#Society of the precious Blood of Jesus

[voidwritesstuff]

Beyond Myth and Fable.

Cw: sexual themes. A fuck ton of religious imagery. Forced marriage (Implications of child brides). Mentions of nudity (non-sexual) Death Is an ass because his mommy issues act up. (Trying to add some levity here,this fic gets a tad dark).

Rating: +16/+18 defenetly.

Summary: In search for clues,the Four Horsemen seek the aid of the one and only Mother of Harlots.

A/n: I took a fuck ton of artistic liberties and laced it with my own experiences as an AFAB. Mystery/the mother of harlots uses they/them but is reffered to by both female and gender neutral terms. Depicted as AFAB. Can be read as an X reader (reasons are explained in the fic tho. I dont want to give too much away).

A/n2: I find the figure of the whore of babylon to be an untapped reservoir to explore themes of AFABS in society,defenetly leaning on the female rage side of things. Heres a playlist I made for this fic. @darkdemeter I hope you like it since you showed interest in the concept!

"And I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns.

And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication:

And upon her forehead was a name written, MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH. And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration." -Rev 17 .3-6

The endlesness of the charred chamber swallowed anything that could take away from the glimmering ruby encased in a good ring that Death held.

--Why do we have to use the ring they gave me?--Strife complained, pouting behind his armored helmet. His arms are crossed and he fidgets in his place.

--We need something of theirs for this spell-- The eldest replied with no patience for the childishness of his sibling-- And I doubt your memories would be worth anything. And we dont want to know what goes through your head.

--Death is right-- War added,shifting his weight and balancing Chaoseater on his shoulder-- I advice we hurry.

Before the gunslinger can reply,Death begins to mutter an incantation. He holds the ring in his hand and it blackens halfway, it gets hot like the dancing Fires of hell.

Fitting,thats where theyre going anywhere.

--Besides...--Followed Fury as the portal roared to life beside them-- You can get another one.

--Yeah,well, that one had sentimental value-- Strife answered,following after his siblings as they pass through the arcane gate and into this circle of hell.

Depending on who you asked, this corner of hell had a few epithets attached to it: The Palace of Blasphemy,The Idolatress' Tower,The Den Of Profanity, The museum of Hubris. Some even theorize this is what remains of the original tower of babel..

Yeah,cozy place.

--Out of all of Us, you had to be the one that rolled around in this pit with the Mother Of Harlots--Fury sneered as They enter the grand spire, pushing past the silken courtains of bloody red.

--When you see 'em you'll see.

--A demon...I thought you better than that brother-- War prodded,avoiding the gaze of the half naked nymphs of brimstone and magma that frolic about the place tending to their master's whims.

As they walk they pass paintings depicting the hubris of Man,the greed and darkness. Strife had seen them before- he was aware of them but his siblings ignored it completely. He had a nagging feeling their dismissal would end up causing them trouble.

--Oh fuck right off.-- The gunslinger protested-- Need I remind you the googoo  eyes you made to Dis?

--That...was different.

--Right.

--Cease at once,both of you!--Barked Death--How unbecoming. --He sighed behind his mask and kept walking towards the back where a large chaise lounge chair laid with one of the nymphs sprawled upon it.

Hes half naked,long hair of magma flowing past his shoulders and hips. His Lower half is wrapped in opaque silks and large jewelry adorned his wrists and head. His neck carried a golden chain wrapped around it, that swayed from side to side like a cat's tail.

At the sight,the four knew it was going to be a long,long day.

--Strife!--The nymph perked up at the sight. Hes eating whats eithe grapes or eyeballs but nobody cared to ask-- A visit? So soon?

--This ones different,Adonis.

--As if I was one to judge...--Adonis said, sitting up and leaning forward with a toothy smile.-- Not the most ambitious theyve gotten.

--Bussines,Man.-- the gunslinger insisted,wiping away the nymph's smile with just few words. It makes the other three horsemen feel oddly pleased at it. This place was a Real looney bin.

--Tsk, tsk, tsk. All bussiness,no pleasure.

--If I had a say in the matter,Trust me-

--Keep your head Straight,Strife--Death put an arm infront of his sibling and glared at him. Then,he turns to Adonis and says-- your master,Now.

The nymph sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. They stand up,easily towering over the horsemen and his hands smooth away his hair,revealing two ox horns that grow a few inches.

His eyes darken to a black,black void with a dancing flicker of red.-- Fine. Fine. --He walks off to the side,to a beautifully gold-lined elevator. He steps in and a cage closes around it before going up.

--How can you stand this place?-- War growled as his eyes advert from the half naked female nymphs around him. They arent even looking at him with any desire,just looking concerned at their visit.

But their exposed chest doesnt help much either.

--Again,These guys are chicken shit compared to Mystery. And I promise theyre different.

--Your standards are truly beyond any of our comprehensions--Fury prodded,her eyes admiring the decor of the place. Its such an opulent look for a crumbling tower of brick and mud. She does get what hes saying- shes only now noticing the paintings..

One in particular makes her have to look away- its a painting depicting a forced marriage. And its hidden behind a few climbing vines that began to overtake the old,wooden frame and covering it and the canvas with maroon flowers. A color so similar to the fabric of her brother's scarf.

If she saw it the right way,it was like the flowers were protecting and comforting the young woman about to be married off.

--Hey! Dont talk about them like that. Theyre not just this. --The second eldest insisted,gesturing around the place.

Before Death can add his own quip about how he mustve Fallen victim of the Idolatress' compelling spells ,the four hear the elevator come back down and station on the ground floor with a dry,deep click. Adonis returns to them with a Placid smile,though its clear he wants them gone out of his sight.

--My master Will see you now. The elevator Will take you to the top floor--He gestures with an Open palm to the lift and shows his fangs in faux warmth.

--Thank you,Adonis. Cmon everyone,before War has a heart attack!--Strife began to push everyone towards the elevator,and War was more than happy to step into the platform and hold his head low.

--Will this elevator hold our weight?--Fury had the clearness of mind to ask.

--Enjoy the ride~!--Adonis cheered before clapping. With a violent thud the cage around the lift closes. It looks like a baroque birdcage.

It moves with another violent shake before it begins to speed upwards. Everyone holds on ti the inside railing as Strife gets insulted from top to bottom as if he was to blame.

Clearly,he had gotten too comfortable with this...Scum.

The top floor of the tower was a charred,black dome with looks to a deep night behind the crimson stained glass that lined some of the panels.

Where the walls are cracked there is gold, and the place is decorated halfway between a queen's chambers and a harlot's den. To humans, This style was almost baroque- with vestiges of Angel architecture if only to spite the armies of heaven

The far back had a large,four poster bed with its silks drawn to form a courtain. The right side of the bed was pressed against a wall right Next to a Window. To the left side there was a beautiful, mahogany desk with a few chalices and a half drank bottle of old wine.

Grand Windows opened up to the endless,starlit blue Sky and all around there were candles Burning and plants draping.

--Mystery! Where are ya?--Strife asked,trying to put his usual flirty voice on. He gives his siblings a look that says something along the lines of "Let me handle this. None of you know how to talk to these beings".

If only to spare themselves of some trouble,they dont object.

His voice reverberates around the chamber,the cups on the desk shake like theyre in the middle of an earthquake. The contents spill in a growing pool of blood red wine.

--Strife! My dearest Strife! --From the pool erupts a tall pillar of crimson that glimmers in the low light. It solidifies into a beast with a woman ontop.

The color comes to the figure, and its now revealed that the beast has seven heads and ten horns,and atop it was..

--Mystery,Hello! Looking radiant like always--The horseman flirted

--Ah,why thank you...

Indeed there they were. Their off the shoulder dress is black and sheer enough for their small chest to be seen, fuzzy with body hair and a few spots of acne. The dress went opaque at their hips,beautiful as they were with their bodily hair and stretchmarks.

They had this corcet,looked like a church's ceiling. It had gold Framing, that same baroque style with spikes and circlets that mimicked the halos of angels. Two of the spikes lined up to cover the center of their breasts.

And as if to add insult to injury they had a flaming heart with a Knife stabbed into it on the middle panel.

Their head was adorned with another Halo-like headpiece of gold and red rubies. They had to large pieces hanging on the lowest of spikes,and their neck and hands were covered in jewelry.

--overcompensating--Murmurs Fury,gaining an approving nodd from her eldest.

--What do I owe the visit? Adonis told me its not pleasure.

--We need information on Lucifer...--War stepped past his siblings,flustered and just about ready to return to the chamber of the council. His heart beated a mile a minute,and not with the rush of battle.

At his rashness the beast growls with its seven heads glaring to the red rider.

--Its okay,Boys--Mystery patted the head belonging to a dragon, his name was Blasphemy-- Just a rash one as younglings often are.

One of the heads, that in the shape of a horned hare, sniffed at the air and chuffed. The rest of the heads seemed to relax at that. They could smell the same nephilim scent that Strife had, they realize now their New guests are siblings.

--Okay,so Introductions right?--The gunslinger stepped up to the Mother of Harlots and helped them off their grand steed. He gets a tentative kiss to the helmet and a smudge of red lipstick is left.

Strife seemed to get lost in the eyes of Mystery. Their lids are liked with smokey crimson and black,their face glimmering with golden dust.

But he snaps back to reality, and he turns to the head of the Hare--Hardest thing out of the way,This is adultery.

--Do we have to know the names of each head?--Fury huffed.

--Get along with the beast,get along with its master-- the gunslinger insisted,clearly talking from experience--this is Idolatry..--He pet the snout of a bull with two large horns.

He kept going,ignoring how War sized up the beast like a hunter.

The Rat head was Pestilence,the cobra head was Temptation,the vulture was Profanity,and the giraffe was...Sodomy.

--And I believe I dont need an introduction...--Mystery laced their arms around the bicep of the gunslinger. They smile at the other three riders,welcoming.

--Thats not a good thing...--Death growled--Now,If youre done latching on to my brother like a leech...We're here for information.

If the mother of Harlots could eyeroll themself into another dimention they would. --Fine, Fine. Tea?--They asked.

--No-

--Sure! We'd all love some tea,yes. --Strife glared at his reaper brother in a way that made the eldest wonder how long would they have to play along like they like the idolatress before them. --Thank you,Mys.

--Of course,Take a Seat. This is your home...--They let go of the horseman and snap their fingers. On the desk a set of kintsugi porcelain appears. Its big enough to be nephilim sized...

God,how Many times has Strife visited?.

Nonetheless,the four sit around the desk, the seven headed beast curls up on one of the sofas but each head trails the movement of the three horsemen they dont seem to recognize.

Meanwhile, Strife literally sits on the desk beside the mother of harlots, the rest get Chairs materialized.

Death is the only one who doesnt allow himself to rest from his strict,curved posture.

--What information do the mighty horsemen need?--Mystery asked,the warm cup held in their elegant hands.

--There are rumors of Lucifer conspiring with mortals. We need the names of the humans...-- Death cut to the chase with that cold presiceness that was so characteristical. Though his eyes linger on the cup meant for him .

Could tea even get cold in hell?

--And why would I have that information?--They played dumb,if only to spite Him. --I am aware of the folly and hubris and men, its certainly within my power..

Many things were within their power. As the mother of harlots they could be alluring as a siren,yes. But they could see the deepest of Greeds, the darkest corners of man's souls. They were so much more than what the world had made them out to be.

--Did you forget youre known to inhabit the chambers of any demon or angel powerful enough to cover your cowardly hide-

--Death...--Strife slammed his hand on the desk. It makes Mystery jump from their spot.

There is a defensive growl in the gunslinger's voice. His eyes narrow like an angry sun blaring down on the Reaper.

But then the mother of harlots raised their pointer finger,gesture that clearly means something to the second eldest as he slowly- slowly backs off.

With the insult dancing on the tip of his tongue, the reaper quietens. He still needs that information before being his usual self

--I dont do what I do because I like It..--Mystery starts,tapping on their cup with their features sneering at the rider-- people like Samael are a fun night,Yes. But if I dont do what I do,My nymphs and I are on the chopping block

They stood up,they are at the same height as the reaper. Barefoot steps take the mother of harlots to meet the glare of the eldest. There is perhaps only three centimeters between them.

