#The idea of people using the Bible for magic sure does make me uncomfortable

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I live a couple hours from the Ozarks so I hear some of the vernacular occasionally. I recently learned that witch doctors that broke curses were called Goomer Doctors, and since Twilight had to help Midna break a few of those...Then again, I also kinda find it funny if HC Wind overheard Twilight talking to someone about Goomer doctors, did research, and left Twilight a Goomy Plush with a small hat and a doctor's coat.

I had never heard of this so I did some research too and that’s… interesting. 🤨 But LOL a Goomy Plush 🤣 HC Twi would be leery of any of that, but that’s too funny haha

[writingsbychlo]

sinner | bucky barnes

word count; 14,861

summary; bucky is spending the one day he get’s to walk the earth freely the way he usually does. normal demon things. then, he meets his angel.

notes; I got carried away, nothing else to say. the pic is pretty much exactly how I picture demon!bucky looking. also, I did not proofread this, because it’s three am. take it easy on me if it’s riddled with grammatical fuck-ups.

warnings; it’s literally called ‘sinner’. you can work out the warnings.

Bucky didn’t mean to run into you, in fact, you certainly weren’t what he was looking for as he wandered the aisles of a grocery store at two in the morning, but he still had hours before the day really began and the fun could really start, but sometimes he’d find runaways or strays who were so high he thought they surely shouldn’t be able to stand, who he could convince to do a little theft, but then there was you. 

Here he was, making the absolute most of the first few hours of the one day that demons were allowed to walk the earth, darkness still filling the sky and a cold breeze that was more than enough to make him shivering the coolness of the late-year air, and then you’d strolled in. 

An angel on earth, literally. 

He’d heard tales, girls so pretty they could bring you to your knees, an aura that glowed and glittered, all things holy and magical, and the absolute opposite of him, and he was drawn to you from the second that you’d stepped into the building. The cashier behind the till was just a kid, snoozing against his hand as the addict in aisle three continues to shove chocolate bars into his pocket, upon hearing whisperings that he should - something Bucky was still smirking about - as he followed you around towards the bread section.

He could see you more clearly now, and you really were gorgeous. Soft skin, covered mostly by hospital scrubs, and he tried to cover his scoff, finding it absolutely typical that an angel would be here working in a hospital, some kind of selfless act, and he wouldn't be at all surprised if you were a volunteer too, just to really rub your altruistic nature into everybody else’s faces. That was the one thing he didn’t understand, he didn’t get how everybody looked up to Heaven and prayed to a God or deity, how nobody thought it odd how they were all constantly being shamed by bars they could never reach, set so high they weren’t even in sight anymore, but then again, he didn’t like to judge. 

Not when his own actions would be so heavily frowned upon, but what can you expect from a demon? It’s in his nature.

You were tired, you weren’t paying much attention, a scrap of paper in your hands that look awfully similar to the back of a prescription as you moved through the store, trying to fill your basket with everything you’d need, none the wiser as he tailed you slowly, studying you, trying to work it out. From all the stories he’d heard, angels had left the earth long ago, so long that their existence at all had become something that he’d heard questioned many times in the underworld, and so he couldn't quite work out why you were herein a gas station store in the first few hours of Halloween morning. 

He wanted answers, he wanted to get a little closer, confirm it all for himself, and as you spun around to head to the checkout, you crashed right into him, a yelp leaving you as you jumped back, and your eyes finally met his, once you had steadied yourself. One look into his eyes, a quick flicker around the edges of his body as he was certain you could see his own aura, tainted and stained with darkness, before your eyes were going infinitely wider, and the basket in your hands fell to the floor with a crash. 

The items scattered around his feet, tins rolling away and disappearing under shelves, and that exhaustion you’d once had was fading away, replaced with shock and fear, and as you took a step back, he took another step forwards, crowding you up into the shelves, a hand on either side of your head to keep you kept from leaving, and a smirk took over as he watched you tremble a little. 

“Demon.”

You hissed the word out like an insult, and he feigned offence, before that wicked smirk he knew he was wearing twisted up into a sinister grin, head tipping to the side just a little. “Well, hey there, angel.”

“What do you want?��

“You’re very hostile. I haven’t even done anything to you.” He paused, eyes scanning over your face, closing in on the place where you were nibbling on your lower lip anxiously. “Yet.”

“If you’re going to kill me, then just kill me, demon. Get it over with.” You were shaking now, full-blown fear, and he let out a little sigh, dropping his hands but remaining where he stood. 

“There’s no fun in that, is there?” You only scowled, standing strong in spite of the fact that he could practically hear your heart beating out of your chest. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means; what are you doing on Earth, on all Hallow’s Eve?” You had the guts to shove at his shoulders a little, pushing past him to begin to collect your shopping back up, and he sank down into a squat, tipping the basket back to the way it should be, and placing the items back within it carefully, waiting for your answer.

“I live on Earth, and I’m running late to get home. Away from the likes of you.”

He handed you back your basket as the two of you stood, having gathered everything you could find, and he let out a low ‘oooh’ in teasing at your words, laughing through it as the furrow between your brows only deepened. “I thought angels didn’t live here anymore, not holy enough for you once it was corrupted with sin, so you all retreated back up to the promised lands, to spit on the rest of us from the clouds.” He sneered it a little, he couldn’t help it, but you avoided his eyes, shoulders sinking as you shrugged.

“Yes, well, that would be spectacular and all, but they don’t let halfbreeds into Heaven.” He waited, walking alongside you as you moved towards the counter, and he would laugh at his own image if he could see himself now, but somehow, here he was, wasting the only day of the year that he was free to walk around the surface and escape from the depths of the underworlds by helping you pack your groceries. “My father was one of them, and my mother was not. I’m just a cast out. Earning my way.”

“Interesting.”

You only deadpanned, punching your PIN into the machine a little more aggressively than he thought would be normal for you, but then again, you were on edge, and even with your soured mood, you still wished a cheery goodnight to the kid behind the register that made him sick with the amount of earnest goodwill lacing your tone. “What do you want from me, if not to kill me? Is this part of the thrill for you, to make me let me guard down and then to kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you.”

“All demons want to kill people.” You stopped short at the door, and he almost bumped into you, close to dropping the bags in his arms as he avoided the collision, raising his brows a little bit as you glared at him, before snatching your backs from his arms and taking a wide step back from him. 

“I see I’m not the only ones with misguided ideas about the other.” He tried to take a step forward, but you twisted away from him, protective of your groceries and your life. “Not all demons want to kill. Some of us just get our kicks by convincing people to commit petty crimes and scaring kids on Halloween night. Well, that and stealing candy from babies, obviously.”

He could see the way you tried to suppress your amusement, but your lips flicked up at the sides, and you dropped your shoulders, seeming to give in. Your eyes rolled slightly, before you were moving once again, clearly trusting him enough to let him walk you over to his car, and he held your bags for you as you opened it, loading them into the trunk before slamming it shut, leaning against the cold metal. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, demons can only come up to the surface on H-”

“No, I don’t mean here.” You waved your arms, making a large circle that he supposed was supposed to represent the Earth, before you were pointing at the building behind you both, shaking your head. “I meant here. Like, the grocery store. Surely that’s wasting your one day.”

“Well, I met you, didn’t I, angel?”

“Stop being so.. flirty.” You shuffled uncomfortably under his stare, your true nature showing through, and a shock of thrill and excitement raced through him, tucking some hair behind your ear, before you shook him off. 

“Can’t help it. It’s in my nature. Lust, and the other ‘deadly’ sins, as such.” You didn’t reply, and as much as he hated to admit it, you were the most exciting thing that had happened to him in decades of Halloweens, so he gave in, moving a half-step away for you again to give you your space. “Not much to do at this hour, except kill people in alleyways. But, that’s not really my style.”

“I see.”

“Can I be brutally honest with you?”

“Have you lied to me, already? We’ve only known each other for twenty minutes. Then again, you are a sinner.” He chuckled at your pathetic jab, but shook his head in denial, soothing you a little. 

“Your life sucks.”

“It does not!” You crossed your arms over your chest, foot stomping a little, and it was an adorable display of anger if he was being true to his thoughts. 

“Yeah? Let me guess, you’re wearing scrubs so I reckon you work at a hospital or care facility, probably a volunteer too, or you do some kind of volunteer work to fill your time. You took a night shift tonight to cover for someone else, because you just can’t say ‘no’, even though you should’ve been inside keeping safe from ‘the likes of me’, as you put it, and I bet you’ve never even been kissed. You’re pure, completely and totally, you probably have a routine, oatmeal for breakfast, Church on Sundays, bible on the bedside table.”

You gaped at him, jaw hanging slack now, and he reached a finger up to push it closed, and you soon formed an irritated pout in response. 

“So, did I get anything wrong?”

“No.” You grumbled it under your breath, gritted out angrily, and he only laughed in response, winding you up further. Your foot swung out, colliding with his ankle before you even realised you were doing it, and as he bent over, crippled to grip at the sore patch in pain, your eyes went wide, fear suddenly flashing over your features again. I’m so sorry! I don’t know why I did that!”

“That would be wrath.” You shook your head, stepping away from him, and he could only nod in response, grin getting wider as he watched realisation flash across your features. “How did your first sin feel?”

“It doesn’t count! It was just a kick to the ankle!”

“Yes, in anger. That would be wrath, angel. It’s not that bad, trust me.” Your eyes were glassy now, and he placed a hand over your jaw, calloused pad stroking over the skin of your cheek as he tipped your head upwards. “See? No lightning strikes, no plagues, no punishments. And don’t you just feel so much better now that you’ve done it?”

“A little bit.” You gave in, letting his corruption really take place, and your eyes dropped down to find his, tearing your gaze away from dark and glittering skies. “I’m not a sinner, though. I’m good.”

“Yes, but this day is bad. Nobody is looking today. You liked it, I know you did. Don’t you want to try another sin? Just on this oh-so-evil day, and tomorrow, you can go back to being a good girl. Be bad with me today, angel?” You didn’t reject him, not right at once, and he took that as a good sign, your breath hitching as he stepped a little closer, enough for him to be able to taste the coffee on your breath at the short and sharp puffs you let out. “Have you never wondered? Which one have you always wanted to try, late at night, when it was just you and your thoughts? Is it pride? Gluttony?” He leaned in, enough to brush his lips with your own, your breath hitching in your throat. “Is it lust?”

“Sloth.”

“What?” He snapped back a little, not sure he’d ever really expected a response from you, and he felt a gleeful fire burn through you as you took your first step away from holiness and more towards him, just at the simple admittance, to both yourself and to him. Swallowing thickly, he watched as your mind spun, processing your own words, before you were seeming to settle on them with confidence. 

“I have a routine, just as you said. I get up early every morning, and have breakfast, and do some work. I volunteer at a shelter and I do rounds at the hospital even when it’s not my day in, just to pray with those who want some company, but some days I don’t want to. I’m tired, and I want to sleep in. I want to lay in bed until late morning, and fake calling in sick to work just to have a day off, to do anything I want.” You had your own smile now, something brand new flickering through your eyes, and as you looked at him, and he laughed breathlessly at the confession.

“So, do it.”

“I-” You seemed to remember who you were, and where you were, then disappointment took over. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s wrong.” He sighed, hand dropping down to your waist, pulling you closer into him, and he could feel the steady thumb of your racing heart against his chest now, and he wished his own would react at all, but it had been so long since he’d felt anything from the organ that he’d almost forgotten he had it at all. 

“If it’s so wrong then why does it feel so right?” You had no response to that, rendered breathless again, and he took his chance, pushing the boundaries a little further. “Give me this one day, I bet we can fit all seven sins into this day, when nobody will notice your sins when mixed with all the demons roaming the surface, and if you don’t like it, then I promise you’ll never see me again, and you’ll never have to think about it.”

“We can stop at any time?”

“Whenever you want.”

You hummed under your breath, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, before caving and offering him a nod. “Big words for someone who only has twenty-one hours left of the day to keep his promises.”

“Well, then, we’d better get you home, angel. You have a big day coming up, and I know just which sin to start with. Let’s get you that late morning you’ve always wanted.” You merely sighed out, contented and happy with the thought, before you were nodding, and turning around to get into your car. Nodding to the passenger side, his grin only grew as he took the offer, climbing in beside you, and settling into the plush leather as the vehicle rumbled to life.

After an exceedingly long sleep in, one where you’d actually then continued to just lie in your bed for upwards of an hour after the daylight had forced away your grogginess, you were left peering out of the window, staring down at the city below from the high-windows of your apartment, the bustling streets with a chaos that didn’t reach all the way up here to the serene quiet, and your lips flicked up at the sides as you remembered the comment that the man who’ already managed to flip your world upside down had made as the two of you had finally made it back to your apartment at almost four in the morning

‘Top floor, huh? Trying to get closer to heaven, or just in it for the workout?’

Turning onto your side, his lips were parted as he slept, slow breaths and a sight rasp following his breath each tie, but not quite a snore. As he was asleep, you had a chance to really observe him. You’d never met a demon, before, you knew the rumours, of course, and some of them were more tame, auras of darkness and a twisted kind of ugly that made you repulsed. Of course, there were also the wilder ones, horns and hooves and rotting flesh, but he was neither.

When you took him in, you decided that he was actually kind of beautiful. Scruff lining his jaw that made him look a little wild - something that was bound to be intentional - and the colour of his eyes flashed through your mind once again even if they were coed now. The colour was burned into your mind, not a glowing red, or all black, but instead the kind of soft blue shade that the ocean looked on a misty morning at the beach, grey clouds overhead that were the calm before the storm.

He was taller than you, much taller, and his frame almost filled your bed, broad shoulders pushing you to one side, further over than you’d ever slept before, even on the large piece of furniture, but he’ insisted that he wasn’t sleeping on ‘no damn couch’, and in your exhaustion and excitement, you’d simply waved a hand as he kicked off his shoes, crawling under the covers beside you. The comfort had been inviting, you’d never experienced such a thing before, but it was oddly peaceful to share a bed with someone else, to feel their warmth creeping over to you as well, the steady thump of a heart or the rise and fall of a chest with every breath, and you hadn't realised how lonely you were until right now.

“Stop fuckin’ starin’ at me.” You huffed, watching as that peaceful expression became a scowl, and he rolled over towards you a little, cracking an eye open to peer up at you. “What?”

“Nothing! You’re just not like what I thought a demon would look like. I’m taking it in.”

He sat up a little, running a hand over his face, before shaking his he'd to try and clear a sleep-muddled brain. “Yeah, well, you’re exactly what I expected an angel to look like.”

“I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or an insult.” Despite the bickering going on between you both, his movements had caused the blankets to lip down, a chill coming in to claim you, and you shuffled a little closer to him, seeking out more of the warmth you’d become addicted to in the last few hours of sleeping beside him.

“It’s neither. Just a statement. Innocent, pretty, that whole weird ethereal vibe that draws you in. That's you.”

“That sounds like a compliment to me.” You all but sang the words, and he rolled his eyes, a grunt leaving him, but he made no move to distance himself from you, and so you knew it was all in false anger.

“I’m revisiting the idea of killing you.” His eyes flicked up to the large clock on the wall, studying it for a second, before turning to look at you incredulously. “I thought we were sleeping in? It's eleven.”

“I normally get up at six! This is late for me, very late.”

He only shrugged, pushing back the covers and standing up, letting you wrap yourself in them a little more, before he was patting down his pockets, searching for something in the jeans that had been abandoned on the bedroom floor. A cardboard box and a lighter, and he was balancing a cigarette between his lips.

“Open a window!”

He only glanced over at you, raising his brows, before stepping across the room to the large panels of glass, clicking off the lock and pushing one open, before flicking on the lighter and igniting the tip. He held it between two careful fingers, a repetitive motion as he brought it up and down from his lips, lips curling each time he expelled the smoke, and it was a weirdly hypnotic scene to watch.

The sound of the traffic and bustle from below was now reaching your ears, muffled and distant but you could still pick it up, the bitter smell of smoke still making it over to you, and your nose scrunched up a little, before you were holding the blanket closer to yourself, and making your way over to stand beside him.

“You’re staring at me like you’ve never seen a cigarette before.”

“I have!” He chuckled a little at your eager enthusiasm, heat rising to your cheeks with your embarrassment, and you shrugged as best you could, from where your hands were pressed to your chest to hold the blankets closed and keep your warmth in. “I’ve just never..”

“Smoked one?”

You only nodded, and he seemed to consider it, taking an extra-long drag, before he was pulling the dwindling stick away from his mouth, flipping it between two fingers, and bringing it to your mouth. He had an expectant look on his face, nothing pressuring or judgemental, simply apprehensive, waiting to see if you’d take the offer before the flickering orange reached his fingers and burned him. The taste was lingering on the air, and you leaned in, lip parted and he grinned, placing it gently on your lower lip, pushing forwards until the edge of his finger was brushing your lips, and he gave you a nod.

Sealing your mouth around it, you took in a deep breath, dragging the air through the device, and the heat that coursed through you was enough to make you pull away and cough, a tingling and burning in your throat and lungs as the smoke clouded out around you, dissipating in the air, and you once again flushed with embarrassment, but the laugh you anticipated hearing from him never came. Instead, he looked almost proud, and you didn’t have a chance to question it, before he was taking the last breath himself, stuffing it on your window frame and ignoring your complaint, before flicking the butt out of the window and closing it once again.

“So, what are we doing with the day now?”

“Hm, well, I promised you all seven. One down, six to go. I’m hungry, so let’s go with gluttony next.” His eyes twinkled a little, and you thought about the sparsely packed fridge you had, just enough simple necessities to get you by and be healthy, nothing that could be deemed even remotely gluttonous, but you were excited to experience it, nonetheless. “There’s a diner near here, we’ll go for breakfast.”

As promised, you are allowed to take even longer, the longest shower you had ever taken in your life, until the entire room was so filled with steam that it felt like a sauna, and you were pruning up. You didn’t even bother to make your bed, instead opting to just lay flat on it for a while, still in your towel as you listened to the demon you were - for some unknown reason - trusting, as he moved about your living room and tinkered with your things.

When you were finally ready, you didn’t care to make the bed, or put on sensible shoes with laces, or even do your hair properly. Instead, you wore a hoodie, and your comfiest flats, and just ran a brush through it, and you’d never felt lazier in your life. You had spent every day doing yourself up to standards and making sure you were being sensible and rational, the proper attire for a day at work, running around a hospital and doing everything you could for everyone else, and nothing for you, and today, you’d texted in saying you were sick and weren’t coming and you’d relaxed, truly relaxed, for what you felt may be the first time in your life.

As promised, you were given a filling breakfast, with more than enough leftovers for a week’s worth of breakfasts, but you didn’t take any of them. At first, it had bothered you, watching as the waitress stared at you both with a little bit of judgement, a little bit of shock, and a little bit of amusement as the man opposite you had listed off dish after dish, until you’d been moved to a bigger table just to accommodate it all. With a bite of it all, you’d worked your way through the dishes, and the drinks, a sip from all of their wide range of coffees and milkshakes, and by the time you’d finished and enough food to feed a small army had been wasted, you were wandering out into the carpark with a wide grin on your face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this full.”

He turned to look at you, beaming as you spoke the words as though they’d been a compliment, and you began to pat your pockets down for your keys, a wave of panic washing over you when you couldn't find them. A moment later, there was a jingling, and you followed the sounds, to find Bucky waving them at you, smirking around the straw in his mouth as he finished his milkshake, tossing the to-go cup in the vague direction of the trashcan.

“When did you even take those? How did you take those?”

“I’m not exactly new to pick-pocketing.” He shrugged, holding open the passenger side door for you, and you hopped up inside of it, grinning as he rounded the car, and it would seem that he was taking it upon himself to drive. Once he was inside of the car and starting it up, his hands were fiddling with the dial for the music, changing your classical music station over to some soft rock, and while it was unfamiliar to you, you tried to settle into it.

“You’re different.”

“We’ve covered this.” He mumbled, fingers tapping against the steering wheel to the song that was playing, and you turned a little more towards him straining against the safety belt across your chest, and not missing the fact that he hadn't bothered with his own.

“No, I just mean, you’re gentlemanly. You held the door, paid for breakfast, didn’t try anything with me last night, even though we shared a bed. It’s admirable.”

“Well, firstly, I didn’t pay for breakfast.” Your face paled a little, realising you’d essentially stolen the meal, but then again, you shouldn't know better. When he told you to go ahead and that he’d been right behind you, you hadn't questioned it, and now, that felt like it was slapping you right in the face. That’s where innocence gets you, you supposed. “Secondly, as I said, we already covered this. You do know there’s, like, tiers for this shit, right?” You only gave a short laugh, turning to look at him a little, and you could already feel your own mischief bubbling up within you.

“You mean the seven circles of hell?”

“Oh, you’re so funny.” He was grumbling now, pretty-coloured eyes rolling in his head, and you continued to snicker away to yourself, but didn’t miss the little flicker of his lips into a smile, that he did his best attempt to disguise as a simple twitch, but you knew better. “No, not the ‘seven circles of hell’.” He imitated your movie as you spoke, a scowl taking over your features at the poor impersonation, but it was quickly washed away. “More like, privileges, I suppose? Those down there because they’re not pure enough to go to all things good and dandy go down below.”

“So, how does it work, then?” He cast you a little glance, studying you for a second, deeming you to have a genuine interest, before one shoulder was raising and falling in a simple shrug.

“Those who are, like, the bad kind of bad get it, well, bad. People who killed for fun, the people who hurt others for their own enjoyment, people who do, y’know..” He didn’t have to say it, your face screwing up as you thought about exactly the sort of people who would count as ‘bad-bad’ and he nodded. “No privileges for them. They just get to suffer.”

It went quiet for a second, and you could practically see the cogs working in your new friend's mind as he tried to sort his thoughts out.

“Then, there are people who did bad things, but it’s not serial-killer bad, y’know?”

“Oh, like tax-fraud and grand theft auto?” He let out a laugh this time, entertainment shining through.

“Technically, yes. I don’t really know how it all divides up. It’s just my job to punish people who need punishing, I don’t ask questions.” That caught your attention, and you perked up slightly, ignoring the fact that you’d pulled into your building’s parking lot, and that the rest of the journey was over, the car coming to a halt, but instead, you were more intrigued about finding out more from the man before you.

“You punish people? The bad people?”

“Yeah. I suppose you can consider today my day off.” He grinned, moving to climb out of the car, and you struggled to follow him, falling into step beside him.

“But, doesn’t that make you good? Getting justice and all?”

“I never said I wasn’t good, angel.” He cast you a look from the sides of his eyes, a little put off by the insinuation you’d made. “I’m created in hell. I don’t really have a soul, or anything that would let me into Heaven. Besides, I do enjoy doing some of the things that would get me cast out.”

“Like what?”

