and enjoy! Also, a truly heartfelt thanks and compliments go to the extremely talented Pharaoh-Ink, who drew this amazing cover! Thanks a bunch! It turned out better than I could have hoped.

The story is under the cut. You can also read it on deviantART, FanFiction.net, or Archive of our Own.

Chapter 1: United in Laughter

Within the deepest depths of the multiverse's myths and legends lie the briefest mentions of a cursed place, whispered in hushed tones to paling criminals and creatures of black darkness. It is a forsaken land where sinners crawl like slugs upon the rocks, locked within the bowels of the earth to atone for crimes for which they could never be forgiven. It is the land of Game Overs, where the dead and gone are left to fade, forgotten.

The Underwhere. A place more frightening than the name would ever suggest.

The stories were true. The Underwhere was a truly massive array of dank, dark caves cluttered with stalagmites and stalactites, which jutted from the floor and ceiling and collected a shimmering film of florescent water. The liquid dripped from the ceiling, the splashes on the stone floor a constant source of background noise that one never stopped hearing even when one managed to sleep. A haze of purple and cyan hung in the air and blurred the outlines of the rock structures and ornate, white stone pillars that held up the ceiling. It lingered on one's tongue, carrying with it disturbing sensations—decaying flesh and dusty bone, touched with a sort of anaesthesia.

"I … have …"

A voice spoke through the darkness. It was weak, tired, and confused. The Shaydes, man-sized worms swathed in shadow, slithered past, eyeing the boy that spoke.

"I … have …"

He was a small creature, humanoid and green-skinned with only a small tuft of black hair that curled about on his forehead. Clad in black clothes and a tattered red cloak which he held close to his form, the boy shivered against a dread that pushed against his chest. His heart was pounding still, as it had been almost constantly for what must have been weeks.

Swallowing hard, he pulled himself to his feet and climbed over the side of the fountain. It was white like the pillars and made from the same stone. An endless stream of strange, orange liquid gushed from its top and collected in a pool within the base, shimmering like the haze in the air and the water that dripped steadily from the stalactites above. Lowering himself into the liquid, he felt its soothing chill through his cloak and black leather clothes. It felt nice.

But that was it.

A low hiss came from the boy's mouth, which rose into a high-pitched shriek as he kicked liquid into the air with his boot. "Lies!" he shouted, his shrill voice reverberating through the fog. "All lies! Lies covered in the bitterness of deceit!" He drove his clenched fists into the liquid, splashing it weakly. It ran between his fingers. "Elixir of stupidity! Your powers lie dormant like snakes who hiss secrets! Enough with the hissing! Fawful desires no hissing! You must give Fawful life! Life!"

The orange water lay unmoved but by the ripples of the stream gushing from the fountain. "Work!" the Beanish boy named Fawful screamed, throwing his entire body into the liquid.

He rose, dripping with water and visibly shaking. His large, circular glasses were covered in the liquid, and he couldn't see. "Why …?" he whispered, the water on his lips making his voice bubble. "It is not working …"

"I already told you," spoke another voice, harsh and sinister. "The fountain only works on people who are alive."

Fawful shrieked again and lashed his hand out, but the Shayde drew back. It giggled at him, a burbling sound through its shadowy mouth. The Bean climbed out of the fountain, trying to quell the sickness settling in his throat and stomach. "I have—" he started, and then tripped over his own words. He didn't even know what he had. "I have f … fffff …" He drew away from the Shayde that was eyeing him with too much pleasure. "Lies …" he spat at his tormentor. "Your lies disgust Fawful like cold chowder! Alive, you are saying? If not alive, then what am I? Do Fawful's eyes deceive him? Is the green of his skin an illusion of evil?"

The Shayde cocked its head. "Beats me. All I know is … that fountain's elixir soothes the souls of the living and heals all wounds. But for someone who's dead …" It giggled again. "It doesn't do a thing!"

Driven by fear and denial, Fawful turned and ran. "You're out of luck, buddy!" the grotesque worm hollered from the distance. "Your game's over! You're all out of lives, and there ain't nothin' you can do about it!"

* * *

Fawful didn't know how many months ago that confrontation had been. He had visited the fountain as soon as he'd heard of it through the grapevine, and not once had it ever healed him. Not once had he ever received any indication of that which he longed for with all of his heart.

Not once had it ever treated him like a living being.

He looked at his hands, green still, but far paler than they had ever been. He knew their colour had faded in his time hiding from the sun, but in this moment they appeared to have the taut skin of a corpse.

Was he really dead?

He remembered his last moments on the Mushroom World with the utmost clarity. He was lying on the ground, a limbless, wretched creature grinning into the faces of his two most hated foes. All around him was the disgusting stench of organs … the inside of Bowser's body. He bellowed in rage, his body bloating, energy pushing against him from inside, before he exploded in a blast of energy.

He couldn't remember anything after that. One moment he was in Bowser's body, and the next he came to in the Underwhere. At most, the only thing he could remember from between those moments was …

Now that he was here, he couldn't even describe how that had felt.

The glowing pink waters of the River Twygz were spread out before him as he sat on its bank, watching the river flow softly. Too softly. The boy looked at himself in the water's reflection, grinning broadly. His gigantic white teeth seemed to shine even in the cavern.

"I have …" he whispered, letting the words hang in the air as his feeling settled in his heart. He sighed.

"… depression."

Fawful hung his head, and slowly, his grin faded. "Too long," he said to himself. "Too long in caverns of darkness. Too long in Underwhere." He breathed deeply and shuddered as the fog curled in his nose and mouth. "Too long for Fawful."

He grabbed a stone with his pale fingers, turning it around in his hand. Then he spat out a noise of dejection and threw the stone out into the lake, watching it skip along the surface of the water once, twice, thrice …  It disappeared into the haze.

"The point …" he muttered, throwing another stone. "It is eluding me … like a sneaky mouse with tasty cheese which is belonging to me." Another stone, thrown out into the lake. "The point of living. Once, I lived for her. Then, I lived for Fawful. To conquer Mushroom Kingdom. To conquer the world." Fawful gripped his next stone tightly in his shaking palm. "Why? Why, when at every turn, they would appear? The mustaches … red and green, with their hammers and boots, those men who I hate …" He crushed the brittle rock.

Fawful roared and beat his head, climbing to his feet and grabbing another rock, throwing it into the river. "I have hate!" he screamed, hurling another stone with each exclamation. "I have loathing! I! Have! FURY!"

The final rock was snatched out of the air by a skeletal Underhand that burst from the depths of the Twygz. It pulled its prize ominously into the darkness within, leaving Fawful staring at the now-calm surface.

He lowered his head and looked at his reflection once more. It wasn't grinning. The water looked so warm, so inviting. He couldn't see the bottom.

"Why …?" he whispered, his voice so quiet even he could barely hear it. It broke as he spoke, the pitiful sound of a crying child. "There is being no answer." All the fight had left his body, and his arms hung weakly at his sides. It was hard to speak with his voice so weighed with defeat. "There is nothing left for Fawful. Only to disappear with no troubles …"

He suppressed a shiver of fear that travelled up his spine, and closed his eyes. Then, he slowly tipped himself forward, until he dropped away from the banks and down towards the water.