--Have you any knowledge of how I came to be?

Strife Began to utter a name that didnt align to what the idolatress made themself be called. The thought crossed the mind of the other three riders that their gunslinging kin knew the Real name of the entity before them. Not by him forcing them to tell him, but rather a gift bestowed out of genuine trust.

--Yes. You were created by Lucifer. A Tool...

--I was a tool-- Mystery,the great whore of Babylon has never looked so angry. Burning with the spirit of every soul who had been judged and Killed for not conforming to the mold-- I Was to represent the foolishness of Man,the animal desire,I was a means to a an end..And I did not like it.

Their breath shakes with anger. Perhaps anger,perhaps grief or just anguish. As If the pain was too much to be put into words.

--Lucifer cannot create life,not enough to make a vessel. So he took one. He took...me.

--Thats enough! -- strife barked.-- Death. Cut it out.

--What do you mean he took you?--War asked,eyes just a little wide underneath the betraying shadow of his crimson hood.

--Hey! Didnt you hear- I said enou-

--Lucifer prays on the weak. And in a moment of my youth.. i was weak.-- Mystery followed-- I was to be married to someone older,a prize for peace between clans. I was not even two decades old. So...I spat in the face of my would be groom and yelled how he was a creep for even getting to that point...

There are tears threatening to spill,and Death remains unmoving. His eyes look at them like their pain is fake.

Strife knows why hes like this. He thinks Mystery is just like lilith.

Theyre nothing like lilith.

--When I ran,i was so blind by my pain and..--They hesitate,the memory is so old and it still hurts so much-- I Fell down a hill,a steep one. I was being followed. And no God heeded my prayer, but he did.

Fury shifted in her Seat. Her mouth covered by her hand,she looks at the empty teacup infront of her. There was a certain pain there she could relate to.

Lesser, an object, just for being born different. Had she suffered a similar fate...she couldnt say she wouldve returned to that marriage.

--Death thats quite enough-- She finally speaks up,her voice firm but still faltering. The way Mystery spoke about the whole ordeal...it got under her skin. Its like she was living it alongside her.

--He came to me in the form form of a snake, he offered to save me and I accepted before he told me the rest of the contract..I became...this-- they Open their arms with the smile of someone who is tired of fighting to Keep themself whole.

Strife begins to walk behind Mystery,he looms over his brother. Who hasnt said a Word,and isnt planning to. The gunslinger glared

--You see,Death, im not only the mother of harlots ,the whore of babylon,bearer of all the abominations of the earth...

Their eyes are glossy,can a being like themself cry? Is that even possible? Death can feel even the glare of War digging into the back of his skull now.

And still,he remains unmoving and silent

Strife wondered if his brother was treating this like a child's tantrum. Just like hes done whenever the rest of them expressed discomfort.

He could dismiss his pain. But not Mystery's..

Oh,he Wont let it slide.

With this thumbs on the handles of his guns, his glare intensifies as he slowly clicks off the safety. This seems to catch the attention of his brother, their eyes meet for a split second before the reaper returns his attention to the mother of harlots.

-I am the folly of Man-- they continued,walking closer and preparing their hands to push him. Hes just like all the men that have put them in this situartion-- I am the hubris...I am the spirit of every woman who was burnt at the stake, shamed for playing by the rules men played,those who didnt conform to the mold. I am the soul of each woman who has been beaten, Killed, disrespected and used. A pain your sister knows all too well...

Fury Flinched, fighting to not shrink into herself. Countless times has she been looked down upon by Death- the figure she looked up the most even if she doesnt admit it.

--So excuse me if the only way I Keep me and my loved ones safe is by snuggling up to the first being with just enough power to wipe me out that walks through the door... --their hand poke his chest. A demand, a protest that he Will not outpower them- I am not strong the way you are. But I have smarts and eons of living in the world of men. What you call whoring around I call survival. Youre in no place to judge.

In that moment,strife puts his scarf around their shoulders. He brings them to his chest,was that a hug? The white rider..hugging?

--Breathe..-- He whispered,low as the singing of a hummingbird.

--Ill-Ill get you those names-- Mystery finished-- But if you return here with this behaviour,I Will crush you beneath my heel.

--Is that a threat?

"Goddamnit, death. Shut the fuck up"the gunsliger thought.

--Of course it is. This is my damn home,this is my damn realm and you Will respect my orders you insolent manchild. --They spat out,tears falling down their face and pooling at their jaw before continuing their carefree descent to the ground. -- There are Many ways to bring someone to their knees,Lust and strength May not work but behind every rabid egotistical Man there is a hole where a mother should be.

That seemed to click something in Death's mind. He hissed and said-- Get those names. -- and he Turned his back begining to walk to the elevator on the other end of the chamber.--We're leaving.

--Oh no. I'm staying--Strife answered,voice firm and with disbelief at the behaviour of the eldest. His tone sounds in a way As if to say this is not up for debate.

Whatever was going on within the pale rider was enough for him to not pick this fight-- Its your head that Will roll for your absence.

--Then so be It.

He hissed again-- Fury,War...--He beckoned.

Fury sighed and stood up,her eyes meet Mystery's for a moment. Within her white orbs something glimmered- And the mother of harlots didnt need to use their magic to know. They returned her gaze with that same glint.

"Youre so much more than what he says you are" they had whispered as she passed them by.

--I...apologize for my brother's behavior-- Sweet War. Even now his eyes avoid their form out of respect- After what he heard he reserves no right to gaze upon them with anything close to desire or bashfulness.

--You dont need to apologize in his stead. He can be a grown Man and apologize himself. --Their hand pressed to the bicep of the red rider in a reassuring manner. The way he tenses up is adorable.

--S-still...none of us should know a story so deep. So..painful. youre just another victim of Lucifer's ploy.

--He tried to make me a victim. I wont let him.

War's eyes look puzzled for a few seconds before it clicks. He nodds and his gaze turns to fill with something akin to pride. He gives another look to his brother before leaving with his lumbering pace.

Strife doesnt speak until the elevator reaches the bottom. He calls out their name,their Real name- the one they havent heard in eons. Something so thoroughly human... so far away to what they are now.

The second time he repeats that name they turn to him-- y-yes? -- they asked,going to clean their tears,but being beaten to it by the white rider.

As his taloned hands carefully dry off their tears,he says-- I am..so sorry. God,Death's such an asshole. He didnt- he didnt deserve to know what happened to you..He shouldve minded his damn bussiness.

--Strife...--They said softly.

--No. I know how much it hurts you when you tell it. I know damn well its like traumatizing you all over again! Its not fair- youve had enough pain for a goddamn lifetime and the Next!

When the gunslinger got angry,it was a sight to behold. His ember eyes shine like roaring fires. His voice is a raspy growl,Like bearing his fangs with feral,deep anger.

--Who is he to come here and demand explanations? He couldve kept it professional but no! He had to pick a fight with you over some personal shit. --His hands press to their biceps. His gaze is intense hes making sure his words are drilled into their head-- he thinks youre like lilith because you enjoy yourself. But youre nothing like her,not even close.

The mother of harlots chuckled-- I know,strife. I know.

--Ill blow his brains out Next time he tries to pull something like this

Mystery snorted-- In my realm you've got full permission.

Behind them both comes the red beast of seven heads,who had been off to the side seething with anger but unable to attack without its master's say-so.

--Guess he got under your skin too,Didn' he?--He asked,patting he head of Blasphemy who growled softly with an angry gaze in his eyes.--Its okay,the awful skeleton Man's gone.

It makes his companion laugh a little, And thats all he really wants.

--Go take a walk-- They order to the beast,who breathes out smoke from their seven heads. An order's an order,and they Will follow it.

But not before nuzzling the form of the only nephilim they like. They almost Tumble him down on the ground,leaving only when their mischief is done.

All alone now,the gunslinger says-- Hey,Lets go to bed--He makes a pause,licking his lips-- No- Not that way I meant- you need a nap after this. I need a nap after this shitshow.

Mystery snickered,nodding along. Yet as they walk to the bed,Strife does call their human name once more. He follows it by pressing a soft kiss to their forehead and whispering "youre so much more than your scars"

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for January 6, 2025

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 1:10-19( KJV): 10 My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not. 11 If they say, Come with us, let us lay wait for blood, let us lurk privily for the innocent without cause: 12 Let us swallow them up alive as the grave; and whole, as those that go down into the pit: 13 We shall find all precious substance, we shall fill our houses with spoil: 14 Cast in thy lot among us; let us all have one purse: 15 My son, walk not thou in the way with them; refrain thy foot from their path: 16 For their feet run to evil, and make haste to shed blood. 17 Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird. 18 And they lay wait for their own blood; they lurk privily for their own lives. 19 So are the ways of every one that is greedy of gain; which taketh away the life of the owners thereof. Proverbs 1:10-19 (RSV): 10 My son, if sinners entice you, do not consent. 11 If they say, "Come with us, let us lie in wait for blood, let us wantonly ambush the innocent; 12 like Sheol let us swallow them alive and whole, like those who go down to the Pit; 13 we shall find all precious goods, we shall fill our houses with spoil; 14 throw in your lot among us, we will all have one purse" 15 my son, do not walk in the way with them, hold back your foot from their paths; 16 for their feet run to evil, and they make haste to shed blood. 17 For in vain is a net spread in the sight of any bird; 18 but these men lie in wait for their own blood, they set an ambush for their own lives. 19 Such are the ways of all who get gain by violence; it takes away the life of its possessors.

Thought for the Day

Verses 10-14 - God cares for His children. We do not need to go the way of sinners to attain our desires; for the Lord promises to grant them if we trust and obey Him (Psalm 37:1-4). Greed can lead to robbery and even murder. Gangs are rampant today because the above verses are unheeded by many people. Those of us with children are responsible to warn them of the dangers of following the wrong crowd. Birds of a feather flock together. If we do not desire to become like ungodly people, we must not be close friends with them. If we play with fire, we will be burned. Neither young, nor older people should entertain the notion that we can stay close to wickedness and not eventually do as the wicked do. If we do not resist evil, it will overtake us. Smaller sins eventually lead to bigger ones.

Verses 15-19 - It is not easy to live for Christ in an ungodly society. I praise God for the young people who are doing so. Becoming friends with ungodly people, however, is an enticement that Satan uses to ensnare Christians. He whispers that by becoming their friend, we can win them to Christ, but their influence usually overcomes the well-meaning person. I am not saying we should snub them, but that we should not become close friends with them. Doing so has been the downfall of many Christians. "Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? And what concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel? And what agreement hath the temple of God with idols? for ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, and walk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you" (2 Corinthians 6:14-17).

The best way to help ungodly people is to pray for them and live righteously before them. Witness to them, be kind to them, but do not yield to enticements to join their ways.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear Father in heaven, I come to You in the name of Jesus and I pray for parents and young people today in all walks of life who are struggling with the threat of unrighteous relationships. Help them to live a life that is pleasing to You. Deliver them from the fear of men and give them the grace to cut all ties with those that would lead them into wickedness. Fill them with Your Spirit so that they will have the holy boldness to take a stand for truth and righteousness. May we all treat the wicked that we encounter with compassion and kindness, yet be able to speak the truth in love, so as to help them, and not join them. Give parents Your wisdom to help their teens through the temptations all around them, especially in the inner cities where crime is rampant. Bless the workers and evangelists You have sent to these cities. Provide for them and protect them as they work among the streets. Protect us all from evil and destruction. Help us to overcome evil with good, as You told us to do, and let us be that light that shines in the darkness. Amen.

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for October 16

Morning

“The Lord is risen indeed.”

John 20:1-17

John 20:1

She and her companions had inquired, “Who shall roll us away the stone?” and lo, they found it gone. God often removes our difficulties out of the way long before we come to them.

John 20:7

If any had stolen the body by night, they certainly would not have left the grave-clothes, much less have folded them up. Our Lord came forth at his leisure, not as one who breaks his prison, but as a captive lawfully delivered. Jesus has made the grave a furnished chamber for our repose, and the napkin by itself may serve to dry the mourner’s tears.

