#Temple Ordinances

[mindfulldsliving]

Restoring Ancient Christian Orthodoxy for Spiritual Perfection

Our Heavenly Father's ultimate goal is to guide us towards spiritual perfection and eternal life, a journey clearly outlined in both ancient and modern scriptures. Jesus Christ's call to "be ye therefore perfect" directs us towards theosis

Restoration of ancient Christian orthodoxy and faith is more essential today than ever before. Modern Christian churches face numerous challenges that pull believers away from the core teachings and practices that once defined the faith. To address this, we must look back to the ancient principles and spiritual disciplines that guided early Christians. Restoration, in this context, isn’t just…

[logans-mormon-blog]

As halloweens been coming up I've been thinking more about our beliefs about our ancestors and our work for the dead. I've always had a sprt of touchy relationship with family history for a couple of reasons, so I don't think I've ever dug into it as much as I'm supposed to. I've also been thinking about it more since I've been studying witchcraft, where having a relationship with the spirits of your ancestors seems like a big deal. I'd love to hear your guys' opinions on genealogy in specific. Does anyone actually enjoy it?? Does anyone feel the spirit while doing it??

[chanthaburi-temples]

Wat Khlong Sai for monks ordination ceremony

28 April 2024

[making-mormonism]

I think I get where you’re coming from, but I also think this is a misreading of the situation, especially as it exists today.

To start with statues and the like, Mormons are actually rather aniconic. While artistic depictions of religious scenes are certainly not banned (and indeed films and paintings have always been important instructional tools in the Church in lieu of anything like an official catechism), not only do images and objects play virtually no role in Mormon worship, but Mormons even avoid devotional items like crosses and prayer beads, which even many Protestants would feel goes a bit too far. Church meetinghouses are almost all, in a word, austere: sure there are various paintings scattered around the hallways and offices (the works of John Scott, Harry Anderson, and Del Parson are especially popular), but the walls are all whitewashed and the wood panelling plain, and the chapels themselves are required to be devoid of almost any decoration whatsoever, save maybe an American flag in the corner.

Only in temples does art play an actually important role in ritual, and even then, the murals painted onto the walls of ordinance rooms and the films shown in them are far more atmospheric, symbolic, and instructional than anything particularly akin to the iconodulia of Catholic and Orthodox traditions. Same with the bull statues that hold up the Brazen Sea fonts (where Mormons perform baptisms by proxy for the dead), and the sun-, moon-, and starstones that decorate temple doors and pilasters. The only other statue that plays a key role in the Church is the Angel Moroni blowing his trumpet, which in lieu of the cross has long been the main symbol of the Church on steeples and gravestones, but even then I think conceptualizing the Angel Moroni as an icon is misunderstanding its role. (I guess there’s also beehives? Choose the Right rings? Nothing particularly iconophilic though, I don’t think, at least no more so than Stars of David or WWJD bracelets are. Though I will come back to this.)

The Christus statue was only adopted in the early 1960s, at a time when the Church was desperately attempting to leave behind its associations with weirdness and paganism and join the American Protestant milieu of the Fourth Great Awakening, and was chosen specifically and explicitly as an outward-facing symbol—in order to project an image of Christianity towards non-Members (again, in lieu of the cross, which Mormons don’t use)—not an inward-facing one for Mormon devotion. In turn, the Christus has always only ever been erected in places intended for non-Members to learn about the Church, like temple Visitors Centers and the occasional Mormon Pavilion at a World’s Fair (most notably in 1964), and is never (so far as I have ever heard) present in temples or meetinghouses themselves.

The Christus was actually only adopted as the symbol of the wider Church in 2020, as part of President Nelson’s efforts to roll back Monson-era “I’m a Mormon” pride and again emphasize the Church’s fundamentally Christian nature to outsiders (this is the same reason the Church’s website is now churchofjesuschrist.org instead of the much more useful lds.org). I think there is something to be said about “Mormon leaders were drawn to Protestant art made in a Neoclassical style”, but I think that something is less “Mormons are drawn to Catholic imagery in particular” and is instead more “American conservatives like the aesthetics of Ancient Rome”.

I also wouldn’t read too much into the role of the Quorum of the Twelve in selecting the President; that’s more a byproduct of the largest body of the post-Martyrdom Church gaining its legitimacy by uniting around the Quorum and its president Brigham Young than anything particular to JS’s visions for the future of the Church. (Though I can’t seem to find the other post this is referencing where you make the “Americanized remake” argument, so I don’t know if you’re arguing that it’s just an interesting parallel or if it was actively intended.) For what it’s worth, it’s actually more likely that JS had intended for the presidency to be passed down through the male line to his son Joseph Smith III, with the Quorum or his brother Hyrum acting as a regent until JS3’s majority (the practice adopted by the RLDS when they reorganized after the collapse of the Strangite Church), or had otherwise intended for revealed candidates to stand in semi-democratic elections held by the Mormon people (possibly mediated by an electoral college like the successors of the Council of Fifty).

I also think it’s important to note that the Mormon Restoration of prophecy predates the First Vatican Council—where papal ex cathedra declarations were rendered infallible—by some fifty years, and that Mormons have always framed prophecy and revelation in terms of the Old Testament nevi’im, whereas papal infallibility is more like how you can’t appeal a Supreme Court decision. (Check out D&C 28:2-3 (1830), where, after another early Mormon named Hiram Page claimed to have received a revelation about the true location of Zion and the proper organization of the Church, JS sets him straight and establishes himself as the sole prophet of the Church by likening his relationship to God and Oliver Cowdery to that of Moses to God and Aaron.)

I do think there is a useful comparison here though, which I think you’re getting at: where the young Catholic Church adopted the administrative trappings of the Roman State, organizing itself into ecclesiastical dioceses and prefectures parallel to the civil ones and turning its Holy Orders into a kind of progressive cursus honorum justified through popular acclamation and imperial-papal consent, so too did the young Church of Christ look to the United States with its presidents and committees and councils and quorums and appointments confirmed by common consent. It’s no coincidence that the smallest unit of the LDS Church shares its name with the local electoral wards they were once coterminous with in Ohio and Illinois.

That said, I also think most of the organizational parallels between the LDS Church and the Catholic Church are simply down to the Catholic Church being, like, the prototypical hierarchical organization. The Watch Tower Society railed against Catholic organizational hierarchy in its early years, and yet as the Jehovah’s Witnesses movement began to grow and spread across the country, they too started to create bodies that paralleled their Catholic counterparts, with a president selected by a central all-male and infallible Governing Body overseeing branches which oversee local congregations.

Plus, the actual meat on the Mormon hierarchical skeleton is very different from basically any other Christian organization, let alone the Catholic one. Sure there are deacons and elders and priests and bishops, but any Pauline organization would have those, while they most certainly are not liable to organize them into a Levitical Order and a Holy Priesthood after the Order of the Son of God, or to create parallel women’s and youth organizations like the Relief Society and Young Men’s and Young Women’s. And while LDS bishops do provide pastoral care (at least to some degree) to congregants, I think to equivocate them with a Catholic priest or even a Protestant pastor is missing important parts of the Mormon experience. Sure bishops may “preside” over sacrament meetings, but they play virtually no role in the actual rituals: they don’t lead a Mass (a kind of liturgy which doesn’t exist in the LDS tradition), they don’t consecrate or distribute Communion (which is instead done by deacons, teachers, and priests, most of whom have been teenagers since the late 1800s), they don’t even give sermons! (It seems to be relatively unknown outside of the Church that the most part of an LDS Sunday service consists of two or three “talks” given by laymen to the congregation. While the bishopric does choose who gets invited to speak and usually gives them a fairly broad topic to speak about, the bishopric has little to no oversight over their actual contents. The only exception is talks given to the whole Church during General Conference, which are vetted for doctrinal accuracy by the Apostles first.)

Anyways, on to relics.

Basically, in line with what @hybridzizi said, relics in the Catholic sense play no role whatsoever in the LDS Church today, and their role historically has been rather marginal—certainly nothing akin to the well-developed cult of the saints in early Christianity. Mormons don’t make pilgrimages to see relics (or if they do, they do so out of historical curiosity, rather than religious obligation), and they don’t build or consecrate reliquaries, temples, churches, or altars (insofar as altars even exist in the LDS tradition) to house them. And certainly today they don’t believe that relics have any particular miraculous powers to heal or encourage saintly intercession on their behalf, and they wouldn’t give a relic any kind of special devotion outside of its historical and spiritual significance as a symbol of their faith. I can totally imagine a Mormon bringing their pioneer ancestor’s shoe to a sacrament meeting and talking about how, when they look at the shoe, they remember the importance of perseverance and self-sacrifice and think about the faith their ancestor must have had to follow the Church to Utah and how that all strengthens their own Testimony that the Church is True, but they wouldn’t, like, kiss it or use it as a vehicle for prayer. It’s just a shoe. A special one, sure, but not a sacred one.