In an instant something gripped him by the back of his cloak, and the golden chain that held it together pressed painfully against his throat. He managed to give a single choked gasp before the water below his face burst and an Underhand exploded from the river, gripping his face tightly.

Fawful was paralyzed with terror. The Underhand's fingers were dry and lifeless, and so, so cold. It tugged against his saviour with a hungry strength, pulling his throat harder against his cloak's chain. The boy's skin had blanched to a hue that was almost completely white, and his heart pounded against his ribs. He tried to scream, but all he could managed was a faint gasp.

After one last painful tug of the cloak, Fawful was pulled from the Underhand's grasp and thrown against the stone floor of the cavern. Shaking, he tore the chain off his cloak and breathed heavily, coughing and sputtering and rubbing the skin of his neck. He touched his hands to his face; tears streaked down his cheeks. He sniffled and shuddered, wiping his cheeks with the back of his palm.

He shook his head wildly and then looked towards the one that had saved him. His heart skipped a beat and his cheeks flushed with blood. "You!" he spat furiously.

"Me." It was the Shayde from before, head cocked at him, grinning with a smug satisfaction. "I knew you wouldn't be able to keep yourself from doing something extremely stupid. I could see it in your dumb, ugly face!"

Fawful's eyes bulged. "'Ugly'? How dare you!" He stomped towards the Shayde, clenching his fists. "Your body is covered in slime like a pig squatting in filthy mud! I wrinkle my nose at you, fink-rat of shadows! Do not speak of an ugliness which you are yourself being!"

"Jeez." The dark creature sneered at him. "Try to be a little politer. I saved your life, remember?"

"And what if I was not wanting to be saved?" Fawful barked back.

"You're an idiot. Did you think those Underhands were going to give you a massage? No." He slithered up closer, his smile stretching from end to end. "They like to collect … pieces." Fawful shivered.

The Beanish boy paced around the cavern for a few moments, the Shayde's eyes following his path. Finally, he sighed. "I have embarrassment. You are right. Fawful must have gratefulness to the one who is you, for you had the saving of Fawful's face!" He ran his fingertips along the sides of his head where the Underhand had held him; the skin was still cold. He began to walk away, gesturing for the Shayde to follow. "Come. I will show you the gratitude of Fawful."

He stepped through the caverns, making sure to follow a specific and careful path. As he walked, his grin began to slowly rematerialize on his face. Just a few more steps …

A loud snap! came from behind him, followed by the sound of the Shayde yelling in alarm. He turned around to find the thing hanging in the air, suspended by a rope.

Fawful laughed at him heartily. "I have chortles!" he declared, pointing at the Shayde. "You are thinking that Fawful has greatfulness? You are thinking wrong!"

"You little freak!" the wormlike creature shouted at him. "Without me you'd be dead! Dead! This …" It struggled against its bonds. "This is ridiculous! Where did you even get this rope?"

"'Dead' …?" Fawful repeated, walking slowly up to it. "I have apologies. Fawful was under the impression that he already had deadness. After all … you are the one who is telling him!"

"Look …" The Shayde was growing frantic. "So I like to mess with people. So what? This place is boring! I've been here for … for …"

Its voice trailed off as Fawful reached behind a stalagmite and revealed an extremely formidable stick.

"Oh. Oh crud." The Bean giggled through his grin. "You uh … aren't gonna tell me where you got that either, huh?"

Fawful took his first swing.

* * *

Fawful had thought, in that moment, that he would deeply enjoy repeatedly beating that Shayde with his stick.

And he was right.

But the Bean still sighed, resting his head against the rocky cave wall. Cathartic or not, assaulting the souls of the deceased would do nothing for him in the end. He was still stuck in the Underwhere, alone and dead. Forever.

Fawful made a low cooing noise, wracked with anxious weight. "I have gloom …" he muttered to himself. "What is to be done …?"

The sounds of slime and faint steam make him snap to attention and he leapt to his feet, grabbing his stick; from the shadows emerged the Shayde, its face misshapen and pathetic. "Oh you little runt," it hissed at him, its entire body practically bubbling with anger. "I save your life, and you beat me 'till I'm numb."

"Pah!" Fawful spat at it, inching back and holding his stick in front of him as a weapon. "Your wayward soul is hurting? I have doubt! More lies which Fawful is not liking!"

The shadowy worm cracked its head at him, advancing slowly. A dark liquid appeared to leak from the malformed lesions on its head and body, dissipating into mist that mingled with the colourful fog around them. "Oh, little runt, you should wish you were right …"

"Bad! Away now!" Fawful swung the stick; as it parted the Underwhere's mist, he could see the Shayde recoil back, eyeing it threateningly.

The two settled into a standoff, glaring at each other. The Shayde eyed Fawful's primitive weapon with genuine concern. It took a deep breath, then sighed. "All right. Look." It relaxed and shook its body, spraying flecks of smoke as it did. "Let's stop this now. It's not gonna get us anywhere." The Bean lowered his weapon slightly, but still looked at it warily, neck bristling. "We're both dead. I know you don't like it, but that's how it is. And if we don't cut it out right now, then it's gonna be one long eternity. The last thing I want is to have you kick my butt with that forever."

After a few moments, Fawful could see the Shayde looked almost regretful. The boy let his arms drop to his sides, the stick gripped in one palm, and his acquaintance's stress visibly left its body. "Thanks, that's great. Really." The Shayde slithered up closer to him, face apologetic. "I know I was kind of a jerk, making fun of you because you died and all … but it's real hard being a Shayde!"

"Oh, yes, I have certainty of that," Fawful huffed. "Lazy blobs of shadow, settling like old cream! Your pain brings tears to my eyes!"

"You don't know what it's like. When you die …" The Shayde shivered. "Sure, you're fine for a couple hours. You arrive here in your body, safe and sound. But once that time runs out, it all goes down the tube." It lowered its gaze to the floor now, and its voice hung with sadness. "Your body deteriorates before your eyes, with nothing you can do about it. Then you start to lose your memories. Before long, even your personality starts to decay." It inched its way up before Fawful, its eyes shimmering with emotion. "I'm gone. Everything I ever had … everything I used to be … it's all lost, forever. Don't you have any idea what that's like …?"

With the Shayde so close, Fawful felt himself tensing. The lack of space was making him feel threatened. He shook it off with a little groan. "Your story is full of sad," he said, grimacing. "Enough!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry okay?" The creature sighed. "I won't bother you again. But in return, you have to promise to leave me alone. Got it?"

"No."

"Got it?"

"Ugh!" Fawful flung his arms limply. "Very well."

"Shake on it."

"What."

With that, the Shayde opened its mouth and extended a long, curling tongue, dripping with a saliva more viscous and rancid than Fawful could have ever predicted; the boy gagged and exclaimed audibly. In spite of his many protests, the worm would not relent; its tongue remained extended, dripping, slobbering. When he could take it no longer, Fawful swallowed, coughed, and thanked whatever manner of god existed that he was wearing gloves.

As he curled his fingers around the squelching tongue, something clicked in his mind that had been bothering him greatly.