You regretted asking the question from the second you’d asked it, a smirk taking over his features, and he turned to you in the doorway, finger under your chin to hold your face up towards his as he leaned down a little, breath washing over your face as your heart froze in your chest. “Like fucking.”

He watched you, heat crawling up your cheeks as your eyes went even wider, and he grinned, eyes flicking down to your mouth, licking over his lips for just a second, before he was pulling away.

“We can get to that later, though.”

He was ahead of you, long legs making wide steps as he crossed the lobby to the elevator back up to your apartment, and you had to race just to catch up with him. “So, do you have horns?”

“What?”

You slipped in just as the doors to the elevator were closing, and he scowled, clearly having been hoping he’d be able to cut you off, and you almost wished he had, because you'd forgotten just how cramped his large frame made the small box feel. “Y’know, like-” you lifted up each hand to the top of your head, index fingers sticking up as the rest of the fingers curled into a fist. “-horns?”

“Do you have wings?”

You felt a little taken aback by his sneer, lips pursing as you realised he’d taken your joke the wrong way, and you passed by a few floors in silence, before he let out a deep sigh, shoulders slumping slightly.

“No, I don’t have horns.” He looked around the ceiling of the building when you stepped out of the elevator, a hand on your arm to bring you to a halt in the corridor, and he must’ve deemed it safe, before his fidgeting stopped. “I have something, but it’ll freak you out if I show you.”

“I can handle it.”

“I don’t think so, angel.” You huffed, and he continued on, car keys being used to find your house key, the door swinging open, and you followed after, complaints spilling from your lips as you did, and you caught the door as it swung closed, before it had a chance to hit you in the face.

“I can handle it! You're underestimating me!”

“Am I?” He was making himself comfortable once again, already going through the contents of your fridge, pulling back with the carton of orange juice, and you cringed as he popped the lid from it and took a swig right from the bottle. “You’re just a half-angel. You can’t take it.”

Anger boiled within you, and you weren’t sure where this side of him had come from. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

You gaped, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest as he finished off the orange juice of your own that was supposed to last you all week. “I’ll have you know that I’m a lot stronger than you think. I work in a hospital, okay? I can take whatever twisted shit it is that you have to show me. I can take a lot of things, alright, pal? I think I do pretty well for myself, actually! I mean, if you haven’t noticed, you’re standing in my penthouse apartment, drinking orange juice that I bought, after recklessly driving my fancy car, so screw you. I can handle anything you could throw at me and more, you’re just rude.”

His head tipped to the side, and you let out a ragged breath, not giving him a chance to speak, before you were continuing;

“And, for that matter, I think I’ve done pretty well all around. I have a great job, and I do good work there, and I have spent over two decades avoiding the likes of you, living all on my own, so this little hitch that came in the form of you doesn’t matter, because even after today, I’ll still be doing pretty damn good. ‘Can’t take it’, yeah, well, you can shove your freaky demon thing that you refuse to show me somewhere that the sun doesn’t shine, okay?”

You huffed out, and he crossed his arms over his chest, neutral expression cracking out into a wide grin. “That was a great speech, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well, thanks.” You were confused, caught off guard by the praise after you were given, your mind still spinning.

“You seem pretty happy with everything you have here. Would you say you take pride in it?” You almost retorted, a witty comeback at the tip of your tongue, before you realised what this had all been about, your shoulders slumping, and you dropped your head into your hands, a weak laugh on your lips and you climbed up onto one of the stools at your kitchen island.

“You got me all worked up into a rage for pride?”

“You’ve achieved some pretty amazing things in your life, and you should be proud of them anyway, even if it’s not for sin.”

You paused, eyes meeting his own, and for a second, the whole misconception of an angel and demon sitting across from one another being the kind of thing that would end worlds seemed to fade away, you were just a regular man and a woman, sharing the moment and sitting together on a lazy morning. He cleared his throat, looking around the room, not for anything particular, just to take it all in, before coming back to look at you, with something else in his eyes this time.

“Well, that’s another one crossed off of the list, anyway. I’d say we’re making pretty good progress.”

You only hummed under your breath, but he seemed to catch onto your hesitation, raising a brow at you. “Kinda’ have an idea about greed.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Do you think, maybe, you could take me there?” He stilled, the hand he’d been using to rearrange the salt and pepper holder in the middle of the marble countertop between you both fell flat.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s hell. It’s literally Hell.” He was adamant on this one, not the same kind of cocky attitude he’d had while fracking pride out of you, but this was more just a complete close down on the situation, and he didn’t even have a flicker of emotion as you glared at him, standing strong in his decision. “You can’t handle it.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m not fucking with you this time, angel.” He stood up, rounding the little countertop to stand before you, and he rested his hips against it, one hand coming up to cup at your face gently. A thumb ran over your lower lip, his eyes tracing his own movements, and you pulled back from him a little, too angry to let him hold you so tenderly, even if something deep within you was craving that kind of contact and affection with him. “Too dangerous.”

“But I want to.” You pouted at him, ignoring the little smile he gave to you as you did, and he forced his gaze back up to meet your own, shaking his head.

“What if you get stuck down there, huh? Time works differently. If it passes midnight, you won’t be able to come back.” The thought did send a flash of fear through you, and he seemed to notice it, thinking that the argument was over. “Besides, down there is where everyone else gets to show their real faces. Where you’d see mine.”

“You could just show me now, and then I wouldn’t have any kind of surprise.”

You didn’t expect him to go for that, to buy it, and you gasped a little as the man before you changed. Soft and fluffy brown hair was longer, brushing around his shoulders in strands that weren’t tied back into a bun, faded blue almost entirely taken over by black irises. His eyes were sunken a little deeper, some teeth a little sharper, jaw a little more defined, giving a much more dangerous look, the kind of intimidating you were sure was done purposefully to scare those who needed to be scared, crafted in the bowels of hell to torture the people who deserved it.

A deep pink and puffy scar ran along from the middle of his cheek and into the stubble on the right hand of his face, emerging further down along his neck. The sleeve of his left arm seemed to strain a little more now, shining metal poking out from underneath, a mixture of battered metal and shining steel, metal digits forming a fist as you stared down at the appendage.

Reaching a hand out towards him, he huffed, pulling it away from you, leaning the entire left side of his body out of your reach. “What are you doing?”

You ignored him, taking the hand in both of your own, and the coolness of it sent shocks along your nerves, goosebumps rising on your skin. He let you lift it, inspecting each finger carefully, gears shifting under your touch each time a finger moved, and he sighed as you lifted the hand, resting it over your cheek again, the same way he’d had it only moments ago, when it had been under the illusion of flesh and blood. “You still don’t scare me, Bucky.”

He let out a laugh, a breathless one, before he was closing the distance between the two of you, lips meeting your own, and a small squeak left you as his mouth pressed to your own carefully. It was all entirely new to you, feeling his other hand find your waist, nails scratching lightly at your skin through the material of your shirt, before you were placing your own hands on his shoulders, grasping at his shirt as you moved your mouth with his own.

It was slightly awkward, and slow, and you could feel yourself fumbling, but as your eyes slipped closed and you matched his rhythm, you found everything within yourself slipping away. You hadn't quite realised what it would be like, to have another person pressed up so close to you, and to know how it felt when their eyelashes tickled your cheeks the way his were know, that feelings within your stomach like fireworks were going off was making you feel lightheaded, gasps for breath each time he pulled back, twisting his head, noses bumping, before softly swollen lips were finding you once again.

It was of their own accord that your hands slipped from his shoulders to his neck, one travelling even further into his hair, gripping tightly as you pushed up into him, almost falling from your chair as your legs went weak as you tried to stand a little, and he turned you around, lower back pressing into the cool marble for support, before a low growl sounded out. It reverberated along your entire body, and you trembled a little under his hold, teeth dragged over your lower lip, before he was pulling away.

You were chasing after him, feeling his grip loosen on you and you whined, catching his lips again in a little kiss, a chuckle breaking it as he backed away enough to rest his forehead on your own.

“Don’t be greedy. I’ll kiss you again, later.”

“Or, you could kiss me now?” You teased, letting him lift you up to sitting on the countertop, and he wrapped your legs around his waist, thumb smoothing over your cheek as he felt that same embarrassed warmth flood your skin. He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw, using his nose to tilt your head back, before he was nipping lightly about the pulse point along your neck, and you weren’t in control of the sound that left you as he did, or the way your thighs tightened around his waist.

“I could, but, I thought you wanted to go to Hell.”

“I do.” You mumbled, before realising fully what he’d said, and you pulled him back by a handful of his shirt between his shoulder blades, darkened eyes finding yours in a curious gaze. “I do. Are you serious?”

“You have to promise to stay by my side.” You nodded, vehemently, a wide smile taking up on your face. “You also have to wear a watch.”

“I thought time worked differently?” You teased, and he rolled his eyes, taking your chin between his thumb and a metal forefinger, cutting off your laughs with a short kiss.

“It does, that’s the whole point. We need to know when to get you home.”

You only nodded, dropping down and disappearing, searching through your drawers and cabinets until you found the device you were looking for, checking its display against the wall clock on your bedroom wall, and thanking your lucky stars that it still displayed the correct time. You were attaching it to your wrist and waving it at him proudly as you reemerged, and he held his hand out for you.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Well, you only live once, right?” He huffed, fixing you with a pointed stare, and you burst out in a series of little laughs at your own words. “Well, some of us only live once, anyway.” He took your hand in his, barely letting you swipe up your keys before you were following him out of the door and back towards the stairs, stumbling over your own feet slightly. “Am I going to have to die for us to get there?”

“What? No. Why would you think that?” The crackling in his voice was amusement, and you shrugged, letting him guide you through the door that said ‘staff only’, and at this point, you’d stopped even questioning his actions.

“Well, I don’t exactly see a lot of portals to hell on my day-to-day travels.”

“It’s like a door that only demons can open. On this day, of all days. Sorta’ like a magnet, you just think about it, and it pulls you to where you're supposed to be.” It wasn’t exactly a description that set you at ease, and as you made it to the top of the staircase he was pulling you up, you were met with the sight of the sprawling skyline, the sounds of a busy city filled with people who were none the wiser to your current situation going about their mundane lives below, and even after today, you know you’d never be that same mundane person again.

Stepping out onto the roof, you were in awe, never having ventured up and gotten to appreciate it, and while your apartment was high up and the view was the same, it was more the experience that was leaving you speechless.

“Are you ready?”

When you followed the sound of his voice, he was standing on the edge of the building, hand held out to you once again, and you weren’t sure when you’d ever slipped away from him. You wandered over, nausea sweeping across you as you leaned over the edge to look down, the people on the streets below looking more like specks in the distance, and you pulled back rapidly. “To jump off the roof? That’s seriously the way to go?”

“It’s the fun way.”

You scoffed, knowing he was just doing it to mess with you, and he took your hands in his, guiding your gaze back up to his face. Wrapping your arms around his neck, and you held on tightly, feeling him grip your waist, pulling you in close.

“Just trust me, angel.”

For whatever reason, you did. You had full faith in a man who’d you’d only known for twelve hours, feeling him inch the two of you towards the edge, up onto the ledge, until you were precariously balanced, and your heart was threatening to beat right out of your chest. Pressing your face into his neck, his grip on you became bruising, and then you were falling.

The floor fell away, and you were racing downwards, hair whipping around your face as your eyes squeezed shut, that floating feeling becoming more like you were being dragged down. It was cold, biting cold, and utterly terrifying, and then it all just stopped. There was ground beneath your feet again, blood wasn’t pounding in your ears as you found yourself upright once again, and you were only dizzy from the way you’d held your breath, not from tumbling such a distance, and you forced yourself to exhale, slowly.

When you pulled away from him, the hand stroking soothingly up and down your back then stopped, and he lifted it to smooth down your hair instead. Whereas in your apartment, he’d seemed out of place and daunting in his own skin, now, he seemed to fit in perfectly. Shadows cast across his face made his features stand out, strong and bold, and instead of being scared you felt protected by his presence. It wasn’t nearly as loud as you’d expected it to be, and it was the exact opposite of what you’d pictured.

Instead of burning pits of fire and tortured screams, it was much like what Earth was, buildings and pathways and doors along each one, a reflection of the home you’d known so well, just with a little more destruction. He seemed to already know exactly what you were thinking, smirking his eyes a little, but you just accepted it, taking it all in. There was a bump against your lower leg, something soft that made you jump, and the man holding you chuckled. Turning, you watched a little cat run away. It had a torn ear and was missing an eye when it looked back at you, before it was dating through an open door before it closed, and you gaped a little as you lost sight of the orange-furred little critter.

“That was a cat.”

“Well, yes.” He deadpanned, hissing at the way you pinched his arm roughly for his words, and he mumbled under his breath about being careful before you ‘inadvertently achieved wrath’. “Haven’t you ever heard about cats being the guardians of the underworld?”

“In, like, Egyptian mythology, maybe.”

“Yeah, well, all myths and fables come from somewhere, right? Everything you’ve heard is just one interpretation of the same thing. Like versions of a story.” He offered, and you felt like every answer you got became all the more confusing, like you had no real idea about the world you’d been living in at all, until now. “C’mon. We have much to do, and little time.”

“What are we going to do?”

“You wanted to come here, that’s your choice.” He shrugged, and you gave him a blank look, as though you had any idea about what you were supposed to be doing. He seemed to pick up on it, a smile on his lips, before he was slinging an arm over your shoulders, and beginning to guide you away towards a door only a few down from one that you’d seen that little orange cat disappear through. When you got into the other side, you were in the hospital, the time seeming to move differently, everything around you flying by at super speed. “What’s the worst thing you ever witnessed in the hospital?”

“What?”

“The west thing. One of your patients, something you remember because it was just downright evil.” It took you a moment, but the worst one came to mind, and you felt sad witnessing it all over again.

“There was this man in here, once. Both he and the kid across from me were my patients. The kid was a car crash victim, both parents died, he was on life support, we were doing everything we could. If the kid died, he would have been the organ donor. The man smothered the kid in his sleep, we didn’t realise until the autopsy was done, by which point the guy had fled.” You shrugged, and he asked for the date, to which you mumbled, that day burned into your mind to last forever.

With a wave of his hand, that same speed that had been dizzying to watch as it moved like a movie on fast-forward was now frozen completely, and with a click, there was an entirely new setting.

Easter decorations, all around the hospital, Mercedes at the reception desk still had her hair dyed blue instead of her usual fiery red, the colour had taken a good couple of years to totally grow out; somehow, he’d taken you right back to the night that it had happened. Rainy, filled with clouds, water swilling around your car, and there was a loud storm outside. You remembered because it felt fitting, and it almost felt comforting when you’d cried in your car about it all before being able to drive home that night.

“Which room?”

“I, um, room three-oh-four.” You guided him through the halls, completely in awe of the way it resembled your place of work so clearly, and yet nobody could see it at all. You could see yourself, a younger version, standing behind the nurse's station and covering your yawn with your hand, a file in your hand as you tried to focus on it, and it was shocking to see it from such a different angle. You froze up a little as you approached the room, the two opposites, and you felt your heart crack a little at seeing that little boy alive once again, even if it was just barely. “That’s the guy.”

He followed the direction of your finger, a head of black hair in the bed across, idling himself on his phone, and Bucky stepped into the room, a sneer on his lips. Glancing at the name across the chart, he couldn't quite see it, but you already knew it anyway.

“Brock Rumlow.”

“Sounds like an asshole kinda’ name, already.” You could only nod, and just like that, Bucky was moving the timeline forwards again. Day to turned to night outside, you watched as he disappeared for a second, only to reappear a moment later, and then there was night becoming day, and he was taken to surgery, and the day flew by, bodies flying in and out, the flash of your own floral-patterned dress as you move in and out throughout the day, and then, a week later, he was leaving. It slowed, you watched as he went, following him right out of the hospital and into a cab, and he was none the wiser as in this turn of events, you and Bucky joined him.

It went by again, years flying back, Bucky’s eyes moving as he somehow seemed to see and understand every moment, before suddenly, it was all stopping. You were out of the cab, but when you left it, it was a firetruck instead. The building before you was burning, thick plumes of smoke curling up into the air, windows were broken as tall flames curled up and roared into the sky. Sirens were wailing, and water was spraying, and you could feel the heat even from here.

“Building fire.”

“Hm?” You twisted to look at him, and the demon beside you motioned up to the building.

“That’s how the universe got even with Brock Rumlow. He stole organs from a child, and he got trapped inside his apartment. He’s down here.” You felt your breath get stuck in your throat as he said those words, before you were finding his hand, gripping tightly with both, and his fingers curled back around your hand, before he was sighing, loudly. “Do you want to see him now?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, everything around you seeming to go into slow motion as he dulled the sounds, before you were pressing yourself into him a little more, feeling his lips brush against your temple as you let out a breathless laugh.

“I’ve thought so much about what I would do if I ever saw him again. Give him a piece of my mind, tell him how bad of a person he is, make him feel bad. Now, though, I’m not all that sure I could control myself.”

“Who says you have to?” You peered up at him, eyes wide, and he shrugged, cupping your face with both hands as he watched panic begin to take over you. “He’s a child killer, a selfish prick, he deserves everything he gets down here. This is a place for punishment, and maybe it’ll make you feel better.”

“Okay.”

He took your hand, the closest door to the two of you opening back up, and just like that, you were back in the stone hallways, crossing over to a wooden door, bolted from the outside, and as his hands wrapped around the handle, it changed, simplistic designs shifting to that of one you’d expect to see on a little farm cottage, before he was opening it up and ushering you inside.

“Where are we?”

“His Hell-scape.” The door scratched against cobblestones as it was pushed shut behind you. “Germany, early nineteen forties, the precipice of modern medicine. It’s cold, and he’s fled from the war, he’s taking shelter in a little farm cottage. He needs surgery, and you’re about to perform it. There’s a kid, who could donate the blood, he’s sitting over there by the fireplace.”

Just as he said that, the door swung open once again, and there he was, stumbling inside as blood seeped between his fingers, and just like that, for the first-ever time in one of these scenarios, he was looking you dead in the eyes. He begged for help, and the little boy by the fireplace looked up, wide eyes and he was on his feet, dashing over to you. He cleared the table, helping the man to lie down, like the good little soul he was, and you ushered him away upstairs. With a knife from the kitchen, you sliced open the front of his shirt, watching as blood oozed out of several bullet wounds across his front.

Blood spewed out, and for a second, guilt washed over you as you hesitated in your motions to save him, but then you were remembering everything he’d done, and you could feel the presence of Bucky behind you, the scene you’d relieved as you watched the evil take place, and you felt no regret as you pushed a finger against one of the wounds. Hard metal met your finger, blood-curdling screams from him on the table as you pushed it even deeper, before pulling away, and making sure that he was looking you in the eyes as he did.

You weren’t sure if he was able to recognise you, or whether he was completely engrossed inside of this illusion, but you swore you saw something pass over his eyes, seconds before he was passing out. Little feet were coming down the stairs, and the boy was there again, watching rivers of blood dripping into puddles as they ran from the tabletop, a teddy tucked safely in his arms as he looked up to you again.

“Are we going to save his life?”

“No.” You hummed, wiping your hands on a rag, and it was shockingly different to see the way the boy whose eye colour you’d never seen before looked, how young he really was, and you took him by the hand as you guided him up the stairs. Tucking him in and brushing the hair back out of his face, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he fell asleep before your eyes, chest rising and falling of its own accord. It wasn’t real, you felt it slipping away under your fingers, and when you made it back down the stairs, the man on the table was dead, hand hanging limp, and it all slipped away.

Darkness filled the room, the features melted away, and he guided you back to the corridors, tears sliding down your cheeks as you left it all behind.

There was concern on his face when he looked at you, but you didn’t care, because you were pulling him in by a fistful of his shirt in order to press desperate and needy kisses to his lips. He reciprocated, humming happily as his hands found your hips, smoothing around towards your back, one warm and one cold as they pressed to you, and your wet cheeks pressed to his, gasping breaths as you sought out comfort in his touch.

“Are you okay?

“I’ve never felt like this before.” He pulled back, whining a little when you kept pressing up into him, and he pushed you back a little bit, ignoring your complaints. “It’s a rush, and it felt bad but only for a second, before it felt right. Not to hurt someone else, but to serve justice. I love saving lives, I do, but that felt incredible. It felt like closure.”

“You officially checked off wrath, angel.”

“I don’t think you can call me that anymore.” You teased, and he shook his head, pulling you in close enough to brush his lips against your own. It was a fleeting kiss, something that left you desperately craving more as you burned up from the inside out.

“You’re always gonna’ be my little Halloween angel.” He grinned, trying to wipe your cheeks dry.

“I think I’m checking off envy, too.” He beamed, raising his brows in silent questioning, and you gave him a lame shrug of your shoulders in response. “I just don’t think I could go back to my regular life and be happy now, knowing there’s so much more that I could be experiencing. My job won’t be fulfilling when I know how much better it would be to do yours, and be here. I hate that you don’t worry about anything, that you haven't spent your whole life worrying if you're good enough to get into somewhere only to spend the rest of eternity keeping up those standards. I wouldn’t have to be anyone but my true self here, and now, I’m not even sure if I know who that is.”

“You could find out, though.”

“Also, there’s a girl over there who keeps looking at you and I don’t like it.” He glanced over his shoulder, noting the pretty demon who was waving at him, tight curls and red lipstick and she looked like she was straight out of the world war’s era, but then again, everybody down here seemed to be fixed in some kind of time period or another.

“Envy doesn’t suit you, angel. You much more suit pride.”

His fingertips pressed into your sides a little, tickling you lightly, and you grinned, mind leaving her as you came crashing back into a world where only you and he existed. Dipping down, his nose brushed with yours, and you closed the gap, sighing out happily when you felt the rough prickles of his beard under your palm, the other hand sliding down to rest on his chest.

The tip of a tongue traced your lower lip, and you gasped at the feeling, before his tongue was pressing through the parting and into your mouth, a needy noise slipping from you before you could control it, leaving you feeling like you were floating within the clouds as you fell even further into him. You were pressed up to him now, bodies colliding, and what was once slow and sensual suddenly felt like it was rushed and frantic. Mouths meshing, growls and whines shared between you both and you were ruining the neat bun in his hair as your hands were pushed into his mouth.

His hands were exploring too, further than they’d ever been, one solid and one fleshy and then there was a warm palm gripping tightly at your ass, squeezing the flesh there roughly, and you keened up into him even further. Metal lifted you up, your legs fastening around his waist automatically, and you could feel him moving as you gripped onto him roughly. One hand digging nails into his shoulder as the other tugged on a fistful of his hair, a ragged moan leaving his lips as the two of you stumbled through the nearest doorway. Bedsheets found your back, and you were breathing clearly again as a hot mouth travelled along your jaw.

Stinging skin, drags of his teeth over heated flesh, and you were living in a world you’d never been in before as you felt those same hands now dip underneath your shirt, beginning to push it up as he adventured further.

