#even in a house of god incest prevails

[bloodfreak-boyking]

both graduating with honors from "how to look at your brother" school

[purriteen]

Ad victor spolia, chapter two

content warnings: incest, manipulation, eventual Stockholm Syndrome, toxic & dark!Coriolanus Snow (as if that isn't his default), named!reader, ANGST, eventual smut, non-con, age gap (5-6 years)

author's note: I feel like this chapter is kinda shitty since I’ve mostly written pure smut before, not to mention I haven’t written in English in a while so I’m still warming back up to the language & structure

but alright, since I've just been projectile vomiting words all day anyways y'all get two chapters at once this time mostly cause I myself couldn't wait to flesh out what happens next

word count: 3,345

Previous chapter

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You struggled to fall asleep that night. You’d already come to the conclusion that slipping past the guards positioned along the tall metal fence or the main gate wouldn’t be possible, but at least, before you used to have the privilege of leaving the house and spending time in the garden whenever you wanted. Now you were truly trapped. Now that you needed to get out of here the most.

At first you’d enjoyed going for walks in the garden or having tea in one of the quaint greenhouses, until you discovered the one with those god awful rose bushes. The ones that reeked of your brother. You figured he didn’t tend to them himself, but that didn’t ease the disgust you felt whenever that familiar, overwhelming scent reached you. It was nauseating.

Even in his absence, everything reminded you of him, in the worst way possible. In every nook and cranny of the house there’d be a reminder that this was his home. For a moment you wondered if his signature scent had worn off on you; your shower was equipped with various settings and products, but it was always stacked with that familiar rose shampoo you could smell on him whenever he got close to you - too close for your liking -, without exceptions.

When you finally fell asleep, your face was raw and puffy from all the crying. You hadn’t even bathed or brushed your hair, or changed into one of the many pyjama sets in your wardrobe.

Then, at around seven in the morning according to your alarm clock, you awoke to the sound of keys rustling outside your door. You were relieved when you realised it wasn’t Coriolanus - he’d never make such an awkward entrance. Instead, your nanny maid stepped through the door. Eugenie. She looked even more anxious than usual. Perhaps she took pity on you - if only she knew. 

The two of you hardly spoke that early Friday morning. She’d brought something for you to eat, stacked on a silver tray. As if you needed another reminder of your complete lack of autonomy here, your own brother now wouldn’t even let you have breakfast in the kitchen anymore. At least he’d been generous enough to let you have something you could actually stand to eat, you supposed. A bowl of blueberries and grapes and a fresh loaf of bread with butter and marmalade, neatly plated next to it. 

You sat on the small couch in the corner of the room as you ate your breakfast, only managing to get small bites down. Watching Eugenie change your bedsheets and clean up after last night, you simply couldn’t think about anything else. That was enough to make your appetite vanish.

Once you were both done she gestured towards the bathroom, and you took the hint. She went in first and ran a warm bath for you, before leaving the room to give you some privacy. Finally you took a proper look at yourself for the first time since yesterday.

Your hair was a mess, but what worried you most was the prevailing handprint on the left side of your face. Three, four stripes of a faint purplish colour that was already fading to yellow in some places. You shakily inhaled, forcing yourself to keep it together. The last thing you needed was for Coriolanus to think he was getting to you, even if he was right.

Yet you still didn’t realise the extent of your injuries until you’d already sunk down into the bathtub, relatively comfortably so. You’d felt the swelling on the back of your head last night, of course, but it was almost worse now. All you wanted to do at the moment was fall back asleep, but the aching bump on the back of your skull made it impossible to rest your head anywhere without being in pain. 

A couple minutes later, Eugenie returned. This time with an ice pack in hand, which she carefully placed in your hand and guided it towards the back of your head. She flashed you an almost sorrowful, empathetic smile, before she stepped back and closed the door behind her.

You weren’t particularly fond of her, but you didn’t want to make the poor woman’s job any harder than it already was. So you made sure to thoroughly wash yourself before she got back. The sight of the dried blood from your scalp liquifying and mixing with the bathwater as you rinsed your hair made you feel nauseous. 