Hours?

With the briefest giggle, the Shayde lashed forward and closed its mouth around his wrist.

Fawful convulsed as a pain and feeling of sheer, primal dread reached beyond his body and into a facet of himself he wasn't even aware existed. His vision pulsed and his head felt like it was sucked through a straw; he swayed and whimpered at the lightness in his brain.

N … no! His shaking body seemed to send ripples through the Shayde's form; it writhed and quaked, giggling like a psychopath through the hand in its mouth. Its shadows moved, bulged and twisted, changed shape before Fawful's eyes as he felt more of himself fading away.

With a desperate cry Fawful swung himself around, hurling the Shayde off of his arm and sending it rolling along the ground. He staggered away, hands on his head, trying to shake away the vertigo.

The Shayde was laughing hysterically where it lay on the ground, rolling in veritable ecstasy. "Yes …" it hissed. "Yes, I can feel it!" Fawful's stick lay discarded on the ground; the boy snatched it up and held it in front of him, but his shoulders were quaking so hard that the weapon vibrated in turn.

"B-b-begone!" Fawful screamed at him, appalled at his chattering teeth. "You … y …!"

His voice trailed off into horrified silence as he beheld what had once been the Shayde, now changed. The figure was humanoid, with two arms and legs and the vaguest beginnings of a human head forming on its shoulders. Still formed from shadowy death, the black substance dripped off its body and onto the floor in hissing globules.

It turned and looked at him, and its face was something out of a nightmare. Two gaping holes stared out from its face, wild and insane and deep like the pits of Hell. Curved into a mad smile, its mouth was a jagged and threatening crescent.

It laughed maniacally at him, slowly getting to its feet. "More … more …!" it bellowed at him, staggering forward on unsteady feet. "Your life energy is my golden panacea! It cries out to me! Like a … like a …" It fell forward on its knees, not taking its eyes off the boy. "Like a drug." All Fawful could do with his mouth was squeak unintelligibly as sweat trickled down the sides of his head and his hands went clammy around his pathetic little weapon. "My body has already begun to form. My memories … I can feel them on the edge of my awareness, beckoning me. Already, I am returning." The shadow's voice seemed far more male now than the androgynous tone of the Shayde. "And it's all thanks to you, Fawful. Because when you crossed into this realm, you straddled the border between life and death. When you would perish, another force took the fall. A dark, forbidden force … isn't that right?" It tilted its head as the image of the Dark Star passed through the Bean's mind, and he finally understood.

He knew why the Shayde had pursued him for so long.

The shadow stood, stepping towards him again. "But before I steal everything from you and escape this wretched prison, I have … a question for you." It took a breath, its chest heaving. "Who are the ones you spoke of by the Twygz?"

"Wh … what?"

"The brothers. The brothers of red and green. The mustached men. I heard you speak of them, oh so softly to yourself." Fawful couldn't form the words. "They … mean something to me. They're important to me, somehow." It looked at its hands, panting, dark fluid dripping from its mouth. "Tell me!" it screamed at the boy. "Tell me who they are!"

With those words the shadow lifted itself into the air and flew at Fawful, batting the stick from his hands and sending them both rolling onto the ground. It wrapped its limbs around his body, dug its fingers into his belly. Fawful staggered and groaned as his life force began to be drained from him again. Through blurred vision he could see his green skin paling to a ghostly white, and then begin to darken and become as shadow.

He was going to die.

"I remember!" the shadow shrieked, cackling. "I can see their faces! I see them!" It dug its fingers into the Bean's skin, its form solidifying as Fawful's was beginning to weaken. "But their names, what are their names? You know them! I know you know them! Why?"

"They … I … h-hate …"

"Tell me, Fawful! Tell me the names of the ones who fill you with such hatred!"

"M … Ma … rrrr …"

"Tell me now!"

"MARIO!" Fawful screamed, the word seeming to reverberate throughout the world. "MARIO AND LUIGI!"

The shadow froze. The pain stopped. In the span of a single moment they came to rest, as if suddenly suspended motionless in midair after flying at the speed of a bullet. The world spun and shifted before Fawful's eyes.

"Mario … Luigi …" the shadow whispered, lost in a trance. Its eyes were wide, its mouth agape. "The … Heroes …" Slowly, it tilted its head and looked Fawful directly in the eyes. It gazed at him like an old friend. "You … you know the Heroes …?" The boy nodded; he felt like he was submerged in water. He could barely think. "You … would fight the Heroes …?" He nodded again. "What … would you give …? What would you give … to destroy them utterly …?"

Somehow, the reality of the situation blossomed into full view in Fawful's mind. His terror left him. What was left behind was an excitement and ferocity that overshadowed all things. He slowly parted his lips to answer.

"Anything."

The tension between them hung in the air like a pendulum, blade sharp and quiet.

Then the shadow smiled.

Slowly, it removed one hand from Fawful's belly and touched together the tips of its forefinger and thumb.

"You have given me enough," it said. "It is time."

It snapped its fingers, and the world around them plunged into a swirling kaleidoscope of colour.

* * *

Fawful's eyes snapped open as he took his first gasp of air.

The sky was dark, but the air was open and warm. Clouds hung overhead, and a slow, foreboding wind blew through the fields. The ambient hum and drips of the Underwhere were gone, replaced by a silence almost oppressive in comparison.

But Fawful did not notice these things. He was alive.

He rose to his feet, unsteady and still shaking slightly. He stood in a crater the radius of a couple dozen feet, blackened and dead. The dirt was scorched, and the grass and flowers were drained of all vibrancy—dried, cracked, and colourless. Fawful had stolen the life from everything around him and come crawling back into the land of the living.

He stepped out of the crater, feeling like a demon. His mouth had spread into a toothy grin that took up the whole width of his face. "Yes …" he whispered, before rising to a triumphant shout. "Yes! It is done! I have death no longer!" The boy leapt into the air, feeling his cloak billow behind him, miraculously restored along with the rest of his clothes and glasses. "The time of grief is over!" Craning his body forward and clenching his fingers, the Bean cackled with mania. "Now is the time when I rise again! The time when I deliver sorrow to the houses of all the world!" His body wracked with laughter, Fawful spread both his arms wide and gazed up into the sky. "Now is the time of Fawful!"

His next bout of laughter faltered and faded as the low chuckle of another being caught his attention. Turning to the crater he had left he found that another person lay there, hidden before by the darkness of the dawn. Taller than Fawful and clad in the purple and yellow attire of a jester, this person giggled to himself as he stared upward into the sky.

"At last …" he breathed. "I am free. Ha ha ha … ah ha ha ha ha!"

Fawful leapt back as the young man shot into the air, splaying his limbs against the sky. The Bean gazed up at the figure, his eyes wide behind his glasses, his grin unfaltering. "You!" he declared, pointing a finger up at him. "You are the one! The one who is saving Fawful!"

The jester turned his gaze downward to look at him, and then slowly descended to touch his curl-toed shoes on the grass. As Fawful surveyed his new friend he found he could not see his face—it was hidden behind a mask, divided into black and white evenly on either side. Two eyes, one golden and one gray, and a red mouth were all carved into the mask's surface, each one crescent-shaped. The eyes blinked as though part of his real face.