“Where are we?” You mumbled, eyes fixed on the low hanging lighting extension from the ceiling, and he pulled back from the mark he was working to leave on your collarbone, an incredulous look on his face as he peered up at you. Swollen and shiny lips, half-lidded eyes, and a slight shine to his skin that paired with his messy hair made him look even more sinful than he usually did.

“My, uh, my room?” You sat up a little more to take it in, and he leaned back from where he was balanced over you, letting you take it all in.

“How convenient that all the doors you need are so close together.” He grinned, shaking his head in a way that made you think you were missing something, and he pulled you to sit up a little more, the haze over you both clearing slightly.

“Sweetheart, most of the doors work like the entrances, you just have to think about where you’re going, and you go there.”

It was like your world was clearing up, and as he knelt back, you moved forwards enough to settle into his lap, a soft giggle leaving you when you felt his hands come down to grip at your ass to keep you balanced, a smirk on his face as you did. “I was kinda’ expecting, like, bones on the wall, dungeons, dark, flickering torches, the whole shebang. I’m almost disappointed that it looks like a normal bedroom.”

“You have a bad habit of believing stereotypes.” He muttered, leaning in again to take your lower lip between his teeth, tugging on it lightly, and you keened up into him, finding the mattress either side of you dipping a little as he held himself up over you. “And I thought that after everything we’d done today, you’d have reconsidered it all.”

“Well, after all we’ve done today, I still have one sin left to complete.”

He grinned, nodding his head before his mouth was closing over your own. With one warm hand gently pushing up the edge of your shirt, you let him take it, sitting up just enough to let him peel the material from your body, before he was kissing along your neck, licking and sucking his way along the flesh until it was stained with blotchy red marks that would blossom into purple bruises sooner or later.

Then, as his fingers brushed over the delicate skin of your ribs, he was letting out a breathy laugh, pulling away once his lips were grazing the edge of your bra.

“Angel, I gotta’ be honest with you. I really like you, I do, but this bra is awful.”

You looked down at yourself, head clearing for just a second, before you were groaning, shaking your head as you looked down at the garment strapped to your body. “I don’t own any other bras! They’re practical, they support me at work. I’ve never really had a reason to own fancy underwear."

You were popped up on your elbows, and he grinned wickedly, metal hand undoing the catch with a simple flick of his fingers, and then it was falling loose. “Bet you’re wearing cute little white cotton panties, too, huh?”

You could only nod, feeling a blush beginning to climb onto your cheekbones, and it was a feeling you were rapidly growing familiar with while being in his presence.

“You drive me insane, in all your innocence. Am I the first person to get near your sweet little cunt? Tell me I am, angel.”

“You are.” You were breathless, everything from the way his lips curled around the words, to the sound of his voice, right to the way his eyes raked over you in a way that could only be described as predatorily, made your body burst out in flames, craving something you didn’t even know, but you just knew you needed him to keep going, to continue with whatever it was he was doing, because he had you floating on Cloud Nine.

“I’m gonna’ take such good care of you, I promise.” As he pulled the material away from your chest, that heat was spreading down, along your neck, and yet you didn't feel anything but powerful under his gaze. You’d never expected to have this kind of life, after hearing from your mother what had happened to your father for his sins, you were determined not to follow that path, but now, you wanted it all. You didn’t care about standards and responsibilities, you just wanted to drown in the way his tongue was dragging along your stomach as he left wet kisses along your skin, until he was mouthing at the place just above your jeans, soft skin teased with lips and teeth, until he was popping the button on your jeans carefully.

He took it all, stripping you down and taking his time, mumbling praises into your skin until there was nothing else clad on you, except for the slip of cotton over your core, and he was kneeling back at the end of the bed, two large hands palming at your thighs, and he licked over his lip, dragging the lower between his teeth roughly.

“Fucking hell, angel, you’re drippin’.” A single digit, lifting to brush over your covered folds, and as you were touched so intimately, you couldn't help the gasp that slipped from you. “Ruining your panties, sweetheart, soaking right through ‘em.”

“Please.”

He looked up as you whispered the words, eyes already blown out dark with lust, the grey-blue colour you so deeply adored was almost entirely gone, and it was like the tension in the room shot up even further. “Do you even know what you’re asking for, angel, or do you just want more?”

There was a teasing undertone laced in his voice, and you would’ve commented on it, snapped back at him for his taunt, had it not been for the way he lifted that finger up, knuckle brushing over the pulsing bud between your legs, and then he was circling it, a dull pressure applied, and your hips left the bed as your back arched. “That! I want more of that.”

“So fucking pretty, all needy and beggin’ for me, already.” He switched his positions, instead of a knuckle, it was the flat of a finger, and you were already shaking under his touch as your entire body lit up with fireworks. “Are you sure you want to do this? Once we do, there’s no going back. You don’t want to save yourself for someone special?”

“I’m already with someone special.”

His motions paused, before a slightly bashful smile took over his face, and you giggled upon looking at him, sitting up enough to take his face in your hands, moaning against his lips as he picked his movements back up, just to drive you crazy. “You sweet-talkin’ me, angel?”

“Nobody would ever believe me if I could make a demon blush.”

“Just something about you. Don’t know what it is, but you drive me crazy.” He whispered, closing the distance as you continued to test him, a sloppy kiss that was more collisions of lips and tongue, and you could barely keep up. You were so focused on the way it felt to be utterly surrounded by every inch of him that you didn’t feel him move until the barrier of fabric was gone, tearing meeting your ears and then there was nothing between you both, a calloused finger gathering the wetness you’d built up, slick on his finger, and your breath hitched as the tip of that same warm digit traced your entrance.

Anticipation, anxiety, and slight fear washed over you, and he seemed to sense it, from the way that you tensed up, before he was pushing you back down to lay in the bedding, body pressed to your own. You were tugging at the shirt on his shoulders, whining a little, before he let you pull it up, holding himself up long enough for you to strip it away.

“Let me open you up, okay? Get you ready, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Stealing a final kiss, he distracted you, the way a finger slipped inside was something entirely new, your closed eyes snapping open again, and he let out a long and deep sound into your mouth, feeling every inch of your walls clamp up around his intruding finger, wet and velvet and enticing. He pumped it slowly, a wince on your face at the pull at your entrance, before you forced yourself to take a deep breath, focusing instead on the way his lips felt on your skin, and the way it felt when your bare flesh was gliding over his.

Erotic, sweat built up that made your skin stick against his in the most arousing way, the dips between his muscles shining, making everything about him stand out even more prominently, and you had never allowed yourself to consider a man as particularly attractive before, but now you were seeing through a whole new gaze, you were certain it couldn't get much better than him. Sharp jaw, pretty features, broad shoulders and a mouth to give up all innocence for, you couldn't even blame yourself for giving everything up to him.

There was a curling of his finger, the blunt nail dragging over your walls, and a shudder ran along your entire body as he did, a cry of his name leaving your lips, and suddenly, the final puzzle seemed to click into place. There was something romantic about offering yourself up to someone like this, something incredibly intimate about the way it felt to let yours be this vulnerable under someone else’s gaze, and you had never felt anything like this in your entire life.

A twisting in your lower belly, muscles clenching, and then another sting, a second finger sliding into you with ease as you all but dripped for him, the pain far more tolerable and even a little bit pleasurable this time around, before you were stretched around two thick fingers, barely processing the words he was offering to you, because your vision was going fuzzy and you felt like you’d left all forms of reality that you’d ever known.

Hands clenched in the sheets, tugging them roughly as you stiffened, and a soothingly cold hand pressed down on your chest, you hadn't realised your heart was racing and you were dragging in desperate breaths until the weight of the limb forced you to calm down. Bringing a hand up, you clung to him, frantic for some kind of grounding connection as you felt the rest of your inhibitions slip away. It felt like you were breaking down that final gate, like you were bursting from a cage, freedom and liberation and a feeling you’d never had before but were already addicted to the taste of.

Your throat stung, eyes burning from unshed tears, before he was pulling those fingers from you, an obscene slurping finding your ears, and you weren’t sure when your eyes had rolled back, or when your body had left the bedding, but when you collapsed back down into the soft cushions, with deep and raspy breaths, and forced your eyes open, he was licking crudely at his fingers, watching you carefully, something between caring and cocky stitched into his features.

“What just happened?”

“You just had your first orgasm, baby. How’d it feel?” He wiggled his brows, a smile that made you laugh, and you were still trembling, forcing yourself to relax as you melted into the blankets and untangled your fingers, surprised you hadn't ripped them entirely.

“I loved it.”

“Good.” The tip of his nose bumped against your own, and yet he never granted you a kiss, swerving away just long enough to settle himself between your thighs. “So much I want to do to you, so little time.”

He tutted to himself, and the denim of his jeans brushed over your sensitive centre as he dipped his head down. You weren’t sure where to focus, whether you were meant to fix your attention on the way his lips seal around one perky bud of a nipple, or the way you were meeting him roll for roll as you ruined the front of his jeans, material growing damp with your juices as you pleasured yourself, broken noises let out into the air as he abused your chest, switching between your breasts until he was satisfied with the way he’d left your skin spit-slick and shining.

A hand in his hair, you dared to take control, sick of waiting, and just wanting to get to the main event, what you did now know, and you needed it more than you’d ever needed anything in your entire life. You hadn't felt truly alive, or comfortable in your own body, until this moment, as he brought you to life and made you see stars, gave you things you’d never even known existed.

“Bucky, please. I can’t take waiting any longer.”

“Okay, angel. I got you, I know what you need.” He managed to peel himself away, a cool breeze sweeping in where he’d once been before he was stripping himself down of the remaining garments covering his body, and you felt your mouth go dry as he was finally revealed to you. He may have been crafted in hell, the epitome of sin and debauchery, and you weren’t surprised that so many people gave up on their purity to give in to lust, because you were just as weak as the rest of them as you looked at him.

Toned and tanned flesh, tapering down from broad shoulders to a narrow waist, defined muscles, sinewy skin and prominent veins, before a hard and leaking cock as bobbing in the air before you. He seemed to know you were admiring him, taking in every detail and committing it to memory, because he flexed a little, a look on his face that you were oh-so-familiar with, before you were reaching out to him.

He was happy to crawl into your arms, lifting your legs onto his waist, sticky pre-cum smearing across your thigh, before he was dipping into your wetness, gathering it up as he rocked his length against your folds, shared breath turning to pants as his forehead rested to your own. “Before we do this, I just wanted to say something.”

“Hm, don’t tell me you secretly have a tail that only comes out when you cum.”

He shook, his entire body wracked by the laugh that he let out, and he pulled back far enough that you could see the sparkle in his eyes, before he was shaking his head, a series of pecks pressed to your lips between muffled giggled from the pair of you, until you managed to calm down. “No, sorry to ruin another one of your predetermined opinions on demons.”

“I’ll get over it.”

He delivered a particularly sharp thrust, the tip of his cock bumping your clit, making your jerk in his hold, and you encouraged him on quickly, the scrape of your nails along his back making him hiss out. “I wanted to say that I haven’t felt like this in centuries, you’ve flipped your whole world upside down in just twenty-four hours. I wanted you to know that this is special, between me and you, just so you don’t regret it in a few days, when you think about us, when you're back home in your fancy apartment and living your normal life.”

“I’ve never felt more alive than when I’m with you.”

He took the compliment, not bothering to reply, but leaning in to take your lips with his own in a passionate kiss, as another hand slipped between your bodies to line himself up, before he was inching into you, taking his time and making sure not to hurt you. When he saw your face screw up, his hand caught yours, fingers weaving together and pressing back into the mattress, confirming that he was with you, an apology for the pain and a promise that it would go away without him even having to speak.

As his hips finally came to press to your own, you were holding back a sob, the wide girth and length he had were far more than his fingers had been, and while you’d stretched to accommodate him, it was still a new struggle, and you let out a low breath, feeling the soft presses of pecks along your cheeks and jaw, as he waited patiently. There was tension in his body, from top to bottom, feeling his muscles clench under your hands, and you rolled your hips experimentally.

A shot of pain, a whimper from your lips, but you weren't sure if that sound came from the sharp pain or the heated pleasure, a burst of it from within you, and your jaw dropped, and he let out a ragged sound, face pressed into your neck. “Holy shit, angel, you’re squeezin’ me like a fucking vice, tightest damn pussy I’ve ever known. Perfect, just like the rest of you.”

You grinned, hating the way that his filthy words could slide right into something endearingly sweet that had your stomach flipping and your heart skipping beats, all within in a split-second. “You can move now, it’s okay.”

He only gave a short nod, before he was doing as you offered, pulling back just enough to press back into you, a shallow thrust that didn’t offer much, drawn-out and delicate, but then there was another, stronger and faster, and he moved slowly, inch by inch each time, until he was pulling himself from you almost completely, and sinking back into your sodden heat.

“Oh, fuck.”

He bit down on your shoulder as you swore, cursing himself under his breath, tongue lapping over the spot. When he raised his head, there were wisps of brown hair plastered to his forehead, messy and tangled and you thought he looked stunning this way. Pink flushed cheeks, wide eyes, glistening skin, it was almost angelic, and there were certainly bits of him that made you question his allegiance, but then again, in the span of just one day, he’d made you question absolutely everything you ever knew.

Deep and fast thrusts, and you could feel every throb, every drag of him within you, each time he pulled away just to sheath himself within you once again, and you could feel your own throat stinging with the continuous loops of noises that you were letting out for him. He shifted, slowing for just a second, before one of your legs was being hiked up from his waist to his shoulder, and then, it was getting even better.

You thought he’d shown you the height of pleasure, that the feeling of being connected with him in such a way was all that it could be, but then he was reaching all new depth that made you scream. You couldn't take it, the continuous pounding on that little patch that made everything go blank. Stars in your eyes, white noise that barely let through the sounds of his loud moans and sobs of pleasure, but you could feel him coming undone atop of you, the way his pace faltered and his arm gave way, pressing you into the bed as he lost all semblance of self-control.

He was fucking into you without mercy, and you knew you’d be sore in the morning but right now you needed more. Your heel was digging into his lower back as you came unravelled once again, a peak crashing over you that was ten times stronger than the first had been and you were clinging to him like he was your only lifeline. Fingertips were digging into his flesh, nails raking red welts into his skin and he was growling and grunting, before gripping you with a hold so tight it was bruising, and a whole new kind of warmth washed over you.

His heavy-weight collapsing onto you was enough to warm you from the outside, but then he was spilling deep within you, a broken sound that tailed off at the end as his voice cracked, and you decided that in that exact moment, if you never got to experience anything this good ever again, you’d always cherish exactly how it felt to be marked and claimed as his, to know that no matter what, a little piece of your heart and soul would always belong to him, and him to you.

When he finally stopped moving, he didn’t pull out, but instead, rolled the two of you over until you were cushioned against his chest, and cheek pressed over the racing heart under his chest, and you grinned to yourself at knowing that you could make his heart do that, the organ he hadn't felt used in so long was now in overdrive under his ribs, and it was all for you. It wasn’t love, it couldn't be, it had only been a day; infatuation, curiosity, adoration, a range of emotions flooded through you but it was the possibility of something entirely new, and you thought it was perfect.

Clearly, he was feeling it too, because when you finally moved away from him, his eyes opened again, a weak sound of protest coming from him as you removed yourself from his body, laying down beside him, and sitting up a little, offering him a smile as he watched you. “Don’t leave yet. Stay with me a few more minutes.”

“I’m not going anywhere just yet, don’t you worry.” He was put at ease by that, you could see it from the way his shoulders slumped, and the breath he let out, before his arms were circling your waist and he was collapsing down against you.

You may never get into the version of ‘Heaven’ you’d always believed you were destined for, but this was more than that, it was everything you never knew you needed. Bringing a hand up to his hair, you wove your fingers into the damp strands, and he rumbled blissfully at the feeling, nuzzling further into your body as he did.

The rough stubble on his cheeks tickled you, made you want to shove him away and laugh out loud, but you wanted to hold him and comfort him more, the man overwhelmingly clingy after being intimate, and you treasured it. You had no experience to compare anything to, he was the master here, and you were learning everything, and you were sure to him that was like learning to walk while he was running marathons and doing hurdles, but he was patient and kind, and it was just another thing you’d assumed wrong about him.

Twenty-four hours ago you were someone completely different. Pure, and innocent, and completely unaware of the world you were a part of, and now, you never wanted to go back. He’d made you a promise that everything could be forgotten by midnight if you didn’t like it, but you wanted these memories and these moments burned into your mind forever, never to be taken away from you, so you’d always live in the time that your life changed for the better.

“So, I get it now.”

“Get what, sweetheart?” His words were given to you in a whisper, from where his cheek was pressed to your stomach, and you continued his hair, enjoying the happy rumble he let out as you did. The watch on your wrist showed the time, and you watched as he checked it, letting out a disgruntled little huff, before he was squeezing you a little tighter once again.

“Lust. Why so many people give in to it. That was incredible.”

“It only gets better. Didn’t want to break you on your first time, though.” He pressed a kiss to your skin, snickering as you scoffed at his words, and then he was pulling away far enough to sit up. You could see the scarring along his left shoulder so much clearer now, metal meeting flesh, bound with red scarring that marred beautiful golden skin, and yet his imperfections only made him seem even more perfect to you. “Maybe next year we’ll explore some more.”

“Next year?”

“Halloween is almost over, sweetheart.” You let him crawl further up your body, searching for your lips with his own until he wound his way home, and you flopped back into the pillows, taking him with you, breathless laughs expelled into both mouths until he was pulling away. “Mhm, no. When you kiss me like that, we get carried away.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, I like to think I can hold out, and I don’t think we could get everything I want to do to you done within six minutes.” He sighed dramatically, before rolling off of you and onto the bed beside you.

“What if we had more than six minutes?” He twisted his head studying you for a minute, before his lips were parting, and he was pulling your hands from where you were picking at the loose threads on the bedsheets, and he was bringing your knuckles to his mouth, gentle kisses pressed to them.

“Don’t speak in riddles, we don’t have the time for that.”

“What if I stayed?”

He sat up a little more, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “You know if you stay, this is the only place you’ll ever end up. Even if you left next year, even if you decided not to be here anymore, while you still have your life. You’ll never get into Heaven. You only have three minutes to make a decision that’ll decide the rest of your life.”

“I think I’ve already made it.” Something eerily similar to hope flickering between your eyes, and you only gave him a sweet grin, before his face was cracking open in a wide beam, and he was lunging at you again. “What did Heaven ever do for me anyway? I think I’d much rather stay and be a sinner here with you.”

He bumped the tip of his nose against yours, before moving down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, pausing for long enough to speak; “Maybe, but you’ll always be my angel.”

[nicistrying]

19, 24, 26! ☺️

19 -If you aren't religious, do you wish you were? Why?

Right so this is a weird one bc if I'm being totally honest, I've been avoiding all things to do with faith / religion for the past year. I was brought up Catholic which was obviously frustrating bc I'd be like oh right we love everyone! Why is my school telling us it's a sin to be gay tho :/ So then I met my now boyfriend Matthew and he was brought up more widely just "Christian", no particular denomination, and we talked a LOT about faith and stuff bc I had turned my back on the Catholicism bc it just didn't make any sense to say yeah I agree with Jesus we should be nice to everyone! But not the poor, or sex workers, or LGBTQ+ people, or people with mental health problems.. the people he literally spent his life helping. But here was this nice guy and his nice family saying actually people misread / mistranslate / misunderstand / manipulate / ignore messages in the bible all the time and there's a lot of it we take for granted but we should really actually question it and consider it for ourselves and keep in mind the context and the fact that it's not The Magical Word Of God but a load of letters written by people who thought (or claimed) they were writing what God had told them and also were sometimes just writing to each other to check in and give advice specific to their specific community, and like you have to be so critical about it and I do really value a good supportive church group where those questions and discussions are welcomed. It helps me to keep an open mind and is encouraging to see other people do the same bc obviously there are some awful, horrible people who call themselves Christians as an excuse to be racist or whatever (I don't understand why or where the white supremacy thing comes from bc the dudes in the bible were, ya know, Not White). But then I'm busy now and I don't make time to properly consider what my faith is or where it is right now BUT to actually answer the question, even though I'm guilty of making zero effort to work on my own faith whatever that may or may not be, I don't think I wish I was religious bc it can be so easy to become narrow minded if you get into certain circles, and I think we all need to be as open minded as possible these days

24 - Do you think you really understand your gender and sexuality?

I'm not sure tbh. I mean I guess I identify as female but I also like the idea of just being a Person, irrespective? But not so much that I'm uncomfortable if people call me she/her. And I don't think I do fully understand my sexuality, sometimes I think maybe I could be bi bc I really fancy some girls but then I kind of talk myself out of it bc I happen to be in a heterosexual relationship and am way more attracted to men? I'd feel like a fraud if I started saying I was bi lol. But again I'm happily in my relationship so it's kind of irrelevant anyway? Does it matter if I also sort of fancy girls a bit? I don't think so. I know it's just because I'm very lucky not to have had any difficulties growing up and also that I've been in a male / female relationship for 5 years but I feel very chill about gender and sexuality. Maybe bc my mam came out as gay and married a woman when I was young and I spent half my time with them. Like I learned early on that the people are so much more important than any label

26 - What's the most life-changing decision you've made so far?

The decision to end the cycle of shitty parenting / family relations in general. I don't have to miserably chase after my shitty parents' love or attention bc I won't get it! Who cares? My older sister very clearly decided she would let it go no further and she is the most awesome, loving, encouraging mother I know. Like she carves out quality time with her kids on the regular and she makes the world so magical for them bc it never was for her, and watching her do that so deliberately and positively had a big influence on me as a teenager. So as soon as I moved out I decided to do the same, leave the trauma and pain there with them. Obvs that's so much easier said than done and I'm addressing the daddy issues with a therapist for a reason but my outlook on it is much more positive and it's so liberating!

Thanks for asking, I've been up since 3.30am so I really do apologise for rambling on so much, I hope some of it makes some sense 😂

[amairainherlilbubble]

Hii,

Today I'll be talking about my favourite topicccccccc that isshh JIMMMMINNN. I'll be talking only about JIMIN here. I seriously have hugeee amount of respect towards him. I don't know him personally and I'll never know him too. But I'm glad I got to know his existence. Aawwww he's such a cutie pie🥺. But that's not the real reason for me to admire him.

Yeshhh!!! He is called cute, pretty, sexy, mochi, etc etc☺️. I don't know howa person can be cute as well as sexy. And he's so handsome😍. He has got ethereal beauty. In addition, I feel he is a perfect example for sincerity + hard work + dedication. He was and is always tough on himself. As he himself said, he doesn't believe in predetermined fate concept. Because he doesn't wait for the fate to create magic for him rather he himself creates his own magic. Just imagine joining a group just 6 months before debut with not knowing much about singing. Think about the challenges he might have faced.