What you’re seeing instead in Murder Among the Mormons (I haven’t seen this either, but I’m well familiar with Hofmann and the Church politics surrounding his work) is an episode in the Church’s long quest for legitimacy. While it might help strengthen their Testimony in some way, Mormon laymen don’t actually particularly care if the Church gets its hands on some old papyrus or some Smith family heirloom. But for the Brighamite Church in Salt Lake City, every old artefact, every heirloom, every plot of land and historic building site in Independence and Adam-ondi-Ahman and Nauvoo, anything that belongs to the CoC or the Fundamentalists or the Bickertonites and not to them is a chip in their claim to be the One True Heir of Joseph Smith. The Church rarely even displays these items when they get them: they just store them with the Church History Department or the Presiding Bishopric in some vault in SLC, or maybe give them to a Church museum or BYU if they’re particularly interesting—certainly not the kind of behaviour you’d expect in a relic-oriented church.

There is, however, a historical example of this quest for legitimacy that I think is more similar to what you’re thinking of with the relics comparison. JS had a way of making the world around early Mormons feel magical, of making their faith in him and his work come alive, and one of the ways he did this was by regaling Mormons with the tales associated with the artefacts he collected, the accoutrements he carried, and the many places they travelled to.

Sticks, staffs, and stones were conduits for divine revelation, tools for discerning meaning in the mystical world. Those little bits of papyrus touring the US with Michael Chandler in 1835 weren’t just random scrolls, they were written by the very hand of the patriarchs Abraham and Joseph, and revealed hitherto unknown secrets about the nature of God and Creation! Chandler’s mummies weren’t just random mummies, they were the Pharaoh Onitas and his family, they were the daughters who saved baby Moses from the river, they were the royal entourage of Joseph himself! When the Zion’s Camp military expedition set off to reclaim some land that had been taken from some Mormon settlers in Missouri in 1834, that land became a prophesied holy site, the location of one of the future capitals of God’s millennial kingdom on Earth, and JS became like Moses and Joshua, a prophet ready to conquer the Promised Land with outstretched hand. And when on the way they passed by a Hopewell mound in western Illinois, it wasn’t just an ancient Indian burial ground, it was the tomb of the mighty white Lamanite warrior Zelph, who bravely served under the prophet Onondagus and fought a great battle against the infidels, against all odds, to defend what he knew to be True.

Stories like these abound in early Mormonism, and while again I feel that the comparison with Catholic saints’ relics is missing some important differences (as well as some important context about the role of ritual objects and folk magic across early American Protestantism), the objects they were attached to were certainly highly significant to early Mormons. It’s no coincidence that one of the first things James Strang did, in a bid to bolster his legitimacy in the post-Martyrdom Church, was to discover a set of brass plates containing the veritable Record of Rajah Manchou of Vorito. And when recent Mormon converts Wilbur Fugate and Robert Wiley wanted to play a prank on their local congregation in Kinderhook, to “prove the prophecy by way of a joke,” the proof they turned to was, fittingly, “discovering” and exhibiting in the town hall a collection of small copper plates, only to find that they were of interest to none other than JS himself.

Probably the most properly relic-like of these early objects were the coffin canes, a set of walking sticks made from the bloodstained oak coffins that were used to move JS and Hyrum from the Carthage Jail to their first burial plots and distributed among several early Mormon leaders and Smith family and friends. Some accounts even have their ivory knobs filled with locks of JS’s hair, or their handles made from the refashioned glass of the clear coffins JS and Hyrum were stored in until they were buried permanently. Brigham Young used his coffin cane for the rest of his life, and likened it to JS’s own serpent staff and the rod of Aaron as a symbol of his rightful authority and succession as leader of the Church. Many Mormons even believed, beyond their role as symbols of the Martyrdom and conduits for revelation (and in classic reliquary fashion), that the canes had the ability to heal ailments at a touch, and they remained in use as thaumaturgical instruments until as late the presidency of Wilford Woodruff (r. 1889–1898).

While likely few were converted by encountering these relics and artefacts alone, as holy objects they made Mormonism feel real. They were the faith made physical. They connected Mormons and their Scriptures to the land they lived on, made prophecy and history visible in their everyday lives, made them feel the blood of Abraham and Manasseh flowing through their veins.

And they also just kind of stopped happening?

Brigham Young, for all he modelled himself after JS, never found any plates or notable artefacts in Utah (in fact, he believed himself to not be a “natural seer”, and didn’t believe he was capable of using seer stones and translating as Smith had), and despite his cane he never took any great pains to work Mormon reverence towards JS and himself into a material cult. Because while the Martyrdom may have given Mormons the impetus and the materials to make relics of JS, the Exodus changed Mormonism. While Utah Mormons were of course still interested in Egyptians and the ancient history of the Americas (indeed, some Mormons were convinced of the prophecies of the Paiute leader Wovoka as late as 1892), and likewise in the life and works of Joseph Smith, the journey to the Far West had separated them from all but a few of their remains, and the trials of travel and building Zion shifted the spiritual focus of the Saints away from holy relics and seer stones and towards what I think can best be understood as a kind of national commitment to the righteous cause of the Mormon people. (That’s not to say that nationalism, especially of the American variety, isn’t in some way inherently religious, but the distinction I think matters when discussing the ideological and ritual implications of devotional objects like these.)

Even as early as the Mormon Reformation, a religious revival movement in the mid-1850s, you didn’t see an explosion of relics or pilgrimages to holy sites or even visions or speaking in tongues in Mormon communities, as might have been expected just ten or fifteen years earlier. The faith of people was instead evident in their perseverance and frugality, and was displayed not through dulia or the maintenance of the cult of Joseph Smith, but through impassioned personal speeches at Thursday fast meetings, through repeated rebaptism for the remission of the sins of yourself and all your ancestors, and through a with-all-your-heart-soul-mind-and-strength kind of commitment to building up the economic and demographic strength and unity of the people of Zion.

Save a short period in the 1880s and 1890s when the LDS Church happily testifies against the RLDS Church in the Kirtland Temple Suits and the Temple Lot Case (the LDS Church, then being disincorporated by the Federal Government and having its own property put under federal management by the Edmunds–Tucker Act of 1887, was really in no place to claim legal legitimacy for itself), it’s only really after the 1950s, in a period when the LDS Church is finally starting to gain the political and cultural respect as an All-American Christian Institution™ that it had long craved (and a period when the Church finally had the economic resources and nationwide political connections to mobilize towards those ends—Deseret Ranches in Florida, for example, was only founded in 1949), that you see the Church move to collect relics and holy sites again, in a bid to materially delegitimize the other heirs of the Latter Day Saint movement. To some extent this was easy, as a lot of these movements were moribund, had had their property appropriated by the government or bought by private owners, or were going through crises of faith of their own as the Fourth Great Awakening wracked the old religious status quo. LDS businessman Wilford Wood had actually started buying back historic properties for the Church as early as 1937, though his goal of purchasing the Nauvoo temple lot was only completed in 1962, and his propositions to buy the Independence Temple Lot were all rejected out of hand by the RLDS and Hendrickites.

The RLDS Church, for what it’s worth, also sought to secure its legitimacy in this period, finally completing its Temple Lot Auditorium in 1958 and beginning its plans to preserve and rededicate the Kirtland Temple in 1952, not to mention its keen defence of Smith family real and personal property in Nauvoo and its unwillingness to work with Dean Jessee’s LDS-sponsored project to collect and transcribe JS’s personal papers in the 1970s. (This is indeed why the Joseph Smith Papers are only being collected and published now, after a trial run on the JST in 1997 showed that the two Churches could work together in good faith.)

To finish this up, I think there’s also something to be said for this being part of a general postwar trend towards historical preservation and collection, and part of a boom in the entire historical profession. Outside of the battle for material legitimacy, historians, archivists, and other academics throughout the Latter Day Saint movement would spend the period coordinating and organizing with each other to produce some of the earliest proper scholarship on Mormon history and culture (many other American Christian groups had begun to do so in the midst of the Third Great Awakening, the relationship of the Latter Day Saint movement to which is another essay entirely). The Mormon History Association was founded in 1965 and its journal in 1974, the CoC-aligned John Whitmer Historical Association was founded in 1972, the Association for Mormon Letters in 1976. Even the now-defunct FARMS, bastion of Mormon pseudohistorical apologetics, was first organized only in 1979.

It’s no coincidence that Hofmann, with his ready-made media sensations, appears only a year later.

I think that’s enough of that. For those interested in further reading on Mormon visual and material culture and its history, I think two very good starting points are D. Michael Quinn, Early Mormonism and the Magic World View (Revised and Expanded ed., Signature Books, 1998), and especially Terry L. Givens, People of Paradox: A History of Mormon Culture (Oxford UP, 2007).

Can you explain the Mormonism/Catholicism comparison? I think I missed that one, and I never want to miss a chance to shit on the church of LDS

Key part in the post is the “Americanized remake” part but when I watched Murder Among the Mormons I was struck at how Mormons have a culture about relics and finding obscure paraphernalia relating to important figures so they can bring it to the church and this kind of veneration of relics is something you hardly ever see in other post-Reformation sects of Christianity

Plus the whole structured centralized hierarchy with the Americanized part being adding some nods towards republicanism. Like the spiritual head is picked in an election amongst senior clergyman who always elect one of their own and this spiritual head has the ability to say things and claim they came directly from God (granted papal infallibility hasn’t yet been used for a sudden 180 in teachings but it potentially can be used that way). Mormons call their guy “president” rather than using titles which come from the Roman Empire but this reflects the wider political context of the state they emerged in.