"Mmm …" The jester hummed to himself, his gaze scrutinizing Fawful from top to bottom. "Yes … I do believe I am the one. Or are both our memories already addled so? Ah ha ha~"

"You are already knowing the name of Fawful," Fawful said. He did a little skip, unable to contain the energy in his newfound living body. He pointed at the young man before him. "Now all that is left is the name of you!"

Without missing a beat, the jester doffed his floppy hat and bowed deeply. "But of course, my dear, vertically-challenged friend! I was so very rude." He tilted his head to look his cohort in the eyes. "I am a man of many names! The Master of Dimensions! The Pleaser of Crowds!" Then he stood upright and extended a hand. "I am Dimentio. A humble magician, with dreams of the stage."

"And I am Fawful!" The Bean clasped Dimentio's hand; the latter's grip was surprisingly powerful. "Inventor and mechanic who makes fink-rat faces weep like babies who are crying!"

"I am so very enchanted to meet your acquaintance."

They let go and turned to face the horizon. In the distance, the sun had begun to rise. It glowed like fire, threatening and powerful.

"Now that the pleasantries are out of the way," Dimentio said, "I believe we have a duo of bothersome men to rain our revenge on."

Fawful looked at him. "Mario and Luigi," he said.

"Yesss …" The jester clasped his hands together. "With our combined forces, the bristles on their lips will sag, like the drooping ears of a sun-baked hound! The world will bow towards our might!"

Together they laughed, two distinct sounds carrying a single threat:

Now, no one was safe.

Putting his hand on Fawful's shoulder, Dimentio transported them once more, into the ether of the worlds.

[renae-writes]

Time Travel (Part 2)

Summary: Y/N somehow finds herself in Hamiltime and struggles to keep her secret.

Pairing: eventual Philip x reader

Warnings: language, unedited, talk of slavery and religion (Christianity)

Word count: 1,876 words

A/N: Part 2. I have no idea what I’m doing but I’m trying to make this as historically accurate as I can so I’m doing hella research and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life anymore. I don’t know if I like this part, but here it is.

Part 1

Philip was trying.

You were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but he made sure not to show it. Your hair was shorter than most girls kept it and he couldn’t stop thinking about your big [Y/E/C] eyes. Everything about you hit him like a brick wall. The way you were dressed, the way you acted, how clueless you seemed to be about everything. After all, you had walked into his home not having any idea whose it was.

He tried to ignore how small and cold you hand seemed in his when you offered it to him. He tried to avoid looking at your exposed chest and legs. In a time where showing as much as an ankle was considered risqué, here you stood with your calves and forearms completely uncovered, the area between your breasts out on full display as well. He couldn’t look at you long without thinking about how little you were covered and feeling the need to look away before you caught him.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” he said lamely. You looked at him incredulously.

“I’m sitting here in pants and you’re worried because I’m not wearing shoes?”

“I’m wondering why you’re wearing breeches without stockings. You should be happy I’m not asking why you’re wearing men’s clothing in the first place.”

You were about to tell him that what you were wearing was in no way men’s clothing, but then you remembered.

Eighteenth century.

“Right. I, uh, ran away,” you lied, trying to put this in a way poor Philip would understand. “I had to dress like a man in order to get out and I lost my shoes and stockings along the way.” You almost cringed at how bad your bullshit lie was.

Philip sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I’ll go find you some proper clothing. Wait here and don’t touch anything,” he commanded before turning and leaving his room, securely closing the door behind him.

You smirked. Like hell you weren’t going to touch anything. You looked around, your attention falling on the dark cedar desk shoved under one of the windows and between two bookshelves. Examining the contents littering the top, your hand reached for the quill laying on top of a mass of papers. You’d never seen a real quill before, only ever recreations. The metal tip gleamed in the sun and you found yourself wondering how you would ever survive without the ball point pens of your time. Dipping a quill in ink every ten seconds seemed like a hassle.

Then your eyes fell on the journal. It was small and dark brown with a P.H. inscribed on it; you could only assume it was Philip’s. You placed the quill down as close to how it was when you found it and picked up the journal. The leather was soft and worn down in places, and you could see splotches of ink littering the outside as well as some of the pages. You knew you shouldn’t open it, but it was too inviting. You desperately wanted to know what was written on the ink stained pages. All of Philip Hamilton’s most private thoughts. You glanced at the door. You probably still had time to read a bit and put it back and Philip would be none the wiser. You opened the journal, the pages naturally flipping open to the latest entry, Philip’s beautiful, scrawling handwriting filling the page.

I have found myself thinking quite a lot about death.

What is death like?

Does one feel anything once they have passed?

I imagine it to be like falling asleep. Closing your eyes to find an angel carrying you to Heaven.

Father describes it to be much more violent. He believes that the soul never truly leaves the body but is kept prisoner there until it is ready to move on.

Mother believes that the souls of our loved ones stay with us. They care for us and watch over us. That we are never truly alone.

Angie harbors more poetic beliefs.

She believes that every soul occupies a star in the night sky. That once a person dies, a new star is created and that each star is some person, looking down on their loved ones and keeping them safe every night. That Jesus is the sun, lighting our way, and God is the moon; always there, watching over us day and night.

I do not know if I agree with her, but it is a beautiful sentiment, and it comforts me that my sister finds solace in the night sky.

I wonder about death.

Is it a person, a type of entity that carries souls and delivers them to their designated resting places?

Or is it merely an idea, a figment of our imaginations that we as humans have created in order to comfort ourselves?

Either way, I believe it to be selfish.

It takes and it takes, and no one is safe.

Death doesn’t discriminate between races, sexes, or beliefs. It does not care if you are a sinner or a saint. It will take you anyway.

  “Dying is easy, son,” my father always told me. “Living is harder.”

No matter what kind of death one believes in, there is always one thing in common.

It must be earned.

“What are you doing?” You snapped the journal closed before turning to face an angry Philip, hiding the journal behind your back as you did, your cheeks burning red with the embarrassment of being caught.

“Nothing!” you lied.

“You were reading my journal?”

“I was curious. I’m sorry.”

Philip heaved a deep sigh.

“Don’t do it again, alright?” You nodded in agreement before placing the journal back onto his desk.

“I found you a dress,” was all Philip said before placing the clothing down onto his bed. It was a light ashy grey color with beautiful dark embroidery lacing up the middle of the bodice. “It was the only one my sister might not miss, so it may be a little small on you.”

You eyed the plain shift dress and various undergarments, wanting to ask Philip what they were, but you were trying to convince him that you were a lady of that time and he would know something was wrong if you asked.

“I’ll leave you to dress. A maid should be up shortly to help you.” With that, he closed the door.

Well, shit.

You first stripped out of your clothes, debating whether or not to leave your underwear on before deciding that going commando was not something you wanted to do today. You first put on the plain white shift dress that was laying under the rest of the clothing. It was loose enough, the sleeves stopping just above your elbows and the dress itself falling just below your knees. You then put on the plain black socks, tying them up with two lengths of leather when they kept falling down every time you stood up. Looking around, you had no idea what to do next. Sighing, you grabbed the long, pleated skirt from the bed, sliding the plain cream fabric up over the shift to sit on your waist.