You wondered what dinner would be like. If he would pretend nothing happened yesterday, or perhaps dish out another beating. You still hadn’t entirely grasped everything that went down last night. Everything he had kept from you, above anything, the hatred he’d felt for you. The thought of your warm, outwardly unassuming cousin having to make such a sacrifice for you made you feel sick. Poor Tigris. 

Not to mention being reminded of your mother’s passing. You knew she’d died in childbirth, your birth, but you never thought of it as your fault until he brought it up. Grandma’am never once blamed you for the loss of her only daughter-in-law. And until that moment, neither had Coryo. Not openly, at least. You were left staring at yourself in the mirror for a while, wondering if it was truly worth it. If you were worth it.

You knew you couldn’t afford to think like that, to let him get to you. But this was all so unlike the Coryo you were used to, you’d seen this side of him before, to some extent, but never directed towards you. You wished he had just stayed away, that he would’ve left you alone after the initial shock of Grandma’am’s passing. 

As you patted yourself dry with the soft white towel always hung on the gilded heating rack, you couldn’t help but wonder if this is what you deserved. You’d dragged everyone down. You hadn’t even been able to take proper care of grandma’am the last couple days of her life, or at least, Coriolanus wouldn’t let you. 

You sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Waited a couple more minutes. Got impatient again. You decided you might as well get dressed again before Eugenie came back, but the pile of clothes you’d left on the floor was already gone. In its place a peachy slip dress and a robe, with a pair of slippers to match. You sighed and slid on the matching set.

A few minutes later, she returned just on time. This time she just had a glass of water and a small yellow-ish pill in hand. You furrowed your brows a little, looking up at her. “What’s this for?” You inquired, silently scolding yourself as you heard the annoyance in your own voice. This wasn’t her fault, it’s Coriolanus you were upset with. “It’ll help the healing, Miss.” You simply nodded in return, washing down the small capsule with a sip of water before returning the glass to her.

Concern was written all over her face as she studied you for a couple seconds, discomfort forming in your gut. “I’ll be back in four hours with lunch. Master Coriolanus asked me to inform you that his personal stylist will pay you a visit tonight at six.” Her words came out tense and rushed, and you were left with no time to react before she stepped back and locked the door again. You weren’t sure why she was so out of it, or if you even wanted to know.

You were familiar with Coriolanus’ personal stylist. She’d been the one to prepare you for any of those important public appearances where your attendance was actually needed. Rumina, you believe her name was. She was not the type of person you’d expected to find working such a job - she was always well dressed, but always in a timeless, classic fashion rather than the bold, colourful looks that were all the rage this year. 

You supposed that might’ve been why your brother hired her in the first place. Beyond just that, she appeared to be in her fifties or sixties, whereas most stylists were much younger. The reason for that on the other hand, you couldn’t quite grasp. But despite her elegant exterior, you couldn’t stand her personality. She wouldn’t shut up about how delighted she was that somebody was finally ‘stepping up’ to truly restore Panem to its ‘former glory’. 

Truthfully you’d given up on politics long ago - you’d never been among the pick of the litter back at the Academy, largely thanks to being so caught up with caring for Grandma’am. Not to mention the way your last name seemed to precede you every time you entered a classroom - it was clear you had big shoes to fill, after your big brother’s academic achievements - which only drove you further away. So it was clear that wasn’t the right path for you. But at least, before Coriolanus’ presidency, you’d actually thought you might one day have a career of your own, something worth dedicating your life to. You just needed to heal and learn how to stand on your own two feet. 

Until he’d robbed you of that opportunity entirely. You didn’t even truly understand why, how it in any way actually served him. He had every reason to lock up Tigris, if he was simply worried about his own family turning on him. You’d never stood up to him in that sense before, or tried to distance yourself. He’d done a great job at that himself. If he genuinely believed you were so frail, he could’ve just left you in that penthouse to let you wither away in peace. He didn’t need to keep you so close to him.