Also there’s an old stereotype of Catholics always having large families that is kinda outdated now in the US but that’s def an overlap

[drabblesandimagines]

Dove

Leon Kennedy x fem reader Thinking of making this a little series, will be a fluff, bit of a slow burn, bodyguard trope?

You aren’t sure how you’d got through the last few hours.  Everything’s a blur as you try to think back of the horror that had occurred, now you’re now sat in an unfamiliar chair in an unfamiliar office. Your right arm is in a sling, shoulder throbbing somewhat from a reset dislocation, broken fingers splintered together on the same arm, medical tape holding a wound closed on your temple, disinfectant swiped across the numerous scrapes, your body aching with developing bruises on your legs, poking out from under your dress, from the fall down the stairs – the fall that apparently ended up saving your life from the unearthly creature that had rampaged through your workplace and tore your co-workers apart.

After being treated by a DSO medic, you’d been escorted by a tall, armed to the gills, annoyingly silent man. He’d confiscated your phone, despite the fact the screen was smashed and wouldn’t turn on, and taken you across the city to the main HQ, ushered up a side entrance into the room you now sat, told you to wait, and left you alone for what felt like hours.

The door eventually opens and a smartly dressed, pretty woman, hair pinned up in a bun and wearing glasses enters, immediately heading to the other side of the desk and taking what you assumed was her seat. A handsome man accompanied her, shaggy brown hair, dressed in cargo pants, fingerless gloves, knife strapped to his thigh, finished off with a leather jacket, a holster poking out from underneath. He gives you a sympathetic once over as he sits down besides you, careful not to brush your knee with his own as he does. Considerate.

“Were you given adequate pain medication?” The lady asks abruptly, beginning to type on her keyboard.

You stare at her a moment – she’s all business. “Er… Yeah. Thanks.” Though you’re sure the two of them have noticed the wince as you shuffled in your seat. The medic had offered you stronger stuff but you’d declined, wanting to keep your wits about you. “Sorry, what’s happening now?”

“I’m Ingrid Hunnigan, this is Agent Kennedy.” She nods to the man opposite her.

“Name’s Leon.” The man besides you offers his hand and you notice he’s adapted for your incapacitated arm, in what will surely result in a very awkward handshake but the gesture is nice. You take it, hoping the tremor in your grip isn’t so painfully obvious. “Hi. Erm, I’m-”

“Dove.” Hunnigan cuts you off. “I am aware of your identity, but we will be referring to you as Dove.”

“It’s a codename.” Leon explains, a little less business. “For your safety.”

Hunnigan pauses in her typing, hitting backspace slowly as she replies. “Agent Kennedy will be your protection detail until we get this mess squared up.”

Your breath catches in your throat at her choice of word, a sick feeling twisting in your stomach. “Mess? It was a massacre in there-”

“I know. We know.” The agent besides you stresses. “I’m sorry you had to see all that.”

“Am I the only one who…?” You don’t know why you ask.

“I’m afraid so.” Hunnigan replies, a little softer in tone. “We’re going to send you to a safe house. Agent Kennedy will stay with you.”

“O-okay.” You nod, not taking it all in. “You… You think they’d send whatever that thing was after me?”

“That’s what we need time to establish.” Hunnigan replies. “From the CCTV, after the attack, there was a breach on the database. We need to establish how much data they managed to extract, if any. Agent Kennedy will keep you updated as much as he can when he receives any intel.” She turns more to him then, cutting you out of the conversation. “I’ll send the co-ordinates of the safe house when you’re out of the city. They’re loading up an SUV with supplies for at least a week. If it goes on longer, we’ll arrange a supply drop via another location.”

“That long?” You feel like you’re interrupting.

“Worse case scenario, Dove.” Leon offers you a smile. “I’m sure we’ll have you back home in no time. Did they send you away with any meds?”

“The medic sent in a report – with a treatment plan. It’s in the information pack, prescribed medicine is in with the supplies. Again, enough for a week.” Hunnigan replies. “I’ve arranged clothes too – medic guessed your size for me. We’ll be keeping your phone for now.”

“Why?”

“We can’t allow you to contact anyone – for your safety and theirs.”

Your heart skips a beat at that comment. “Wait… You think I might be behind this, don’t you?”

Hunnigan purses her lips. “It is an avenue we need to explore. There are questions as to why you alone survived. We will be dispatching a team to your residence once the two of you are out of the city to help in our investigation.”

“Again, that’s just protocol.” Leon tries to reassure, but your mind is whirling. “No-one is accusing you of anything, Dove.”

“I… I’ve worked here for years, I passed all the clearance checks. I wouldn’t, I didn’t…”

“As Agent Kennedy said, it’s just protocol. If you have nothing to hide, there is nothing to fear.” Hunnigan resumes tapping away at the keyboard as she talks, pausing as the computer emits a ping. “SUV’s ready. I suggest you two go.”

Leon gets to his feet, once more offering his hand to help you to yours. He smiles, sympathetically, as he takes in your appearance – your face has lost what little colour it had.

“Time to go, Dove. It’ll be all right.”

You want to say no, you feel like you need to stay to plead your innocence, but you catch sight of the gun holstered by his side and the flame of defiance is extinguished. You take his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He places his hand on the small of your back to guide you back through the door and you can’t work out if it should feel like comfort or a threat.

--

You felt numb as Leon had escorted you to a large SUV with blacked out windows in an empty carpark. He’d opened the door for you, helped you climb in before hesitating.

“Need a hand with your seatbelt?”

You stare at him for a moment too long.

“Because of your arm, I mean.”

“Oh. Please.”

He leans over you, grabbing the seatbelt and clicking it into place.

“Right. Comfy?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “Thanks.”

He nods, closes the door behind him – softly, you note, rather than a slam and it’s then you realise that you also can’t see out the windows. He hops up into the front, buckles his own seatbelt and starts the engine, swinging the SUV out of the parking space with ease. You can’t really see anything from where you’re sat, bar the back of his head and it must be deliberate.

“Hopefully it’s not too long of a drive.” He comments. “Had one that was a twelve hours’ away once and we are not allowed to stop for bathroom breaks.”

“Are you allowed to tell me how far away it is when you know?”

“Don’t see why not. Hunnigan will ping it through once we’re clear enough.”

It’s hard to tell how much time has passed when, eventually, the promised ping echoes around the car. You can hear him tap his fingers against something and he hums to himself.

“We’re in luck – about two hours away, Dove. Want some music on? Don’t have any CDs but got the radio.”

Maybe the music will help drown out how loud your heart is thudding in your ears. ”Yeah, sure.”

He fiddles with the dial – sound crackling around the car before it settles on some acoustic tune you don’t recognize. Must be some easy listening station.

“You can nap, if you like.”

“Maybe.” Though you’re not sure how you’ll ever sleep again after today.

The rest of the drive passes in silence, apart from the sound of the radio. You close your eyes a few times, leaning your head back against the seat but the creature seems burned into your retinas, haunting your vision.

“This is us.” Leon breaks the silence as you feel the car turn and he reduces the speed. He switches off the car and unclicks his seatbelt, turning back to face you. “Wait there just a moment, okay?”

“Yeah.”

 He smiles, opens his door and hops out, again closing the door softly behind him. What must be a few minutes later, your door opens and he once again offers his hand.

“Ready?

You unclip your seatbelt with your good hand before accepting his outstretched one, helping you step down from the SUV. You’re in a garage now of some sort – spacious enough to fit the car and what looks to be a chest freezer, washer and tumble dryer - the whole room illuminated by an orange bulb.

“So, we said safe house – seems more like a safe bungalow to me. I’ll give you the tour.” He gestures forward towards an open door and you walk forward, once again his hand falling to the small of your back. It leads through to a modest sized kitchen – usual white appliances and opens out into a living room with two couches, a coffee table and an entertainment unit with a television. There are two more doors along the wall, but what really strikes you is how small the windows all are, covered in thick panes of glass.

Bulletproof, you wonder.

“Bathroom’s this one,” he opens the door in demonstration, revealing a typical bathroom, before moving along. “And the bedroom.” It has a double bed, white linen sheets, a wardrobe and dresser. “Your bedroom,” he corrects. “I’ll be on the couch.”

“Oh. Is that comfortable?”

He smiles at your concern. “I’m pretty good at sleeping anywhere, but it looks comfortable enough. Speaking of, it’s pretty late so I think we should call it a night.” He ducks into the bathroom, pulling out a washbag from under the sink and empties the contents on the counter. “Standard toiletries kit to start us off. I’m gonna start bringing in the supplies. Sound good?”