Before you could get much farther, there was a knock at the door. You muttered a “come in” and not long after, a woman with beautiful dark skin opened the door and surveyed you.

“Good. You have not gotten to the hard part yet,” she said before picking up what looked like a corset.

“You’re…”

“A black woman, yes.” She said, helping you into the corset before beginning to lace up the back.

“You’re free, right?” The woman hesitated before lacing you up once again.

“I have been free for three years,” she said with pride, but you could hear the pain hidden underneath it. “Mister Hamilton has given me a place to stay and enough money to keep me free and in return, I work as his maid.”

“What’s your name?”

“Nyawara,” was all she said before tugging on the bottom half of the corset, making you fall back in surprise.

“That’s a beautiful name,” you said, trying to catch your breath again, already feeling lightheaded from being sucked into a corset.

“It is a traditional name from my country.”

“Would you ever go back?” you asked and she stopped tugging, leaving you to wonder if you crossed a line or not. She tugged once, twice, three more times before tying the corset off with expert fingers and motioning for you to sit down.

“You must understand, miss,” she started, her dark eyes searching yours, “in my country, people are still getting taken as slaves. I would not be safe.” You could see the tears threatening to fall down her round cheeks, her lips trembling. “If I could go back, I would. My family is there. I was the only one taken. But I can never go back.” You hugged her, cutting her off before more tears could fall. After a couple of seconds, she wrapped her arms around you as well and you ignored how much you couldn’t move in the corset, more worried about comforting the woman in your arms.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say.

“It is not your fault, miss.” Nyawara said before leaning out of your embrace and standing up. “Now let’s get you dressed.”

“Thank you,” was all you could say after she had laced up the back of the grey dress and helped you put the polished black heeled shoes on.

“I shall fetch Mister Philip for you,” was all she said before closing the door once again.

You sighed and wiped your eyes, making sure all evidence of your emotions were gone. You walked over to one of his bookshelves, reading the names on the spines of the books. Most of the books on this shelf were Shakespeare, a rose-embossed copy of Romeo and Juliet catching your eye. You were about to pull it out of the shelf when Philip’s voice startled you.

“It must feel good to be in a dress again.”

“I could do without the corset,” you said, your voice sounding breathy. He laughed. It was a warm sound, like wood crackling in a fire, and you desperately wanted to hear it again.

“I’ve never heard a girl talk so openly about her undergarments,” he said, still chuckling.

“Oh, am I not supposed to talk about that?” you wondered if you had just messed up.

“As long as you don’t do it in public, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” You blushed. Was Philip Hamilton flirting with you?

“Then what am I supposed to talk about in public?” you asked in a joking manner, but you actually didn’t know the answer.

“Oh, just all the usual things like clothes and hair and men,” Philip said, only half joking.

“I’d rather talk about politics and equality.”

“I can’t seem to get away from politicians,” Philip laughed, even though he was secretly overjoyed you weren’t one of those girls that gossiped about nothing but beauty and men.

“And is there something wrong with that?” you questioned, turning fully to face him. Philip took a step closer to you.

“Not at all.”

Tags: @pearltheartist

[johnlharrisr-blog]

WERE THERE TEAR STAINS ON THE AUTOGRAPH PARCHMENT?

A 2020 Resurrection Sunday Question

As far as we know, there are no surviving autographs of any of the Books of the Bible, including the newer writings of the Apostles. An autograph is the original document as first penned by the author. We have copies, and copies of copies, but no autographs.

Does it matter? Yes and no. Yes when it comes to inquisitiveness, but no when it comes to accuracy. God was not unaware that His Word would pass along to the world through copies – copies so accurate that they fully represent the content of the autograph.

But what a copy cannot tell us is whether or not the medium of the autograph (whether papyrus or parchment) contained useful information beyond the words inscribed thereon. Not information that would change the content of the writing, but which might shed light on the sensations of the author as he wrote.

We know that the authors were men of strong emotions, and an intense certainty of their mission. This is affirmed by the Apostle Peter. "20 Knowing this first, that no prophecy of the scripture is of any private interpretation. 21 For the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man: but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost" (II Peter 1:20-21 KJV).

As they were “moved by the Holy Ghost” they were not relieved of their humanity. As they were moved, they were as fully human as those of us who teach and preach the things that they wrote.

As part of my Bible College graduation ceremony, we were asked to memorize a passage of Scripture that in the best way expressed our sentiments concerning our call to ministry. We were to quote the selected Scripture upon the conferring our degree. I selected I Timothy 1:12-17.

There had been a time in my life when I wandered away from the Lord, and wasted precious years in “prodigal living” (Luke 15:13). I knew I was not the only son who had been restored to the Father, but I was one, and the passage fitted me. It remains fixed in my memory.

More than four decades later, I still feel a rush of emotion well up in my spirit when I quote or read that passage of Scripture. I cannot imagine what emotion must have arisen within the heart and mind of the Apostle Paul when he penned the first of his two autographs to be sent to his spiritual son Timothy.

However, there is one thing I can imagine. I can imagine that as the words of chapter 1:12-17 flowed from his pen; the ink may have been beautifully blurred by the tears that fell upon his thanksgiving and confession.

If you are a minister of the Gospel, I invite you to read his words, and test my hypothesis through the lenses of your own heart.

"12 And I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who hath enabled me, for that he counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry; 13 Who was before a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious: but I obtained mercy, because I did it ignorantly in unbelief. 14 And the grace of our Lord was exceeding abundant with faith and love which is in Christ Jesus. 15 This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief. 16 Howbeit for this cause I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might shew forth all longsuffering, for a pattern to them which should hereafter believe on him to life everlasting. 17 Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only wise God, be honour and glory for ever and ever. Amen" (I Timothy 1:12-17 KJV).

Do you think there were there tear stains on the autograph parchment? Perhaps even more importantly, are there tear stains as you read just now? I do confess a beautiful blurring of my own eyes as I key these words.

Resurrection Sunday 2020 will be different than any in the history of the world. Instead of gathering in churches, cathedrals, and outdoor arenas, Christians around the globe will be celebrating in the privacy of their homes. Oddly, that is the way it was on the first Resurrection Sunday.

On the cross the Friday before, Jesus Christ showed forth His all longsuffering as a pattern to all who have believed on Him for everlasting life (I Timothy 1:16). Is it not that “long suffering” (love) the artesian force that draws up our tears? Was that not the force that drew up tears that first Resurrection Sunday (John 20:13)? That is as it should be.

Fanny J. Crosby drew upon that force in her classic hymn “Tell me the Story of Jesus” when she gave us these words:

Love in that story so tender,

Clearer than ever I see;

Stay, let me weep while you whisper,

Love paid the ransom for me.” FJC 1880

How we celebrate Resurrection Sunday 2020 will be different for sure, but I pray that one thing will be the same, one thing will not change, one thing will be the central focus of the day, and that is, no matter where we are, or whom we are with, there will for at least a time, be tear stains on the parchment of our heart.