John 20:8 , John 20:9

Though repeated to them so often, they had not seen the real meaning. What need there is of the Holy Spirit’s teaching!

John 20:13

Heaven was rejoicing over the risen Lord, the glad fact was an assurance of joy to earth, why then did this holy woman weep? It was ignorance which kept her in sorrow. If we would learn more of the truth concerning Jesus, we should soon find consolation.

John 20:14 , John 20:15

Her love made her feel equal to anything; however ghastly and heavy the burden she would bear it, love would make it light.

John 20:17

There will be time enough for another interview. Do not attempt to detain me, for I am not yet ascended. Go, tell those whom I still love, that I have called them brethren, and desire to see them before I rise into my Father’s glory. Observe the tender love of Jesus, and remember that he has carried the same loving heart to heaven.

“Christ, the Lord, is risen to-day!”

Sons of men and angels say!

Raise your joys and triumphs high;

Sing, ye heavens; and earth reply.

Love’s redeeming work is done;

Fought the fight, the battle won:

Lo! the sun’s eclipse is o’er;

Lo! he sets in blood no more!

Vain the stone, the watch, the seal,

Christ has burst the gates of hell;

Death in vain forbids his rise,

Christ hath open’d paradise.

Evening

“Jesus Himself drew near.”

Luke 24:13-35

While our Lord remained upon earth he showed himself often to his disciples.

Luke 24:13 , Luke 24:14

And, behold, two of them went that same day, the day on which the Lord arose

Luke 24:13 , Luke 24:14

Or about seven miles and a half.

Luke 24:15

When Christians make their Lord the subject of discourse they may hope to be favoured with his company.

Luke 24:16

And the Lord himself also appeared to them “in another form,” so that they did not recognise him. Jesus sometimes hides himself from those whom he loves best. He may be very near us and yet we may not know him.

Luke 24:25 , Luke 24:26

He called them fools, or wanting in thought and understanding. The original words do not imply contempt; our Lord gently rebuked them for not seeing what was so plainly revealed in Scripture.

Luke 24:25 , Luke 24:26

Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory?

Is it not so predicted in the prophets? How could it be otherwise?

Luke 24:28

No doubt he would have done so if they had been indifferent to his company: Jesus never forces his society upon us.

Luke 24:29

Love can always find a plea to which her Lord will yield, for he is always most willing to commune with his people.

Luke 24:30 , Luke 24:31

The precious ordinance of “breaking of bread,” is that in which Jesus manifests himself full often to his chosen, and therefore they greatly delight in it. Let none of us forget to do this in remembrance of him.

Luke 24:32-34

This testimony of the apostles the returning travellers were able to confirm, and they did so at once.

Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide;

The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!

When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, O abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;

Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away:

Change and decay in all around I see;

O thou, who changest not, abide with me!

I need thy presence every passing hour.

What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?

Who like thyself my guide and stay can be?

Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me!

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[bloody-vampires606]

Apocalyptic Lovers

Deathbound Fic | Otto x Caine

A/N - This is my first time ever posting a fic to Tumblr. If there’s like any etiquette or anything else I should know before I post any of my other writing here please tell me. Otherwise, enjoy this introduction to my characters!

 !! Trigger Warnings !!

Mentions of Surgery, Blood, Scalpels, Cutting, Scars, and a lot of really weird flirting. Read at your own discretion!!!!

It was late, or maybe it was just early. Such distinctions were an irrelevant issue for the people in the apocalypse. Otto has found a place sitting in bed besides his lover. Otto’s hair was a mess, the platinum streaks of his bangs were spread across his face as his black ponytail began to slip out into a mess of long hair. His dark eyes were hazed with an air of exhaustion from a long day. Otto’s lover, Caine, was reading a tattered book that he had found amidst the chaos. His face looked aged, even more than it already was in the darkness. It was simple, life was simple when the rules of society seemed to fade alongside of the normality of the word. Of course, people kept their sanity, most people still acted how they did before. Just the shackles of the world were broken, not the people inside it. That was a general statement that excluded both Otto and Caine

”Caine, you should stop reading. It’s the only time we get where we don’t have to worry about work.” Otto whined while staring up at Caine. Caine sighed, setting aside the book onto a nightstand before turning himself to face Otto. A bright smile came across the doctors face as Caine looked his direction. More-so, he was looking directly at a scar that covered Caine’s chest. It was raised and still red, it only seemed to grow with time. Otto adored it, and he adored when he could stare at Caine without a care of who saw.

”Lutz, did you just want to stare at me?” Caine asked Otto. Using a nickname most patients gave him, along with Caine. The two lovers were more than just a couple, Otto was Caine’s surgeon. Of course, such a situation didn’t occur from an odd tension but rather an infatuation.

Dr. Otto Ludwig was not just a pharmacist, or a surgeon. But rather he was fond of experimenting, and that included doting on his boyfriend. Caine was also an abnormal figure, in a zombie apocalypse, Caine shouldn’t have been alive. He had been infected, and without such a doctor, he would be dead. It was an obscure coincidence which shouldn’t have end in the way it did with the two. There was one circumstance which led to their interesting dynamic.

They were both crazy. Well, not in a typical sense of mental illness and other disorders of the mind. But in the way that both of them had a weird sense of romance, and also a skewed sense of morality.

”I love staring at you. You’re adorable! Such a precious scar and face, and when I think of it I wish I could open you up right now!” Otto said, his excited smile always managed to charm Caine. Otto’s way of flirting (if you could even call it that) had Caine wrapped around his finger.

”Jesus. I don’t know how I ended up here with somebody like you.” Caine scoffed. He attempted to seem mad, or even disturbed by what Otto had said. But it was all a simple facade that Otto saw right through. Caine could control his voice, but he couldn’t control his face and his tendency to go red. Otto just smiled brighter at Caine’s bright face. Otto adored Caine, especially in moments where his toughness subsided into a softness that most would never see on the former infantry rifleman.

”Well it was all just a weird coincidence. I never thought i’d find such a perfect person. You scar beautifully, god if I had a scalpel I would just,” Otto paused. Caine’s light expression began to sour as Otto fumbled around in his pants pockets. His face lit up as he suddenly produced a sharp blade. “I forgot I had this! Now I can cut you up just how I want too.” Otto said, his voice heavier as he leaned into Caine.

Despite the crazed doctor inching closer with his blade in hand, Caine sat still. He was even beginning to lean closer as the back of the scalpel ran under Caine’s chin. Caine swallowed hard as the back of the scalpel traced further and further down. It ran along the sensitive areas of the large scar. Caine’s breath hitched in his throat as Otto flipped the blade. Drawing a small amount of blood from the wound. His face held a sadistic smile as he looked up at Caine.

“That smile always kills me, Lutz. I wish I could hate the way you smiled, but it’s just too cute.” Caine said, staring down at Otto. He smiled more as he continued on the light trail down to the bottom of the scar covering his sternum. A light trickle of blood began to pool at the blade as Otto pulled it away and set it aside on the nightstand behind Caine. As Caine’s body relaxed, Otto rested his head along the small cut.

”You’re warm.” Otto muttered. His body easing into a full tranquility. Caine, despite the fact that he had been cut open and proceeding laid on, just rested his hand over Otto’s head. Otto hummed, happily laying on Caine. Blood beginning to stain his cheeks as Caine rested his head back on Otto.

”I love you, Lutz” Caine said, smiling as he rubbed circles with his thumb on Otto’s head. Otto just incoherently muttered back. Caine knew it was a loving response. They may have been crazy, or even be completely insane. But love worked differently, so for them. It was just fine.

[the-pinstriped-hood]

Some Absolutely Stupid ideas that I have come up with while being obsessed with the Lost Boys.

(Although Angel has not been entirely introduced yet, he is Theo's @soupbabe 's OC, Evie is mine and the Lost Boys + Michael and Starr are Cannon)

*Marko and Paul are fighting over who's the cute one in their group.*

*Angel and Evie are hanging out*

Paul: "Babe! Which one of us is the cute one?!"

Angel: "Marko, clearly. Paul you're an absolute menace to society."

Paul: "And proud of it!"

Marko: "You're just jealous because I'm moms favorite!'

Paul: "Are Not!"

Marko: "Are too! Momma! Who's your favorite golden haired boy?!"

Evie: "David."

Evie: "...But Marko takes a very close second place."

Paul: Mom, Marko's gonna say something that'll break your heart.

Evie: oh yeah? Try me.

Marko: you'll have to retire from your teaching job at some point.

*Evie is found sobbing grossly into David's chest* Evie: HOW COULD YOU SAY SOMETHING SO HORRIBLE?!!!

Evie towards her boys: "Just my collection of adorable ragamuffins yes you are!"

Michael: "They literally terrorized a camp of other bikers and set it on fire!"

Evie: "Relax! They're just out having fun! Boys will be boys after all!".

Starr: "They tore those bikers to shreds, Evie! Jesus!"

Evie: "Oh, they just like to play rough, what's the harm?".

Michael: "There's dead bodies all over the ground and your precious boys are covered in blood! David bit a chunk out of a dude's skull!!".

Evie: "So they get a little messy! Cleanup is easy!"

Starr: "Why are you protecting them?!?"

Evie: "Because they are my babies. My charming lovely baby boys!"

[tuulikki]

I scrolled through the notes to see if anyone else had mentioned The Heliand and I’m so glad I found @papervolcano’s addition.

The Heliand is one of the greatest medieval Northern epics, imo, because it’s batshit crazy to modern inheritors of European Christianity who think they know what “European Christianity” means. It was written in Old Saxon by someone (a monk, possibly a former warrior) who seems to have lived through the upheavals of Charlemagne’s conquering conversions. Whoever the author was, he created a dazzling and unlikely syncretisation of the values of the Germanic warrior-elite society and Christianity.

I’m gonna quote at length, including footnotes!

At Gethsemane:

Then He told His followers to wait there, up on the mountain. He said that He wanted to climb up higher on the slope to pray, and told three thanes to go with Him: James and John and good Peter—daring warriors. They went gladly, together with their Commander. Up on the mountain God's Son asked them to bow themselves in prayer and to speak to God, asking Him sincerely to hold in check the strength of the tempters, the will of the evil ones, so that the opponent, the vicious injurer, could not bring doubt to their feelings. The powerful Son of the Chieftain bowed, the most Powerful of Kings, and knelt down on the earth. He spoke to the good Father of all peoples, He said words of lamentation and grief. His mind was clouded and afraid; in His humanness His feelings were upset, His flesh was frightened. His tears fell,* His precious sweat dripped down just as blood comes welling out of wounds.**

* Tears have been added by the Heliand author. It is interesting that not only has none of Christ's fear of losing His life 'in battle' been suppressed, but the scene of the Agony in the Garden has been intensified by the author. Presumably, he felt the extreme realism of this part of the gospel story would be well understood by men who had already been on real battlefields.

** The bloody sweat of the Agony is used by the author to draw an implicit comparison to battle wounds. Christ's "battle" to save mankind has begun, he is already "wounded" and bleeding.

There’s a lingering, 16th–19th century, primly Protestant miasma that hangs around modern conversations about the history of Christianity in Europe. It holds that the Europeans who converted “didn’t really understand” real Christianity. We might ask, who gets to decide what real Christianity is? The traditional answer is that only wealthy educated classes, post-printing press, were sophisticated enough to judge what “real” religion is. Spoilers: the right version of Christianity is their version, and everyone else’s Christianity is just ignorant superstition. But that’s where we get this idea that people were “tricked” into converting to Christianity.

You can feel how shallow and untrue that is when you read The Heliand, where all these lines just brim full of conviction. This was the author’s truth. He interpreted and understood the message according to his own values, very deftly rejecting and accepting different ideas by turn, and he expressed it with wonderful creativity.

But also even battle-hardened medieval Saxon warriors knew it’s normal for men to cry—to the point that they added Jesus crying to their version of the Gospel. So shitty little modern Christofascist nutjobs can shut the hell up!!!