You nod and he heads back towards the garage. You kick off your shoes before you step into the bathroom and close the door, twisting the lock closed. You use the facilities with some difficulty, your first visit since being an arm down, though thankful to be in a dress so as not to battle with trousers. After what some might call a best attempt of washing your hand, you pick up the toothbrush and immediately put it back down in annoyance as you realise you’ll need to deal with the toothpaste first. Thankful for the flip cap, the tube slips from your grip as you squeeze, shooting across the counter and knocking a glass off the counter, sending it smashing to the floor.

“Fu-” The word doesn’t even make it out of your mouth when the door is broken open, slammed against the wall and Leon is stood there, gun raised as you scream.

He scans the room with his eyes, concedes it’s clear and lowers his gun. “What happened? You okay?”

“I… I d-dropped the t-t-toothpaste and smashed the g-glass and…” Your breath catches in your throat again, tears burning in your eyes.

“Hey,” he holsters the gun on his thigh. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay. Sorry for scaring you. I thought there was a window in here.”

He looks down at the broken glass that’s exploded over the floor and your sock-clad feet. “Sit down, all right? I’ll clear this up.”

“No, I s-should-”

“I can do it. Just sit, please. I’ll go grab a dustpan – they have one. Not my first safe house.” He soothes, heading off into the kitchen cupboards in search of it.

You sit down on the closed toilet seat lid and wonder bitterly if he’s at more safe houses than his own home. You take the moment to try and settle your breathing, your heart still pounding.

Leon appears at the door once more, grinning as he holds the dustpan and brush aloft in triumph. “Found it.” He crouches down, beginning to sweep up the glass. You watch in silence as he tackles the floor methodically, making sure to brush along each square of bathroom tile until he seems satisfied with his work.

“There. All done.” He places it to the side and grabs the troublesome toothpaste tube, before standing up to his full height. “So, this was the culprit, huh?”

You nod. “I don’t know what happened - the only difference was the toothbrush being on the counter, so I should be able to do it, just-”

He picks up the toothbrush and squeezes a blob of toothpaste on it. “On the house.” Leon jokes, offering it back to you. You stand up and accept it, hesitantly.

“I kinda feel pathetic.” You admit.

“Dove…” You’re getting a little used to the name now. It sounds nice off his tongue – soft and sweet. “You’ve had a shitty day, give yourself a break.”

“No, I mean, it just feels like you’re my servant or something – sweeping up, squeezing out my toothpaste...”

“To protect and serve’s the motto.” He smiles at your confused look. “I was a cop before I was an agent.”

“And this is the stuff you did as a cop?”

“Yes, alongside the helping old ladies with their groceries, helping ducks cross the street…” He teases, before nodding at the toothbrush in your hand. “I’ll leave you to it.”

After brushing your teeth without further incident and taking a few more moments to compose yourself, you exit the bathroom. Leon’s stood at the kitchen counter, paper bag in hand, looking at pill packets. There’s a couple of duffel bags near the garage door, one unzipped.

“Medical notes say it’s painkiller time, I’m afraid.” He grabs a glass from the cupboard, fills it up with water from the tap and places it down besides two white pills. “They’ve given you some sleeping tablets as well, but that’s up to you.”

“Do they stop you dreaming?”

Leon grimaces at your question. “From personal experience, yeah. No dreams.”

You hold out your hand. “Then I’ll take them.”

He nods, shaking another two pills out of a bottle and into his hand, picking up the other two and drops them in your hand. You open your mouth and throw them in, before accepting the glass of water, swallowing it all down.

“So, er, this is gonna be a little bit awkward, but I don’t know what you prefer to sleep in, obviously, but I’m assuming not that.”

“Oh. Yeah, no.”

“So, I pulled out a couple of things.” He nods towards the bedroom, where you can see some items of clothing laying out on the bed. He’s turned the bedside lamp on, the room softly illuminated in a white glow.

“You really are a safe house pro.”

“Ha, yeah.” He grins, rubbing the back of his head. “I guess my question is, do you need a hand with changing? 100% respectful offer, obviously.”

You nod. “Please.”

“Okay. After you.”

You walk into the bedroom, Leon keeping his distance this time. There’s an oversized t-shirt in the pile, looks like it will reach your knees. You pick it up with your good hand, clutching it close to your chest and turn to face him.

“Can you help with the sling?”

“Yep.” He nods – professional, unstrapping it with ease and removing it gently. “Afraid medic says you need to sleep with the sling for a week.”

“Mm.” You nod, hanging your arm down loose before turning around. “I guess if you could unzip and I’ll…”

“Got it.” He tugs down the zipper of your dress slowly – if it was some other encounter you’d say he was being a tease. He stops as he reaches the small of your back, just above your underwear. “What can I do now?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, but there’s no getting around it now. “Any good at undoing a bra? Professionally.”

“Professionally, yep.” You feel gentle fingers deftly unclasp it with ease.

“I think I’ve got it from now until the sling needs back on, so-”

“Say no more. Just call when you’re ready.”

The door closes behind you and you exhale, trying to compose yourself. It’s more months since a man had helped you out of a dress and this, after everything today and the situation you’re in, unsure if he sees you as victim or villain, shouldn’t be making you feel flustered.

Gingerly, you slip one arm out of the dress, followed by the other, wincing as you do so and allowing it to pool down at your feet. Next comes your bra, and then you gently pull the t-shirt over your head, again flinching as your shoulder smarts.

Decent, or decent enough, you call out. “Leon? I’m ready.”

“Coming in.” He announces, pausing a moment before opening the door and immediately moves to pick up the sling from where he placed it on the bed. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

With practiced hands, he positions your arm into the sling, adjusting it carefully and fastening it in place once more. “There. Feel okay?”

“Yeah.” You look him in the eyes then – beautiful, blue eyes, before fighting back a yawn. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles. “That will be the sleeping pills kicking in. I forgot to mention they’re real heavy duty.”

“Mm.” You sit down on the bed then, a little too heavily, before picking up your discarded dress on the floor. “Could you bin this?”

“Of course.” He takes it from you, no question. “Anything else I can do?”

“No. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to keep thanking me, Dove. It’s all right – I told you, part of the job.”

“Still, thank you.” You mumble, head feeling heavy.

“Here,” he pulls back the covers as you scooch yourself back and lean your head back on the pillow, tucking the duvet in over you. “Arm still okay?”

You nod, looking up at him with bleary eyes.

“I swear what happened wasn’t anything to do with me. I swear.”

“Shh,” Leon hushes. “I know.” He feels it in his gut, felt it since the moment he lay eyes on you in Hunnigan’s office. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll hear some updates. But, for now, just sleep. Okay, Dove?”

“Sleep, okay…” You mumble, closing your eyes.

Leon hovers a moment, noting the change in your breathing as the sleeping pills pull you under. He turns off the bedside lamp and leaves the bedroom, quietly, your dress clutched in his hand. He places it in the kitchen bin – there’s an incinerator round the back to erase all trace of their visit, but he’ll do that in the morning.

He makes his way over to the sofa and lies down, not even bothering to remove his boots.

He won’t be sleeping tonight.

-- Do let me know if you'd be interested in a part two! x EDIT: Part two!

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[heathersdesk]

When I was investigating the Church, I told the people around me I wanted to get baptized after I'd only been to services a few times. I hadn't read much of the Book of Mormon. There were many things I didn't know or understand. But I had felt the Spirit of God and knew that this was the place where I would find God. I knew I was supposed to be baptized.

What was the response?

"You can't do that."

They didn't have missionaries. They didn't have anyone to teach me the discussions. I was coming to Church in a different place from where I lived because of where my friends, who were members and who had invited me, were living.

It got bad enough that I set a date for myself to get baptized and told them they had that long to figure it out and deal with their scruples. And they did.

Then I found out about patriarchal blessings in one of the lessons I had in Young Women. I wanted mine. I went to my branch president and told him that.

"You can't do that."

I hadn't been to church long enough. Could I wait a year? Six months?

But that's not what the lesson I was taught said. It said that if I felt like I was ready, then I could have one. So I showed up outside of my branch president's office every week for over a month to ask again. Finally, he talked to the stake president, who told him there was no rule or timeline mandated in the Handbook of Instruction that prevented me from receiving my patriarchal blessing. I finally received it 4 months after I was baptized.

Then I went to BYU. I was in one of my favorite wards I've ever attended. Everyone around me was so kind and supportive. They helped me deepen my knowledge of the restored gospel and the scriptures. And when all the young men in my classes started receiving mission calls, I wanted to as well. I felt "called to the work," and the Doctrine and Covenants said that was enough.

"You can't do that."

They didn't let women serve at 19 at the time. I had to wait. Why? Because I might get married instead. The hypothetical possibility of reserving me for a man was more important than the calling I had received from God.

I had the opportunity to serve in the temple regularly for the first time in my life. I was from an area where the temple was two hours away, which meant I got to go only a couple times a year, at most. As the only member in my family, I had many names to do. And as the endowments started piling up, I could feel the weight of my responsibility to get the names done weighing on me. I didn't have a ward full of endowed people to rely on in my student wards. It was just me. And the more I went to the temple, the more I craved that divine closeness, the spiritual support for how much harder it was for me to be a member of the Church than it was for everyone else. I was totally on my own, no support from large extended families like they had. I needed more support to come from somewhere. So I started asking to receive my endowment.