Despite feeling about as rejuvenated as you could get under these circumstances after that bath, you felt a wave of drowsiness hit you. You laid back on the newly made bed, hoping to just fall back asleep. Instead you laid awake for nearly half an hour, staring at the canopy ceiling. Eventually you’d had enough.

You got up and walked over to your dresser, quickly pulling open your underwear drawer. You doubted that it was actually hidden, but you’d kept some old memorabilia from your childhood stashed in the shoe box at the very back of the drawer. Pictures of you and Grandma’am. Of all four of you who survived. Even a couple pictures of Coryo and your mom and dad together before you were born. 

There was a particular picture of them you just couldn’t stand. As far as you knew Coryo didn’t even remember the photograph’s existence. Mrs. Snow was sat next to your father, who stood up straight right by her side, with their newborn son in her arms. His gloved hand was steadily placed on her shoulder, but his face was about as devoid of any emotion as hers was of happiness. He had Coriolanus’ eyes - a pale shade of blue, cold and unforgiving. 

Your mother on the other hand, looked afraid, exhausted and tense. No amount of makeup was enough to hide the dark circles under her wide eyes. You’d always admired her beauty, and although you never had the chance to know her, you felt a sense of pride in the resemblance the two of you bore. You had her eyes, her smile, her lips. Even her hair, although hers was wavier than yours. Coriolanus always recalled her as a warm, loving mother, and you didn’t doubt that, but this picture always gave you the impression she had to have been wildly unprepared for the task of becoming a mom, and consequently disillusioned. Or worse.

Everyone always spoke fondly of her, of her charm and youthfulness, and you couldn’t help but wonder if they were simply tiptoeing around the word naive. You didn’t have any memories of your father either, but just from the few photographs you had of him he’d always instilled a sense of fear in you. You hated how much Coriolanus was starting to resemble him. 

Finally you got to the picture of Grandma’am holding you in her arms shortly after your mother passed. She was visibly shaken up, and both you and her worn hands were bloody. You’d been told many times of how close a call it was, how the family cook was convinced you wouldn’t make it. You could only imagine how she must’ve felt in that moment, holding her two weeks premature, frail granddaughter in her arms after watching her daughter-in-law lose her life.

It didn’t take long for you to start crying, something which only got worse as you scrambled through the rest of your small collection of family photos. The family fortune had run out awfully fast during the Dark Days, so there were hardly any taken during your childhood. The few you had left were mostly school photos and ones taken at various social events. Even though you couldn’t afford your own photographer, you’d always kept the unprocessed copies and had them processed and printed whenever you had some extra money to spare. Much to Coriolanus’ dismay you’d always been sentimental, just like your cousin.

You stayed like that for almost an hour. All those photos of you smiling in your brother's arms, the ones where he posed so proudly with his baby sister, made you feel nostalgic for something you’d hardly even experienced. You couldn’t grasp that this boy, your Coryo, could’ve gone from that prideful older brother you saw in those pictures to the man he was today. You wondered if Grandma’am had felt the same way bringing up Crassus.

When you finally got up from your seat on the floor, you carefully put the stack of photographs away again, along with the pearl necklace and perfume bottle you’d kept after Grandma’am’s passing, to remind you of her. You didn’t have anything tangible left of your parents, but you had fond memories of Coriolanus letting you sleep with your mother’s powder compact when you were younger. He’d always been possessive, though - only if you were really upset would he share it with you. 

You checked the time. Almost ten o’clock. You went off to your bathroom to splash your face with some cold water, shivering as you looked up and were met with the sight of the yellowing bruise on your cheek. You’d almost forgotten. At least it was healing quickly, like Eugenie promised. After nearly exhausting yourself with tears, your throat hoarse and eyes puffy and red, you finally felt tired enough to take a nap. So you did. You nearly threw yourself back onto the soft, queen size bed and let your eyes flutter shut.