Dennis D. Frey, Th.D., President,

Masters’s International University of Divinity

[readingbank-blog]

Ignoring the Words of Jesus

Dear pastor, it is not enough to say that the words of Jesus are above all human words.  It is not enough to separate the words of Jesus from other scriptures by red ink.  It is not enough to assign the well-deserved honour to these timeless words.  It is not enough to place the words of Jesus in a class of its own.  We must read these words and teach them boldly.

It is a mistake to ignore the words of Jesus, as the church is doing today. Pastors rarely preach from the gospels and therefore rarely preach about salvation.  Pastors rarely mention some of the absolute statements that Jesus made.  Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the father but by me.”  This is an absolute statement which cannot be explained away. Many pastors have reasons why they do not preach about salvation, heaven or hell today. But Jesus said, “It is better to give up your arm, your leg or your eye than to go into hell…”  What are you going to do with this statement?  You can either preach from these scriptures or you can choose to ignore them.    

Jesus said, “Anyone who comes after me must hate his father, his mother, his wife, his children, his brothers and sisters.” These are fantastic statements that have no equal.  What are we going to do with them?  Many are silent on the words of Jesus. These absolute and apparently extreme statements contain the power that is missing from the church today.  

The Words of Jesus or the Words of the Apostles

Today, the church is more focussed on the letters of apostle Paul than the words of Jesus.  But that is a mistake because the words of Christ are on a different level from the words of Paul.  Remember that Paul was a sinner saved by Jesus Christ.   Jesus Christ and Paul were not brothers. The words of Jesus are superior to the words of Peter, James, John and Paul.  

Paul, Peter, James and John were the servants of Christ.  Although the words of Jesus are lumped together with the teachings of Paul and other prophets, they should be separated because they are truly the words of God. What Jesus said must be taken more seriously than what Paul or Peter said.  

Remember that Paul is not the second son of God. Paul was a servant of Jesus Christ. The Lord has used the writings of Paul to bless the church but these cannot substitute the words of the Son of God himself.  All that Paul, Peter or James taught must be received in this context.  They were apostles building on the foundation laid by Christ Jesus.  The very fact that the Lord allowed other apostles to write should not become a snare to us. We must receive the writings of the other apostles but we must know the difference.  

Christ set the greatest example of teamwork and fruitfulness.  He did not prevent others from ministering.  He encouraged them and did not mind if people were greatly blessed by these apostles.  However it is up to us not to fall or walk into deception, but to recognize the words of Jesus as the ultimate and final statements of truth.  The words of Jesus must be the guiding post for all pastors.  We must assess our ministries by the words of Jesus.  

The unique value of the words of Jesus must be recognized.  The words of Jesus must be assigned the distinction and the commanding authority they deserve.  As someone said, Jesus is the best teacher of His own religion.  

You will notice several different categories of Christ’s words:  

The conversations of Christ with His disciples.  

The brief miracle commands of Christ that brought healing to numerous sick bodies leave the reader in awe of the Saviour.

The brief sentences from the Sermon on the Mount that stick in our memory.  

The classic parables of Jesus that seem to never lose the power to teach something new.  

The farewell speeches of Jesus recorded in the book of John.  

The rambling stories of Jesus are unforgettable and unrivalled.

The prophecies of Jesus that are being fulfilled before our very eyes.  

No One Ever Spoke Like Jesus Christ

… Never man spake like this man.

John 7:46

…What a Word is this!

Luke 4:36

The words of Jesus are the words of the Son of God.  No other man ever spoke like He did. His words have outlasted any other words spoken by any other person.  

Even though Jesus was only thirty years old when He began to speak, it is obvious that His words were not the words of a young zealot trying to impress people.   They were the most profound sayings ever known to man.  

Down through the centuries, men from all walks of life have commented on the uniqueness of the words of Jesus.

Words are Important

But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.

Matthew 12:36

Jesus took a very high and unusual view of the value of words in general. Jesus taught that words would be used as a basis for judgment. There is nothing that appears more trivial to the ordinary man than a word. No, said Jesus, it does not end there, and it does not end ever.  Words are not trivial.  When they are called into existence they become living things which travel through time and space, doing good and evil; and they will confront us again at the last day.

The influence of our words on our destiny will be extraordinary; “...for by thy words thou shalt be justified and by thy words, thou shall be condemned” (Matthew 12:37). Jesus taught that words were the unmistakable portrayal of a person.  

If the speaker be good, then his words are good, but if the speaker be evil, then they are inevitably evil. A man cannot alter the character of his words unless he first alters his own nature.  For out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. Such was Christ’s concept of words, and such were His own words. They were the overflowings of His very heart.

O generation of vipers, how can ye, being evil, speak good things? for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.

Matthew 12:34

Five Reasons Why Jesus warned us to take His Words Seriously

1. Jesus said that the eternal destiny of His hearers would depend on the attitude they assumed to His words.

… the word that I have spoken, the same shall judge him in the last day.  

John 12:48

Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock: And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock.  And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand: And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it.  

Matthew 7:24-27

The words of Jesus contain the marking scheme for our final judgment.  What will we be judged about? What questions will we be asked on that great Day of Judgment?  Jesus clearly outlined the basis for each one of our judgments. I know of no one who spoke with such clarity about life after death.

I have studied anatomy, physiology, biochemistry, pharmacology, chemical pathology etc. None of these books even broach the subject of what will happen after death.  None of these books commented on this terrifying question.  The research of all scientists ends at the grave.  

The physicians arrive at a frontier they cannot cross.  The philosophers reach the limits of their knowledge. The pathologist dissects the remains of the dead but cannot find out where the soul went.  The professors stumble at the pertinent question of life after death.  But not Jesus! He confidently describes the after-life with authority never seen before.

2. Jesus declared that His words would outlast the created heavens and earth.

Heaven and earth shall pass away: but my words shall not pass away.

Luke 21:33

Poets and thinkers have sometimes boasted that their words would survive the most permanent works of man such as pyramids and monuments.  But Jesus declared that His words would outlast the most stable works of God.  

3. Jesus said that attachment to His words was a sign of attachment to Himself.

Jesus considered devotion to His words to be the test of discipleship. If you continue in my words then are you my disciples. You will know the truth and the truth will make you free.

Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on him, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed;

John 8:31

Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.  He that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings: and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father’s which sent me.

John 14:23-24

4. When Mary was seated at his feet listening to His Words, He declared that she was doing the one thing that was needful.

But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her

Luke 10:42

5. Jesus said His words had the power to cleanse the heart.

Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken unto you (John 15:3).  Verily, verily, I say unto you, If a man keep my saying, he shall never see death.  (John 8:51) It is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing: the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life (John 6:63). Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life. (John 6:68).

Characteristics of the Words of Jesus

1.The words of Jesus are absolute.  

The words of Jesus are often absolute that many have found them difficult to believe. Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth and the life.” He also said, “I am the door. I am the good shepherd. I am the light of the world. No one comes to the Father except by me.”

Many of the words of Jesus appear to be extreme and are therefore ignored by a large number of believers.  It is time to believe what Jesus said.  