"You can't do that."

I needed to be getting married (preferably, in their minds) or serving a mission to get endowed. That was the rule at the time. It didn't matter that I already wanted to serve a mission. It would be so much more special if I could go with my husband! Didn't I see that? My life was just supposed to stay on hold for him, whoever he was. The idea that I would have a spiritual development and progression separate from his was a totally foreign idea at the time, and wasn't reason enough for me to receive my own endowment. Meanwhile, as the ordinances in my own family backed up higher and higher because I was in student wards with no access to the endowment or other endowed people, I was just stuck and alone.

Then the identity of the mysterious young man I would eventually marry was revealed to me. Hurray! And we both went on missions. We were planning our wedding. And after years of alienating my family with all the milestones of my adult life they didn't get to witness because I was *IN UTAH* thousands of miles away, I wanted to have a ring ceremony so they could at least watch me get married.

"You can't do that."

And every reason I was given, especially the one that it took away from the validity and the sacredness of my temple sealing, was later disavowed when they did away with this rule.

ALL OF THIS TO SAY, I've been in the Church for almost 18 years. I have seen so many changes come into the Church and its culture in that time. The things that were impediments to me as a young believer and convert are no longer there, in part because I left so many bloody knuckle prints on heaven's door, pleading for these things to change. Heaven bore witness to how many times I was told "You can't do that" by my own community—with shallow, indefensible reasons for why my journey needed to be so much harder and lonelier than it needed to be.

Changes like these do not come about simply by waiting. They come because the faithful, especially those who are most affected by the lack of change, keep praying and pleading with heaven for change. The hurt goes on the altar because it never should've been mine to carry. Let God witness it. Let him see, feel, and know the burdens I bore in his name, solely at the behest of my community whose reasoning for it was poor and indefensible, because it all came down to a single failure: they couldn't begin to imagine the impacts their choices were having on me. And until they could begin to understand it, they could never conceive of why their status quo needed to change. Their ignorance and desire to remain in what was familiar and comfortable was a form of bondage to me. That was true.

But what was equally true was that there was nothing wrong or evil in pushing back against all of that, with all the strength I possessed. I would live to see so many of these stumbling blocks I encountered change for those who came behind me. Young people in my church community today don't have to make many of the same choices I did anymore—and thank God for that! I called down the powers of heaven to me to witness these burdens so no one else would ever have to carry them again! I have been witness to the power that these prayers—my prayers—have had to build the kingdom of God on the earth by affecting these changes.

And we're not done. There are many more such changes that need to come to fruition , including (but not limited to) making the Church fully accessible to everyone in our community. Our LGBTQIA+ and disabled people, our women and single Saints, our marginalized, abused, and forgotten in communities of color all over this world.

The kingdom of Heaven is not built, our work is not finished, until ALL are safely gathered in. That is, until they all CAN be safely gathered in. Until all that resists unity, diversity, equity, and inclusion that will define Heaven are removed by the Saints, whose job it is to build that kingdom. To never say again to someone who is trying to come to Christ "You can't do that."

Because with enough time, and effort from the Saints, you'll find they can, in fact, do that.

[cobragardens]

The Golden Lion

For all that Aziraphale is the more frightened of the two of them, Crowley is the snake: he camouflages himself carefully, and his first instinct is always to flee.

Aziraphale's is to stay. He insists on facing the Apocalypse. He insists on facing the Second Coming. He insists on trying to make a difference. He doesn't want to go up to Heaven, but he does it anyway, alone, because he wants to stop the destruction of Earth (again) and keep Crowley safe.

He's very difficult to shame, too. He never gives up his innocent pleasure in eating, even though Heaven, Hell, and probably people on Earth all mock him for it. He's soft and he remains soft, even after Gabriel shames him for both his physical and metaphorical softness. That takes a lot of strength and an unshakeable character.

You know the gold ring Aziraphale wears as a badge of office, that functions as the counterpart to Crowley's snake tattoo? The charge on that ring is a lion.

The heraldic attitude of the lion is rampant (i.e., reared up): it stands on its hind legs with its forelegs raised, as though attacking, and its head is forward-facing: it looks forward, toward the future.

Obviously in popular symbolism, lions represent bravery, and that definitely fits Aziraphale. He's literally leaving the only person who has ever loved him to go make the universe a better place for that person and for everyone, and he's going alone amongst the people who have despised and shamed him his whole existence and tried to kill him at least once; those people are mfing Heaven and have been entrenched in their power for thousands or millions of years. It doesn't get a whole lot braver than that.

In Christian symbolism specifically, the lion represents Christ. (He's referred to in the book of Revelation as the "lion of Judah" because the heraldic symbol for the tribe of Judah was a lion and Jesus was said to be from the tribe of Judah because his [step]father Joseph was from Judah.)

Normally when a story draws a parallel between a character and Christ, the parallel is one of self-sacrifice. That's not what's happening here. When symbolism for Christ represents his self-sacrifice, Jesus is invariably associated with a lamb--the sacrificial lamb--not a lion. When that symbolism represents Christ's mercy or holiness or divine nature/ordination, the dove of the Holy Spirit is used.

But the lion is a symbol inherited from the Old Testament. It represents royalty, power, threat, and seizure from others by force. Jesus is symbolically depicted as the lion upon his return to Earth during the book of Revelation. The lamb is Jesus' self-sacrifice and death for the sins of humanity, but the lion is Jesus' return, powerful, royal, and triumphant.

Does Aziraphale's ring foreshadow his involvement in the Second Coming of Christ? Probably! Is it a symbol that Heaven is the proverbial (and biblical) "lions' den" where they should be doves and lambs? Maybe.

I think it more likely that Aziraphale himself will be the lion, on a righteous rampage like Jesus chasing the moneylenders from the steps of the temple, telling them "It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves." Because the ring is a signet ring, meant to impress a seal that legally represented the wearer as an individual. So the lion is linked to Aziraphale himself.

Aziraphale is soft. It is one of his very best qualities. And soft and weak are not the same thing: because he is soft, he tried to kill the Antichrist, a child. Because he is soft, he stood alone before a demon in defiance of the will of Heaven and demanded with no power whatsoever to back him up that the demon spare children whose murder God had authorized. He, an angel of God, worked with a demon to deceive the Heavenly Host and, as he points out himself, thwart the will of God. Even before that, because he was soft, Aziraphale gave humans the gift of fire and self-protection and then lied to God Herself about it. I mean it literally does not get any more courageous than that.

And I can't stop thinking about what that lion, and that softness, and the link between the two is going to mean for S3.

[cryptfly]

All I ever want to do is play dress up with my dollies. Here’s Rinsea, my ESO main, in some various ceremonial garbs she’s picked up during her adventures. More info under the cut.

Champion of Vivec

She would rather you think of her being the City’s champion than the God-King’s, but here we are. I obviously based it on the Buoyant Armiger’s glass armor. She’s not officially a Buoyant Armiger or anything, but she does get some fancy glass armor pieces for official occasions which she does not attend. This is also partially based on Bajoran liturgical wear because I like it very much.

Champion of Sotha Sil

Technically she’s the champion of the Clockwork City but that was very long to put on her picture lmao. I don’t think Seht would have gotten her any ceremonial wear honestly, but since it’s basically a standard Clockwork Apostle outfit, I like to think that one of that order got her this, something fine and suited to the environment as a thanks for saving their sadboi God. Drawing the armor pieces was really fun and satisfying and they turned out way better than I was expecting.

Champion of Almalexia

Once again I changed the actual title given to fit the picture. Almalexia actually named her a Hand! However as we all know, a Hand of Almalexia is a specific kind of Ordinator and Rin is not actually inducted into that order. She’s a Hand because Ayem says so but that doesn’t actually give her any rank or anything. Instead of giving her Ordinator armor, I gave her a fancy gown. I think Ayem did this with a touch of vanity-isn’t my Hero so beautiful, a true Daughter of Morrowind I am such a proud Mother. Also, I really wanted to draw a pretty dress and no one can stop me. I based some of the details off Kirkbride drawings of Almalexia herself.

Urshilaku Clanfriend

In my personal canon of the story, the Vvardenfell quest happened first for Rin and took around little over a year and in that time she became a Clanfriend among Ashlanders. Her father, Gares, had been an Ashlander until he was forced to flee with his infant daughter and when she returned on what seemed to be Temple business, they were wary of her. But she made herself useful and was unfailingly polite and she was folded into much of their life. I like that while the other outfits look designed and tailored to suit her, her Ashlander gear almost looks like hand me downs and mended pieces. She wasn’t given new and special clothes, she was trusted with clothes worn by the tribe, inviting her into the family itself. These clothes look nice but also like something she work in side by side with the Ashlanders.