~ completely new people.

~ need to work on your skills.

~ need to work on your dynamics with your bandmates.

~ need to take of your studies.

~ fighting over your insecurities and many more.

It's too much for a teenager to endure. He has successfully overcome everything and has conquered millions of hearts now but it really pricks my heart when I get to know these things about Jimin (I know every successful person have their own shares of struggles in life and I respect it but Jimin holds special place in my heart).

I also remember him telling in a interview, how hard he tried, how he thought he might not able to make it to the group, and his promise to his father of making him proud which he has fulfilled, how he said to his parents that everyday he has to pay a price for making new friends. Those compromises, sacrifices, he made, hardships he endured, everything made him what he is now. He is truly a inspiration for everyone. There's a reason afterall why he is called as rookie's bible, idol's idol.

Despite everything, he always have his cuteeeee and chweeeet smile. Oh my god!!! He's so adorableeee. I just love him. I respect him as a person with such adorable personality. To be honest, he is one of the mature members in BTS. He truly is.

I personally find JIMIN very attractive not just his looks and charms but also his personality(JIMIN effect is no joke). He is not less savage than SUGA to be honest😂. This guy can be sassy sometimes. At the same time, he is too kind hearted. To be honest, my personality is kind of mixture of JIMIN and JUNGKOOK and I'm a Virgo, so I can relate to them in more personal level.

Caring JIMIN SSHII

If you ask me why jimin is your bias, then my answer would be this "BECAUSE HE IS AN ANGEL" Or should I just say he is a rare specie? As I said earlier, I have similar personality and sometimes I can really relate to his words and actions. Coming back to the original point, yes!! he's an angel 😇 and I can give you a day lecture if you deny it😂. He is so beautiful inside out.

Jimin not only consoles/comforts people but he knows exactly how to console/comfort them. And that is the reason why he stands out the most for me. Different people find comfort in different things. For example, some might get comfort by hugs, back hugs and some just by sweet words and some just by someone's presence. And again some people like me find comfort in ourselves. We don't want anyone around us. We just want to cry and vent out our emotions and come back with a huge smile. And this guy knows this. So he treats everyone (not literally everyone only his near and dear ones) the way they want to be treated. Hahaha not everytime. Sometime he treats the way he wants to treat people which is pretty common considering the fact that he's a human being too.

If you observe he knows how to deal with and every member. For example,

During BV4, Jimin and Suga had to climb to the top of the mountain, and we all know how interested Suga is in activities like this (though enjoys afterwards), Jimin knows it so he said Suga to wait and he just ran to check whether the mountain is too steep or not. He literally went by running. He also got the snow to finish their mission successfully. He was so considerate.

During one of the run episodes, he even offered Jin for a piggyback ride in a uphill road😳. It was so sweet gesture from him. (Later jin also offered piggyback ride to jimin which was sweet too)

Again during one of the run episodes, when Jungkook was sad for not getting playing top of his choice, Jimin readily offered his and took rock bison instead. (One of the legendary episodes after lachimolala, where rock bison became famous😂.)

Well I'll just stop here because list just goes on....like an echo in the forest.......like an arrow in the blue sky..... sorry I just went to life goes on😅😅 and I can only remember English lyrics. I'm definitely not saying he's like a fairy from wonderland who won't refuse anything and sacrifice every single thing for the sake of others which is literally impossible for anyone. But he does it mosssssssst of the times which makes him so special, which makes people say "everyone wants a JIMIN in their life". He is one of the members who can goof around with every members.

Misconceptions about the charming boy

1. He's a natural flirt.... oh my my seriously peeps? He's a flirt?

See I understand flirting isn't a bad word if it is used in a right context. I'm not completely denying the fact he flirts but not to the extent people hypes it. And yes, he don't flirt with every random people on earth. Like common people, there's a difference between being friendly and being flirty and also being awkward. I think many people often mixes these things. To be honest, sometimes, I feel lot of others try flirting with him. And yes, just because he's Libra you can not just label his extroverted behavior as flirty behavior.

And he's not completely extrovert he's kind of extrovertly introvert.

2. He is a king of fan service??????

Like I kind of understand fan service is like vital part of KPOP. But I believe, that would be only till some extent and done by all the members accordingly. Once your group is well settled, you don't have to do fan service and stuffs. The only fan service I can remember from JIMIN is showing his abs during "no more dream" performances and also during some shows. And yes, BTS as a whole have participated in fan service but that was during early days. But blaming Jimin alone is not a good idea, you bummers. When I watch videos from those times, I feel like JIMIN's abs were extensively used may be to attract fans? Or whatever. Not every thing he does on stage is to please the fans, he can also do because he loves the stage and love performing the way he does. By now, they all have realized their fans (ARMYYYYYYYYYYY) love them and their performances and don't have to do fan service to lure them.

4. Jimin was fat during/before/after debut????

Like what????? Dude I agree he had this puffy, squishy face which was too cute but he was not fat. (Not Jimin not any BTS members were fat or ugly during their debut days. They were all handsome in their own way.) And I find it really annoying that a person with abs and toned muscles was body shamed???? Does that even make sense....He was cute and he is cute. He was a baby back then.

There's something I want to address here....

I don't know how I ended up there, but I had seen a post somewhere telling Jimin is alcoholic, he just throws himself on other members, he's a home wrecker, he makes people feel uncomfortable and what not.

I'm not part of Jimin's life so I can't really tell how much he drinks. But that honest soul had himself said that, he used to drink a lot to deal with stress then kinda became a habit but now he's not drinking as he used to instead he's sharing his problems/stress with the other members. I'm not saying he's not drinking at all like we all know he, Suga, Jin and Jungkook are all drinking buddies. They are all grown up men. They know what is good to them. So we are no one to judge and we should not judge them because we don't know them. (Believe it or not I just love the way he opens the champagne, pours in to the glass and gulps down in a single go. He looks damn sexy!!!!)

And no, Jimin does not throw himself on anyone. Literally no one period. He will not touch you if you are not comfortable with his touch. He will never interfere in your business if you don't like it. He will never make fun of you, if that makes you sad. He never did and he'll never do anything which can make anyone uncomfortable. Not even with JUNGKOOK. There's no way one can resist jimin's cuteness (again there will be exception like brainless, heartless, thoughtless people) dude.... I can for sure tell you Jungkook was never once uncomfortable with Jimin. Jimin is such a pure soul who can get along with anyone if he wishes to. No members including Suga is uncomfortable with jimin's touch.

Like keep every shipping shits aside and think, they have literally lived together for more than 6-7 years now. There's no way they can be uncomfortable with each other. They themselves have said multiple times, they are all like family. How can you be uncomfortable with your own family member??

Okay then that's all for now.... Yes I know I did not talk about his talents here because I just wanted to talk about jimin as a person here. We all know how amazing he is as an artist. No one can doubt his singing and dancing skills.

I would love to talk about JIMIN as an artist but NOT TODAYYY (go listen to that song).

Thank you for making upto this line.

Bye until next time,

Amaira💜

[shadowknight465]

The heretic inside us all

I should, I shouldn't, I should, I shouldn't...

He whispered to himself while plucking the flower's petals. Maybe those things are lying to him, and because he has such a bad reputation, he doesn't know if he should talk to the Priest about them. Maybe if he does it would be another excuse for the Priest to tell more lies about him. Then again that Priest was creeping at one of his secret students. Making her feel uncomfortable. Or if he goes to detail on what those things look like he'll probably give him the answer, and maybe some holy charms to ward them off. Whatever the case is he has to do it at midnight to not draw any attention. But first he has to tell Dream, so he wouldn't be worried. He went back to his house feeling lucky that it's a Sunday. When he got home he instantly made himself some lunch and went to the well for a drink. He may not be a religious person, but Sunday is his favorite day. Where he can be alone for once, he knows the Bible well, but the real reason why he stopped becoming a Christian devoted man was because God never answered his prayers, and he saw how people use their religion as an excuse for being horrible people, and he doesn't want to be just like them. Still he can't change their perspective of things, and it will kept that way. He was probably asleep when Dream came back, because when he woke up the first thing he saw was the face of a green caterpillar. He slowly got up, and asked Dream what time it was. To which his brother pouted saying Nightmare can never be scared. Nightmare sighs with annoyance, and asks Dream what time it is again. Dream blinked, "Oh! Umm.. I didn't check the sundial, or in this case the moon-dial?" As Dream collects his thoughts, Nightmare walks to the sundial room. Midnight. Perfect. Nightmare grabbed his cloak, took off his crown, put the mysterious book under his shirt, and told Dream that he'll be back in five minutes.

He hope that even the Priest can help him about his supernatural encounters.  Who knows maybe the Priest will help him.  He went outside, and silently walked to the church building, later knocking on the door. "Come in my child are you trying to get closer the Lord, or are you committed a sin for me to give you forgiveness-Oh it's you." The priest said as he open the door. Nightmare doesn't need to look at him in the eye to know that the priest hate him with every ounce of his being. "I didn't came for either of those things, I just want to tell you that I've been supernatural encounters with ghostly creatures." Nightmare explained. He's wished that he told his brother earlier, but Dream will probably think he's insane. "What kind of ghostly encounters you demon?" The Priest ask with a bitter taste in his beak.  "Ghosts that are telling me that I'm their king or emperor-whatever the case is of their realm." Nightmare explained.

"Which is?" The Priest asked suspiciously.

"The Necro empire-" The Priest put his left-wing on Nightmare's head. "If this creature lied, then may God strike him dead." The Priest commanded to God. Nothing happened. "I guess you were telling the truth after all, and I never thought I will say this to a disgusting demon like you, but I'm afraid that even I can't help you."

"H-how come?" Nightmare started to get worried. "Because I know what the creatures are, but we banned all knowledge of them for this good village safety."

"And why is that? What they will do?" Nightmare pleaded for answers.

"They causes pain to those who has hurt you, and cause greater pain to the  people who had hurt you unintentionally. There's got to be a reason why they're doing this unless..."  The Priest turned to Nightmare. "You haven't sold your soul to the devil have you?"

Nightmare was shocked with disgust. "No, I haven't."

"Are you sure? Because the only way they can come back is if you sold your soul to these devils." The Priest explains. "I swear your holiness I didn't sell anything to the devils." Nightmare pleaded. "LIES!" The Priest voice boomed the building. "AND I BET THAT THE TRUE REASON THAT GOD DIDN'T STRUCK YOU DEAD JUST THAT EVEN HE HAS FORGOTTEN YOUR WRETCHED SOUL!" Nightmare dropped to his knees for he cannot stand the loud noises, one of the biggest reasons he hates going to church. "ARE YOU CRYING BECAUSE ITS TRUE?!" The Priest yelled at him. Nightmare, while trying his best to calm himself down pleaded. "N-No pictures I-I can't stand the booming sounds..."

"EXCUSES!" The Priest yelled. "N-No it's true." Nightmare tries to defend himself with words.

"GUARDS! GUARDS! TAKE THIS HEINOUS BEAST AND PUT HIM INTO THE CELL!" Nightmare heard The holy man yelled. He can feel the guards strong grip as his eyes were closed the entire time.

What has he put himself into?

~~~~~

Morning has arrived as Nightmare open his eyes blinded by the sun's harsh light, and felt a hard cold surface on his lower legs. He quickly regain his focus, and saw he was in the middle of a courtroom. People gathered all around him. Some were smiling, probably to see the torture. He seen one-too many courts to know what's going to happen to him. As he scanned around the room he felt a negative aura and headed straight towards it, seeing Dream crying.

Maybe it was a bad idea at all...

He thought to himself. "Nightmare." A deep voice echoed the room. Nightmare turned to the voice and in the minute he saw the court robes, he knew what this means. And knew there was no chance of him winning.

"So, Nightmare you were always the questionable person in this entire village, and for that we leave you alone," The judge begins his speech.

Lies...

Nightmare thought as he gave the jury a death glare.

"But now our holy man said that you sold your soul to beings that should not be named."

"I'm was telling the truth..." He mutters to himself. 

"What was that you say?"  The judge ask. Nightmare look up.

"Well?" The judge ask getting a little more impatient.

Nightmare sigh figures if he's going to be on trail he might as well try to prove himself to be innocent. "I said I was telling the truth." Nightmare repeated himself. "And why should we believe you." The Priest asked glaring at him, Nightmare didn't need to see the smile to know that the priest was enjoying this. "Should I get someone to defend me while all of you are against me?" Nightmare asked reminding everyone of the rules when it comes to trials. "In trials like this the defendant doesn't need to be defended." The judge explains to him. It wasn't a huge surprise for Nightmare. Which he couldn't care less. He does care that his brother has to be in the court room however and who knows if they've lie to Dream that he can't be defending Nightmare. "Anymore questions you want to ask before we get started Nightmare?" The judge asked to him. Nightmare shook his head. "Then let the trial begin." The judge announce.

"Nightmare you have been accused of selling your soul to they who shall not be named, is that true?" He said. Nightmare kept his head down, not because he was angry he's just uncomfortable of talking to strangers in the eye. "About the accused? Yes. But about the story? No." Nightmare replies. "So why do you have this book our holy man found underneath your shirt?" The judge asked. Nightmare had forgotten about it. "I was going to ask him about the strange book. Because it keeps saying things about the dead and the Moon King, including the value of lives." Nightmare told to court. "And where did you found it?" The judge asked. Nightmare kept quiet knowing they'll destroy one of his safe place if he told them. "ANSWER ME!" The judge voice echo the room. "It appeared out of nowhere." Nightmare partly told the truth. Then, one of the gaurds came up to Nightmare; towering over him as Nightmare was tied down. And with brute strength the guard throw punches and kicks at him. Then as if command, rips Nightmare's shirt partly to expose some already broken ribs, later grabbed one of them and ripped it out of Nightmare's chest. Nightmare screamed in agony, and losing black blood all over the floor. "Black blood..., so you are evil." Nightmare heard the judge over his pain. "I was just born with it, so it doesn't mean anything." Nightmare tries to reason while still in pain. The Judge and the guard both nodded while looking at each other. He had seen this before, and knows it isn't good. The Guard went to the back to come back later with a war hammer, and raise it over his head. Nightmare had to close his eyes to try to imagine he's in a different situation. And he would have succeeded if the hammer wasn't so fast when it hit the right side of his skull. Now half blinded he try to find Dream in the crowd, but couldn't see him. All he could see on his right side is black with a hot yet cold substance over the side of his skull. He tries to reason with himself to where his brother could be, till he heard two bronze doors slammed. "Do I need to go on with your crimes?" The judge asked. Nightmare was in so much pain that he couldn't hear what the judge, or anyone is saying. "Your silence has answered at all." The judge calmly said. "You were accused of kidnapping children, and teach them about witchcraft. Is that true?" Nightmare heard as his pain ease for a bit. "I would never kidnap a child, and I wasn't teaching them about witchcraft I was teaching them about how to read and write; something that you wouldn't dare do." Nightmare answered with disgust. He may known a bit of magic himself, but those are white magic he has been using, not black magic. "We have a church Nightmare," The judge reply. "and that is all what the children need to know." He continued. "Well maybe some kids wanted to know how to read the Bible on their own, and how write their names." Nightmare respond. "But you did kept a little boy, and didn't bring him back till the next day." The judge remind. "I was worried about his mom would do to him after his dad died. And I saw how she treated him after the funeral such as, blaming him over her husband's death when it was clearly not his fault. And later told him that he should replace his father." Nightmare explains. "Am I not allowed to worry about my neighbors' safety? Do I need to tell everyone that our strongest man try to commit rape to a little girl?" Nightmare reasoned with the court. "He would never do it, but you would." Nightmare heard someone, but he ignored it. "I also have met a few children who had heartbreaking stories such as, one little girl who was forced to touch our priest in areas that made her feel uncomfortable, as she could do nothing about it."

"That still doesn't give you the excuse on practicing witchcraft..." The judge reminded. "The so-called witchcraft I practiced wasn't meant to harm people it was meant to heal. And are we forgetting that we also have Wiccans in our village?" He said. "I'm going to ask you another question then," The judge reply. "Is all of this true about what you are saying?"

Nightmare look at floor from the tiredness, and the pain he was in. "Yes. All that I have said is the truth." Nightmare responded. "One last question Nightmare." The judge asked. This was at the point he knows it's hopeless, and does not care about the visions he started seeing about the Village being burned to the ground. Because all he cares now; is if anyone will listen to him. Or at least tries too.

"Are you afraid of God and his heavenly angels?"

Nightmare with all his strength look at the judge with his good eye-socket, and said in the most calm firm voice. "No. I'm not afraid of any supernatural being of extraordinary powers, because I know the real monsters are all of you."

A moment of silence had filled of room.

"You're an absolute liar, Nightmare." The judge reply with a sick, twisted voice. "And now you shall be sentence to death in front of our very eyes by one of God's angels." As a window flies open leading in a creature that is known as a throne. As it hovers in front Nightmare with its blinding light. Nightmare could see a naked man made out of light. Still not scare for his own life for once. He said to the angel. "I'm not afraid of you, or your God." To his, and everyone else's surprise. The throne breaks the Nightmare chains, and cleans up his spilled blood, later giving him back the mysterious book. Nightmare stood up with all the strength he got, and walk out of the church to be hugged by Dream who is sobbing because he didn't do anything to help him. "Brother?..." Nightmare asked in a weak voice.  Now seeing flashes of his memories. "Yes, Moon?" Dream asked crying over his shoulder. "I need to go back to the in-hill.." Nightmare said as he collapsed. Hearing an echoey distance of his brother calling out his name.

~~~~~~~~~

It was dark again with the same old spirit orbs hovering around him. "Let me guess: It's my time to go." Nightmare smile as he look down. He honestly never thought that he'll have to die like that. It's not like he could control fate anyways. "Actually, this isn't your time yet." A orb reply. "So why are all of you around me? Is it something I had to deal with every time I shut my eyes?" Nightmare asked. "No. We came to tell you about the weapon waiting for you in the ruins."

"Ruins?" Nightmare questioned.

"Yes, the ruins. Of the Celestial half-demons."

Nightmare remember the urban legend that's been spread around for 200 years. About the beginnings in the fall that ruins. About how 12 celestial succubi has seduce 12 powerful heroes, and gave up the daughters to their victims as soon as they were born.  And how the heroes had to give them up so an old man who claims to know celestial beings which includes raising them. The old man then raise, and turn them into 12 types of heroes. Hoping that one of them will become his wife. Unfortunately the old man turns into an abuser as the girls grew up, and start falling in love with each other. Well except for one who thinks she's a boy and is the lunar witch. As if his abuse wasn't enough, she was almost forced into a relationship by the sun paladin, who is in love with her. By making everyone else abuse her to the point they killed her only friend an black owl griffin. All so she can become the witch lover. It unfortunately cause her to lash out on everyone, and ran away to be killed by the old man. And just when you think it's over it turns out the old man killed, and trap the others into their own weapons. Now possessed the weapon they used to wield; they now have no choice, but to wait for a new master. So would that mean Nightmare is gonna have the witch as his weapon?

"I'm not using someone as a weapon." Nightmare said.

"Not like that Nightmare. We mean the warlock, even as a spirit possessing his own weapon can create your weapon." They reasoned with him. Nightmare is sort of satisfied they didn't misgender the warlock like everyone else who had heard about the legend. Nightmare sigh and thought about it. If he agrees, then he'll have to go to the ruins to maybe meet a few of the trapped ghosts, and might died before getting the chance to get it. But if he doesn't they'll probably summon the warlock, and turn him into his slave.

Nightmare took a deep breath. "I'll go to the ruins."

"That's what we like to hear." The orbs said as a blinding light flashes.

~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare woke up again. This time he's in a bathtub with Dream right by his side. From the tear stains on Dream's face; he could tell his brother had been crying a lot.

I shouldn't have let him see me like this.

Nightmare thought as he sigh. Causing Dream to wake up. "You're finally awake." He said this time crying with tears of happiness. "How long have I been asleep?" Nightmare asked. Noticing how dirty the room looked. "Four whole days. I had to have that fire ring thing to help me to not let you die." Dream responded expressing his joy and frustration. "Dream?..." Nightmare said calmly. "YES?!" Dream excitedly replied. "That fire ring thing is called a throne, one of God's highest angels." Nightmare replies with a laugh. "BROTHER YOU NEARLY DIED! YOU SHOULDN'T LAUGH!" Dream yelled in a worry tone. "Sorry, I just can't believe that you forgot one of the legends I told you as a bedtime story ." Nightmare calms down.

"Also, Dream?" Nightmare asked. "Yes?" Dream looked up.

"STILL ALIVE!" Nightmare cheered proudly. "STILL ALIVE!" Dream followed. Nightmare then notice the book Dream has in his hands. "So you found it, huh?" Nightmare reminded Dream. Dream nodded. "I can only make out a few of the words, but I wanna ask you you something." Dream replies. "What is it?" Nightmare asked. "That stick with a crescent moon on it, and the guy in the nun outfit holding it. I saw pictures of how he reaps souls like the Grim Reaper, but there's also some pictures where he heals souls. Like this picture with a disturbing fire creature in it." Dream pointed at the image where it shows the so-called Moon king comforting the fire creature in like it a crying child. "Do you think the creature might evil?" Dream asked. His eyes turned to Nightmare. Nightmare vision turns into a flash. This time seeing the flaming creature crying with Nightmare's hand is touching his cheek bone. "I-I just wanted to g-give you justice.." He said with a voice that sounds similar to Dream, but is overlapping with someone else's. And the smell of his breath is like burnt alcohol. Yet, somehow Nightmare felt that he knew why smelt like that. Just as the flash appeared it disappeared revealing a striking similarity between the creature's face, and Dream's face. "Brother, did you have another vision where you are comforting someone?" Dream asked waking Nightmare up from his thoughts. Nightmare nodded while catching his brother staring at his still-healing ribs. "I'm sorry that you had to witness to trial." Nightmare apologize, trying to figure out if Dream was part of the jury, or if he just snuck in without being detected. "It's not your fault, Nightmare. I heard rumors about you being taken as a prisoner, and I just came to see if it's true. And when I saw you getting beat up, and you nearly losing your right eye socket, I ran away because I was too scared." Dream confesses. "Actually it was my fault if I haven't come to the priest; None would happen." Nightmare reminded Dream. "Also I think you should enough tears for a few days. You should go to get some sleep." Nightmare suggested. Dream nodded as he walked back to his own bedroom. Nightmare took a look at the place where one of his ribs that got ripped off was on a table right next to him with a note reading. "Put it back on him as soon as he wakes up." Nightmare guesses it was probably meant for Dream. So he put it back to its original place and wait for the water to heal it.

I survive yet again..