But I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment: and whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, THOU FOOL, SHALL BE IN DANGER OF HELL FIRE.

Matthew 5:22

2.  The words of Jesus are simple.  

The words of Jesus are so simple that they are rarely forgotten. The words of Jesus were easily understood by common people.  

Once you hear either the sayings or the parables of Jesus, you rarely forget them. There have been many backslidden people who came back to God because they remembered their Sunday school Bible stories.

… And the common people heard him gladly.

Mark 12:37

3. The words of Jesus are from God.  

I receive not honour from men. John 5:41

The words of Jesus are from God and are about God.  The words of Jesus are not influenced by men. It seemed He did not crave the approval of men; neither did He crave a large following.  What He seemed to desire was to please His Father.  Most speakers are influenced by their audience.  Ex-presidents give speeches and are paid over a hundred thousand dollars per session.  Obviously you would want to say things that impress and please your audiences.  Not so with Jesus. He had no one to please except His father.  Jesus did not even attempt to get the respect of men.

4. The words of Jesus are about heaven and hell.  

“I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish.”

Luke 13:3

What is heaven like?  Is there a hell?  Who will go to hell? What will happen to us after we die?  Our depraved and corrupt world has its own answers for these questions.  Our understanding of eternity, heaven, hell and final judgment is very deficient until we read the words of Jesus Christ.  Jesus Christ is the one who answers the questions about heaven and hell.  

5.The words of Jesus are anointed.  

The words of Jesus were so anointed that they changed the lives of those that heard them.

… THE WORDS THAT I SPEAK UNTO YOU, THEY ARE SPIRIT, AND THEY ARE LIFE.

John 6:63

6.  The words of Jesus are full of love.

The words of Jesus contain great love and kindness.  The words of Jesus do not teach people to kill, rape or murder anyone.      

Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.

Matthew 18:21-22

What Others Said about the Words of Jesus

For when we consider what a large number of sayings are recorded of - or at least attributed to - Him, it becomes most remarkable that in literal truth there is no reason why any of his word should ever pass away in the sense of becoming obsolete…contrast Jesus Christ with other thinkers of like antiquity.  Even Plato, who though some four hundred years before Christ in point in time, was greatly in advance of him in respect of philosophic thought, is nowhere in this respect as compared with Christ. Read the Dialogues and see how enormous is the contrast with the gospels in respect of errors of all kinds, reaching even into absurdity in respect of reason, and to sayings; shocking to the moral sense, yet this is confessedly the highest level of human reason on the lines of spirituality when unaided by alleged revelation.

G.J. Romanes

After reading the doctrines of Plato, Socrates or Aristotle, we feel the specific difference between their words and Christ’s is the difference between an enquiry and a revelation.  

Joseph Parker

For two thousand years, He [Jesus] has been the Light of the World and His words have not passed away.

Morris

His [Jesus] words were so completely parts and utterances of himself, that they had no meaning as abstract statements of truth uttered by him as a divine oracle of prophet.  Take away himself as the primary (though not the ultimate) subject to every statement and they all fall to pieces.

F.J.A. Hort

But Jesus’ words and acts are impressively integral and we trust those sayings we judge to be authentically his as revelatory of his person.  When Jesus uses the personal pronoun ‘I’ (‘but I say to you amen, I say to you’) he stands and backs every word with personal fidelity and personal intentionality. If his words and acts are messianic in character, it is because he intends them to be, and if he intends them to be, then he is thinking of himself in messianic terms.

Gruenler

Christ’s words are of permanent value because of his person; they endure because he endures.

Thomas

Statistically speaking, the gospels are the greatest literature ever written.  They are read by more people, quoted by more authors, translated into more tongues, represented in more art, set to more music, than any other book or books written by any man in any century in any land.  They are read more, quoted more, believed more and translated more because they are the greatest words ever spoken. And where is their greatness? Their greatness lies in their pure, lucid spirituality in dealing clearly, definitively, and authoritatively with the great problems that throb in the human breast; namely who is God? Does He love me? What should I do to please him? How does He look at my sin? How can I be forgiven? Where will I go when I die? How must I treat others? No other man’s words have the appeal of Jesus’ words because no other man can answer those fundamental human questions as Jesus answered them.  They are the kind of words and answers we would expect God to give, and we who believe in Jesus’ deity have no problem as to why these words came from his mouth.  

Bernard Ramm

Never did the speaker seek to stand more utterly alone than when He uttered His majestic utterance.  Never did it seem more improbable that it should be fulfilled.  But as we look across the centuries we see how it has been realized.  His words have passed into law, they have passed into doctrines, they have passed into proverbs, they have passed into consolations, but they have never ‘passed away’.  What human teacher ever dared to claim an eternity for his words?

Maclean

No revolution that has ever taken place in society can be compared to that which has been produced by the words of Jesus.

Mark Hopkins

Christ’s message is inexhaustible.  Each generation finds it new and exciting.

Thomas

How was it that a carpenter, of no special training, ignorant of the culture and learning of the Greeks, born of a people whose great teachers were narrow, sour, intolerant pedantic legalists, was the supreme religious teacher the world has known, whose supremacy here makes him the most important figure in the world’s history?

W.S. Peake

Though without formal rabbinical training, he showed no timidity of self-consciousness, no hesitation as to what he felt to be truth.  Without any thought of himself or his audience, he spoke out fearlessly on every occasion, utterly heedless of the consequences to himself, and only concerned for truth and the delivery of his father’s message.  The power of his teaching was also deeply felt. “His word was with power” (Luke 4:32). The spiritual force of his personality expressed itself in his utterances and held his hearers in its enthralling grasp.  And so we are not surprised to read of the impression of uniqueness made by him.  “…never man spake like him” (John 7:46).  The simplicity and charm and yet the depth, the directness, the universality, and the truth of his teachings made a deep mark on his hearers, and elicited the conviction that they were in the presence of a teacher such as man had never seen before.  

Griffith Thomas

by Dag Heward-Mills

[avidreaderreviews]