[hiseyeisonthesparrow]

Things I did my first time going through the temple:

- called the temple matron "dude"; I think multiple times

- audibly laughed at the person doing my initiatory ordinance because I was so taken aback by something they said

- whisper-screamed "CRAP" in the endowment room when I took a seat in the wrong spot

- had the song "Come On Eileen" stuck in my head THE. ENTIRE. TIME.

[adnauseum11]

Unexploded Ordinance (John Price x Reader)

You and John navigate the process of moving in together. John is pleased you are home.

1.4k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex MDNI

If the end of this chapter feels a bit abrupt it's because I split it in two to keep it from being a ridiculous length. You can expect the next chapter to pick up where this one left off.

Still not completely happy with this chapter but in the interest of not circling the drain forever and moving forward I'm posting anyways lol yolo

feedback welcome!

When John hasn’t returned from his call before you are done eating your breakfast - and polishing off the last of the raspberries - you take yourself to the bathroom to shower. He’s waiting for you in the living room when you finally emerge, feeling a bit more like yourself. He’s clearly lost in thought, your hand on his shoulder finally knocking him back to the present.

John is easy to talk into moving more things today, on your impromptu day off. When you arrive back at the apartment, he checks the door before he lets you enter, satisfied it’s been undisturbed. You immediately bicker with him about your furniture and what pieces will stay or go. You can tell he’s pleased when he wins the debate between the couches, you being partial to your vintage re-upholstered and wildly heavy chesterfield sofa. It’s too short for John to lay down on, forcing him to bend his knees and isn’t very comfortable, truth be told. It’s a gorgeous deep green velvet that draws the eye but otherwise isn’t overly practical. You pout about having to give it up until he gives over on your books entirely. He’s consistently bitched about moving your personal library, filled with heavy anthologies from your university days. They’ve been dragged from pillar to post over the years and you’ve refused every less than subtle suggestion to sell them. He doesn’t even try to make you choose which ones to keep, sighing deeply in resignation and asking how many boxes you think it will take to pack them all. This earns him the hardest hug you can muster and a rain of kisses he has to crouch for, chuckling lowly.

You make a trip back to his place with your clothing, the colourful array of fabrics making John’s limited selections seem all the starker by comparison. It brings you up short, seeing your things beside his in the wardrobe. You get caught up wondering what the hell you are doing, agreeing to this. You don’t get very far in your spiral before John finds you, kneeling surrounded by folded t-shirts. You’re jealous of his ability to seemingly pick a course of action and execute it without the self-doubt that swamps you occasionally. If you hadn’t known him as long as you have you would say it’s something he learned in the military, but you’re pretty sure that’s all John.

His presence steadies you again and you end up making another trip to collect your hairdryer and various other products needed to make yourself presentable for work tomorrow. Most of your everyday use items and valuables are safely rehoused in John’s flat by the time you are ready to throw the towel in for the day. You agree to go to the pub around the corner for dinner, neither of you feeling like cooking. On the walk down, John’s big hand stays on your lower back, keeping you close as you wander down the street together. It’s quiet at the pub, early in the week meaning the clientele are mostly regulars. You get your choice of seats and John steers you to a booth against the back wall, tugging you to sit on the same side as him.

He questions your half-baked plan to quit your job while distracting you from giving an answer, his hand creeping over your thigh and shoulders, bracketing you against him. You finally cross your legs, pinning his warm hand between your thighs so you can formulate a coherent response. He presses a smirk against your temple and listens as you complain of your treatment this morning, and then just in general. You've had a volatile few days and vent your spleen accordingly.

He removes his hands from your body when the food arrives, creating a tiny sliver of space between you on the bench seat. John hums sympathetically at your complaints but finally convinces you to get through the rest of the week before you submit anything in writing, pointing out you should probably update your resume first at minimum. You grumble but reluctantly agree, his even-keeled approach to the situation a better tactic than your instinct for dramatics.

John’s level head only seems to extend to your choices because by the time you’re out the door and on the way home he’s truly unable to keep his hands to himself. Twice on the short walk back he’s pressed you up against the wall of a nearby building, his hands cupping your face as his eager mouth finds yours. You make out like teenagers until you can feel the cold creeping into the tips of your ears, a gentle push against his chest enough to back him off temporarily. You’re getting better at reading John in this state, how his eyes glaze with want and his focus narrows. You finally resort to threading your fingers with his to keep his hand from constantly drifting over your ass, wrapping yourself around his arm to make him behave. 

You open the door using your key, John too preoccupied with working his hands under your jacket and shirt. His big body corrals you against him, kicking the door shut after wrestling you through it, almost not giving you time to get your key out of the lock.

“Fucking hell John.”

You breathe out as he spins you around, your arms going around his neck automatically. He kisses you hungrily, his palm cupping the back of your head. You feel the thump of the wall at your back, his hand leaving the back of your head to shove your coat off your shoulders. You wiggle out of it and push at the thick lambskin jacket he’s wearing, slipping your hands under it to grip his shoulders. He shrugs out of it, his lips finding yours again almost immediately. You can feel desire vibrating through his frame, his thigh working its way between yours. Before he can overwhelm you completely, you push back against his chest.

He's breathing hard, confusion mixing across his face as you flatten your palms against his chest and push, reversing your positions by backing him up against the opposite wall. You have to go up on your tip toes, gripping the back of his neck to tug him down to kiss you again. He’s got his hands full of your ass, too preoccupied to catch on to your intent until you're slipping out of his grasp, sliding to your knees in front of him. Your nimble fingers have his belt undone and his jeans open before he can process and stop you, hissing out your name as your fingers wrap around his twitching cock.

You smirk to yourself and wrench a deep groan from his chest as your lips close around the flushed head of his cock, your eyes locking on his face. His cheeks and throat are flushed with the same shade of red as his cock, his blue eyes now nearly black, his pupils dilated with desire. He looks so intense it sends a thrill through your belly that you’re capable of affecting him like this. You swirl your tongue over the head, tasting the salty pre-cum and slide your palm up the wiry hair of his firm abdomen, pushing his shirt up.

John growls lowly, his fingers burying into your hair, gripping close to the roots. He doesn’t try to direct your movements, content to let you work him over however you see fit but the gentle pull on your hair sends flashes of sensation down your spine. The muscles of his stomach jump at the drag of your fingers on his cock as you squeeze the base, sucking on the tip deeply, making John’s fingers clench in your hair. You lift off him and press his erection against his belly, running the flat of your tongue over the underside before teasing his balls with the tip of your tongue.

That has John rocking up onto his toes, hissing your name again followed by a curse. You can’t stop the pleased smirk that slides across your face and wrap your lips around the tip again, focusing your tongue on the sensitive spot on the underside. You can feel his cock twitching, the tension in his body ratcheting tighter with a moan. You let his shirt drop and cup his balls, lapping at the tip intently.

That seems to finally push John beyond his limit and he firmly tugs your hair to pull you off him. Your scalp tingles and you hum in disappointment but John’s already got a hold of your arm, lifting you to your feet again.

“C'mere love, I want to be inside you when I cum.”  

He growls lowly, making you shiver, backing you down the hallway to the bedroom with predatory intent. The look on his face makes your stomach quiver in anticipation, your insides going molten.

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @cadotoast @beebeechaos @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00

[mindfulldsliving]

Temple Worthiness: Navigating Spiritual Sanctification

In a world where spiritual journeys are deeply personal, the concept of temple worthiness for entering the Kingdom of God holds profound significance.

Stand a Little Taller | Gordon B. Hinckley:Counsel and Inspiration for day of the Year Depart ye, depart, ye, go ye out from thence, touch no unclean things, go ye out of the midst of her; be ye clean, that bear the vessels of the Lord.~ Isaiah 52:11 ~ Each of us has an obligation to see that the temple is kept sacred and free of any defilement – first, as to our own personal worthiness, and…

[uesp]

"The Ordinators, the priest-soldiers of the Temple, have the duty of keeping worshippers from restoring the old Daedric sites scattered throughout the wastelands and along the rocky coasts and islands of Vvardenfell. Now these Ordinators are busy elsewhere, and the old Daedric sites are coming back to life."

--Sinnammu Mirpal claiming that the Daedric ruins are normally patrolled by Ordinators

[rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw]

Saturday Morning Session

Conducting: President Henry B Eyring

Press Forward Saints

Sustaining Vote

I Will Follow God’s Plan

Elder Niel L Anderson

Faith + Hope + Charity

Sacred and Eternal Hopes

Confident Expectations

Hope brightens the darkened room so we can see the glorious future

Hope is a precious blessing

If you have faith, then you have hope – faith is the substance of hope

Joy comes in Jesus Christ as we triumph over the challenges in this mortal life

Alma 32:21 – or just all of Alma 32

Nothing can darken our hope as we believe and hold tightly to our covenants

Every righteous person can receive every blessing

“The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.” President Nelson Oct 2016

His Joy is constant

As you trust in the Lord His peace will come

Our Hope is the Savior Jesus Christ, He is our Hope and our Triumph

President Emily Bell Freeman YW General President

In order for an ordinance to manifest the power of God in our lives it must be done with authority from the Son of God

We don’t just make covenant promises, we must keep them

Do you recognize how God’s power works within you? D&C 25

Women can fully access the gift of God’s power through priesthood ordiances

Emma was given revelation about how priesthood ordiances would work in her life

Who she was, and whose she was – her place in His Kingdom

Invited to walk the paths of virtue

You are an essential participant in the Restoration

Set apart to expand scriptures and exhort the church

Daughter in the Kingdom-> elect Lady -> Queen

The restoration and the Lord’s counsel to Emma will guide and bless us

We all get a chance to witness and use God’s power. 😁

Times we get to participate in the ordinances of the Gospel

Sacrament

Passing the threshold of the temple

Power of Godliness is manifest

Elder Karl D Hirst 70

He feels Heavenly Fathers love through the love he feels for his children

It’s wonderful that at times we can feel so fully and personally loved and noticed

If Nephi can call Jesus “His Jesus” we can call Him that too

God’s love is where we all overlap on the circles of the Venn diagram

What circumstances help you to feel God’s love?