Nightmare thought as he relaxes in the bath. Nightmare looks around to find his journal which had a few scratch and bite marks on it indicating Dream might've tried to read it. Nightmare then chuckled as he opens it with a charm spell, finds a quill and begans writing.

June 26 , 1517

It had been a while since I wrote the last entry, and it was because I try talking to the priest about my visions plus the supernatural encounters, but I ended up getting trialed, and was tortured there. Royal guards beat me up, and they trying to destroy my skull with a Warhammer. And unfortunately my brother, Dream had to see it. They all try to sentence me to death by an throne's hand, but the throne has shown mercy on me. Maybe it's because even God is disgusted by most of the village actions. When I fell unconscious after the trial. The strange beings told me to go to the celestial half-demons ruins where I can get my weapon from the moon warlock. Now thinking about it me in the warlock almost have the same origin story ,but I don't want to end up like him. Or be a vengeful spirit of any kind. Sometimes I believe that we're all heretics, one way or another. Including our holiest men, The Priest and The Judge.

He then put the quill down, and took another shut eye. Without having to worried about death again.

[tessatechaitea]

Cerebus #15 (1980)

If the story so far had revealed that Cerebus has a vagina, I could make a hentai joke here.

The first time I encountered hentai was at an anime convention at a Red Lion Inn in San Jose in 1994 or 1995. I went to the convention by myself because I had recently fallen in love with the cartoon Sailor Moon and wanted to get some Sailor Moon LaserDiscs unless it was actually Sailor Moon dolls I wanted. It was so long ago, how am I supposed to remember?! They had a room where they were showing movies and one of the movies I watched was Sailor Moon R: The Movie. It was subtitled which was great because then I had the story memorized for all the times I watched my non-subtitled LaserDisc. But that wasn't the pornographic anime I saw! I don't even remember what that was but I watched some tentacle fucking movie late at night in a dark room with a bunch of other sweaty nerds. I didn't know that was what was going to happen though so I didn't have my dick in my hands like the other guys probably did. I was as shocked as anybody when they first find out that cartoons where women get fucked by tentacles exist! I mean, how many penises does an alien need?! I grew up thinking the little gray aliens had zero! That Red Lion Inn was the same one where I played in a couple of Magic the Gathering tournaments. Being in a dark room with a bunch of horny anime fans was less awkward and uncomfortable than playing Magic the Gathering against Magic the Gathering fans. Most of them probably couldn't believe they were actually playing against such a cool and handsome dude. It really threw them off their game when I would say things like, "Yeah, I've touched a couple of boobs. I attack with my Serra Angel." I know what you're thinking: "Anime, comic books, and Magic the Gathering?! This awesome dude must have owned every single Stars Wars figure too!" Aw, you're too kind! I'm blushing! But obviously I never owned Yak Face. "A Note from the Publisher" is still being published so I guess Dave and Deni are still married. In his Swords of Cerebus essay, Dave Sim discusses "Why Groucho?" It seems to mostly come down to this: Dave Sim enjoyed the characters of Groucho Marx as a teenager and memorized a lot of their lines. He also mentions Kim Thompson's review of Cerebus in The Comic Journal (the first major review of the series) in which Kim praised Sim's ability to make his parody characters transcend the parody to become unique creations of their own. This review gave Sim the confidence to put Groucho in the role of Lord Julius. Which worked out so well that Sim later adds Oscar Wilde, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Margeret Thatcher, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Woody Allen, Dave Sim, and the Three Stooges into the story. I'm sure I'm missing some but I can't remember every aspect of this 6000 page story. Was The Judge also a parody of somebody? Was the Regency Elf based on Wendy Pini? I don't know! I'm sure I'm missing a lot of references in Cerebus simply because I haven't experienced all the same knowledge sources as Dave Sim. Just like I'm missing a super duper lot of references in Gravity's Rainbow because nobody in the history of ever has experienced all the same knowledge sources as Thomas Pynchon. I've been reading Gravity's Rainbow (for the first time but also the third time because I'm basically reading it three times at the same time. You'll understand when you read it) and I'm surprised by how funny it is. I don't think anybody ever described it as funny or else I'm sure I would never have stopped reading it multiple times prior to this time when I'm actually going to finish it. Although I suppose when I read Catch-22, I had done so on my own so nobody ever told me how funny that book was either. But for some reason, Catch-22 lets you know it's going to be a funny book pretty quickly. Gravity's Rainbow is all, "Here is a description of an evacuation of London which is just stage setting because, you know, the bombs have already blown up, but it makes people feel safe. And after that, how about a scene where this guy makes a bunch of banana recipes for breakfast. Is that funny enough for you?" Oh, sure, there are some funny moments like when that one guy pretends a banana is his cock and then some other guys tackle him and beat him with his own pretend cock. But there's a gravity to the scene that doesn't lend itself to the reader thinking, "Oh, this is a funny book!" But if you make it far enough, you start realizing, "Hey! I'm not understanding this!" So then you reread the section and you start realizing, "Hey! I'm laughing at this stuff! This is pretty funny!" Plus there are a lot of descriptions of sexy things that I'm assuming are really accurate because Pynchon is obsessed with details.

Anyway, I was supposed to be talking about Cerebus, wasn't I?

A Living Priest of Tarim crashes Lord Julius' bath to scold him about a party Julius is giving in a fortnight (which is the amount of time your kid has lost to a video game). I don't know why the priest has to declare he's a living priest. You can tell that by the way he's shouting and foaming at the mouth. Although this is a Swords & Sorcery book so I suppose there are many dead creatures that also shout and foam at the mouth. Sometimes I forget I'm reading a fictional book and wind up ranting and raving about stuff that I'm supposed to just assume is fine. Like when I read The Flash and nothing in it makes any sense at all because The Flash should never have any trouble stopping crime or saving people from natural disasters. The comic book should be over in two pages. Even the writers, at some point, realized how ridiculous Flash stories were and decided the only way to make them believable was to have The Flash battle other super fast people. But that just meant Flash stories basically became bar-room brawls. Two people with super speed fighting is the same as reading a story about two people without super speed fighting. Boring! Some writers even decided that maybe a telepathic monkey would make things more interesting and I suppose telepathic monkeys make everything more interesting so kudos to them. I was going to go on a long rant about telepathic monkeys but then I realized how much I love the idea of telepathic monkeys so why should I create an argument against them? More telepathic monkeys, please.

This made me laugh out loud. Not as much as the chapter in Gravity's Rainbow where the old woman forces Slothrop to eat a bunch of terrible candies. But then it isn't a competition, is it? I mean, I guess it's a competition for my time which is why I haven't written a comic book review in a week or more. Blame Thomas Pynchon for being so entertaining (and also Apex).

Baskin, the Minister for Executive Planning, has come to let Lord Julius know what the revolutionaries have revealed while being tortured. The only bit of useful information was one prisoner's last words: "Revolution...the pits." Cerebus immediately assumes "the Pits" is a location and not a summation of the prisoner's feelings about revolution which led to torture which led to his death. Cerebus, being the Kitchen Staff Supervisor, begins an investigation into The Pits. His first step: threatening the Priest of the Living Tarim. Which makes me realize I transposed the word "living" in the previous encounter with the priest and went on a digression that makes no sense to anybody who has read and somehow remembers that particular panel. I'm sure they were scoffing and snorting and exclaiming to their pet rat, "What a stupid fool loser this Grunion Guy is! Living Priest of Tarim! HA! Ridiculous! What a moronic mistake! He has made a gigantic fool of himself!" I don't know that the almost certainly imaginary people who called me on my mistake as they read this have a pet rat but I do know there almost certainly isn't another imaginary sentient being in the room with them. Cerebus learns that The Pits are Old Palnu that lies under current Palnu. It was destroyed in a massive earthquake long ago and the new city built over the top of it. It's like a Dungeons & Dragons module but with a lot less treasure.

This scene reminded me that I need to finish rereading The Boomer Bible: A Testament for Our Times (which is what it was called in the 90s but is just as accurate for today).

Cerebus and Lord Julius engage in another typical misunderstanding (it's not hard when only half of the people in the conversation care about making sense) which ends up with Lord Julius deciding that the location for the Festival of Petunias will be The Pits. This complicates Cerebus' job of not allowing Lord Julius to be assassinated because the assassins are most likely housed in The Pits (along with their giant snakes (*see cover)). Lord Julius, Baskin, and Cerebus descend into The Pits to find a suitable location for the Festival of Petunias. In doing so, they wind up in a trap and confronted by a masked revolutionary of the "Eye of the Pyramid." Which is odd because you usually have to murder at least a dozen kobolds and several goblins before you reach the room with the boss in it.

Typical unbalanced beginning level module. A giant snake as the first encounter!

Cerebus manages to defeat the giant snake by crashing it headfirst into a wall. The wall winds up being a key support structure and the roof collapses. Everybody makes it out alive but the masked revolutionary evades capture. He will be back next issue to ruin the Festival of Petunias. Aardvark Comment is still just a mostly standard comic book letters page. I'll probably stop discussing it until people start criticizing Dave. Right now it's just "This comic book is great!" and "Keep writing, Dave, and I'll never think ill of anything idea you espouse!" while Dave replies, "I owe my fans everything! I can't wait until I can stop feeling that way and start jerking off onto my art boards and selling those as pages of Cerebus!" Cerebus #15 Rating: A. Good story, good Lord Julius dialogue, good Living Priest of the Living Tarim scenes. I wholeheartedly endorse this comic book and Dave Sim. No way a guy with a sense of humor like this is going to go off the rails, right?!

[psychobhyun]

S I N N E R  O R  S A I N T

Foreword: Father Kyungsoo’s heart flutters with happiness whenever he sees you. He loves how your breath gets shaky and your voice quivers when you confess and the way your innocent voice says, “Forgive me, Father, I am weak.”

Warnings: priest!au, blasphemy, blowjob, creampie, loss of virginity, mentions of masturbation, dirty talk

Genre: smut

When your family moved to a smaller town hundreds of miles away from your city, you were excited. You hated the kids in the city. All they ever talked about were sex, drugs, and alcohol. The top three things you hated. Even thinking about it counts as a sin to you. 

You knew the new town you’d live in would be more conservative. Your parents told you about the tightness of the Catholic community in the town since there was only one church. Everyone gathered a lot after church. There’s a lot of charity work too, which you were interested in participating. 

Being raised as a Catholic since birth made you know the Bible well. You can recite popular verses, you can sing the songs, and you often served the Lord by singing in the masses. You can feel it in your heart. God is happy He has you as a server. 

The first week you arrived, your family invited all the town to celebrate their new neighbors. You had a very big house, able to fit in all of the town. It was a small town anyway. Everyone came to the party, including the pastor of the church you will be attending every Sunday. 

He looked young. It probably only has been a few years since he graduated seminary school. He had plush lips shaped like a heart and dark, thick eyebrows. Wait. Are you allowed to make mental notes about your attractive pastor? Surely not. 

You slap your cheeks light to help you snap out of it. You’ve never focused on dating and guys. To you, it was something that would come on its own. When God allows you to. So for now, you’re just going to shake the pastor’s hand and try not to focus on your pastor’s doe eyes. 

“I am Father Kyungsoo,” he introduces himself. He notices your nervous stance. The sundress you wore had a low cut, but the hot weather gave it context. He could see a little bit of cleavage, but this shouldn’t tempt him. He had vowed to stay holy like God. These kinds of thoughts shouldn’t be inside his head. 

You reply with him politely with a smile. You bat your eyelashes at him and excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You lock it twice and lean against the door, trying to regulate your breathing. Father Kyungsoo’s hand was so big compared to yours. It was making you sin. The thing you despise of the most!

As the party reaches its end, Father Kyungsoo approaches you before he enters his car. “I heard from your parents you liked to participate in charity activities?” You only nod as a response. Father Kyungsoo flashes a smile and pats your head affectionately. “Good girl,” he says before stepping down your front porch. 

“I’m excited to see you at church this Sunday.” 

You looked at yourself one more time. The yellow sundress covered you up nicely. You decided to bring a black cardigan to cover yourself up more but ditched the idea immediately as you stepped out of the car. Before the service starts, your parents greeted the people around them while you sat nervously.

This was your first sermon in a new church. You fidgeted in your seat and your mom held your hand to help you calm down. You smiled at her sheepishly. Why are you like this? Your clouded thoughts are interrupted when Father Kyungsoo came in to greet everyone. 

The rest of the service passed by normally. Your anxiety completely left you. Maybe Father Kyungsoo’s smile eased your heart. The way he spoke was also calming. You wondered how his voice would sound when it’s whispering naughty things in your ear-

Oh no, you thought. You just committed a sin. Your heart starts accelerating uncomfortably in your chest. A light tap on your shoulder causes you to turn your head back. The person you’re dreading to see the most. Father Kyungsoo. “What’s wrong?” he asks with a concerned look on his face. 

“Father Kyungsoo,” you started, almost choking on the sudden inhale of breathe you took. Should you tell the truth? You should. You definitely should. But for some reason, the response you gave was, “I was just looking for my parents, Father.” Father Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow. As if he noticed you lied to him. 

“Your parents are at the backyard, talking with a few people. Why are you here all alone, little one?” You gulped at the pet name he gave you. But you doubt it meant anything more than what it is supposed to be. “Everyone is old there, Father. I have no one to talk to,” you explained. 

Father Kyungsoo laughs lightly. “You can talk to me while you wait, little one. I’ll accompany you.” Father Kyungsoo ushers you around the church. Since this town had a rich Catholic history, there were lots of stories he could tell you about the church itself and the Catholic community in it. 

After your heart stops racing, you started to talk a bit more casually with Father Kyungsoo, but still with respect. You asked him why he wanted to be a priest and he told you it was a secret. “You are innocent, little one. You’ll know when it is the right time for you.” 

You pouted and Father Kyungsoo clicks his tongue in disapproval. “You look more beautiful when you smile. So smile for me, little one.” Your lips curl into a tiny grin and for Father Kyungsoo, it was enough. You gathered up the courage to Father Kyungsoo and told him that you wanted to confess your sins. 

“You can request for me personally next time. If it makes you comfortable, little one.” You nodded as a response and said your goodbyes to Father Kyungsoo after you picked up a call from your mom telling you to come to the backyard so you could go home. Father Kyungsoo sighs as you disappeared behind the door. 

Turns out the town you innocent town you thought you lived in was the exact opposite. The school may be a Catholic one, but your classmates fooled around a lot. One night, when you were having a supposedly girls only sleepover, a few guys came over to play truth or dare with you and your friends. 

You got dared to touch someone’s... genitals and it made you panic. You wanted to fit in, but it was wrong to touch someone else out of marriage. The next day, after school, you ran to the church and asked for someone to call Father Kyungsoo to listen to you in the confessional.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you said with a slight quiver in your voice. Father Kyungsoo notices the difference in your tone. It was not as relaxed as he remembered. “I was having a sleepover with my friends. She lied to me and said it was all going to be girls, but then some boys came over and we played truth or dare. My friend dared me to touch a boy, Father.”

Father Kyungsoo’s blood boiled. You? Doing inappropriate things? He could never imagine. When he thought you were done with your confessions, you continued. “I have also played with myself, Father. I am tainted.” You rubbed your thighs as you imagined Father Kyungsoo at the other side of the fence separating you and him.

Your breath hitches as you started crying. Unfortunately, Father Kyungsoo could do nothing about it. “Do you regret it, little one?” His voice echoed in the tight space of the box. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. But you answered him anyway. “I do, Father. But it felt so good. I don’t know why God would prevent us from orgasming, Father.”

Father Kyungsoo licks his lips and gets out of the booth. He opens the door you used to come in and pulls you outside. “Forgive me, Father, I am weak,” you murmur incoherently with a shaky voice. You kneel right in front of Father Kyungsoo and look up at him, hands tied together in prayer. 

Father Kyungsoo sits on the bench closest to him and tells you to take a seat beside him. “Lift up your skirt, little one,” he instructs. Your eyes widen, but you didn’t disobey him. You do as he says and bite your bottom lip when you notice the wet patch forming on your white cotton panties. 

He presses his middle finger on top of your clit and rubs it slowly, enjoying the little gasps you’re spilling from your lips. “You’re getting so wet, little one. God is ashamed,” Father Kyungsoo says as he puls your panties to the side, revealing your freshly shaven pussy to him. 

Father Kyungsoo inserts one of his fingers. He feels how tight you are. You’re definitely a virgin. “Let me cleanse you, little one.” You blink your eyes a couple of times in his direction, not knowing how he will cleanse you. But you trust him with all of your heart. Father Kyungsoo unzips his entire attire and lay on the floor. 

“Spit on your fingers and rub it all over your pussy, little one.” You do exactly as he says and spread your saliva all over your bottom lips. You moan when it’s starting to feel good. “This is going to hurt, okay?” Father Kyungsoo warns. You nod and wait for his next instruction. 

“I want you to say ‘Forgive me, Father, I am weak’ every time you sink down on my cock. Got it?” You spread your legs wider and Father Kyungsoo hums at the sight. Your clit is throbbing and your legs are twitching in excitement. When you push the first inch of his length into you, you throw your head back in pleasure. 

“Forgive me, Father, I am weak,” you say as you take the last few inches of his member inside your pussy. You lift yourself up and force yourself down, not forgetting to say the magic words. Father Kyungsoo places his hands on the sides of your hips and guides you up and down. 

Your wetness was enough to lubricate yourself. Even though you were a virgin, your hole accommodated his length well, sucking in greedily inside of you. “Forgive me, Father, I am weak,” you mutter for the nth time that afternoon. 

“God, you feel so warm and tight, little one,” Father Kyungsoo compliments as he watches your boobs bounce from this angle. He sits up straight and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting on it. You run your hands through his hair as you gazed in each other’s eyes. 

Then you feel Father Kyungsoo moving his hips, making his cock get deeper inside you. It only intensified your pleasure, so you’re more than happy to let him take the lead. As his pace gets faster, your legs started to give out. You let him do all the moving as you continued to moan. 

“Forgive me, Father, I am weak,” you say for the last time before Father Kyungsoo comes inside of you. As he pulls out, he can see his own come tricking down your thigh. “Great job, little one. This should cleanse you well.” You flash him a satisfied smile. He leans in to kiss you tenderly and you intertwine your tongue with his in a heated french kiss session.

“Every time you sin, little one, I want you to come to me. So I can purify you again with my holy come. Promise?” Father Kyungsoo sticks out his pinky finger and you wrap yours around his. “I promise, Father Kyungsoo.” He pecks your forehead affectionately before he helps your dress up presentable enough to walk out again. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about Father Kyungsoo. He never left your mind once after the two of you had sex. You also started to explore more and experiment with your girlfriends. You’d rub your pussies together and play with sex toys. 

You also signed up for a charity event your church was doing. It was for a good cause, which is why you did it in the first place. And maybe because you could spend more time with Father Kyungsoo and steal a few kisses from him. 

As everyone started to lift the boxes up for donation, Father Kyungsoo startles you and drags you out of the room into a confessional box. Specifically, the one you first used to confess to him. “So tell me, little one. What sin did you commit this week?”

You started by saying that you’ve been fooling around with girls, trying a cigarette, and touching yourself. “I played with my pussy as I thought of you, Father. Your cock messing up my insides as you come inside me with your holy come.”

Father Kyungsoo grunts low in his throat and undresses enough to reveal his cock to you. He pushes you on your knees and instructs you to open your mouth to take him inside it. “Choke on my cock. Yeah, that’s right.” He encourages. 

As much as you wanted to focus on pleasuring him, you stopped immediately when you heard your parents calling out your name. You detached yourself from his cock and clamp your mouth shut. But Father Kyungsoo had other plans. He lifts up your skirt and rubs the tip of his cock on your clothed sex. 

Your parents kept shouting your name as he whispers to you quietly to take off your panties. After you did, Father Kyungsoo inserts himself slowly into your cunt. He thrusts, slowly at first, but it became relentless when your whimpers started to become a bit messier and inaudible. 

“You like that, little one? Getting fucked by a priest in the confessional? Almost caught by your parents? Tell Father,” he groans into your ear. You throw your head back and lean against his shoulder. “Rub your clit for me. Do it fast.” You follow his instructions and start using two of your fingers to rub figure eights on your clit. 

Your orgasm was nearing every single time Father Kyungsoo thrusts. When he does, you couldn’t prevent a loud scream from escaping your lips. You could only hope it wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear. “Once again I have purified you, little one.” You kneeled once more in front of him to taste his come that was dripping down the sides of his cock. 

“Clean it up for me, little one. That’s a good girl.”

[lightlyscathing]

SOMETHING IS UP WITH BUTCH HARTMAN...

...And it might not be what you think it is.

(VERY long post/sort of essay, a lot more beneath the cut.)

TLDR: Butch is not the devil, he is flawed, and there’s almost certainly someone else behind a lot of what’s happening right now.

I’d like to start this off with saying that even though this blog is Pretty Empty and doesn’t have any other content from Butch Hartman’s shows (Danny Phantom, Fairly Odd Parents, etc.) on it, I watched his work as a kid and loved it. I’ve been a fan of Danny Phantom for years, and I’ve seen a lot of Butch hate.

Today I’d like to offer you another perspective on what might be happening with Butch, and why we should, I don’t know. Maybe lay off on the hate just a little...? He is by no means a perfect person, and has made mistakes, but the same can be said of any person.

After a friend of mine (@sarasanddollar) mentioned having mixed feelings about recent events (specifically, the OAXIS controversy), we had a conversation about it. She was coming from the perspective of someone who has defended Butch in the past, and I asked her about that as someone who has disliked Butch for a long time. I was curious to see what she had to say.

She made several good points, which I will summarize. You can also view the most important snippets of that conversation HERE.

One of the reasons many Danny Phantom fans (or Phans) dislike Butch so intensely is because of the terrible writing and overall execution of Season 3 of the show, especially the finale (Phantom Planet). 

Many Phans attribute this directly to Butch himself. And it’s true that he had a much heavier hand in Season 3 than the first two seasons! But he’s not the only one at fault here. As far as either of us could see, Nickelodeon basically axed his show (as they have with many shows), leaving Butch without most of his skilled team while creating the third season.

Butch is by no means the BEST creator or writer out there. His greatest skill seems to be in coming up with creative pitches for shows, and the execution of these ideas is best left to a team who knows what they’re doing. But that’s the thing: Butch had a team. Can you imagine suddenly losing the team you’re working with and trying to handle an entire animated show almost entirely on your own? No wonder it was a mess, that sounds terrifying.

Many people believe that Butch is anti-LGBT, and most of those people frame it as an intentional thing. That honestly seems unlikely, though.

Butch’s work has many scenes or even entire episodes that have sexist undertones or demonstrate a lot of toxic masculinity. Often, this is even the joke in and of itself. 

This seems to be more the product of the way he himself was raised than anything else, though. As far as either of us are aware, he’s never outright said anything for or against the LGBT community. Honestly, he’s not LGBT, so why should he?