@inneskeeper this seems relevant to your interests

BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE! SHE DOIBLES DOWN!

[wolint]

THE ISSUE OF RACE

THE ISSUE OF RACE

Galatians 3:28-29

 

Racism is the opinion or judgment formed without rationale by a person or group, an unreasonable objection against anyone or anything, without just grounds, or before sufficient knowledge. With tech advancement in all walks of life, one would expect that the issue of racism would become a thing of the past, but sadly, this is not so, if all the recent and ongoing issues surrounding race are anything to go by. More than 100,000 racist hate crimes were recorded in England and Wales alone for the first time last year. Racism is a scourge to society and should never be tolerated because in God’s eyes, there is no worth associated with the colour of skin. We all live, breathe, exist, and are worth the blood of Jesus. Everybody across the globe is individually, lovingly created by God and all believers are also one body in Christ.

If God had made everyone and everything the same, life and the world would have been boring; that would be like a warehouse of robots made according to a specific prototype but expected to perform according to man’s expectations and standards.

Let’s not think that racism is a new disease in our generation or particular to a certain culture. Prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism directed against a person or people based on their racial or ethnic group, and skin colour, typically one that is a minority or marginalized, is as old as time. It is a deep-seated evil ravaging lives and society, everyone feels the effect of it, religious group, race, everyone is prone to the issues and effect of racism.

Most people will ask, “Is racism a sin?” Yes, it’s a sin. Genesis 1:27 teaches us that God created man in His image. All humans! Racism is a direct attack on God by failing to acknowledge the image of God in the person of another colour.

Scripture teaches us that hatred towards another is equivalent to murder. Hatred can be shown passively or actively. To have a lifestyle of habitual hatred towards others reveals that someone is not a new creation in Christ, see John 3:15-16. That does not mean that a Christian can’t struggle with racism in their heart. The seed of racism lies in the heart of all races. We must continually repent of those racist thoughts and tendencies and continually pray against a judgmental spirit, instead pray for a greater love for others.

John 4:4-9 records a real issue of racism. The Samaritans were seen as half-breeds and hated by the Jews in Jesus’s days but instead of feeding this woman’s issues of racism, Jesus had a life-changing conversation that changed the Samaritan woman’s mentality and life.

Racism is an attack on the inclusiveness of the gospel. Throughout Scripture, we see God’s heart on inclusion. God offers salvation to all. The gospel undoubtedly opposes all forms of racism and ethnic hatred, and favouritism is a sin because it’s contrary to God’s character. God wants us to spread the gospel to all nations. Let’s not overlook Revelation 7:9, that God’s plan for unity is vibrant and exciting: With the “fourfold formula of tribe, language, people, and nation, stressing the ethnic diversity of the people of God who will worship around the throne.” “All the nations you have made will come and worship before you, Lord” as declared in Psalm 86:9, reminding us that God saves people from every nation, tribe, and tongue. All people are incredibly precious to the Lord.

Let’s pray for the humility to consider others as more important than ourselves. When we esteem others better than ourselves something beautiful occurs. Christians will increase in love and unity with others regardless of race or ethnicity.

Regardless of background, gender or race, the presence of Christ in the lives of believers makes all one in him according to Galatians 3:26-29.

Racism, unfortunately, is a language so many understand and exhibit more than love, only it talks more about them than those they racially attack. Remember, God loves everyone, and we all belong to Him.

PRAYER: Lord, help me to celebrate the diversity of your creation and be united with all people without prejudice in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT PRAYER MIN.

[irinaaasblog]

The role of spoons in our lives

Spoons. What is the role of spoons in our world? A simple object that can be found in every home, in any country, used by me, by you, and every other person in this world. People seem to be missing or ignoring the importance of spoons, but in my opinion, a spoon is much more than a simple utensil.

Spoons have many different functions, from the one we all know, it helps us eat, to other functions such as serving, measuring, stirring and skimming. Outside the culinary world, spoons can be used as mirrors, since some people often use them to check if they have something stuck in their teeth or even if their hair looks good. This type of use of the spoon is often seen in movies, presenting how such a simple object helps us in many different ways. Spoons make our life easier. Even the features of a spoon were designed to fit our needs. The size and form of the oval part differs depending on the type of food we use it for or depending on the function we need it for.

The most common type of spoon is the tablespoon which has a wide basin, to be able to fit enough food on it, such as chilli or ravioli, and has a slightly curved handle. This design is different from a soup spoon which has a round deep basin and a straight handle. This way the basin of the spoon would work like a bowl. Imagine how easy that would make it to drink the soup! So the design of these utensils make a big difference in their function. I mean, if you decide to use a soup spoon to mix a drink, that won’t succeed in making it taste authentic since the design of it is not made for that. However, if you use a bar spoon, which has a long corkscrew handle, you can be sure that it will stir your drink correctly. (Matsuno 2022)

I find it interesting how in history people used to hide their silver spoons with the rest of the cutlery and claim it was a necessity so that it wouldn’t be confiscated (Wierzbicka 2017). And it is not only the material silver that is seen as a precious material, but the phrase “silver spoons” refers to the bible, “have been born with a silver spoon in their mouth”, which symbolises a person who inherited wealth. However the material, silver, also has good properties. I remember how at my church after you pray, the priest gives you a spoon of red wine, which should symbolise the blood of Jesus. But the same spoon is used for all the people in the church, which made me a bit concerned at the time. However, I discovered that silver is known to be good for our health and has antibacterial effects.

Spoons have high value in our society, because there are cultures who use forks to eat, others use chopsticks and in some cultures you eat with your hand. However in every single culture, you use spoons, even if that is to eat, stir or serve a meal. “Spoons hold up a mirror to the surrounding cultures precisely because they are universal.” (Wilson 2012) Besides the fact that spoons are part of every culture and everyone's home, they have a deeper significance in each of our lives. As babies, our parents feed us using a spoon to direct us to eat the baby food. Gripping the spoon as babies is one of our earliest milestones, therefore making spoons an intimate tool in our lives because they are part of our evolution, “spoons are a natural and intuitive tool for us to use.” (Sharp 2019)

In conclusion, I believe that spoons are significant objects in each of our lives and through the use of their different designs, each having their set functions, they help us by making our lives easier. I find it fascinating how all the different types of spoons act like a family for us that assesses us on a daily basis. If we start to look around we will realise how often we are surrounded by a spoon every day, and therefore the impact they have in our lives.

References

Matsuno, Yuka. 2022. “17 Types Of Spoons, Explained.” Tasting Table. https://www.tastingtable.com/1107019/types-of-spoons-explained/.

Sharp, Alice. 2019. “The Magic of… Spoons – Alice Sharp.” Alice Sharp. https://alicesharp.co.uk/the-magic-of-spoons/.

Wierzbicka, Anna. 2017. “The idea of a 'spoon': semantics, prehistory, and cultural logic.” ScienceDirect. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0388000114001120?via%3Dihub.

Wilson, Bee. 2012. “What Your Spoon Says About You.” The Atlantic. https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2012/10/what-your-spoon-says-about-you/263416/?utm_source=copy-link&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=share.

[jdgo51]

If Uncle M.L. Could Tweet

Today's inspiration comes from:

King Rules

by Alveda King

"We need to remember that every age of every generation is the modern age. When we are born, there are things that humanity had either never seen or that had happened so long ago that we don’t remember. That’s why each new generation often thinks that the wisdom of the generations before is old-fashioned.

For instance, when I was born, television had only been invented a few years earlier. When my father, uncle, and aunt were born, automobiles were just a few decades old. When their grandparents were slaves, we all know how the way of their world was. Now, today, my children and grandchildren laugh when it takes forever for me to use technology they cut their teeth on. Yet while some things seem to change, some things never do. “History merely repeats itself,” said Solomon. “It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new” (Ecclesiastes 1:9).

In the early twenty-first century, social media is all the rage. I keep racking my brain for a way to communicate the message of the ages that my dear Uncle M.L. and indeed our whole Williams–King family have embraced: how faith, hope, love, and prayer are the keys that unlock the blessings of heaven. Suddenly, it came to me.

What if Uncle M.L. could tweet?

So for all the tech-savvy brothers and sisters out there, this collection of quotes comes from the timeless messages and prayers of Uncle M.L.

We are all one human race, destined for greatness. Let us live together in peace and love in a Beloved Community.

I’m just a symbol of a movement. I stand there because others helped me to stand there, forces of history projected me there. We are made for the stars… Let us join together in a great fellowship of love. Heavenly Father, thank You for life, health, rewarding vocations, and peaceful living in this turbulent society. God, teach us to use the gift of reason as a blessing, not a curse. God, bring us visions that lift us from carnality and sin into the light of God’s glory. Agape love, repentance, forgiveness, prayer, faith: all are keys to resolving human issues. God, deliver us from the sins of idleness and indifference. Lord, teach me to unselfishly serve humanity. Lord, order our steps and help us order our priorities, keeping You above idols and material possessions, and to rediscover lost values. Lord Jesus, thank You for the peace that passes all understanding that helps us to cope with the tensions of modern living. Creator of life, thank You for holy matrimony, the privilege You grant man and wife as parents to aid You in Your creative activity. Dear Jesus, thank You for Your precious blood, shed for the remission of our sins. By Your stripes we are healed and set free! Dear God, You bless us with vocations and money. Help us to joyfully and obediently return tithes and gifts to You to advance Your Kingdom. Deliver us from self-centeredness and selfish egos. Dear Heavenly Father, help us to rise to the place where our faith in You, our dependency on You, brings new meaning to our lives. God, help us to believe we were created for that which is noble and good ; help us to live in the light of Your great calling and destiny. Lord, help me to accept my tools, however dull they are; and then help me to do Your will with those tools. [Paraphrased] Our Father God, above all else save us from succumbing to the tragic temptation of becoming cynical. God, let us win the struggle for dignity and discipline, defeating the urge for retaliatory violence, choosing that grace which redeems. Remove all bitterness from my heart and give me the strength and courage to face any disaster that comes my way. God, thank You for the creative insights of the universe, for the saints and prophets of old, and for our foreparents. God, grant that people over the nation rise up, use talents and finances that God has given them, lead the people to the promised land. God, increase the persons of goodwill and moral sensitivity. Give us renewed confidence in nonviolence the way of love Christ taught. We are made to live together. Dear Heavenly Father, thank You for the ministering, warring, and worshipping angels You send to help keep and protect us in all our ways. We are all one human race, destined for greatness. Let us live together in peace and love in a Beloved Community. Have faith in God. God is Love. Love never fails. It is our prayer that we may be children of light, the kind of people for whose coming and ministry the world is waiting. Amen.

Excerpted with permission from King Rules: Ten Truths for You, Your Family, and Our Nation to Prosper by Alveda King, copyright Alveda King.

[johnjankovic]

SHEPHERDS AND WOLVES

I am here. Anonymous

Christianity as the progenitor of Western society has been the proverbial mortar of a great many institutions shaping man’s upward march. Between constitutional governance inspired by St. Thomas Aquinas, the Renaissance’s gallery of art the Church commissioned or capitalism’s Protestant seedbed this influence remains ecumenical. Across a spectrum from politics to science our ethics moulded civilization despite how modern philistines erase them. Reforms allowing criminals to rape and beat innocents with impunity inveigh against the moral compass of Christian jurisprudence upon which English Common Law was founded. Wild hoaxes of Catholic places of instruction murdering aboriginal children saw arsonists set a firestorm upon churches. The Marxist usurpation of government whose policies denounce Christianity impoverish people both materially and spiritually. A long decline over the preceding thirty-five years now crescendoes into a chessboard eerily set in the final few seconds before a great war between Manichean forces. The very strangeness of these times marks the hour. The medical profession gaslights how men purportedly menstruate and breastfeed. Toddlers elect their genders. Pedophilia is mainstreamed. Beliefs once held inviolable are violently twisted under the thrall of Babylon.