We’re all Jesus’s favorite and we should all be our parents’ favorite, each of us.

Broken people, perfect love

However misshapen we might feel His arms are not shortened.

You are not beyond the reach of God’s love – He will never stop loving us

When you can’t feel God’s love, we shouldn’t consider the possibility that it’s because God has stopped loving us until after the mountains and hills have gone.

There are different ways of feeling and receiving divine love.

Looking at the starts

Feeling the rain on your skin, or a breeze

Music

Keeping a journal

Ask people you trust to share how they feel divine connection

If you could choose a place for you and Jesus to meet – He may have already found you there.

If you are waiting for Him to come, He may already be there within reach

Hold onto God’s love as effectively as a sieve full of water. When you share it, this can help you feel joy.

Joy is our purpose not the gift of our circumstances.

How Firm a Foundation

Elder Dale G Renlund

The story of Nobel and nitroglycerin turning it into dynamite

Undiminished explosive power

The Gospel provides powerful and transformative benefits for us

The combination of Christ’s Gospel, and the Church of Jesus Christ

The church is not a location or a building – it’s the people

The church is an instrument

Keeping our covenants provides us access to God and transforms us

The church is special only if it is built on His gospel.

The church enables access to God’s power because it’s authorized by Him to teach His gospel and offer His ordinances

Jesus Christ wants nothing more than for us to repent and come unto Him so He can sanctify us. He is relentless and unwavering.

Immerse yourself more fully in the church and the gospel – this is God’s dynamite and with it He will transform us

Elder David P. Homer 70

We have a loving Father in heaven who will care for us wherever we are no matter the circumstances

The boundaries between right and wrong are not for us to define – they were already established by God

While some things may depend on context, not everything does.

Don’t be surprised if our personal views are not initially in harmony with the teachings of God’s prophets. – in time you will receive more spiritual clarity

If we heed God’s word, we will receive more. If we ignore God’s counsel, we will receive less and less until we have none. This does not mean that God’s will is wrong, just that we have lost the capacity to understand it.  

D&C 6:36

Look unto the Lord before acting; our faith will overcome our concerns.

Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith.

Don’t let doubt stop us from seeing God’s divine gifts in our lives.

God loves us wherever we are, whoever we are. In any circumstance you can cry out to Him “oh God, help thou mine unbelief”.

The submission of one’s will, is one of the only uniquely personal things we have to bring to Christ

Our agency is not diminished by staying with Christ it is magnified.

We can be of good cheer as we trust Them more than anyone

Elder Gregorio E Casillas 70

What does our Heavenly Father desire from us?

It is crucial for us to learn to be disciples of Jesus Christ

He uses us to help bring His children to Him

Service shows us charity

Story of the mother who had had chemotherapy the day before and so did not have the energy to take care of her disabled son

Your spiritual abilities are unique and personal

Follow the impressions of the Spirit – God will bless your life, he will bless your family, he will bless his children that you encounter

We have the privilege to watch over people who need a helping hand, and embrace a feeling of comfort, or simply for us to be with them in silence

The Savior always reminds us as oft as we repent and seek forgiveness with real  intent, we will be forgiven.

Get rid of destructive thinking. Keep hope!

Give someone hope enough to try once more ourselves.

Be the reason someone has hope in crappy situations

The Lord Jesus Christ is your savior and knows you personally

The Holy Spirit will revive us

God’s Gracious Love

President Dallin H Oaks

Come Follow Me

Following Christ is not a casual or an occasional practice

Obey what He defines as the great commandment in the Law: Love the Lord thy God with all they Heart, love thy neighbor

If you cut the string off a kite it will not fly. That string is our covenants – keeping them enables us to soar to celestial heights

Keep you connection to your celestial ties.

We covenant each Sabbath during the sacrament to always remember and keep His commandments

Faith, repentance, baptism, enduring, and becoming as a little child (trust the Lord)

Temporary commandments are for the needs of the Lords church to be set aside once the need has come to pass

Pioneers

While still in force these commandments are still to be obeyed

Law of Tithing

Needed re-emphasis

Proclamation to the Family needed re-emphasis recently

Avoid contention

Jesus’s doctrine is not one of contention

Matthew 5:44-45

Show unselfish love for all

Blessed are the peacemakers – true disciples of Jesus Christ are peacemakers

What are you going to choose? Contention or reconciliation?

Sermon on the Mount

Follow the golden rule

Love and do good to ALL

Does not mean to compromise our principles and priorities, but to STOP ATTACKING PEOPLE FOR THEIRS!!!!

Will you allow His voice to take priority above any other?

Let us seek to be holy like our Savior

While we advocate for our positions let us qualify for the blessings of Jesus Christ as peacemakers

Teach Me to Walk in the Light

[exmotranny]

the green carpet scratches at your pink heels. bile rises in your throat.

they talk about womanhood- but it’s not quite right. there is the pink and compliments and talk of boys

i am a beloved daughter

but there is also something else. it digs at your flesh, it feasts on your skin. your mother motions at your chest, bigger than hers and you're not even done growing yet! how lucky.

of heavenly parents

you pray to a man every night, finish it in another’s name. on your knees. you were sent a shady link as a kid. the woman on her knees, tears streaming out of her eyes, i don't want this, she said

with a divine nature and eternal destiny

blood on the inside of your underwear. you were told this meant you were a woman now. you were ten years old. what the fuck did you know about being a woman? your mom said you weren’t allowed to touch between your legs, but it's normal to want to. you didn't know what that meant, either.

as a disciple of jesus christ,

you wanted to be desired. you daydreamed of being the trophy for boys around you, of claiming that role one day as a wife. you came from a long line of women married young. you don’t know their names, but you were taught about their husbands in church.

i strive to become like him.

pressing your breasts down as much as possible, trying to give the illusion of a flat chest. badly cropped jpgs of jesus photoshopped to have top surgery scars are the secret currency you pay to get past the hours of church. you hold them like diamonds.

i seek and act upon personal revelation

you thought god was talking to you. you almost threw away everything you owned. you thought you were a prophet. total fuckin’ ego death! holy shit! god speaks through me!

and minister to others in his holy name

and then the next morning. when your faith crashed, when moroni abandoned you, did it feel unreal to you too, joseph?

i will stand as a witness of god

oh god, no. please. i don’t know what’s real anymore.

at all times

leg hair peeking from under your pretty sunday dress. they all stare. you ignore them and open up to D&C 132.

and in all things

emma, did you love him to the end? i don’t think you wanted him. did you watch as he married a 14 year old? did you tell him you burned the commandment? did you cry when he died for the church that he loved more than he loved you?

and in all places.

blood on the floor of carthage jail. this martyr will be remembered forever. do they talk about you, emma? or are you just joseph’s wife?

as i strive to qualify for exaltation,

when i marry, my husband will be a god, and i shall cleave onto him. when i marry, i will go to his universe and bear more of his children.

i cherish the gift of repentance

heads bowed low as the sacrament is passed. my hands clutch onto the bottom of my skirt. pleasure outside celestial marriage is forbidden. i apologize for loving the wrong way.

and seek to improve each day

i tried to kill myself, last time i got home from girl’s camp. i got home and cried and found the pills and shoved them into my mouth until i cried more and more until i was gagging. i hunched over the toilet. my hands on the grimy floor.

with faith, i will

forced to sing in front of the congregation. my head spun from anxiety. my stomach turned with nausea.

strengthen my home and family,

loving wife beautiful kids loyal husband church once a week work weekdays weekend mom monthly round on the business end of his cock forever and the vomit threatens to make an appearance.

make and keep sacred covenants,

an old man is in a room alone with me. he asks me if i masturbate.

and receive the ordinances and blessings

i tell the man no. i receive a card so i can be ordained.

of the holy temple.

that's just how it goes, isn't it?

all around are paintings of god and jesus. we learned about heavenly mother. why don’t i see her in paintings? did god have plural marriages? did heavenly mother make us? why don’t we pray to her? did she watch god marry a 14 year old? did she cover her eyes? when she saw blood on her underwear, was she told she was a woman? did she touch between her legs? did she ever believe herself better than god? does she cry when she cant talk to us? why do i cry? was heavenly mother scared of singing in public and did she press her chest flat and did she cry when god forced himself into her mouth? did she burn his doctrine too?

i am given flowers on mother’s day. i will be one eventually, after all. and i vomit in the church bathroom quietly like the perfect woman i am supposed to be.