⭐️CELEBRATE LIT BLOG TOUR⭐️ None So Blind Chautona Havig Released: September 29, 2013 Genre: Contemporary 📌BLURB📌 Dani and Ella Weeks–two women who share one thing in common. The same life, the same family, and the same body. When Dani wakes with no knowledge of who or where she is–no memories of her life at all–David and Dani Weeks discover that “til death do us part” takes on an entirely unexpected meaning. Practically speaking, Dani died. But she didn’t. What’s a gal to do? In a desperate attempt to separate the old life from the new, Dani insists on a new name, a twist of her old one–Ella. Ella’s doctors can’t explain what happened. Her children can’t understand why she doesn’t know them. David, her husband, finds himself torn between admiration for the “new” version of his wife and missing the woman he’s known for over fifteen years. Will Ella ever regain her memory? Why does their pastor suspect it’s one great hoax? ***************************** 📝REVIEW📝 "None So Blind" (Sight Unseen) (Volume 1) by Chautona Havig What if you woke up tomorrow and couldn't remember anything about your past, who the people around you are, the place you are residing, and how exactly you should look? There are no answers as to the cause of this sudden memory loss, although similar symptoms occur from head injuries. There is no cure, at least as far as anyone knows. Suddenly you are rebuilding your life, learning to do things over, learning to trust yourself and others around you, learning to be comfortable in your own skin. Becoming someone you and other people like better than your previous self. Experiencing "firsts," because you don't remember having been through them before. What would you do if this happened to you? Chautona Havig has written a truly wonderful novel about a woman who goes through the above. She writes of her struggles and accomplishments. She writes of her worries and gains. Her trust issues as they falter and improve. She writes of the story of Ella...a strong and magnificent character who brings this novel alive, as do the other individual in the novel. There is a psychiatrist that may give you the creeps (I disliked her from word one and didn't trust her). A church leader who has great guidance and suggestions, while also faltering at times given the odd situation. Friends and neighbors who want to be supportive but are also curious. And of course a husband and children who have to walk this new path with her, while hopefully not losing her. I loved Ella and the joy she brought to her family and how she made her own way little by little. I loved that she had her own style and way of looking at things. The joy she brought to her family, even when she had personal doubts. I loved that she found her own way...back to herself, her family, her friends, and her support system. She is an honest and truthful character. The others are realistic and believable. The situation one plausible, albeit potentially not in this odd situation. It is just a truly wonderful, engaging, and interesting novel. Honestly, I believe both men and women would find "None So Blind" a great read. I know I sure did, both times I read it. Rating: 4.7 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ ***************************** 🤔ABOUT THE AUTHOR🤔 Chautona Havig lives and writes in California’s Mojave Desert with her husbnd and five of her nine children. Through her novels, she hopes to encourage Christians in their walk with Jesus. 🔖GUEST POST: CHAUTONA🔖 “Who are you, again?” “I’m Joe’s, daughter. Vyonie.” My sister pointed to me. “This is Chautona.” For some odd reason, the niece she spent the least amount of time with, Aunt Doris remembered—somewhat. But she didn’t remember Vyonie from what I could tell. She smiled at me, that amazing, sweet smile I’d never forget. She asked how I was. I always thought that Mrs. Sanderson—mother of John, Alicia, and Carl on the TV show, Little House on the Prairie—looked and sounded like Aunt Doris. Of course, that memory of me didn’t last. A minute or two later, she gave me a big smile and asked if she knew me. It gave me a picture of what it must have been like for my character, Ella Weeks—to wake up every day with these children there—children who knew her, but she didn’t remember. The hurt she caused every time she had to struggle to admit she didn’t know something she probably should—again. So, I thought I’d ask her to tell us about it. Ella: People often assume that the worst part of losing my memory are the memories that disappeared, too. But it’s not. A much as I’d love to remember my wedding day, my daughter’s first steps, my son’s first words, or that moment I realized I was pregnant with my third, those are blessings that I don’t think about often. No, what hurts most is seeing the pain in my children’s eyes when they need me to remember something and I can’t. For me, not remembering their first day of kindergarten is an inconvenience. For them, it’s a further reminder that if they didn’t tell me, I wouldn’t know them. That without them pushing themselves into my life, I wouldn’t care about them any more than any other human in my path. I do now, of course, but not at first. I hate that they heard David say once, “…she doesn’t know me. She doesn’t trust me. She doesn’t know our children. She tries, but she could walk out of our lives tomorrow and never miss us.” Living so close to it every day, I missed those little bits of pain that I inflicted without meaning to, but when I went with our Bible study to a nursing home and visited with the residents, then I saw it. Women with tears running down their cheeks as loved ones patted their hands and tried to comfort. I heard one man offer to find a woman’s father. She squeezed him close and whispered, “It’s okay, Daddy. I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The man promised to try to find her father in the meantime. Those people there—most of them didn’t realize they didn’t remember someone important. They didn’t struggle to remember this or that. Their dementia had gotten bad enough that their lives had gone from constant frustration to, by comparison, blissful oblivion. And their families withered with each forgotten face, name, moment. That’s what my “episode” did for my family. It caused them pain that just resurfaced every time something new happened. Pain that I didn’t know I inflicted. And since that visit, I have a greater compassion and awareness of just how amazing and powerful memories are. I also have a greater appreciation for those beautiful words in Isaiah when the Lord promised… “I, even I, am the one who wipes out your transgressions for My own sake, And I will not remember your sins.” You see, there’s a lifetime of the sins that Jesus died for buried somewhere in my brain—or, at least at one time there was. I know that those sins were in there, because the ones I committed yesterday are there today. The ones I’ve already confessed and been forgiven for—I beat myself up for the next morning. A week later. A month. But the Lord has wiped them clean. I just keep smearing them back out there again as if to say, “But You don’t get how BAD I was.” Yeah. The arrogance, right? Because an almighty, holy God can’t possibly understand how sinful a sinner that He had to DIE to save from those sins… is. The arrogance? That’s an understatement. But all those years before that horrible morning… gone. Maybe I stole something. I don’t know. It was forgiven, wiped clean, and then wiped from my memory. I can’t rehash it with the Lord over and over. I can’t drag it back up like a wife who won’t let her husband forget the one time he forgot her birthday. I can’t use it as a whip to beat myself up with. And I think there’s something beautiful in that. Do I wish I could stop hurting my family with my blank past? Of course. But am I also grateful for a living picture of the fresh start the Lord gives His people at salvation? Definitely. I hope I never take it for granted again. ↘️ Blog Stops ↘️ June 15: Blogging With Carol June 15: Genesis 5020 June 15: Lane Hill House June 16: Red Headed Book Lady June 16: The Scribbler June 16: Moments Dipped in Ink June 17: Back Porch Reads June 17: The Power of Words June 17: Debbie’s Dusty Deliberations June 18: Carpe Diem June 18: A Baker’s Perspective June 19: Christian Bookaholic June 19: Quiet Quilter June 20: The Fizzy Pop Collection June 20: Mommynificent June 21: Seasons of Opportunities June 21: Truth and Grace Writing and Life Coaching June 22: Pursuing Stacie June 22: Remembrancy June 23: Pause for Tales June 23: Avid Reader Book Reviews June 23: Book Bites, Bee Stings, & Butterfly Kisses June 24: Bigreadersite June 24: CAFINATED READS June 25: Lots of Helpers June 25: Ashley’s Bookshelf June 26: Blossoms and Blessings June 26: A Reader’s Brain June 27: God1meover June 27: His Grace is Sufficient June 28: Just Jo’Anne June 28: Henry Happens June 28: Reader’s Cozy Corner 🎉🎉🎁🎁Giveaway🎁🎁🎉🎉 To celebrate her tour, Chautona is giving away a grand prize that includes: 1 $25 Amazon Gift Card 1 Paperback Copy of None So Blind 1 Paperback Copy of Will Not See 1 Lampwork Necklace 1 Cool denim mini-backpack (to hold your stuff!) 1 Custom Travel Mug (with quote from book) 1 FREE eBook code to share with a friend! Click below to enter. Be sure to comment on this post before you enter to claim 9 extra entries! https://promosimple.com/ps/ba35 📽 VIDEO📽 https://youtu.be/5K_cTjlg4S8