A nefarious funhouse exploits man to precipitate the perversion of a world on the eve of its damnation. Yet akin to the Third Law of Motion that for every action there prevails an opposite reaction if Lucifer is an interloper here anew then so too is something far more purposed. That something issues from an anomaly that ripped the fabric of space and time two thousand years ago. It is something condemned to wander the cosmos for eternity for it can neither forgive nor forget. The paroxysm of chaos afoot telegraphs the imminent conflict as the tit-for-tat grows tiresome in the search for a conclusion. The reason for this crossroad hails from a galactic stride humanity is about to embark upon into the final frontier. What ideas man exports to Mars and beyond will determine the fate of his species for millennia and it is incumbent that he be reminded of the catechism that led him here. Much like how Christopher Columbus discovered the New World upon his flagship christened Santa Maria this next expedition will be of a missionary sort. What appears lost on laypeople is how Columbus fancied himself a crusader to reclaim Jerusalem from the Muslims through precious metals sourced in newfound lands. The voyage did not manifest orthogonally to Christianity but quite the opposite. Faith was the cynosure.

Neither vainglory nor hubris coloured Columbus’ feats but rather it was the Catholic convictions he harboured that did. This self-effacement for the sake of a greater cause can be extrapolated onto the entire history of Western civilization. Sacrifice is the marrow and sinews of modernity’s sustained growth. Of course society belies this claim by infantilizing adults into a perpetual state of denial. You see these very people everyday clutching to their mortality through their promiscuous habits or ‘reliving their youth’ in debauchery. These degenerates are wayward children in a sandbox who stink of milk. Pay little heed to them as no more than a cautionary tale. The sons and daughters of our creed do not cower at hardships when their contemplation of the Crucifixion stoutens their resolve to glorify Jesus in their proper comportment. Flesh and bones decay but Christianity’s love suffers no such affliction. Perhaps you have been privy to this phenomenon yourself in the midst of a Sunday Service when a worshipper sobs inconsolably whilst the Holy Spirit imbues them with peace likened to an exorcism. There is power in the blood precisely how the eponymous hymn incants. Indeed the Gospels have been a source of beauty that has incubated a kaleidoscope of wonders from the corpus of Shakespeare to Copernicus’ heliocentric model.

To say things men dare not say or to do things men dare not do describes the invincibility boasted by a believer. Republican President Lincoln bellowed in Congress about the scourge of slavery by citing the Gospel of Matthew that a house divided against itself cannot stand. Such moral turpitude was further upbraided by Frederick Douglass who aroused the conscience of a nation in defence of a Christianity not perverted by predilection towards race. Clara Barton clad in the armour of her faith tended to the injured upon the bedlam of battlefields in the Civil War before founding the American Red Cross. Baptist Minister Martin Luther King purged prejudice in agitating against the tyranny of segregation. Britain’s William Wilberforce in his fervency for Christ became the fountainhead for the Slave Trade Act of 1807 that brought an end to institutionalized slavery. The young maiden Joan of Arc in a parable of David and Goliath was guided by providence to be a lodestar when bloodshed engulfed French sovereignty. Florence Nightingale in her Christian altruism saved scores of soldiers by her sanitary reforms gleaned from statistics. The Augustinian friar Gregor Mendel hailed as the patriarch of modern genetics authored scientific canons he observed in his monastery’s garden. Salvation and discovery are fruits of Christendom.

This pantheon of virtue in its rising watermark for humanity’s lot to forge an ideal society continues with George Washington Carver who reconciled his faith with science. The fruits of this labour with a reverence for Creation heralded a revolution in sustainable agriculture based upon the scientist’s tenets on crop rotation. Then there sits Harriet Tubman identified alongside Moses as birds of a feather in her emancipation of slaves via the Underground Railroad. For this firebrand her physical missions were pilgrimages she attributed to supernatural visions that guided her deep into the bowels of the antebellum South. Tubman fought the good fight for our family. This same gauntlet Archbishop Desmond Tutu confronted through his activism against the inequities within the dark recesses of South Africa’s apartheid. Another vignette would be the philanthropy towards social welfare by the Methodist William Booth who masterminded the Salvation Army. Soap and soup saved many souls in keeping vigil over the marginalized. Far from performative the organization abided by a strict military ethos for its war against sin whose legacy continues to this day. In the firmament of literature Christian allegories between such themes as sacrifice and redemption pervade J.R.R. Tolkien’s anthology of repute.

Brick by brick has the modern world been architected upon ecclesiastical works of Christian men and women. Yet Marxists who are pigmies amongst creatures deride this fact by revising history with their nihilism. These craven sociopaths are quite clever in their biddings for the devil by browbeating dissidents into conformity analogous to how Joseph Stalin secularized Russia. Perhaps the most apposite parallelism harkens back to the Spanish Civil War when a cohort of leftists alienated Catholics by raping their nuns and turning their churches to ash. Again Isaac Newton’s Third Law of Motion echoes in the comeuppance from General Franco who brutalized these godless zealots. History now repeats itself as the sheepish masses are led astray anew. The machinations remain conspicuously the same. Marxists inundate Christendom with military-aged men not persecuted refugees to rouse chaos by exploiting our goodwill and bastardizing the written word. Sin is proselytized to children as captains of the LGBTQ+ cartel groom them. A whole canyon of disparity exists between silently partaking in vice and its celebration. But sheeple kowtow to these orthodoxies by parading their pronouns despite how they enable the mammaries of minors being lopped off or the erosion of women’s autonomy under the jackboot of this social contagion.

A third cause célèbre is the climate change alarmism which is a pretext for humanity’s genocide. You are the carbon the champagne Marxists wish to expunge by doing away with staples like meat for synthetic alternatives laced in chemicals or shuttering farms wholesale. The mendacity reveals itself in how goalposts are so protean as they are moved further afield. The falsehoods of pseudo-scientists continue to be debunked as polar bear populations flourish, Earth’s verdant canopy expands, or corral reefs are rehabilitated. Vandals need to start forest fires just to shore up the narrative although the many fissures betray the ruse. Data is doctored by neglecting to edify the public on how surface temperatures are sampled close to urban heat islands like cities or airports in biasing anthropogenic causes. These same charlatans fail to adjust their models for the Minoan, Roman or Medieval warming periods whose thermal variations conduced to prolific yields from farmlands and vineyards. In fact the sole reason for the diaspora of Vikings inhabiting Greenland and Newfoundland adverts to these kinder climes. Be weary of such frauds indentured to another master. Jesus said, ‘Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves; so be wise as snakes and innocent as doves (Matthew 10:16)’. Do not be stupid.

[portraitsofsaints]

Saint Gaspar del Bufalo 1786 - 1837 Feast Day: January 2 Founder of the Society of the Precious Blood

As an infant Saint Gaspar del Bufalo suffered from an eye condition that threatened to blind him; he was cured in 1788 following prayers for the intervention of Saint Francis Xavier.  After the occupation of Rome by the French, on four separate occasions, Gaspar refused to take the oath of allegiance to Emperor Napoleon out of loyalty to the Pope and the Church. He was exiled and imprisoned due to these refusals.  After being liberated, he helped formally start the Missioners of the Precious Blood (C.P.P.S.) in 1815 at Giano dell’Umbria, Italy, a congregation devoted to preaching and to bring the sacraments back to war-torn Italy {website}

[inamindfarfaraway]

I can’t really get into Luz/Hunter roleswap AUs because I just think Luz is the perfect main character and Belos the perfect villain thematically and everything and don’t like Hunter and Camilla taking their places, as cool as Golden Guard Luz is. But what about a King/Collector roleswap AU, since they’re equally foils? Introducing… the Collector Clawthorne AU!

King:

Centuries ago, searching for the power and knowledge he needs to destroy witchkind and a hideout after committing too many crimes on the mainland, Phillip discovers an island conveniently not on any maps and in its dilapidated castle, an egg. He uses a spell to hasten the egg’s hatching, in case it’s an animal he can eat. It turns out to be a baby Titan. The only son of the dead ‘god’ that formed the Boiling Isles. The most powerful being known to exist in this dimension, revered by the witches. Phillip sees potential in this.

He names the baby King, an assertion of both his great power and that it is still inherently inferior to Emperor Belos’s own (and mirroring how Jesus was mockingly called the ‘King of the Jews’ by his killer). King is raised to be the Jesus analogue in Belos’s twisted repurposing of Puritanical ideology to control the people. Witches can’t deny Belos’s righteousness when he’s the protector and in a sense regent for the Titan’s son, the spirit of the father supposedly entrusting him to guide society to become ‘pure’ and worthy of King’s inheritance. But just as the Roman Empire put Jesus to death and hated and persecuted the Jews, Belos inwardly has no affection or respect for King or his father and despises all the magic Titans preside over. Instead he’s leading the boy up a mountain of lies to be his sacrificial lamb. Eventually learning a substitute for the Collector’s draining spell, he plans to murder and fully drain King on the Day of Unity to provide it with the required power.

King is extremely sheltered, not remembering ever leaving the castle grounds, and though everyone knows what he looks like very few people see him in person except on special events. Belos can’t have the sinful riffraff contaminating his precious messiah. This surrounds him with mystery and speculation, even more than Belos and the Golden Guard. It adds to the narrative of his divinity that nobody outside Belos’s inner circle knows his true nature or behaviour. King is spoiled in every way except real love. And how can you miss something you’re never known, right? To prevent him feeling any troublesome empathy for or attachment to witches and demons, he’s constantly treated like he exists on a higher level than them. It totally isn’t crushingly lonely at all, definitely. He cultivates a cold, stern, temperamental, domineering, arrogant facade to feel a degree in control over his life, hide his crippling self-doubt and need for validation and appear as the strong, commanding presence he believes a Titan should be and he has to be to have worth. His emotional growth has been severely stunted and he's very fragile and volatile. The only people he respects are his guardian Belos, who he’s forever indebted and unhesitatingly submissive to, and his father whose lingering soul Belos claims to be able to communicate with. He says that the Titan has big plans for King. That he cares about him, and wants him to be the best he can be and make the world a better place. So if his dad wants, no, needs him to suffer a little to that end - i.e. regularly giving blood and other body parts to the Emperor’s Coven to charge tools and weapons and spells; or going through intense (brutal) training to master and test the limits of his powers; or generally being Belos's personal lab rat to increase his magical knowledge and ability - how can King refuse? How can an act be wrong if it’ll make his dad proud of him? Love him? And it's all for the greater good, of course.

He’s a brother figure to the first few Golden Guards. They aren’t meant to be peers, King has none, but they have no other fellow children for company besides each other, so it just keeps happening that they form a relationship varying from gradual trust and solidarity between victims of abuse to wholehearted sibling love and friendship. The Grimwalkers each rebel at least partly out of wanting King to be safe. Belos gets tired of this. He develops a new dimension to his abusive parenting: inventing a golden child vs scapegoat dynamic for King and the current Grimwalker. The Grimwalker envies and resents King and always being inferior to him fans the flames of his insecurities and desperation to prove himself; King is now unable to befriend him and even more emotionally isolated, and is subtly encouraged to unleash his resultant anger, frustration and bitterness at the Grimwalker, ensuring the latter won’t warm up to him; in a self-perpetuating cycle that keeps them both vulnerable and useful. It absolutely doesn’t traumatize King whatsoever when Belos kills the Grimwalkers over and over. They bring it on themselves. And he knows better than to care about lesser beings anyway - the Grimwalkers don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. They don’t matter to his dad. They aren’t important like him! Belos would never do anything like that to him… right? At least, not as long as he plays his part. Right?

He’s grown to Titan mid-adolescence by the present day and is roughly the size of Tarak. His horn was also broken by Jean-Luc when Belos stole him in this continuity, but King was told that wild witches who kidnapped and tried to kill him to harness his power for destruction were responsible. This helps explain why Belos is so ‘protective’ of him and gives him a grudge against wild witches. He wears gold caps on both his horns to conceal the imperfection, part of an elegant, regal outfit consisting of comfortable white robes with gold and purple accents. The clothes likewise hide scars from all the experiments and surgeries that have been done on him. His circlet of woven gold wires seems strangely spiky for the Emperor’s Coven’s aesthetic… until you realize that it’s a crown of thorns.