Butch also seems pretty ignorant or uncomfortable when it comes to things he hasn’t directly experienced for himself, leading to comments like the one he made about introversion.

Beyond that, he allegedly kicked any people posting/liking LGBT content off of his Danny Phantom forums. The thing is, back then, almost ALL slash ship content was Pompous Pep (Danny Fenton/Vlad Masters). Making no comment on my personal feelings about the ship, it should be noted that this depicts an explicit sexual relationship between a 14-year-old boy and a man in his 40s. It’s understandable that Butch wouldn’t want explicit content of a pedophilic slash ship being associated with his show.

His way of dealing with it may have been excessive, but almost all of the LGBT content he was seeing was also pedophilia.

It’s also worth noting that almost all details about the Forum Days of the Danny Phantom fandom are now being passed around via word of mouth. Even in text form, people’s biases do change the tone of a situation.

Given recent events, many people are spreading around anything connecting Butch to religion. This deserves a closer look too, though.

Here’s something I didn’t know until Sara told me: Butch Hartman was not always a Christian. He wasn’t raised into it, “brainwashed” as a child and blindly following those values as an adult. He allegedly converted a year or two into the production of Fairly Odd Parents, well into his adult life. Before that, he was apparently an atheist. 

This man has one show about magic and another about scientists and ghosts. His shows have sexual jokes, witchcraft, violence, and all sorts of things you’d expect a super-conservative Christian to avoid. So why do we all act like he’s always BEEN that super-conservative Christian?

It may have something to do with how people tend to associate Christianity with the corrupt or incompetent white men who run a significant portion of the planet. The exact reasons are probably different from person to person.

This, of course, DOES NOT give Butch any reason to act like Christians are oppressed. He is not the “living embodiment of ‘one of these things is not like the other’” as he put it. 

That being said, it seems as if his shows are largely detached from religion (until now). They have morals, sure, but all Nickelodeon shows have lessons for kids, many of which also happen to be mentioned in some form somewhere in the Bible.

So it seems kind of fishy that Religious Values are suddenly such a huge deal for him... which leads me to the point of this entire thing.

When it comes to the OAXIS scam, we might not be the only ones who are being played.

It seems very likely that Butch Hartman himself is also being played.

Hear me out.

With the context of Giving The Children Jesus, some of the more confusing parts of the way OAXIS was pitched make more sense. But at the same time, I find it very difficult to understand how this man created so much content for children (and RAISED a child) with such a fundamental lack of understanding when it comes to how families and society work.

After thinking about it, I realized that this feels very familiar.

Someone I was once very close with had a similar experience about a year ago. For both of them, it seems to have gone something like this:

The person in question starts off not knowing/caring about a cause. At some point, they are introduced to this cause and join, but it does very little to change their work or public life. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, they have a radical change in lifestyle and behavior, while screaming an extreme or radical version of that cause’s message from the metaphorical rooftops.

For the person I used to be close with, this “cause” was Isogenix. (For more information on operations like this one, consider watching this video.) For Butch, it seems like that cause is... saving young people with religious lessons and “pure” media.

With the person I knew, this whole process started when a group of people who were already working with Isogenix befriended her and gained her trust, then told her repeatedly how good Isogenix would be for her. When she started considering it, they told her it was about self-empowerment and pursuing her true self. This kept going until they’d pushed her into dismantling her circle of friends (anyone who wasn’t working with Isogenix), and the last I’ve heard about it is that she left her husband and children to dedicate herself to “self-exploration” and being a Good Example of Isogenix’s successes.

With Butch, it seems likely that something similar is in the process of happening, though with different results. I wouldn’t be surprised if he met and befriended someone (or several people) who believe that modern mass media is corrupting the youth, and that limiting their media intake to Christian-approved content will fix a lot of the issues in modern society.

I mentioned earlier that Butch seems to have a pretty limited understanding of things outside his own little sphere (based mostly on his unintentional sexism in shows, lack of understanding of healthy male friendships/physical contact, and complete misunderstanding of the 16-50% of the world that is made up of introverts). Considering this, it seems like he’d probably buy into this mentality pretty easily, especially if these people “spoke his language”.

While I personally have a lot of resentment for the people who fall for this sort of tactic, it’s not really the victim’s fault when they become the Face or Voice of the cause. The recruiters often know exactly what they’re doing. Most of them seek out people who are lost, desperate, low on self esteem, or somewhat narcissistic. People who want to make a future for themselves, and sometimes others, usually as “their own boss.” Sound familiar?

Some people are more than one of those things. Butch, given that he recently left Nickelodeon after working there for literal decades, could understandable be a bit lost on what his next step should be. And honestly, he’s shown narcissistic tendencies in the past (have you SEEN his self-insert from Fairly Odd Parents?).

So, as easy as it is to stay mad at Butch Hartman, there’s almost certainly someone else involved... which would also explain some things about his Kickstarter.

The way these things are pitched is designed to make the “victim” believe that it’s all their own idea. THEY took control of their life to make these changes, THEY are the brave example of the Future of the industry, THEY are a self-made person. And most of all, showing other people how they can succeed by joining the organization/school of thought is THE BEST THING EVER.

Which... to me, that seems like it’s a logical reason for Butch’s Kickstarter not actually mentioning anyone else, when he insists other people are involved. Someone likely took his already self-absorbed and narcissistic tendencies and intentionally built them up to make him into the Face and Voice of this project. 

Bonus points to them: they also picked the perfect person to use.

Butch is a well-off, reasonably well-known person. He has a pretty large following that is almost exclusively made up of young adults, teenagers, and even children (a detail many people cited as the reason his Kickstarter shouldn’t have worked at all). Many of those young people grew up watching his shows and seeing his content on social media, assuming that the loyal followers we’re talking about are the several hundred thousand people following him on social media platforms. Many of them would take his word as something more important than some random person they’ve never heard of, or so the theory goes.

With this context, his line makes perfect sense:

“You trusted me with your childhood, won’t you trust me with your future?”

He probably does honestly care about what happens, and he’s not trying to maliciously brainwash children with Jesus. It’s far more likely that someone else convinced him that he’s the person perfect for saving “lost” young people, given that many of them trusted him as children. He’s obviously the best person to show them Pure and Good content, away from the “poisonous” aspects of mainstream media.

Butch Hartman isn’t a demon. He’s not evil. He’s not... Trump, or anything like that. He’s a naive man with very little actual understanding of how the world works, who believes that he’s helping. 

Which is not to say he’s perfect at all. He’s made lots of mistakes, and he’ll continue to make them. 

I just seriously doubt he’s actually the “mastermind” behind this whole operation. He’s little more than a figurehead, probably. And from how he’s acted in the past, he seems to crave the attention and trust of young people. He needs to be someone important to them.

And the worst part of all this might be that he’s not going to get out of this without a disaster. I pity the guy, as much of a mess as all of this already is.

You don’t get out of this kind of position unless it falls out from under you. And when you fully believe and trust in what you’re doing, you’re not prepared for the fall. 

You hit the ground hard.

~Ren

[thatlittlered]

Break Past Fear | Remus Lupin

Warning: Talks about depression, Teacher/Student Relationship, nothing explicit

A/N: This is part two of a smaller imagine ‘Bring The Warmth In My Heart’ so make sure to check it out! There will be a part three because I’m hooked on this and I have a few more ideas.

PART ONE

"I'm alright."

You had said it again and again, like your very own prayer, hoping that chanting it time after time might make you believe it.

But he knew just as well as you did that it was far from the truth.

"I know you're not. But no one said you have to be."

Afternoon teas had become a regular thing between the two of you. Soft-spoken words over sweet, honeyed tea and plenty of biscuits - sometimes accompanied by the pleasant hum of Remus' muggle records.

Whatever the case, there always seemed to be those moments falling perfectly into place - perhaps a touch here and there but he never let it linger too long for Merlin knows where it would take you from there.

Your hands touched at times when reaching for the sugar or the ivory napkins that matched your tea set so perfectly, but he'd always pull away as if the contact scorched his skin.

It did in a way.

Touching you always burned with bittersweet pleasure and left him aching for more - as much as he would never admit it. Voices rang inside his head telling him to stop, save what's left of his sanity before he's in too deep into this abyss.

But never has a heart submitted to mere logic and his case was no exception.

He'd always come back to you, a chocolate in hand and a bashful smile gracing his scarred face. He'd come.

“Why so sorrowful? You’re young, you’re clever and you’ve got a whole future ahead of you. If anything, you should be the one celebrating life.”

“That’s the problem. I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to celebrate. I don’t know why I’m like this, I just can’t-“ new tears flooded your eyes and you blinked furiously to keep them from dropping.

“It’s alright, I understand. You don’t have to try and explain.”

“Do you really?”

Remus smiled at your innocent question and flattened the hair on your head with his palm.

“Of course I do. It’s a tough life; in and out of this school. But you should try and focus on the nice things – the ones that make me happy.”

“I don’t know what makes me happy anymore.”

“That’s fine too. We’ll just have to take it step by step. All you have to do is name one thing. One little thing that makes you happy, huh? I’m sure you can do that.”

Your eyes slid shut at his words and you nodded slowly, resting your weight back on the wall as you so desperately searched your mind for pretty much anything. Anything that brought joy to your veins and made your heart flutter with pleasure.

“Take your time, dear.”

His words were muffled when you were so lost in your thoughts, but still loud enough for you to hear them and you couldn’t deny the amount of solace they brought to your soul.

Releasing a deep breath, you turned back to him with eyes wide open and the smallest of smiles on your tear-stained face.

“A sunny day; not too hot nor too cold. Just warm enough to give me that bubbly feeling at the pit of my stomach.”

He nodded in understanding, smiling at the tone of longing in your voice and the child-like wonder that gleamed inside your eyes.

“What else?”

Another breath and your eyes closed again at their own accord.

“The beach. I’ve never been there but it sounds so beautiful.”

He laughed then –a breathy laugh- and you smiled at the wonderful sound that you had managed to cause.

“All it takes to make you happy is some sand and salt water?”

You hummed and shrugged your shoulders, “I’m not sure why but I just like the idea.”

In your mind, the beach was freedom.

 All you wanted to do and were always forbidden.

Places you wanted to go but never reached.

People you wished to love but never got to.       

The beach was a representation of everything you craved and he realized that.

“And do those things no longer make you happy?”

“I'm not sure what does anymore. Everything I do seems idle, pointless. I want to be outside and taste the sun but my feet can't take me there. My heart aches for my friends but I can no longer face them. I want to touch the grass but my fingers feel so nimble, I think it would just slip."

It became some sort of ritual – all of it. He’d find you hidden in your beloved astrology tower and join you with a smile and a fluttering heart or you’d visit him there instead; the latest cookies you made served in a sparkling silver tray that would be empty by the end of the day.

Every time he’d ask you the same thing; each time receiving a different answer and smiling to hear you open your heart to me like it was nothing.

‘What makes you happy?’

This one day you asked him the very same thing, snapping him out of his daze and making his hand drop from the beautiful teacup it was so slowly tracing.

“What about you?”

“What makes me happy?” he watched as you nodded and smiled while you brought the cup to your lips and took a slurp only to quickly set it back down when you felt the hot liquid burning your tongue and making you whimper in pain.

Remus laughed at the way your nose wrinkled – a habit of yours when you were annoyed or frustrated that he had quickly pinpointed along with a million other quirks he held so dear to his heart.

Still, he answered you.

“I like the smell of rain, I think. Especially so when I’m safe inside and close to a fire. That’s the proper way to spend a rainy day if you ask me.”

You smiled in acknowledgement and pulled your cardigan over the shoulders, sinking in to the cashmere fibers and letting them swallow you whole.

“I like rain too. It smells rather nice and it always leaves the gardens looking revived in a way, don’t you think?”

A frown formed on his dark brows but he couldn’t keep the smile tugging at his lips. Excitement in your voice was a rarity nowadays and he cherished it.

Some days were good. Remus would catch a glimpse of you in the gardens and simply follow you around from the shadows. 

He could always tell when your thoughts were nice for they shone out of your face like sunbeams and framed your head like the halo that you so deserved.

Sunlight suited you, he had decided. The way it bleached your hair and kissed your lovely skin. You belonged there - along with all other flowers - and happiness bloomed in his chest with your every smile.

On your good days, he almost forgot what your tear-streaked face looked like and what sadness your eyes had held the night before.

When you attended his class, ocean coloured eyes followed your every move, watching you like a hawk and marvelling at the immaculate beauty that joy brought to your face.

He told himself he was just checking - making sure you're doing well.

And you were. Or at least you seemed so.

Still, you went to him. On your good days when spring unleashed itself inside your heart and your poisonous thoughts disappeared, you still went to him.

Your steps were lighter then and so was your voice - he could see it radiate from head to toe. On your good days, he didn't ask the usual question.

He thought it was best not to press on the matter and instead you'd talk about anything and everything else. Music you liked and poetry favourites. 

Remus couldn't care less what the subject was as long as he heard the gentle humming of your voice as you spoke. You could very well be cursing him and he wouldn't tell, for he always lost himself in your every word.

Other times you just resigned in silence, but he was fine with that too.

The fire crinkled in the background and warmed the room impossibly on this tepid spring day, yet Remus always found it comforting to be drowning in warmth rather than the freezing atmosphere that his shed of a home would provide.

You both resigned in peaceful silence that evening - simply enjoying the taste of the peppermint tea and the softness of each other's breathing.

He studied your movements for a while. Your one hand was clutching the teacup close to your lips while the other seemed to trace random patterns on the hardcover book he'd just presented you with.

'The Old Man And The Sea'.

Never heard of it, for sure, but your faith was blind when it came to the professor's tastes. You'd read the entire Holy Bible should he suggest so.

The soft whistle of his kettle was enough to break that silence and soon he was appearing with a new batch of tea. Curiosity plagued your mind as to why he didn't simply use his magic for such mundane things but you thought it better not to ask.

Instead, you accepted his silent offer with a smile and allowed him to pour you more tea - barely missing the way your hands brushed as he did so. 

A rosy pink dusted Remus' scarred cheeks but you blamed it on the beverage instead, or perhaps his choice of sweater that was definitely too warm for this time of the year.

The professor sat uncomfortably, shifting and twisting in his chair like a frustrated child, but you were too lost in your thoughts to take notice.

Your head leaned back on the wine coloured leather of his armchair and he took this opportunity to stare. Take in the image of your hair that gathered behind your head like a makeshift pillow and the daze in your eyes as they stayed glued to the plain chandelier.

What they were searching for exactly, he could not tell. Perhaps you were admiring the dim light or perhaps your gaze simply fell there while your mind wandered into unknown lands like it did so often.

Whatever it was you were thinking, he was sure it was brilliant for such a beautiful mind could ever think of brilliant things - no matter how peculiar.

"Have you ever been to the muggle world, professor?"

There it is.

"More times than I can count. May I ask why?"

You hummed and fixed your position to look at him.

"Is it nice there?"

"I... Well, it depends on what place we're talking about. The muggle world is incredibly vast."

"What about the places you've been in?"

Remus smiled and placed his cup back on the small table between the two of you. 

"I can't say I've seen the most beautiful of places, but there are some that are very intriguing, yes."

You hummed again - this time mindlessly and it confused him so greatly not to be able to read your expression. 

"And the people?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are they nice? My father always says that muggles are hostile and unpredictable but Mother doesn't quite agree with him. She thinks it's wrong to label people as if they're all the same."

He smiled again, feeling the warmth spread in his heart at the sweetness of your being and the love that laced your voice when you mentioned your parents.

"Your mother is right. Not all muggles are hostile, just like not every wizard is innocent and righteous. We're all humans after all and humans have one great flaw; fear.”

"How is fear a flaw? It's supposed to be there to protect us. If it weren't for our fears, we'd do dangerous things and put our lives at risk all the time."

"You're right, fear is important. But not when you allow it to guide your life. Humans, muggle or not, have always been suppressed by fear and led to inexplicable behaviours. Hate, discrimination, prejudice - they're all results of our fear if you really think about it. We seek safety for us and our loved ones so badly that we start to believe that everything else is nothing but a danger to be eliminated."

Remus stopped there, closing his mouth as if to keep the rest inside for Merlin knows where this would take him should he speak another word. These were delicate matters for sure and even if he trusted your kind intentions, he still greatly feared to give away his problem.

Not to his poor, innocent student. Not to you.

He only watched as you shifted position again, this time resting your head on your hands as you leaned towards him in what he could only translate as pure interest in all he was saying.

"What about you, professor? Are you not afraid?"

"Of course I am. Everyone is, dear. It can be something material or a mere possibility but whatever the case, there's always something to be afraid of and it differs from person to person. Here; just name one thing that comes to mind when I say the word 'fear'. What do you fear the most?"

Silence fell with the last of his words and he simply looked at you waiting. Your face contorted in a grimace as if you were in deep thought and he admired the way your brain seemed to lose contact with the rest of your body when you thought and acted all on its own.

And then you found it. What you feared most because it seemed your head was always attacking your heart and all you could do was wish for it to be over.

"My mind."

Then there were the bad days. The bad days when your heart broke more with each step and you could barely leave your bed despite your friends' desperate efforts to motivate you otherwise.

On your bad days, he knew.

Every thought was a battle and every breath was a war that he wished to fight by your side, but he did not know how. 

He watched you take deep breaths before you spoke because tears had pooled in your eyes and you had lost all control of your body like a mere marionette in the hands of your poisonous mind.

He had felt pain before, thousands of times, whether it be physical pain ragging through his weary body after a full moon, or emotional one through all the heartbreak he had suffered through the years.

But never this kind of pain. 

He'd never felt the pain of a withering soul and for that, he was thankful, yet at the same time angry given that someone like you had to feel it instead.

Those were the days when he came to you first. He'd hunt you down the entire school if he had to, but he'd always come.

He'd find you hidden in an empty classroom and join you with a bowed head as if he curtsied to the greatness that was you. 

His nimble hands would take hold of the book resting open in your lap - most times one he'd given you himself - and throw it on the hardwood floor instead before taking his place next to your trembling body.

On those days, he wasn't your professor anymore. He was another wounded soul trying to pull you from your misery and back into the colourful world where you belonged - his world.

He let his touches linger more and his body rest closer because he hoped that maybe all you needed was to sit in silence while you listened to the muffled chatter from outside and the sound of his soft breathing.

He hoped that maybe you could lay on the floor and quell your thoughts while sitting in the quiet, or maybe, just maybe, he could hold you.

Perhaps that'd take some of your pain away and work like a salve over your soul when his words could never be of consolation.

He truly hoped that it would, yet he couldn't find it in his heart to show that bravery. And thus his hands only ever reached your arms and he could barely gather the courage to do so much as to tuck your hair back and wipe your eyes that he had come to cherish like jewels.

That was until you were the one to break past that fear and your delicate arms that shook with such fervour came to wrap around his middle like he was your lifeline, which he was.

That night he was a victim of fear himself but you had broken right past it, right past the things that were holding him back.

You had broken right past it and nestled yourself in his arms with your face buried in that lovely cashmere sweater and his lips on your head.

tags: @thepoet1975 @littlemisstrancy @lupinsbaby

Requests: by anon Could you please write professor Lupin x reader where the reader is depressed and his student at Hogwarts and he helps her with her depression and then they fall in love with each other?

@isidoraxbello WHAT I NEED MORE OMG WHY ARE U LIKE THIS 

by anon Where's the second part of remus and yn teacher student imagine?

[pamphletstoinspire]

6 Spiritual Lessons I Learned From the Book of Job

Written by Sebastian Campos

If you haven’t read this Old Testament book, you’ve missed out on a major part of the Jewish spiritual understanding of pain and suffering. I won’t narrate the complete story, but in summary Job had to go through tremendous calamities. He lost his possessions, his servants, and his whole family… and he even suffered a wound that stretched from his head to his feet. The explanation the bible gives of what happens to Job is that the “enemy” tempts him through trials and suffering in attempt to make him deny and curse God.

The narrative explains that Job tried to look for answers that allowed him to resist the devil’s temptations, since he knew God is good. Amidst his pain, desolation, confusion and anger, he fired in every direction without hitting on any consolation, any logical idea to fill his heart. A couple of friends even went to him to comfort him, but there was nothing they could say to appease his sorrow or to explain all that was happening to him. The confusion caused by all the things he lived through was so great that even his friends were at a loss. As the scriptures say:

“And when they lifted up their eyes afar off, and knew him not, they lifted up their voice, and wept; and they rent every one his mantle, and sprinkled dust upon their heads toward heaven. So they sat down with him upon the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him: for they saw that his grief was very great” (Job 2, 12-13).

I suppose you’ve probably been through an inexplicable suffering that just knocks on the door of your life, leaving wordless even your closest friends. Nobody, not your friends, nor you, nor your faith are capable of giving any explanation to what happened, and hopelessness and anguish start to grow in your heart. In the face of these situations, the foundations of faith, life, what we believe in and what we do, start to falter.

The first chapters of the story are unsettling, above all because apparently, and justly, Job didn’t deserve any of what was happening to him. On the contrary, what Job really deserved were blessings and prosperity, which come hand in hand with God. I personally have sometimes felt challenged by the story of suffering Job, especially on those occasions in which I have given all of myself, I have persevered in my work, my faith and in my love for others in service; and I have kept my heart clean and right; and even then, things have turned out awful: I’ve experienced pain, brokenness, loneliness, poverty, suffering. Surely you too have felt this way at some point and know there isn’t much to find comfort on.

I know I haven’t suffered as deeply other people have, but the study of the Book of Job during the painful and hard times of my life has helped me bring out some ideas that could be of use to you. Better yet, it may help you to accompany others in their tribulations and sustain them in hope.

1. Look at Job from a new perspective, the one of Jesus

I personally liked to look at the book of Job and validate feeling sorry for myself and sitting down on the ashes without doing anything but suffering… dwelling there, aching, looking at my wounds, feeling pain and waiting for it to magically pass or, even worse, until the end of my days. This is the Christian depression, selfless and resigned, which many of us believe is holy for the sole fact of accepting it without complaint. We forget that Job is a book from the Old Covenant, and that Jesus came later to make all things new, that He came to give us life in abundance, that for His merits we are saved, and that His love restores our friendship with God. We forget that every battle, test, tribulation and suffering was nailed at the Cross and exiled from our lives forever.

We often live as if Jesus had not saved us definitely, or even worse, as if his salvation were only to happen at the end of our days or as if it only affected the spiritual dimension of our lives. Job didn’t have a Jesus to look at. We do. Let us never forget that our every aching was suffered by Jesus at the Cross of the Calvary and his blood paid for us to be saved. This doesn’t make our lives free from pain and suffering, but it makes them temporary. Our life doesn’t end there, all of our battles are won hand in hand with Jesus. Don’t let any pain steal your hope.