[falmerbrook]

Do you have any headcanons about Dunmeri hair customs? Like, how the different Great Houses + Ashlander Tribes distinguish themselves?

Up to getting this ask, I only had a vague headcanon about Chimer vs Dunmer hairstyles, but this one got my thoughts chugging during work today!

My general thoughts on the Chimer vs Dunmer is that Chimer hair styles were typically looser, messier looking, and "wild" than modern Dunmer, who typically keep their hair more controlled and away from their face. With Ashlanders being more traditionalists and assumedly having had less change in their culture over time, they probably have styles more similar to the Chimer than the Houses in the modern day.

Now some ideas for the Houses:

Indoril - Their general piety means that style trends almost always originate in the Temple in one way or another, and other styles are seen as tacky. Almalexia and her court are common sources for trends and styles. If she does something new with her hair, the style is quick to spread throughout Indoril cities. Since her hair is typically shown in a kind of dramatic up-do, I can see this being a popular kind of look among Indoril women in general. Accessories are common, even in common day-to-day styling.

Redoran - Their strong connection to the military and warrior-hood means that practical and simple styles that keep hair short or otherwise out of the way (tied up, braided, etc.) are more common. Fancy or hard to maintain styles and accessories are seen as gaudy and trashy. While Almalexia has a lot of influence of Indoril styles, Vivec has more so with Redoran.

Hlaalu - trends and customs change fast and are highly influenced by foreign trends compared to the other houses since there is more cultural exchange going on. What other cultures have more influence depends on the era, with Imperial trends obviously having more effect under Imperial occupation and Nordic trends having more effect during the Ebonheart pact for example.

Telvanni - In general I picture their whole aesthetic and clothing styles as (from an outside perspective) psychedelic and tacky and bizarre looking, so I imagine their hair is the same. Tall, complex styles, sometimes even requiring magic/enchantments to stay in place, eccentric tastes, unnatural dyed colors, etc. Telvanni clothing and hair aesthetics appear very gaudy, impractical, and opulent to outsiders, but are often a status symbol among their own.

I don't have any strong ideas for Dres, Sadras, or Dagoth unfortunately.

One last thought I have is about mohawks, because Nerevar and the Ordinators are depicted with one. At first I thought that the connection to Nerevar would make them a popular style among Indoril, but I also wonder if their connections to Ordinators would instead make them associated with the military or police (in the way a buzzcut can irl in certain contexts) and would therefore be avoided or used as a hair style based on someone's association with that aesthetic. Maybe that would make them more common among Redoran (although a shorter version so they wouldn't get in the way)? Perhaps while they might have a militaristic connotation among the houses, they are actually genuinely popular among Ashlanders, who maintain the same style influences that Nerevar himself might've back in the day.

I'm not great with hair designing/styling in general (example: I keep my hair super short because I don't want to deal with it lol) but I tired with some general ideas. Maybe I'll come back this weekend and doodle some examples when I get the chance! Thanks for the interesting idea to ponder!

[taffywabbit]

I touched on this during a stream last night but like. the thing that's probably really confusing about Mormonism is, if it's so wildly restrictive and puritanical and alienating, why do people actually want to JOIN the religion and claim to like it and feel that it improves their quality of life?

I've talked at length before about how, like any good cult organization, the church weaponizes rejection from outsiders and a deliberate sense of self-perpetuated othering to keep people trapped in the organization and feeling like they can't trust "the world" - they're only safe and understood and accepted within the confines of this very specific and unattractive in-group who have all been messed up in the same ways they are.

but like, as much as the statistics show that Mormons don't actually get many new converts for the amount of money and resources they spend on missionary efforts (and thus have to focus on long-term retention through the above methods, and also compelling their members to have a dozen kids who will grow up Mormon, in order to grow/maintain the church's numbers), some outsiders DO join, and some members who are more resistant to the feelings of isolation DO remain in the church out of a sincere belief that it makes them happier and more fulfilled. so like, what's up with THOSE people? how do they convince themselves this horrible restrictive lifestyle that cuts them off emotionally from the rest of society is what they actually want?

well, I'm sure there are a lot of deeper psychological factors that vary between individuals, but if you think about good old-fashioned Puritans and why THEY were so focused on the constant denial of basic earthly pleasures, you can get a little insight into this. from what I've figured out in the years since I left, a lot of this religion's supposed emotional benefits boil down to moral relativism.

most people want to feel like they're a good person, and some people have a really hard time feeling like they're a good person unless they have someone who is "worse" than them to compare themselves to. a lot of Christianity in general runs on this - the more evangelical or puritanical a sect is, the more you hear them speaking dismissively of outsiders and nonbelievers and heathens, and sometimes even talking about "purity" (ew). Granny Baker down the street could be the sweetest kindest old lady who volunteers at the food bank every Tuesday, but if she's not an avid churchgoer, especially in your particular chosen denomination, then she's still inferior to you in some meaningless intangible way and you get to feel like you're special for doing nothing. that's pretty much it! Christianity for a lot of people is just about getting to feel better about yourself without needing to improve in any actual substantial ways. you read your special book, say your prayers, sit in a church for an hour every week, never ever think any gay thoughts, and boom! you're "righteous" and god loves you, so who cares if Granny Baker thinks you're kind of a judgy asshole.

Mormons, though, take this to the next level. it's ALL about moral escalation, baby. it's not good enough to just do the basic Christian stuff - you need to prove you've joined GOD'S ONE TRUE RELIGION by being even more holy and special than any other Christians, too! they think drinking is frowned upon? well not only do Mormons NEVER drink or smoke or do drugs, they don't drink coffee or tea either! regular Christians go to church for an hour every Sunday? Mormons go for 2-3 hours, plus potentially some extra meetings if they have additional responsibilities in some kind of council or whatever, PLUS all kinds of other shit during the week to make sure they're in the church as often as possible. PLUS adult Mormons are supposed to attend several-hour ordinance sessions at a temple (those bigger fancier pointier churches that nonmembers can't enter, where all the REALLY cult-y looking stuff goes on) as frequently as they're able. regular Christians (if they're kinda old-fashioned) try not to work on Sundays? Mormons aren't supposed to do ANYTHING on Sundays besides church stuff. don't buy things, don't do schoolwork, don't go to the movies, don't listen to music that's "irreverent", etc etc... at EVERY level of this lifestyle your priority is to make sure you're extra special and holy and living a more devoted life than anyone else so you never have to question if they're more kind or benevolent or accepting or, y'know, actually Christlike than you. you follow all your little arbitrary extra rules and thus win a game that nobody else is playing.

something especially funny that non-Mormons may notice is that SOME Mormons take it EVEN FURTHER, too. not content to just do the bare minimum as set forth by the church's many councils of wrinkly businessmen in Utah, they make up ADDITIONAL personal rules for their family to live by, so they can be extra sure they never step anywhere CLOSE to being morally inferior to anyone. this is why you may have met Mormons who also say they don't drink cola or caffeinated soda or any soda at all, or who don't play video games on Sundays, or who not only don't swear but don't even say substitutes like "crap" and "dang it" and "freaking". (hey guess what! I was all of these at one point! my parents gave up on that last one after a while tho lol.)

they'll often tell you these extra house rules are part of their religion too, even though they're technically not in the books anywhere... and in a way they're not wrong, because that IS largely what Mormonism is about on a cultural level. you don't have to care about being homophobic or racist or uncharitable or various other things that come with essentially just being a Utah Republican But As A Religion, because every week you get to go to a place that praises and affirms you for being better and smarter than everyone else by following all the special little secret arbitrary rules that make you Morally Invincible and immune to anyone else's judgment.

so how does this tie into why people find the church interesting and want to join/stay? well of course, a desire to always win your internal comparisons against others goes hand-in-hand with a desire to be privy to secrets and tricks and obscure knowledge that others aren't. it's not just that Mormon beliefs can make you feel righteous - they ALSO make you feel smarter than all the other dumbasses out there who couldn't figure out that literally all you need to do to be happy is Stop Drinking Coffee and also Give 10% Of Your Income To An Organization With A $100 Billion Stock Portfolio. they entice you with the promise of teaching you stuff that everyone else is apparently just too dense to comprehend, and make you feel clever and special for recognizing the Truth. it's not just a social in-group you're being invited into, it's an EXCLUSIVE CLUB full of SECRET KNOWLEDGE with HIGH STANDARDS and only SMART COOL PEOPLE get to join! if you're going through some rough times or your self-esteem is low or you feel vaguely guilty about your life and don't know how to feel better, you are a lot more likely to be ensnared by what they promise you. (trust me! when I was a missionary they literally trained us to ask questions that would help us efficiently target those people!) and then before you know it, you're isolated inside that ecosystem, normal people find you intimidating and weird, it's hard to get back out, and the church won't leave you alone if you do. oops! aren't cults fun?