The Collector:

Eight years ago, Eda stumbles upon a tablet of some weird crystal with a crescent moon etched on it. Looks expensive. She could probably sell it. Once she returns home, it starts to glow. Okay, it’s magical. She could definitely sell it -

Oh. She brought home a child. Shit.

Correction: she brought home an ancient, immortal, godlike child called the Collector who has been sealed away and must communicate through the tablet. She agrees to free them because she doesn’t know why they’re in solitary confinement, but it’s clear he’s a kid however long he’s been alive, and she doesn’t approve of child imprisonment on principle. His voice, laughter and shadow form soon triggers the Owl Beast’s trauma from their imprisonment by an Archivist, and they take control of Eda’s body and attack. They attempt to destroy the tablet and manage to not break but fracture it before Eda can restrain them, which inhibits the Collector’s pinky promise release ritual when Eda performs it. Like when a crack on your touchscreen makes your interaction with the display glitch. This means that only a tiny fraction of magic can pass through, giving the Collector a physical form, but his actual magical power is inaccessible. The Owl Beast is furious to have a Collector here. The Collector is having a tantrum that they "can’t do anything!". Hooty is excited to have a new inhabitant. Eda… is overwhelmed. She calms the Collector down and vows to find a way to free their magic someday.

In return she gets the story of the Archivists, the Titans and how the Collector was unfairly punished for his people's crimes. Learning that her supposed curse is in fact a sentient animal trapped unwillingly and harrowingly moves Eda to sympathize with and respect the Owl Beast. She works on negotiating with it and accesses her harpy form years earlier. It’s awesome.

Meanwhile, although she doesn’t acknowledge it aloud and the Collector doesn’t even notice because he has no concept of parents, she slips unintentionally into being their mother. She just can’t bear to abandon this kid, who as ancient as he may be, is very naive and trusts her and has been alone for so long and can't stand it. And she relates to being pigeonholed as a troublemaker and considered irredeemable by adults. So they get a room. The room accumulates a large collection of toys, books and furnishings. The tablet is kept safely cushioned in a secret chest to prevent its breaking, theft or mishandling. She accurately deduces the Collector has often been deceived and manipulated and tries not to talk down to him or lie to him, but he doesn’t understand much beyond game metaphors initially. For example, she describes the Coven System as a really strict, boring game the mean bully Emperor Belos forces everyone on the Boiling Isle to play, because he designed the rules so he always wins; Eda thought everyone should get the chance to win and broke the rules, meaning now she and the Emperor’s Coven are playing a special game of hide and seek where if they catch her, she’ll be taken away forever. Yes, even though she promised to help the Collector. The Emporer’s Coven do not honour pinky promises. Yes, they’re that bad. She nicknames the Collector Collie (narratively representing his identity as an Ordinary Kid With a Family). He is ecstatic to have companionship, especially the way Eda and Hooty don’t demand any knowledge or services of them like every previous ‘friend’ they’ve had, rather love him in and of himself. Finding unconditional love feels much nicer than lonely omnipotence, they slowly settle into contentment with relatively mundane life. It’s an infinite upgrade to prison besides. Eda disciplines them with gradual success. She introduces them to concepts like empathy; that they can be wrong and that’s okay; that what they find fun isn’t necessarily fun or good for everybody else all of the time; that people can sometimes do hurtful or unpleasant things and not be evil, etc.. Collie has equals now and feel the consequences of their actions. Not to say that he matures beyond pre-Season One King until Luz arrives, but he’s way ahead of the canon Collector.

Hooty is his best friend. They get along excellently, sharing an eccentric, kinda disturbing sense of fun and humour and remaining in the Owl House when Eda goes out, with Hooty a surprisingly competent babysitter.

Collie adores and dotes on Owlbert. Eda repeatedly takes measures to childproof her staff and must teach them to be gentle with Palismen.

Then Luz arrives in the Demon Realm. And the entire history of the Boiling Isles is set to change forever.

[sunderedandundone]

Dark Crystal fridge moments, Skeksis edition

So what DOES SkekGra mean by "cursed"? As in, "I lied, I cursed, I killed, I hurt, I maimed!"

Like yeah I guess they COULD mean they were a pottymouth, but that just seems kind of hard to buy? It doesn't really seem to be in the same league as even the lying -- to say nothing of the other stuff?

(I mean, one could make this case, though I think you'd have to work it. You'd have to posit that Thra societies actually did have some significant blasphemy taboos, like Christian societies pre-20c. Earlier generations of cussing were more likely to involve blasphemy than scatology or the f-word, because that was actually more scandalous; it wasn't till later that words like "Goddamn" etc came to be considered blonde brew in comparison to "MFer." Thus why we have so many minced oaths involving God, Jesus, etc that now sound so precious and prissy to modern ears. So like, if Gelfling of the Conqueror era really had a bug up it about people taking Thra's name in vain, for example, then I could see it. If you worked it, I could see it, BUT. ^^) Seems much more likely to me that they must have meant...like...CURSING, not cursing. O_o

So then the question becomes "Whoa. Skeksis can curse? That is, I always figured mystical assholes like SkekZok could probably curse somebody if they really wanted, but just your basic workaday military commander Skeksis can fling curses too??"

Exactly what kind of curses could they lay on people? Disease? Transformation? Really shitty luck? Riverwater turned into blood? Water and wine turned to vinegar? Ear mites? Only able to laugh like a Skeksis from now on?

THE POSSIBILITIES ARE LITERALLY ENDLESS

[actualmermaid]

What exactly makes Christianity different from a typical personality cult? There have been plenty of people who have been deified by a group of fanatical followers. What makes Jesus so special?

All I can tell you is the story as I see it. All you have are my biases, and what "really" happened might be completely different. So this is what makes Jesus special to me. I only hope I can tell a "true story," whether or not all the details are correct.

Jesus' environment is a place where money, religious establishment, and government are all working together to oppress people. The Judean kings, the Roman Empire, and the Temple priests and scribes were all vying for influence over the people and over each other, at the expense of the common people, because there was not a distinct separation between religious and secular law. When people fulfilled their religious obligations via animal sacrifice, they also had to pay a tax to the Romans. "Normal people" in this environment were doing their best, but they were poor, and they knew that their rulers were taking advantage of them.

Jesus was a child of this environment. His mother was unwed, and she was potentially at risk of being stoned to death for adultery, but his father was a kind and just man, and refused to expose her to public scrutiny. Jesus' family was poor: Joseph was a craftsman and/or a manual laborer. Mary and Joseph offered turtledoves as a sacrifice when Jesus was born--this was a cheap offering, and probably the best they could afford. Jesus was a smart kid. He noticed all of these things, and he asked smart-alec questions about them. He grew up watching rich people offer lavish sacrifices and monetary offerings in the Temple. He wonders whether God views them more favorably just because they can afford to offer goats and lambs instead of pigeons and sparrows.

Eventually, Jesus grows up. He becomes a disciple of an ascetic sect for a time--possibly the Essenes, or possibly another of the diverse Jewish sects that existed in the Second Temple period, some of which rejected animal sacrifice altogether. He begins his ministry at age 30, and reaches out to people who had fallen through the cracks: poor people, people with skin diseases, people with mental illnesses, and people who had been forced to take on degrading, low-status jobs in order to survive. The Gospels tell a story about society, not about Judaism or Christianity as "belief systems," which is how we think of them.

His message is this: take care of each other, be reconciled with your neighbor, and God will provide. He made the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, and they have nothing to offer him but their beauty. And people, who are made in his image, are much more precious to God than any number of sparrows.

For three years, Jesus travels around Judea, preaching and healing and making both friends and enemies. It all comes to a head in Jerusalem during Passover. Jesus takes the time to braid a whip, and then he walks into the Temple, upending the tables of the money-changers and driving out the merchants who were ripping people off when they came to buy animals for their ritual obligations.

Jesus knew who his enemies were. He knew what he was disrupting. And he knew what the consequences would be. The Roman governor, with the collaboration of the Judean religious authorities, has Jesus put to death.

For the last 2000 years, people have tried to understand what this means. There are several explanations: Jesus accepted his humiliating execution so that his followers wouldn't have to. Jesus willingly became the Passover lamb for those who had none of their own. Jesus went to his death in order to put his enemies to shame. Jesus died because he was too great a threat to the established order.

Christianity as we know it is not a static, unchanging set of dogmas that burst into existence right after Jesus' death. It's a puzzle. It's a challenge. It's an invitation to understand the story, to become a disciple of Jesus, and to consume everything he was. We are meant to be changed by his flesh and blood, which we receive in the form of bread and wine, generation after generation. One life alone is not enough to understand the full message. We constantly add our own gifts to the "heavenly treasury" of Christianity: all our wisdom, knowledge, tradition, experience, language, art, science, gold, silver, labor, and love. We are all imperfect. We are all sinners. We are all part of the story, in some way, and it's up to us to understand what part we play in this story's unfolding.

I always try to understand myself and my place in the world. I'm the daughter of an imperial military officer. I was born into privilege. That doesn't make me a "bad person," but it does demand a certain responsibility. When I place myself at the scene of the Crucifixion, I'm perhaps a daughter of a centurion, watching the scene and thinking this isn't right.

I was also forced out of full participation in my family's religion for being a sexual minority (and, on some level, for being a girl who asked too many inconvenient questions). In this, I feel a sense of kinship with the early Christians--Hellenistic Jews and Gentile God-fearers who were not quite at home in the traditions of their fathers. With them, I see in Jesus an eternal kingdom of love, justice, and mercy.

So that's what makes Jesus, and the discipline of Christianity, special to me.

[jackrrabbit]

it will come back [pt. 2] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 3]

A/N: Title from the Hozier song—“don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: yandere, violence (not directed toward reader), crying, Shiggy REALLY likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep, non-explicit sexual content. [In later parts: 18+, sex, other stuff]

He—Tomura—keeps visiting.

At first you think it’s because of the free medical care, and you wish you had the spine to tell him to suck it up and go see a professional. After a couple weeks turn into a couple months and his wounds fade into ragged purple scars, though, you start to think differently.

Within a short time Tomura has figured out your work schedule, and he does a decent job of not showing up after your long shifts. The unavoidable consequence of this is that he ends up monopolizing your precious days off, but you come to the realization about a month and a half in that you don’t actually mind. You like it. It’s like spending time with a friend.

Mostly you guys talk. It doesn’t seem like Tomura really has anyone to talk to the way the two of you do, but that’s probably just you projecting. It’s usually shallow stuff—TV shows you like, video games he plays, funny stories from patients you treated. Sometimes when you’re cooking for yourself, you make extra for him. (It happens a lot, actually, and at one point you bring up how much his appetite is costing you and the next time you see him he brings a bag of rice and makes you a porridge that crunches between your teeth when you try to eat it. You can’t finish yours, but he eats an entire bowl and insists that you’re being picky.)

Sometimes he sleeps over on the couch, but he’s always gone when you wake up.

The two of you skirt around the heavier stuff, and you know it’s intentional on his part. You have to resist the urge to ask him about being a villain—he’s all but confirmed it for you, and it’s human nature to be curious, isn’t it? In the same way you can’t help looking at a car crash, you want to poke and prod and find out what it is, exactly, that Tomura does for a living. That part of his life is suspiciously absent from your discussions—if you didn’t know better, you’d think he spends all of his time sleeping and playing games and breaking into your place.

On the other hand, you don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. You can accept criminality in the abstract, but you’ve treated too many victims of the bullshit hero–villain battle to be comfortable really knowing why Tomura avoids public places.

So you don’t ask about it, and Tomura doesn’t tell, and you don’t look up his name. And it’s easy. It’s nice. You’d forgotten what it’s like to come back to a home that isn’t empty.

And then one day when you get off a few hours early from your shift, you stop by a convenience store to pick up some snacks for yourself (hey, you’ve been working hard, you’re entitled to binge a little on foods that you’re afraid to look at the fat content for), and you think, Hm, I wonder if Tomura wants some.