2. God doesn’t test anyone

The story of Job is from the Old Testament. Keep this in mind when you read it. Because the dynamic used by Jews (who didn’t know Jesus yet) to explain God’s way of acting is different from what the New Testament shows us. The text says that one day Satan approached God to talk about Job, boasting that his temptations could induce Job to blaspheme against Him. God permits it in order to strengthen Job’s faith. It’s important to read this story from a spiritual perspective. God doesn’t play games, He doesn’t experiment on us like a child playing with ants.

As the Apostle James says: “When tempted, no one should say, ‘God is tempting me’. For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does He tempt anyone” (James 1, 13); because, in fact, the last thing God wants is to test how strong we are to know whether or not we are worth it. That would be despising Jesus’ sacrifice. If we believe that God wants what happens to us, then within the possibilities we would find that God wants us to fail, to not pass, and to be incapable. Do you think God would want something like that? Of course not! God permits things to happen in our life, always to show us something better.

3. God doesn’t revolve around me

This idea could be confusing to us, in fact many people through history have been puzzled since they’ve had the impression that God is there to help them in their self-fulfillment and they pretend to use Him for it. This is to put backwards the nature of creation, and unfortunately it is destined to fail. I’ve seen myself fabricating complicated and detailed plans and afterwards presenting them to God so that He blesses them without changing anything I’ve so intelligently prepared. It’s different when I, alongside of God, take the time to discern what His plans are, and to carry them out myself, that way His blessing will always be with me.

It’s us who help God’s “great plan.” Our participation and the discovery of our purpose helps in the fulfillment of His will, not the other way around. We were made for God, not the opposite.

The Catechism, paragraph 27 says: “The desire for God is written in the human heart, because man is created by God and for God; and God never ceases to draw man to himself. Only in God will he find the truth and happiness he never stops searching for.”

4. Not everything has an explanation, but everything has a purpose

“God would never allow any evil whatsoever to exist in his works if he were not so all-powerful and good as to cause good to emerge from evil itself” (St. Augustine).

There are two questions we could ask when faced with a situation that shatters our lives. Why? Or… for what? It sounds like pop psychology… empty, especially in the case of terrible sufferings, like death or a serious disease. But these kinds of questions should be made with a peaceful heart. First, you have to process everything with a sense of calm. Discovering God’s purpose is not a matter for a couple of minutes of prayer and then it’s done. God knows this and is waiting for you to get closer to Him and ask the necessary questions, to ask, to doubt, so that you finally accept, even without completely understanding. His will, although often indecipherable is amazing for our lives, and everything that happens to us, although hard to comprehend, makes sense in His bigger plan.

“In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed” (Peter 1, 6-7).

He obviously doesn’t want your suffering, He’s not mad at you, your life or your story. God wants what’s best for you! This is a truth you can’t doubt of for one second. The thing is, God knows that in order to do that which He has in mind, you often have to go through a desert.

“Tribulation is a gift from God, one that He gives his special friends” (St. Thomas More).

5. Do not numb the pain

It’s a part of our modern culture, we anesthetize ourselves. It makes us uncomfortable to see people suffer. So we marginalize them, we try to erase the pain, we cover it up. And we ourselves hide our pains with the excuse that “the procession is carried inside”.

Job sits down on the ground, shaves his head and covers himself in ashes as a sign that he doesn’t understand anything, that his battle doesn’t seem to make any sense. He sits down to suffer, to mourn over himself. We instead try to rapidly pass over our pains and, if after 3 or 6 months of mourning someone is still sad, we tell them “come on, it’s time to move on,” or “you have to be strong and move forward.” But, in truth, each of us has his own time and we have to respect it.

Embracing the one who mourns and crying with him instead of making him stop, letting him soak our shoulders with his tears instead of offering a tissue. Aching with the one who’s suffering, anguishing with the vulnerable, filling your face and heart with the other’s passion… that is to feel compassion, that your own heart turns, not for mere masochism, not as penance, but as an exercise of communion, as the Church’s body. It’s like when you stub your little toe and your whole body contorts, the whole body suffers the pain of a single toe. This should be our way of accompanying.

Job teaches us to suffer with dignity, to live the pain while allowing others to be there for us, to not hide the sufferings, to ask for help, and to get frustrated when answers are not easy to find, but accepting that losing, getting sick, dying, not having explanations, is terrible and has to be lived, not hidden nor covered.

6. Trust that you will be restored

The first time I read the book of Job all the way through was when my younger sister died, a little three-month-old girl with a diagnosis of an untreatable genetic condition.

Sorry about the spoiler if you haven’t read the book, but the story ends with God restoring Job to life, seeing that after suffering and accepting it, Job never denies nor curses Him. Job goes on to form a new family, much more fruitful that the first one. He prospers economically more than before, and his fame as a blessed man extends everywhere. In other words, the idea that the biblical author wants to express is that if you live your pain like you ought and without rebelling from God, He Himself will bless you and give you back even more than what you had before. Yes and no. That is to say, it’s not a spiritual trade in which God gives you back more than what He has taken. In the spiritual economy of Christians, there is no meritocracy; it’s all Jesus merits and even when we do things right, we don’t deserve a thing from God. He gives us everything for love, not because we are good or bad. Despite this, God comforts us, gives us relief, and accompanies us just like the Angels accompanied Jesus through His passion in Gethsemane.

Therefore, it is expected from God to show Himself, to bless you, to act in your favor, but don’t expect it to be a “quantitatively superior” manifestation, compared to whatever good or easy situation you were in prior to your suffering.

As an anecdote, I remember a time when I went on a retreat of spiritual exercises. I arrived with a dry heart, without wanting anything. My spiritual guide sent me to sit in front of the Blessed Sacrament, told me to sleep if I felt like it, but to spend time there, “sun-bathing under His light.” I have no idea what happened, but I got out of there bronzed, with a robust heart. Although I didn’t get any explanation that I can put into words, I did find answers, sense, and hope just by being there, before Him.

[smallpressdistribution]

Feast your eyes and your shelves on October’s

SPD Recommends *Backlist*,

ten still-so-relevant titles selected by our very own Matthew Hedley!

1. Cold Genius - Aaron Kunin

Have you heard Aaron Kunin get excited about Milton yet? In love with things that are funny because he loves them, like Milton’s bible fan fiction, or Chiquita banana, or language meaning a particular thing. Is it fair to say Kunin’s quote clusters are a joke, a reflexive reassurance, a kindness that doesn’t force words down your throat, a presentation, a kindness, so that his book feels deeply kind. I appreciate the Ben Lerner blurb – “it occurs to me often to be grateful for his work.” Because I am, also, deeply grateful. Reviewers seem to delight in calling him a genius – because it’s in the title, maybe – but this book is so much more interesting than that. He’s a genius, who cares, “genius” is really a silly thing, don’t you think? It’s a brand, maybe, or something a lover says and is misunderstood and misunderstood until he figures in a Kunin poem.

2. Trances of the Blast - Mary Ruefle

This book of Ruefle poems is an odd gem. Its title is given the lie by the duration of its gaze. A stanza for the thing, a stanza for the feeling about the thing, a stanza for life after living with the thing. Remember Inception? That movie all the memes come from? This book has all the immediacy of an explosion in that movie, as time dilates wider and wider, until we’ve forgotten we were running from an explosion in the first place. What was that movie about? Or – wait, what’s this book about? It’s not exactly still, since there’s so much life ahead to get to, and it has pace, some yearning to be turned on, left on, but its movement comes from turnabout, the unwieldy and furry shift of a person looming in the midst of a poem. 

And so I have had to deal with wild intractable people all my days and have been led astray in a world of shattered moonlight and beasts and trees where no one ever curtsies anymore or has an understudy. So I have gone up to the little room in my face, I am making something out of a jar of freckles and a jar of glue 

I hated childhood. I hate adulthood. And I love being alive.

3. Monk Eats an Afro - Yolanda Wisher

This book is embodied poetry, the talked about but rarely seen kind. It’s important that the book is anachronistic in its sensitivity – Cry of Jazz came out in 1959, Monk Eats an Afro in 2014 – but Wisher loves jazz, and is good at it. The Sonia Sanchez blurb should be a giveaway of how in scene this book is to Philadelphia, to Philly jazz, to clubs where Sonia still holds court at a central table, with similar tables around, Wisher at another, someone, maybe Dawn Evans holds down a third, there aren’t that many tables but they’re mostly full, with men and women who make Philly great. Sure, I’m being overly romantic, because this is a literal memory I have, being in that room, being in my hometown, sometimes it feels like it might disappear, also – this book is romantic. Its romance poems are downright sexy, and god, when Wisher swings into a rhyme at the end of a stanza it rings out. There’s a body at risk here, recounting personal experience with a heady sense of its own cultural touchpoints. There’s something conservative about a jazz fanatic in this day and age – to go through every day hearing what the radio does while still pulling back to Monk and fam takes work, a love of the way things were – which, in context with the rest of this list, makes a deep commentary on how conservative poetry as a whole really is. Because this book feels novel and standout amidst the others of the list for how separate its references are. No other book on this list is more than one degree of separation (in terms of debt owed) from John Ashbery, and this book might be two, and that makes all the difference. It’s not that it’s “anti-academic,” because that term posits the academy as the thing, and everything else as lying in opposition. But I remember a creative writing professor ask a creative writing graduate student what she could possibly talk to a slam poet about. Monk Eats an Afro is incommunicable with that sort of thinking. Not opposition – a powerful voice, sure in her self.

4. Stories in the Worst Way - Gary Lutz

This book makes me want to write better. Lutz’ style should be ponderous -- the whole text appears at a glance almost as marginalia, like liner notes on liner notes, but nothing is frantic. Somehow it feels calm, even, impossibly, focused. Which can be a little frustrating -- the game of the title STORIES IN THE WORST WAY always cycling through my mind as I am shocked by the talent.  Because they are really well written and make you jealous and more than a little productive. Lutz makes me write. Because he really can write, and his overcrowded margin of a text feels absolutely effortless and easy for him, which is also impossible, and also untrue, and it’s – god, it’s frustrating! But if I didn’t have this book around, what other book could I use to make myself write. I admit, I throw this book around a lot. It’s a really nice weight and size to be thrown, and then picked up, mumble a bit, read the same story again, somehow write four pages, go for a walk, turn around mid-walk, come home and read the same story, write some more. It’s a book I love and picked from thousands of titles here at SPD -- and if you can’t handle being jealous and productive, I just don’t even know you.

5. Videogames for Humans: Twine Authors in Conversation - edited by merritt kopas

This book of playthroughs, essays, contexts, games and game-ified writing is unique and complex. Twine as a digital platform stands alongside all my other distant dreams of choice mediums for preventing academia and the state from incorporating language and work into their narrative. But, unfortunately, the space remains uncurated in meaningful ways to further that vision, which, as Wikipedia will tell you (by omission or deletion mill), perpetuates the same power structures as the world outside. So: CRY$TAL WARRIOR KE$HA (made pre-$ removal) is on the sample page today (looking absolutely amazing), while the most recent review is some undergraduate freshboy’s takedown of its writing structure. Which is to say that the academy is always uncomfortably present in the history and training of creators, players, readers – and even in the essays in VIDEOGAMES FOR HUMANS. The tension in the book’s movement back and forth between Kesha and undergraduate with a grudge is what makes the book so incredibly worthwhile. Beyond just a book for digital language nerds like myself, this collection feels so important for asking questions of how to create positive art spaces. Teenaged entertainment proposes an answer, negated in the misogyny of Lil Yachty, reconstituted in the queer narratives of Twine, complicated in the reactionary nature of write-ups… How will any of us make art in a time where to be an instrument of the state is such a bald-faced violence? But magic and a joy in loving self-sabotage shows a glimmer of hope: 

“There’s this assumption that if you stray from The Scientific Method into actually caring about things like lying on the floor of your room in the middle of the afternoon with black canvas hung over the curtains to keep the sun out with a single candle burning, wearing lipstick—even though you pretty much don’t wear lipstick any other time in your life—sort of meditating and sort of tripping off sensory deprivation and sort of falling asleep, that you had better take that weird stuff just as seriously and humorously as scientists are supposed to take science. Like basically magic can’t be weird or fun or fucked up or stupid on purpose. Which is wrong!”

6. Event Factory - Renee Gladman

Event Factory – There’s a setpiece of science fiction where worldbuilding, forced to include some cultural background for the book, treats us to speculative songs and poetry that are, let’s be honest, always awful. The cantina songs, the God-Whispers of Han Qing-Jao, the water songs of the Fremen – let’s be real, these are painful moments. Even Delany – sorry. But then you have Gladman, a luminary poet, writing her Ravicka novels, and suddenly, writing becomes speculative in parsing and content. There’s all the textured concentration and phrasing her talent begets, combined with a character-driven, engaging and difficult science fiction novel. So that our transportation occurs on every level – not escapism, because the density of idea and descriptor doesn’t admit such an easy movement – as we are other before it. It’s a deeply disturbing book, to be sure. The disassociative trip of finding things already happening to yourself makes the book a Ketamine nightmare in its darkest, half-sexual, half-prone. That’s a warning, I suppose, or as much of a warning as I can give for a book I’d like you to read. It’s a book of recollections, and it often recalls the worst. Go read it.

7. In the Time of the Blue Ball - Manuela Draeger, translated by Brian Evenson

This is the only book on this list I didn’t know beforehand, but god DAMN. It reminds me of Kathryn Davis, but with a different set of idiosyncrasies. Or Monica Furlong’s deeply strange cousin. Or it’s not really like another person, but an outstanding talent all to itself that speaks in an unusual voice, with a style and focus all her own. Still, it’s hard not to try to put it in context, because I hadn’t heard of Draeger previously. Shelley Jackson wrote the back cover blurb, and if you’re not down with Shelley Jackson, there’s nothing I can say to convince you to read this.

“I’m warning you, Potemkine,” said the tiger. “Now, here we are together in too small of a space. It’d be better if you didn’t wiggle in front of me. In the darkness, I could imagine that you were running.”

“I don’t look like a wharf rat,” I said.

“When someone starts running in front of me, it’s too late for distinctions between species,” said Gershwin.

Half-accessible, half-mystic fantasy that flirts with various reading levels, IN THE TIME OF THE BLUE BALL is a gorgeous book of fiction. With thanks to Brian Evenson for a stellar translation.

8. This Lamentable City - Polina Barskova, translated by Ilya Kaminsky

He lies naked on something white, She laughs above She covers him With her pearl, her body her Star, her body her snow, her body On top of the word “strange,” On top of the word “fright.”

Barskova wanders the city and chronicles, and edits, and edits, and edits what she sees. This book is beautifully refined, calm, sure.

“In our village where small animals live slowly And humans jump on them.”

I’d like to do this little feature with only quotes, quotes and gasps afterward. The above a reaction to finding the scattered remains of snails in the lane. I hope it snows where you read this, in the evening.

9. The Feel Trio - Fred Moten

Fred Moten. Glory, Fred Moten. One of the most talented writers of a generation who makes the balance of phrasing and legibility feel effortless. Not that every line is beach-read-legible, but that his word clusters are drop-dead gorgeous, and always feel intentioned and deserved. Throughout his published works, Moten remains a cheat-sheet for debut writers – “how do I get away with putting this really fabulous but loud phrase in my writing” – but THE FEEL TRIO is a monstrosity of confidence, even for him.

           “this a service on the surface for frank wilderness and carl flippant.            my absolute beauty studies feelings in an open afterlife. I hold him            and I’ve lost and I feel it in my hands and the sharp distance of his            little bother, explosive flower of I’m not ready and don’t want to.”

10. That They Were at the Beach - Leslie Scalapino

My favorite book of poetry has somehow never been on a previous SPD Recommends Backlist. The narrator of the book fascinates me – defensive in language, insecure in relative positions, honest in gaze – in her movements between mechanism and pathos. The formalization of language, centered around the em dash – pretending to be a device of clarity – reminds me of coding languages, its Turing-complete, it’s a half step from language, but in this case not towards clarity but something else, something that masquerades as clarity but is poetry. Which isn’t an opposite of clarity, but it’s not the same thing either. I find it impossible not to copy this book’s phrasing for months after I reread it, so I’m trying to be good here. It’s the book that made me love poetry.

[quranreadalong]

#188, Surah 38

THE QURAN READ-ALONG: DAY 188

BIG NEWS: Today we have some prophet stories that do not involve the horrible deaths of The Disbelievers. Savor this moment.

38:20 is where we’re starting, again with David. Allah made him a good ruler of the kingdom of Israel. One day, David was chilling out in his palace when some guys climbed a wall to get to him. David was scared, but they weren’t there to hurt him. They said:

(We are) two litigants, one of whom hath wronged the other, therefor judge aright between us; be not unjust; and show us the fair way. Lo! this my brother hath ninety and nine ewes while I had one ewe; and he said: Entrust it to me, and he conquered me in speech.

Brother #1 bullies brother #2 into giving him his only sheep. David says this is unfair and unjust (I guess that’s good?), and he realizes that this whole incident was just Allah testing him. He passed the test by saying “hey that’s dickish”, evidently, because it caused Allah to ensure his place in jannah and “forgive him” for, uh, something.

It doesn’t actually say what bad thing David did that required this test. However, tafsir authors usually connect this to the Biblical story of David and Solomon’s mother Bathsheba--involving David sending Bathsheba’s first husband to the front lines in the hope that he’d die so David could marry Bathsheba himself. The Jalals say this test was related to “his love for that woman”. That story isn’t in the Quran or the ahadith, but this whole incident above is pretty obviously based on the prophet Nathan’s speech in which he yells at David for betraying Bathsheba’s husband:

And he came unto him, and said unto him, There were two men in one city; the one rich, and the other poor. The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds: But the poor man had nothing, save one little ewe lamb, which he had bought and nourished up: and it grew up together with him, and with his children; it did eat of his own meat, and drank of his own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him as a daughter.

And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and he spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd, to dress for the wayfaring man that was come unto him; but took the poor man's lamb, and dressed it for the man that was come to him.

And David's anger was greatly kindled against the man; and he said to Nathan, As the LORD liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die: And he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity.

And Nathan said to David, Thou art the man.

The Quran doesn’t really get the story right, as you can see. Nathan’s telling the story as an allegory here; the two shepherds themselves aren’t present and aren’t meant to be literal people. But God using the rich guy who takes the poor guy’s only sheep to show David the error of his ways is the same. Interestingly, God does not forgive David for this in the Bible (though he does grant him a son from Bathsheba), even though he does in the Quran. So this could be a case where Mohammed’s unwillingness to depict prophets making mistakes comes into play. Maybe he really liked the whole sheep-allegory-from-Allah idea, but did not like David’s lustful behavior that preceded it, so he was intentionally vague regarding what, exactly, David did wrong. I dunno.

Anyway, after that test, Allah reminds David that he shouldn’t stray from the “path of Allah” again, since people who do that are doomed. That’s bad, and just in case you were willing to give Mo the benefit of the doubt and say “eh, maybe he meant stray from the path of Allah in terms of being unjust or whatever, cuz of the story?”, Allah helpfully adds “And woe unto those who disbelieve, from the Fire!” to kick it into kuffar hell counter (1) territory. Nice. He drives the point home by asking if he should treat corrupters and good Muslims the same way, or in other words if “the pious and the wicked” deserve equal treatment (the answer is no). Dividing people into “the pious” and “the wicked” is bad--especially when paired with the above ayah.

Moving on to the second half of today’s section, following a brief reminder that Allah sent the Quran to Mohammed: a story about Solomon. It begins in 38:31, in which he sees a group of really fast horses. Solomon reflects upon his past behavior, realizing that he’s preferred worldly goods to praising Allah. Then he stands up and asks his attendants to bring the horses before him. Solomon.... then.... does something to the horses. It’s not actually clear what. The verb used describes a swiping motion. Some translators interpret this as him slashing at the horses with a sword, while others say it’s more like passing his hands over them (like petting them).

Uh..... right. What was that all about?

In the “slashing” interpretation, Solomon’s moment of reflection here causes him to realize how pointless his possessions are. The Bible says that Solomon’s wealth included thousands of horses, and so they were a symbol of his decadence. Killing them represents destroying his own wealth so he can re-focus on worshiping Allah. The other interpretation is, uh, he just wanted to pet the horsies. Ibn Kathir records both opinions and shows that some people were clearly uncomfortable with the horse-killing one (Arabs loved horses) even though it seems pretty obvious that that’s what Mohammed meant. I’ll leave it as neutral, just to be fair.

The Jalals bridge this story and the next one by saying “God compensated him what was better and faster that these [horses], and this was the wind”. Remember Demon Jinn Lord Solomon from a few suwar ago? Well, we have a sidestory to that here in 38:34:

We tried Solomon, and set upon his throne a (mere) body. Then did he repent. 

One day, the story goes, Solomon lost his magic ring, thereby losing his magic powers. This was evidently due to Allah’s displeasure over Solomon’s greed and/or his foreign, idolatrous wives. A jinni then disguised himself as Solomon and sat on his throne, depriving Solomon of his kingship, and he couldn’t prove that he was the real Solomon owing to his ring being lost. So Solomon was thrown out of his own kingdom. Eventually, after a month or so, Allah decided that Solomon had been punished enough and returned the ring to him. This is based on a story from the Talmud:

Ashmedai said to him: Take the chain engraved with God’s name off me and give me your ring with God’s name engraved on it, and I will show you my strength. Solomon took the chain off him and he gave him his ring. Ashmedai swallowed the ring and grew until he placed one wing in the heaven and one wing on the earth. He threw Solomon a distance of four hundred parasangs. With regard to that moment Solomon said: “What profit is there for a person through all of his toil under the sun?” (Ecclesiastes 1:3). With Solomon deposed from the throne, Ashmedai took his place. 

There aren’t any ahadith describing what Mohammed was talking about in the verse above, but it does seem like this story is almost certainly what’s being referenced by “setting” an impostor upon his throne, as nearly all tafsir works mention it. Regardless, Mohammed informs us that Allah forgave Solomon for whatever it was that he did wrong, and restored his powers and kingship. He allowed Solomon to control the jinn, who had powers over the wind and building abilities and such. They were kept in chains during their servitude.

I always feel weird about that, because as we’ll see later, the jinn are depicted as just a kind of... fantasy race of people. They’re not all evil, unlike the demons in the Talmudic/early Christian Demon Lord Solomon stories. Mohammed conflated the jinn and demons without putting a ton of thought into it. So the Islamic Solomon is just straight-up enslaving people by Allah’s will. O well! The jinn-controlling magic power was a gift from Allah and Solomon got a ticket to jannah in the end.

NEXT TIME: One prophet left, and it’s a new one!!!