[You: 7:49 PM] > Are you coming over today? [T: 7:49 PM] > Yeah why [You: 7:51 PM] > Getting snacks > Want some? [T: 7:51 PM] > No

[T: 8:12 PM] > When r u coming back to ur place

[T: 8:58 PM] > Hey where are you

[T: 9:39 PM] > (Y/N)?

There’s a man with a gun in the convenience store.

It takes you a second to process at first. You’re standing in the snack food aisle seeking out Oreos and debating the merits of Double Stuf vs. Mega when you catch the mumbled demand and the metallic clicking noise you’ve only ever heard in movies before. It’s a gun—you know that, but your mind dismisses it because it’s ridiculous. Guns are rare in hero society. People don’t go around robbing bodegas at gunpoint anymore.

(You should know better. You work in a goddamn ER. But you compartmentalize, and the crimes you see written across your patients’ bodies stay out of the realm of your personal life because you need them to.)

It’s only when you see the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed up to the cashier’s sweaty neck that you really understand what’s happening.

You drop to the ground immediately, looking toward the exit but it’s shut and there’s some kind of metal…thing holding the door closed. The cashier mumbles a denial and you can hear him fumble around with the cash drawer for what feels like ages.

It’s real. This is real. You’re in the middle of a robbery. Where are the heroes? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

God, you’re a hypocrite, cowering behind the aisle divider and waiting for someone to step up while the robber’s demands get increasingly louder and more frantic. He wants money, and the cashier (who, you remember, is a man in his sixties with hands that shake with Parkinson’s when he holds out your receipt) isn’t being fast enough.

“That’s it? There’s no more? Are you fucking kidding me, there’s gotta be a safe or something—“

“No! No, p-please, I’m sorry, this is all I have!”

You cringe, crushing your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re surprised you can hear at all over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Don’t fuck with me old man, I know there’s more! Show me the safe or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

No! You have to do something. You can’t just sit here. You’ve heard plenty of death threats from your patients (not to mention that one from Tomura), and you know the difference between a bluff and a serious warning. Maybe you can catch the robber off guard, try to pull the gun away? You stand up quickly, hoping against hope that you won’t regret this, but in a split second you see that the cashier has the same idea and he’s trying to pull the rifle out of the robber’s hand and—

BANG.

Something warm and wet splatters across your face.

///

Tomura is angry when you get back to the apartment. As soon as he hears your key in the lock he rises from your couch so he can grab your collar with three fingers, jerking your head up to force you to look at him. “Where have you been? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting—“

But he cuts short in the middle of his sentence. Maybe because he sees the look on your face. Or maybe he just notices the traces of blood you haven’t been able to wipe off.

“What happened,” Tomura says. It’s not a question. He adjusts his grip slightly so it’s not quite as punishing, but you hold still anyway.

You have to force your mouth open in order to speak, but when your voice comes out it’s more steady than you thought it would be. “It’s not my blood. There was a robbery at the store. The cashier got shot.”

“Oh.” He releases you and frowns. “That’s it?”

“Fuck you.” You push past him into the kitchen to get yourself a drink with trembling hands. Pantry’s out of shōchū, whiskey will just make you sicker—ahh, there it is. Baijiu. The glug glug glug of the liquor into the glass does nothing to put your nerves at ease, but you pour yourself a double anyway.

“Wait—wait.” Tomura’s hands twitch and rub over his arms like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “Calm down. Why are you so upset? Don’t you see this stuff every day?”

You do. You’re an ER nurse. There’s no injury you haven’t seen. But it’s not about the blood. “I...I knew him. The cashier. He was nice. He had a grandkid on the way. I—“ You bite your lip and down the baijiu in one gulp. It burns.

Tomura clearly doesn’t know how to comfort you; probably doesn’t even really know why you need to be comforted. What does it mean that death is so meaningless to him? you wonder. But you need someone to listen to you, clueless or not, and Tomura will have to do.

The baijiu is still bitter and hot down your throat when you speak again. “You know something? Know what they asked me when the heroes finally showed up and pulled us out of there, me and the corpse?”

“…What?” Tomura asks warily.

“They stuck a camera in my face and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the hero who saved me. Any words of gratitude I wanted to share,” you spit. Now it’s your turn to feel your hands making fists at your sides. Your fingernails scratch into your palms like the pain can be an outlet for the sudden overwhelming fury spilling over you. “They didn’t save him. They were too late.”

Tomura’s eyes widen, and through your curtain of anger you can tell he’s looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. It’s unlike him to even look directly at you, and when he does it’s usually in disinterest or half-sincere irritation. This, though…this is different. He’s watching you like a believer watches a prophet. You can tell—or at least some deep, ugly part of you that you hope is wrong can tell—that he’s trying not to smile.

“I hate this,” you say, and the first tear drips out of your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s awful. You don’t want to cry in front of Tomura. You don’t want to show him how weak you are. But before you can wipe it away, Tomura’s hand comes up and does it for you, smearing the tear over your cheek in a gesture that—for him—is oddly tender.

Then he hugs you.

It’s stiff and awkward, like he’s forgotten how to do it, but the intention is clear. His arms fold around your back, pulling you into his chest while his chin makes its way to rest on your shoulder. He’s leaning into you so deeply that your spine is arched back, and you stagger away from him only for him to step closer again to make up the distance.

“It’s not fair, hm,” he murmurs into your hair. His tone is the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever heard from him, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement you can’t ignore. “They’re always too late, aren’t they? The heroes… And everyone will watch that video of you thanking the heroes, and they’ll think they’re safe too. They’ll keep going about their lives and think that nothing bad can happen to them because a hero will always be around to save them…but you and I know that’s a lie.”

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion that’s raising goosebumps over your arms while Tomura rubs circles into your back, but when it clicks you shiver because it’s fear. You’ve never really been afraid of Tomura before, even when you should’ve been. Does he realize he’s backing you up with how forcefully he’s pushing himself into you? The backs of your knees hit the arm of your couch and you topple onto it with Tomura following.

He holds himself above you on his hands, legs tangled with yours. His eyes are wild and he’s not even trying to suppress his grin now. You’re trapped lying on your back under him—pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Get off of me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“It’s all a lie, all of it…” A hand comes up and strokes your cheek, rubbing with two fingers at a stray fleck of blood on your neck. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I’m so glad you understand…”

“Let me up now, Tomura.”

He holds still for a long moment—waiting, thinking, considering—and then sits up, still straddling you but loosely enough that you can scramble back away from him on the couch. Your heart is racing, but you try to slow your breaths so he doesn’t pick up on how scared you are.

“Don’t freak out. You’re no fun,” Tomura says, and you exhale a sigh of relief at how normal he sounds. You never thought you’d be so happy about him looking at you like you’re nothing.

“I think you should go,” you say carefully.

He rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you mad? I thought I could stay here tonight, like usual. Since I waited for so long.”

“I’m not mad. I just…want to be alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Oh, now you care. “Fine. Okay? Fine. You can sleep on the couch.” You’re too tired to argue any more, and you’ve never really been good at convincing Tomura to do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s a miracle he listened to you when you told him to get off you. Considering how often he breaks into your apartment, it’s not like you could keep him out anyway.

So he stays the night. He doesn’t bother you when you take a shower and go to bed, he just lies on the couch in his street clothes. When you wake up in the morning he’s disappeared like he always does, and for the first time since you met him you’re truly relieved that he’s gone.

///

You always thought it would take some level of courage you don’t possess to actually bite the bullet and look Tomura up. To do so would mean saying goodbye to whatever strange relationship the two of you have built over the months, and you’re just not brave enough to risk it.

Turns out it’s not courage that makes you type his name into the search bar. It’s cowardice. You’re lying in bed under the covers when you do it, and the blue-white screen of your laptop is the only light in the room. Your comforter is pulled up almost over your head like it’s a wall that can block out reality.

“tomura”, you enter into the search bar, but you don’t hit return. Instead, you look at the search suggestions.

> tomura shigaraki > tomura shigaraki league of villains > tomura shigaraki decay

Something about it sounds familiar. But you’re not ready. Still, after everything, you’d rather keep your eyes closed. You backspace and snap your laptop shut, and when you do your room is so dark that you think the emptiness might swallow you up.

///

[T: 5:52 PM] > Are u going to be at home tn

[T: 6:14 PM] > Hey check ur phone

[T: 6:42 PM] > Stop ignoring me > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N)

[T: 6:46 PM] 3 MISSED CALLS [You: 6:50 PM] > I’m at work [T: 6:50 PM] > Don’t lie > you finished an hour ago

[T: 7:13 PM] 1 MISSED CALL [T: 7:14 PM] > You said you werent mad [You: 7:15 PM] > I’m not [T: 7:15 PM] > Then stop being a brat > im coming over > ill bring takeout

You’re nervous about seeing him, but in the two weeks since he pushed you down on the couch you’ve found yourself…missing him. Like it or not, he’s made himself a fixture in your life. So when you get home you’re brimming with anticipation, wondering who you’ll get when you open the door—the normal Tomura you’ve come to like over the past few months, or the one from that night. The villain.

But it’s just him. Good old Tomura, laden with plastic bags and containers of greasy fast food for the two of you to gorge yourselves on. You tease him for being cheap and he argues that you’re just a snob and everything seems so normal that you can almost forget the look in his red eyes when he told you that you understood.

Almost.

///

You probably have no idea how good you look when you’re crying.

Of the couple thousand views on the news channel video of your “rescue” from the convenience store robber, at least a tenth are from Tomura. Eventually he just downloads the video onto his computer so he doesn’t have to read the inane comments that the other viewers leave on the webpage. It seems like everyone but him thinks you should feel lucky that you were saved by a hero before the robber could get to you, too.

As always, the public are a bunch of shit-soaked morons. Reading the comments makes him angry, so angry he’s tempted to look into a few of these brainless sheep and see how lucky they feel when they’ve caught the attention of a violent criminal. But that wouldn’t be productive, so he saves the video externally and leaves the news website alone. It’s for the best. Besides, seeing the “views” counter on the website tick up and up by the dozen every time he refreshes is just another reminder that other people are watching this; other people are seeing how delicate and vulnerable and pretty you are with tears spilling out of your eyes and the cashier’s blood sprayed over your clothing.

Thousands of useless fucking NPCs are looking at you just like Tomura is. They’re probably thinking about how sweet you look, just like he is. And they’re probably imagining all the ways they can take advantage of your fragile emotional state, just like him.

You’re too trusting for your own good. Tomura used to think it was a virtue, and it is, but only when it comes to him. Whenever he thinks about how your face is slapped over a dozen different news websites for the whole world to see, he has to dig his fingernails into his neck to keep calm. It’s better when he can just watch the video and pretend he’s the only one seeing it.

And it’s not like not watching the video is an option. Tomura can’t resist your crying face. There’s a point around the three minute mark where your voice breaks in the middle of your statement, and sometimes Tomura skips there in the video just so he can hear that pathetic little sob and replay it over and over and over. Maybe it’s sappy, but Tomura really does feel his heart skip a beat at the way your eyes and nose are rubbed red from your misery.

How fucked up is it that he gets off watching you cry?

Would you be angry if you knew? You probably would, but you put up with so much from him already. Maybe you’d be okay with it if he told you he really and truly tried to hold out. The first dozen times Tomura watched the video, he refused to touch himself no matter how tight his pants got while you choked out your stilted answers to the reporters’ questions, but at this point he barely has to click “play” on the video before he gets hard and takes matters into his own hands.

At the end of the day, it’s your fault. Everything about you is so erotic, from your shaky voice to your pouty, bitten-red lips. Isn’t it completely normal to be aroused while looking at the person you like? And Tomura likes you, he really likes you. He doesn’t have any pictures of you, and with the high definition of the news channel’s video he can see every perfect contour of your cheekbones, every pore in your skin, every glistening wet eyelash.

It’s not that Tomura doesn’t feel sympathy for how upset you are in the video. He does! Not even just sympathy, even—he’s empathetic. He knows exactly how it feels to be let down by the heroes. How dare they tell you you need to be grateful while you’re still trying to wipe brain matter off your shirt? Always too little, too late. It’s not fair.

But if he’s being honest? As miserable as you are, Tomura is happy that you were in the store when that robber came in and that you had to watch a man you knew get his brains blown out in front of you. You need a wake-up call to lose faith in hero society. If you have to suffer some emotional trauma in the process, that seems like a fair price to pay.

And the fact that Tomura gets to jerk off to it? It’s almost like destiny.

➠ [Part 3]

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 25

Y/n puts an end to everything.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

⚠️HUGE⚠️ trigger warnings: rape, drugging, sex trafficking, VERY graphic descriptions of violence, physical violence (please let me know if I leave anything out)

Hannibal could walk through a valley of human suffering and not even flinch. You couldn't tell if that made him subhuman or superhuman. You, however, were just human.

You wanted to be a badass. You wanted to kick the door down and make a scene. But one woman was enough to break you.

She was wearing only a large t-shirt. A cloth bandage covered in blood covered her pubic area like a makeshift pair of underpants. She laid limply against a stone. Her arms were punctured where needles had been.

"I don't..." she mumbled, clearly intoxicated beyond function. "...don't make me..."

You knew you couldn't afford to stop. But compassion kept your feet firmly on the ground in front of her.

"What is Chase making you do?"

"I can't-" She said, pressing her forehead against the rock. "I can't be an unwoman-"

She began to slam her head against the rock with clear intent to take her own life. Without thinking, you grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her into the grass. She sobbed, a bloody, but thankfully, survivable, gash on her forehead.

"Tell me your name." You demanded, squeezing her shoulders.

"...Tiffany." She said with a sudden lucidity.

The name unlocked a memory in you. It was the still image of a sunny young girl, immortalized on a faded missing person's ad hung up at the grocery store. Tiffany Rose Pierce, it read.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Tiffany." You whispered. "I'm gonna get all of you out of here."

"Vanguard won't like that." She said, slipping back into a state of minimal consciousness.

"Stay here." You instructed, pushing yourself back to your feet.

You readied your gun and slowly, carefully pushed the cabin door open. Suddenly, the stained glass window was the least of your worries.

The entire area was lined with cheaply-constructed bunk beds, like an overgrown henhouse. Women with distinctively long hair were shackled to the lower bunks. Their shaven counterparts, the unwomen, were forced to be the slavedrivers. They held the chained women down.

You heard the rattling of chains coming from the right. It was accompanied with screaming and wet slapping.

"Take daddy's cock you filthy fucking broodmare." A familiar voice grunted.

The only way you could look at him was behind the barrel of your gun. He was exactly how you pictured him while listening to his voice in the car. Unremarkable, middle-aged and serpentine.

"Pastor Armitage!" You yelled.

To hear someone call him by his title in the midst of violating a person was enough to send him into a panic. He sputtered and his entire face turned red.

He didn't suffer for long, though. A 12 gauge shell right through the face took care of that. Fragments of his head, his blood and brain matter splattered everywhere. His knees buckled and his limp body collapsed.

The room fell silent. Smoke trickled out of your barrel.

"Where's fucking Chase?" You asked the room.

Someone weakly pointed up the stairs. You met her eyes and nodded.

"Sorry about the mess."

Now you knew how Hannibal felt. Blowing someone's head off made you acutely aware of your own head on your shoulders. You held it higher. You felt no remorse as you ascended the staircase with your gun blazing.

You came across a room with some words etched in the door. 'Skin room'. You launched your foot squarely into the door, causing it to violently swing open. 

You examined the room from behind the gun. Chase had done a hell of a job dressing up this cheap cabin bedroom like a hotel suite, but the smell hit you before you could be fooled. A brick chimney, a wine cooler and a mahogany desk were positioned so the eye would gravitate towards the luxury while the nose picked up the brutality. The stained glass window was suspended in front of the real window, absorbing the mid-morning light and giving the room an eerie sepia tint. 

You cocked your gun to announce your presence. You heard the sound of running water, and then a side door swung open. 

“You’ll forgive me a couple minutes to freshen up.” Chase said, shaking his hands dry. “Cleanliness is close to godliness, after all.” 

You said nothing. You didn’t want to dignify him with a conversation. 

He bent over and pulled a bottle of wine from his cooler. He placed it squarely on the desk. You looked at it, then did a double take. He grinned sadistically. 

“Is that...” You leaned in to get a closer look. “1907 Heidsieck Monople Gout?” 

Chase shrugged. “You tell me. You’re the wine expert.” 

You’d heard many a conflicting story about the legendary 1907 Heidsieck. Some said as many as 2,000 bottles were pulled up from the depths of the freezing Baltic sea. Some said a single bottle could go for half a million dollars. With that kind of precedent, you never thought you’d ever have to worry about it. Yet, there it was. Right in front of you. 

“I’m saving it for a special occasion.” Chase said, suddenly reminding you where you were.

You returned to your gun. “For when you kill me?” 

“For when I save you.” Chase smiled, his unnaturally white teeth glistening in the sepia light. “See, Miss [F/N], you survived two of my attempts on your life. God has smiled down on you.” 

“Or, maybe,” You interrupted. “You’re just horrible at killing.” 

Chase raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"A knife through the hand hurts like a bitch, but it isn't fatal." You shrugged. "And you didn't do a good enough job beating the fear of death out of Catherine. Else she might have actually gone through with it. Maybe if you'd sent Tiffany-"

"God loves you." Chase interrupted before you could poke more holes in his attempts on your life. "Why you're still alive when so many less deserving of death have died is beyond me, but god works in mysterious ways, doesn't he?"

"She sure does." You smirked.

Chase cleared his throat. You'd pegged him as the type to get irrationally angry at the implication of god being a woman, so his reaction surprised you.

"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" He gestured to a seat across from him.

You narrowed your eyes. "I don't think so."

"Pity." He pouted. "Not even for poor Mr. Graham?"

It dawned on you that he probably still thought he had Will, and you could use it to your advantage.

You held your gun at your side and hesitantly sat down in the seat. A gluttonous smile spread across Chase's face.

"So it wasn't wine after all." He said. "It wasn't even your own life. You're only willing to save your soul for the sake of your precious Will Graham."

"What do you care?" You growled through your teeth. "This is just a power grab for you. You wouldn't know what genuine empathy for another person feels like."

He grinned, as if someone had just flipped his 'on' switch. "Jesus does."

"Did Jesus use his influence to lure teenage girls into a sick breeding ring?" You sneered. "I don't remember that from VeggieTales."

"Genesis 1:28." Chase said. "And God blessed them, and God said unto them, be fruitful, and multiply."

"I suppose you also don't eat shellfish or wear mixed fabrics." You rolled your eyes.

"It's always the same arguments from you atheists." Chase scoffed, adding a distinct bite to the last word. "When are you going to show some actual proof that the bible isn't an infallible model for human morality?"

"Maybe when you stop eating shellfish and wearing mixed fabrics." You repeated.

"They are minor sins at best." Chase grimaced. "I have gotten right with Jesus. You, on the other hand, oh, you. Your sins are weighty."

"I did just blast a rapist's head off." You admitted. "And it's going to be two very soon if this one doesn't get to the fucking point."

"I know about your exploits." He squinted. "With Mr. Graham and the man with the Nazi accent."

"He's actually from Lithuania, which, if you wanna be technical," you corrected, just for the sake of being annoying. "Is an ex-Soviet state, but whatever."

Chase tensed up at being corrected. "I know about your hedonistic sexual activities with two men, your exploration. But in the bible, Satan approaches these two people called Adam and Eve..."

"No he didn't." You shook your head. "It was a serpent. The devil wasn't a concept when Genesis was written."

Chase gritted his teeth. "God made one man and one woman. Each to fill each other's sexual desires, within the context of marriage, entirely-"

"But Adam had two spouses, didn't he?" You cocked your head and smiled. "Eve wasn't even the first woman in Adam's life. That was Lilith."

Chase heaved a frustrated sigh. "How do you know that?!"

"I was raised catholic." You said in the tonal equivalent of smacking him upside the head. "I was forced into religion at a young age and brainwashed to hate myself."

"See, that's where we agree." Chase tented his hands, thinking he found a genuine point of connection. "Organized religion is a cancer on society. Christianity is fundamentally about a relationship with god."

You laughed. It was the first real, good laugh you had in a while.

"Don't laugh." He scolded. "I am sorry that that was your experience with religion and that the Catholic church modeled a false teaching of who god is and what he wants. Not all christians-"

You wiped a tear from your eye. "Homie, you killed four people in front of me."

He placed his hand over his heart. "And christ forgave me. And he can forgive you too."

"Alright, this has been fun and everything," you said, standing up. You aimed your shotgun and cocked it. "But, I did come here to kill you, so, open wide."

Chase put his hand squarely over the barrel and pushed it out of the way. "You don’t have the guts to pull the trigger."

You pulled the trigger and blasted his hand clean off. Any hope of reattachment was shattered, as bits of his hand painted the walls and floor.

You opened the gun and let the two empty shells fall to the ground while Chase screamed in agony.

Instead of going through the motions of reloading, you smashed him over the head with the gun. He wrapped his good hand around the barrel and attempted to wrestle it away from you. You took this as an invitation to corner him against the wall with the still-hot barrel against his neck. He smashed his forehead into your nose, sending you tumbling backwards.

The shotgun fell to the ground. You pinched the bridge of your nose to control the blood flow. Chase wrapped a champagne towel around his stump and picked up a small revolver on his desk. He let off a shot, which lodged itself into your shoulder. By the time he let off the second shot, you were on the ground. The third shot didn't fire, just let out a flash and a bang.

"Goddamn blanks!" He cursed.

He tore open a drawer and rummaged around for bullets, giving you a window to come up from behind and gouge your fingers into his eyes. He screamed, dropping a handful of bullets. He flailed aimlessly, then charged backwards, slamming you into the cheap drywall.

He felt around for the bullets without the advent of eyesight. You knew you wouldn't be able to take aim with your shotgun with a bullet lodged in your shoulder, so you dove for the revolver.

Chase grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you down. You hit the floor with a thud, the collision making the bullets jump. Chase grinned, using the sound to place them. He turned around and reached for one, while you scooped up another that had rolled under the desk.

You scrambled to your feet. Chase's hand was just centimeters from the revolver. Thinking fast (but not so thoroughly), you grabbed for the revolver. You wrapped your hand around the barrel, putting yourself at a disadvantage if he fired off another blank.

Chase, however, wasn't that forward-thinking, and opted for a childish game of tug-of-war instead. Knowing he had the brute strength advantage, you waited for him to pull back and released your grip. Chase tumbled, cursing on his way down.

With no thought on your mind but ending this, you launched your foot into his sack, causing him to scream and drop the gun.

Just as you thought it was over, just when the gun was in arm's reach, he kicked your knees backwards and you fell. You swallowed the pain and army crawled for the revolver.

"I don't think so." Chase spat, smiling like a maniac. He grabbed your face with his good hand and his fingers slithered down your throat.

"Choke..." he demanded. "Choke, demoness."

Strengthened by animalistic instinct, you crushed his fingers under your teeth. The sound of snapping bone filled the inside of your head and a sudden rush of blood flooded into your mouth. He withdrew his hand, leaving a finger behind to limply fall down your throat.

You coughed and gagged while Chase screamed. A single bloody digit dislodged itself from your windpipe, flew across the room and landed on the desk.

Chase sputtered something resembling a laugh. "Maybe you're not such a dumb bitch after all."

You grabbed the gun and pushed yourself up with the help of the desk. The finger stared up at you as you loaded the single bullet.

You positioned the finger onto the trigger and guided it with your gloved hand. Then you aimed it at his forehead. Dead by his gun, by his trigger finger. Bleeding on the ground in his private bunker while the empire he built collapses around him. A coward's death. It was poetic enough an end as he deserved.

"You want to say a prayer before you meet god?" You offered.

"My soul is saved." Chase said through ragged breaths. "My place in heaven is secured."

Bang. One bullet, right between the eyes. A bloody fingerprint on the pistol. You dropped the revolver and collapsed. You just laid there, listening to your phone buzz.