The Quran Read-Along: Day 188

Ayat: 21

Good: 1 (38:24)

Neutral: 17 (38:20-23, 38:25, 38:29-40)

Bad: 3 (38:26-28)

Kuffar hell counter: 1 (38:26-27)

⇚ previous day | next day ⇛

[egregiousderp]

Speaking as a person who is still technically religious but often salty about it, it’s kind of a stretch to assume the basic sex ed/prenatal knowledge in a given “life at conception” leaning group is good enough to handle the idea of Identical twins being a split egg.

I mean. This is a group that routinely doesn’t teach about contraceptives (let alone masturbation).

Ask them about how identical twins “work” and most of them won’t have an idea. Let alone know how to handle the idea of things like quintuplets where one child takes all the nutrients from the others until you have only one child and “does that make your fetus a murderer?”

Nobody asks those questions in your Bible study or, if they do, you assume they’re being asked by a salty atheist or something and you can treat them as just inherently hostile to this ambiguous concept of truth you’re a bastion of in a dark world or whatever.

If it’s asked by someone young enough sometimes you attempt to appeal to your own authority or the concept of mystery and faith or whatever. (Which has always made me furious because it’s WRONG.)

When or if a person gets a soul and at what point is probably not that important from a perspective of Evanelical Christianity. That belief system as a whole though almost certainly holds that each person has a distinctive soul regardless of looks, capacity, or time.

Whether or not a stillborn fetus has a soul is something tricky to the Life at Conception people too. And any answer I gave on that wouldn’t be representative of beliefs of conservative Christians as a whole but rather would come from my own reasoning.

The point at which one is created is semantic until there’s something at stake and you may or may not be worried about murder.

But Biblically speaking Murder is synonymous with Rage. Even the kind in your own head.

(Which is to say “Thoughtmurder” is absolutely Biblical. But also a thing that makes Christians uncomfortable if you mention it as such.)

That said, many mythologies have sacred twins, or even concepts of shared souls between multiple births, and that can either be a very bad or very good thing depending on what culture you were speculatively being born into.

What you believe on the subject isn’t necessarily how it “actually works”. But often times systems of belief don’t give a flying ovum on what’s “actually happening” or how, because you can’t objectively prove the existence of a soul using any scientific means. Therefore you can’t “figure out” when it’s there or not. So any argument of WHEN it comes into being is “how safe do I want to play?”

In short “is the speculative life of someone who doesn’t exist and may or may not exist more valuable to me than the living person in front of me who has had some experience and has lived some life.”

Functionally speaking it’s one of those open ended ethics questions where you can’t be sure who’s “right” or not.

But if you want to look up magic twins or shared souls there’s some absolutely interesting anthropology out there and it’s a ton of fun if you’ve got no life or death stake in it.

Hey, if you believe life begins at conception and religiously speaking that’s when the being gets their soul, how do identical twins work, like soul wise in your mind. Like I’m really curious to see how you resolve this philosophically. Because following life begins at conception, you have a single sapient being who becomes two seperate beings with seperate consciousness.

[specialchan]

I am a non-Muslim with questions about your faith and its history via /r/islam

I am a non-Muslim with questions about your faith and its history

I apologize, this is an extremely long post.

I’d like to start by saying I studied history in university so I am approaching this with a fully secular, historical viewpoint, and I do not have much personal experience with Muslims or Islam in general, as there were simply no Muslims in my community growing up. I may unintentionally be a typical American with little exposure to other cultures. Please forgive me if something I say goes against your faith or makes you feel uncomfortable. Though I’d be greatly appreciative if you still answered my questions despite those feelings. (American Muslims, please chime in however you wish, as you are the ones I am most likely to meet. I would like your input on what topics to avoid and what kinds of things are okay to ask.)

I’d also like to add that my parents are Christian and I did go to church every week growing up, but now consider myself an agnostic atheist (agnostic in that I don’t think there’s any way to determine which god, if any, exists or what role they play in the universe, and atheist in that I do not subscribe to any particular religion.) I simply try to be a good person in my own way by examining various faiths and schools of philosophy to form my own worldview. (I ordered a free copy of the Quran from a website that gives them to non-Muslims, but it never came.) I never had much respect for Christianity until I started studying Roman history.

This is where I’m afraid I might say something that will offend someone. I’m very passionate about Roman history, which extends through the Eastern Roman (or Byzantine) Empire, which is so fully linked to Christianity and its various complexities and arguments that I had no choice but to learn a lot about these complexities as well as the history of the early Church, if I wanted to truly understand the Roman history I was reading. Learning about Rome has made me grow much more respect and appreciation for Christianity than I ever thought I would have, if only for its impact on the world, the way it changed Roman society, and because I find philosophy and theology interesting.

I’d also like to add that I’ve had similar conversations with a deeply Christian coworker of mine, and that went great. He said he did not feel disrespected and fully understood the angle I was approaching this from. I hope you can see the same.

Rome is the only civilization I feel this deep of a passion for, therefore I have not looked that thoroughly into other topics. However, Islam and the various Caliphates obviously have a very prominent role in the final 700 years or so of Rome’s existence, (Mehmet II named himself Kayser-i Rûm, Caesar of the Romans, and saw himself as continuing Roman civilization,) and so I’d like to learn more about it, preferably from a historical point of view at first rather than from the scriptures, if anyone is familiar. Though obviously both inputs are valuable and will help me to better understand the topic from both sides, which is why I asked my Christian coworker questions about his faith and beliefs, etc. The purpose of that conversation was to compare his beliefs with Byzantine beliefs to see how much they differed, and also to teach him about the civilization that made Christianity what it is. The purpose of these questions is to learn the same about Islam; how much belief has changed over time, if your beliefs line up with the older/original Muslims, and also just to become better informed myself so I can hopefully better inform others who may not be as open to learning these things.

So some questions I have are:

Is the Ottoman role in taking Constantinople talked about much? Celebrated?

How do you feel about the Byzantine Romans, if at all?

Is the history of Islam prominently taught, or do you tend to focus more on the religious side?

How do you feel about the various Caliphates? Why isn’t there one currently and do you think there should be at least one? Would it be in Saudi Arabia, as they control Mecca and Medina?

Is Sunni and Shia still a prominent split? Is the split so deep that either side has serious resentment for the other, as I have often seen in Christian schisms? Did it used to be that way but change over time? Do you associate with people of the other sect, and are there other sects? (I believe I have heard of an African sect that incorporates magic? Maybe Mali because they used to practice magic and had sorcerers on the field during battle. Perhaps it grew out of that?) Please provide a brief statement about how the sects differ in their beliefs.

Is Muhammad ever talked about much as a person and historical figure, or more solely on his role as Allah’s prophet? (I’m afraid to expand upon this one. I listen to a history podcast about the Byzantine Empire. The host has a premium for-sale episode on the origins of Islam, and from what I understand, some of the things he says and some of the ideas that secular historians have put out there about the potential “real” origins of Islam contrast heavily with your beliefs and traditional history. I’m genuinely afraid I will upset someone by repeating some of these ideas, but will do so if you all feel comfortable with it.)

Is the Muslim conquest of Sassanid Persia celebrated? (I will say that personally, I find their victories absolutely incredible. I could not believe that they toppled the whole thing so quickly.) Do you know much about Persia, and if so, do you notice any cultural holdovers from the Persian Empire?

How differently do you view Persia and Rome? From what I understand, later Muslim writers were confounded by Rome’s continued survival after they had defeated Persia so quickly, and I believe they had to come up with some kind of justification as to why Rome managed to survive the initial Muslim expansion. Does anyone know anything about this? (I apologize if this offended anyone, and would like to say that I am not 100% sure on everything after the question mark.)

Is it true that Islam views Christianity as polytheistic, because they worship three gods? (God, Jesus, Holy Spirit)

This is a more cultural shift than religious one, I think, and again, I apologize if it offends anyone or if I am misinformed, but it seems to be growing more common to view Christians and Jews as.. not quite enemies. Maybe just as Others, or as people not to be tolerated? I’m struggling to express this idea but the Caliphates generally respected People of the Book, correct? Treated differently than Muslims, yes, but allowed to openly discuss their beliefs and normally live out their lives without being specifically targeted for their beliefs (outside of said preferential treatment). Has this changed or am I completely wrong? I just see clips occasionally of imams or Muslim politicians demonizing People of the Book and I’m wondering how this happened. (Again, truly sorry if I offended you with this question. I am open to hearing your side.)

Is secular learning discouraged in any way?

I have heard that traditionally, it’s said that Islam was essentially birthed in an instant. That the initial followers of Islam perfectly understood the facets of their new religion almost immediately. Is this true? I find this interesting because no other religion in the world makes a claim like that one.

I understand that the Quran is written in a very unconventional way. That it goes in starts and fits, sometimes sentences have no endings, lines have no context, something is intentionally vague, etc. Is this right? How do you feel about that? Does the style of writing make it difficult to interpret what is being said?

What are Hadiths and how are they different to the Quran? Why do they need to be separate? Did god bestow the Quran while hadiths are Muhammad’s teachings?

Is Muhammad supposed to have written all of the hadiths? If I’m not mistaken, there is historical evidence that one of the early caliphs may have written most of them. (This is another question that I’m worried about offending someone.)

Is Arabic looked at as the holy language for Islam? Is it okay to translate it? For example, for several centuries it was taboo to translate the Bible into anything besides Latin or Greek, because those were the only holy languages to early Christians. It was a big deal when it was translated into Slavic, and then German centuries later. Was this feeling shared with the Quran? Were any languages besides Arabic okay? Is this still the feeling or has it changed, and if so, when did it change?

Lastly, this may only apply to Turks, but would anyone in Istanbul be offended if I went there and referred to it as Constantinople? Would it be uncomfortable of me to ask them about the Byzantines and Christianity while there? (I do wish to go there someday, as I’ve been to Rome and Ravenna, the capitals of the western Roman Empire, so I would love to visit the capital of the East and look upon the greatest city ever built.)

If you took the time to read all of that, thank you so much. And thanks in advance for your answers. If you have any questions for me or want me to clarify something, please let me know, and again, I apologize if I have offended anyone.

I hope everyone has a good day.

Ma’a as-salaama (I totally just looked this up and hope it comes across as respectful. Apologies if I used it wrong.)

Submitted September 09, 2020 at 04:41PM by LostGundyr via reddit https://ift.tt/3m6ReiX

[spicita]

Impressions 2019 - Grace

Although I'm behind on my annual impression -- sorry about that -- it's been a year in the making. Originally I got on board with the idea of wonder. With my tendency to focus on problems, I thought it would be helpful to imagine viewing the world through a lens of solutions, beauty, and awe. Re-framing challenges can be useful but it's not a new concept for me and somehow it fell short.

Perhaps part of this year's delay was due to my fear of sharing something that makes people feel uncomfortable. But it's impossible to paint an accurate picture of the past year without opening up a bit. And while I might not want to admit it, my dad made a good point when he mentioned that my impressions could be more revealing. After all, vulnerability is what I love most about my favorite social media mavens. And -- if there is anything true about me -- it's that I'm always striving for more. (Emphasis on strive.)

So, as I was honing in on the previous year's impression, I "surrendered" to the idea of exploring God. I know. Bear with me. While I was a strong believer as a child, tremendous doubts have ensued ever since my boarding school roommate cried for a girl with parents from different faiths (one Christian, one Jewish) because my roomie believed the girl was going to hell. But here I am, 25+ years later of mostly avoiding God, and no matter what I do it's never enough.

The first thing I learned is that while Genesis is the first Chapter in the Bible, it's not the best place to start. Something about husbands ruling over their wives. Please don't tell DJ. ;p I did find value in regularly reading the Bible and attending Church, further re-enforcing my belief that we tend to grow in areas where we spend time. And because various religions present God differently I didn't stop there. I watched The Story of God with Morgan Freeman which explored God across various religions and cultures around the globe. I also read books, watched movies, listened to videos, even attended a re-treat with a spiritual component. Some of these resources made me mad, a few of them made me cry, others opened my heart, but all of them made me think.

I continued to struggle with frustrating aspects of the business and failed to explain why taking a leap of faith had done very little to change how I felt. Regardless, I pressed forward, never one to give up easily. In an effort to feel more at peace, I even dabbled with hypnosis, an amazing experience in and of itself.

Perhaps the most difficult part of this process was the seemingly absent dialogue on how to grapple with such a mysterious topic and how something so important is generally approached with tension and strife... even among family and friends. I used to get annoyed by any mention of God but lately I've been surprised to learn that many of the people I admire have close relationships with God. And that even two of my favorite intellectuals recognize the value of religion. While Scott Adams does not practice religion, he does believe that it "probably makes the world a better place". Malcolm Gladwell was raised Presbyterian and believes that "when you remove faith from people's lives there is a void and they try desperately to fill it with something else." He mentions Yoga, not Pilates -- because everybody needs Pilates!

I've been told that my greatest challenges with the Bible are a matter of context but I'm not so sure. I don't believe that our faith matters more than our actions. I also struggle with the concept of God's will as it seems to contradict God's "gift" of free will. I even continued to doubt prayer. That said, one of the most fascinating things I learned from the Morgan Freeman documentary is that scientists were able to observe a noticeable change in brain activity between an individual praying and an atheist contemplating God. While that doesn't speak to the effectiveness of prayer on outcomes, it does show that prayer changes our experience.

One of my favorite quotes is from Wayne Dyer who proposed: "If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change." With our thoughts on God, DJ shared a link with 40 behind the scenes facts about one of our favorite movies, It's a Wonderful Life. The feature quotes actor James Stewart: "As I said (Dear Father in heaven.. show me the way), I felt the loneliness and hopelessness of people who had nowhere to turn, and my eyes filled with tears. I broke down sobbing. This was not planned at all, but the power of that prayer... reduced me to tears."

As "luck" would have it, DJ and I watched "A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood" on New Year's Day. In the movie, Mr. Rogers asks a dying man: "Will you pray for me?" Later, when asked why, Mr. Rogers explains: "anyone who has gone through challenges like that must be very close to God". When reading the Esquire article that inspired the movie, I learned a slightly different account but my reaction remained unchanged. Although Mr. Rogers confessed to a "selfish" explanation for his request, the truth of the matter is that the interaction served an even greater purpose of up-lifting the person asked. I still hesitate to pray and feel awkward doing so but it's hard to refute it's strength.

The same weekend that we celebrated DJ's well deserved promotion we also attended a farewell gathering for the Dobbins Air Reserve Base Commander, General Kemble. While others in his position may have understandably treated me like a dime a dozen, General Kemble always interacted with me as though I was the only one in the room. That is how he relates to people, with grace.

Mr. Rogers was also a man of grace. He was humble, compassionate, and forgiving. He listened intently, sought to understand, and treated others with respect. Everyone's neighborhood hero acted upon making the world a better place and always maintained a profound passion for serving others. In stark contrast, most days I can barely make it out of bed without thinking of myself.

In Tools of Titans, Tim Ferriss shares a useful exercise from Google Pioneer Chade Meng proven to elevate his happiness. To try it, simply think of any two or three people and then wish for them to be happy. Ferriss credits it's effectiveness on the fact that it shifts our focus from ourselves onto others. I think prayer works in much the same way but more intensely.

In the video segment I shared earlier with Malcolm Gladwell, Larry King says "Doesn't it all deal with death? No death. No Religion." I suppose that might be true for some but my exploration has had more to do with life. How can I feel more at peace especially during difficult times?

Fortunately for me, my legal boyfriend is always there to pick me up. He didn't always enjoy my evening Bible reading or listening to contemporary hymns at church, but he did willingly pray for me (his idea, not mine). He also joined the American Legion on Veterans Day and signed us up for their Thanksgiving Day potluck alongside Veterans. And although I am often inclined to chill out on our own, DJ rallied for us to host another memorable Halloween Party bringing together old and new friends including some of our favorite neighbors and studio members. My ego might expect otherwise but it's not all about me... community does matter.

Ultimately, death did play a part of my journey. The memories of those I lost are a regular reminder of how their grace made my own life better... then and still now. At Santa Lift, an inquisitive young girl surprised me by asking if I was a real elf. Despite my stature, hopefully all of you know I'm not. That made me think too. How can humans be so steadfast in their beliefs but still struggle to act graciously?

I wish I could say that I figured it all out. A part of me hoped for a "born-again" moment -- because that seems so much easier -- but even Mother Teresa wrestled with doubt for 50 years. I did discover that praying feels more natural and effective than meditating and that thinking about God regularly with the help of religion inspired more actions of grace.

This was by far my most challenging impression to write. And if it wasn't your cup of tea, stay tuned for something completely different next time. I promise. I do hope my words gave you something new to think about and if you are so inclined, feel free to share what you do to inspire more actions of grace. I'm listening. Either way, I am definitely committed to praying for your happiness. After all, it's a little like the lottery... you can't win if you don't play.

Read prior impressions…

Impressions 2018 - Surrender

Impressions 2017 - Ordinary

Impressions 2016 - Kindness

Impressions 2015 - Blossom

Impressions 2014 - Independence

Impressions 2013 - Vow

Impressions 2012 - Faith

Impressions 2011 - Dream

Impressions 2010 - Penguin

Impressions 2009 - Smile

Impressions 2008 - Fun

Impressions 2007 - Inspiration

Impressions 2006 - Magic

Impressions 2005 - Love

Impressions 2004 - Influence

[ralphmorgan-blog1]

My Family DOES Do Santa Claus–And We Do It BIG.

ShareTweet

It’s almost December. The hustle and bustle is in overdrive. Everything smells of Fraser fir. Pinterest is a holy grail for moms everywhere. It’s that time of year where decorations, fashion and even radio music all have the same focus. I find this time of year magical. I always have. That span of calendar between Thanksgiving and Christmas is, in my opinion, the most wonderful time of year!

Now that I have children of my own, this time seems even more precious. I get to see Christmas through the eyes of a child. Two actually, an eighteen-month-old and a four-year-old. And now, those children are being raised up in our Christian home and it seems I am asked almost daily, “Do Y’all do Santa Claus?”

Here is my answer: Absolutely! And we don’t do anything halfway.

There are countless articles out there explaining how different families have chosen to go about handling what is apparently a huge holiday predicament. This blog is simply that, MY family’s choice and how we came to it. I have appreciated ALL the articles I’ve read. Like anyone, I agree and disagree with various points. I expect any readers to do the same of me. I just wanted people to know why we do our thing. It’s not a holiday predicament. It’s a tradition. Like eating turkey on Thanksgiving. It doesn’t kill you. It doesn’t make you any less spiritual. Has today’s culture made it consumeristic? Yes, but they’ve been doing that for decades. They do the same for birthdays and back-to-school.

Now, my family does our best balancing the reality of the TRUE meaning of Christmas with the magical aspect of Christmas. I have amazing conversations with my four-year-old when she sees our Christmas tree ornament with Santa kneeling before the manger. She asks why Santa is praying and I explain that he is thanking God for the greatest gift of all, Jesus. Santa is NOT a God. Santa, real or not, bows to Christ because Philippians 2:10 tells us we all will. She asks why Santa brings gifts. I explain that Santa was so thankful that God gave the gift of Jesus that his heart wanted to bring gifts to others. God set the example of a giving heart and we are to have a giving heart. All these lessons must be taught to our children, though.

Simply, Christmas is about giving – because God gave.

After Chris and I went through Hurricane Katrina, we experienced the body of Christ and how they give. We received gift cards, gifts, and it seems every time we shook someone’s hand they were slipping us cash. It was uncomfortable. We were vulnerable. I wasn’t sure how to receive help. I spent so much of my ministry giving that I’d abandoned the power of receiving. That time was a great reminder to me of the importance of receiving. God gave His Son and we are to receive Him.

There’s a balance. It is learned. It must be taught. We are to teach our children both: The importance and joy of giving and the humility and heart of thankfulness from gracious givers.

It is hard to compete with Santa if you are letting the culture dictate what is important to your family. My 18-month-old has NO idea that Santa brings gifts. She just knows that Santa is funny and we get excited when we see him. She gets just as excited about singing Jesus Loves Me or going outside to play.

“But Santa is make believe and it supports an unhealthy view of reality.”

Guess what? So does Doc McStuffins, Sophia the First, Transformers, Disney Princesses and every other thing your kids get excited about. Spoiler: Stuffed animals don’t really come to life and talk when adults aren’t present. Girls with magic necklaces can’t talk to animals. Heavens, our parents grew up watching Mr. Ed the Horse talking to Wilbur. It’s just my generation that panics about the psychology behind damaging our children due to skewed realities. What parent sits down with their child after every tv show, video game, movie or stuffed animal gift to explain “how this isn’t reality. It’s fantasy and I want you to know the difference.”

Bottom line, they are kids. They don’t get to be kids for long. They will quit believing in magic and make believe all too soon. They will struggle with identity, acceptance and body image for MUCH longer than if the Elf on the Shelf really traveled to the North Pole every night. Their struggles will be real, and hard, and painful. Reality will crush them and beat them and wound them and scar them. My children are learning of Noah, Moses, Adam & Eve. These are stories of truth and biblical history. But before that first heartbreak, I cherish the fairy tales too.

Don’t come at me with your “Santa pushes good works” fight either. Good. So do I. If you go in the potty when potty training, you get a piece of poo poo chocolate! When you push your sister down, you get in trouble. If you behave properly in Target, I’m probably gonna give you a Cafe Icee because I’m proud of you. Do you get treats for every good thing you do? Nope. I EXPECT good behavior, but sometimes I’m gracious in my treats and gifts. Sound familiar?

Guess what…scripture teaches us we are judged according to our works too. Now, salvation – THAT is free! But our actions and works while we live on this earth will bring both blessings and consequences (in this life and the next). Read the bible.

I believe I can be both gospel-centered AND have fun this season of my kids’ lives because that’s what it is – a season. This season will be gone in the blink of an eye. Sure, for 30 days I’m cheering on Santa, but I’m also doing everything I can to glorify God 365 days of the year. I take my kids trick-or-treating and when they lose a tooth I’ll put a dollar under their pillow (maybe I’ll even wear a tutu to get in character). They watch Disney and Power Rangers. They eat Cheetos and bread filled with gluten and they love to sing Jesus Loves the Little Children and Let It Go! They won’t find a scale in my home to weigh themselves and I’ll give them Tylenol or Thieves essential oil…whatever I can find if it makes them feel better. They get vaccinated but it’s usually at an appointment three months behind. They are hopefully balanced and won’t feel the legalism of pro or anti sides. I try not to stress myself. They are God’s and I am a steward of them. He controls their destiny. But while He entrusted them to me we are gonna bake Christmas cookies, feed Rudolph and read the Christmas Story for as long as they will let me.

ShareTweet

More From this publisher : HERE ; This post was curated using : TrendingTraffic

=> *********************************************** Read More Here: My Family DOES Do Santa Claus–And We Do It BIG. ************************************ =>

My Family DOES Do Santa Claus–And We Do It BIG. was originally posted by A 18 MOA Top News from around