When you woke again it was noon. This time Eugenie had gone unnoticed when she entered, as you only awoke when you heard the wheels of the food cart she wheeled in after herself awkwardly bumping into the threshold, making the porcelain inside clatter against itself. You were startled at first, but immediately calmed down when you realised it was just her. 

Soon enough lunch too had passed, and this time Eugenie stuck around to keep you company for a little while. She taught you how to knit, and you lent her your favourite book. For a moment you’d almost forgotten the gravity of the situation you were in. Until she scurried to get up, proclaiming she was late to laundry service. You glanced at the longcase clock across the room, a bit surprised to find it was already quarter past four in the evening. You had forty-five minutes until your brother’s stylist would turn up.

You spent that time trying to perfect your knitting technique, ignoring the stiffness in your hands as best as you could. You’d never excelled at crafts like Tigris did, or patience, for that matter.

Finally Rumina arrived, and you were almost relieved. She immediately started to babble on about the latest gossip, and as always, sang your brother’s praises. Though, today it was particularly unbearable, and you thought to yourself that someone working so closely with him and his image should know that it’s just that, an image. That your brother didn’t give a flying fuck about the districts, even if he had improved the living conditions of the tributes in the annual Hunger Games, and that he didn’t even really care about the Capitol either. You’d come to terms with the fact that Coriolanus was only loyal to one thing: power.

You had stayed silent as she blow dried, brushed and twisted and folded your hair up behind your head. When she was done she offered you a handheld mirror to have a look for yourself, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes when you were met with a tidy french twist. Of course your brother had chosen something conservative that’d thoroughly conceal the bloody lump he’d given you.

Then she had done your makeup. This time she laid the base on thicker than usual, but you weren’t surprised Coriolanus intended to hide your bruise, too. You wondered if it was for his own conscience’s sake or for his image. But it could hardly be the latter, you doubted he would let anyone see you so soon after last night’s events. Then again, you weren’t sure he even had a conscience, either.

When you were done, you looked perfectly rejuvenated. Though to you it felt like an empty shell. Rumina eagerly guided you out into your bedroom and helped you get dressed. It seemed your brother had picked out yet another tasteless, phoney dress that you’d feel nothing like yourself in. Much like the makeup it was more glamorous than you’d expected.

The material was flowy, probably something like chiffon, but it was perfectly cinched at your waist, the sweetheart neckline and the puffy fabric at your hips flattering your figure just right. There was some sort of built in corset that stopped just below your chest. The sleeves were long and puffy much like the skirt, which stopped just above your ankles. You knew Coriolanus was always up to whatever dress code applied, and something this elegant was hardly necessary for a simple dinner. 

But what really stood out to you was the colour. It was a deep shade of burgundy; one you’d seen on Coriolanus oh so many times. You felt your jaw clench. It was bad enough that he insisted on dressing you up, like a mere doll, but this was yet another jab at your independence and individuality. Like you were just an extension of him.

Still, complaining to his own stylist would be of no use, so you decided to suck it up and let her finish dressing you. She clasped a silver necklace around your neck, a garnet pendant in the shape of an octagon hanging from it, framed by more silver. It almost seemed compulsive how your brother just had to show off his wealth every chance he got. Finally you slid on some black velvet kitten heels and had a look in the mirror. 

You looked like something out of a gothic painting. (A tragedy, if you had to guess.) That wouldn’t be too unlike your current situation. Only there wouldn’t be a handsome, brooding young mythological hero to save you. No, your ‘prince charming’ had few positive attributes beyond just that - his superficial charm -, and no intention of saving you. 

You felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter as you walked down the stairs to the main floor, confusion spreading on your face as you saw one of Coriolanus’ many servants waiting for you at the bottom. He stiffly informed you that there’d been a change of plans, that he’d be escorting you to the larger dining room over in the east wing. You hadn’t even explored the house enough to know there were multiple.

When you arrived you quickly understood what the sudden change of plans was for. 

taglist: @caffeine-addict-slug, @phoward89, @catesbaroquecasahouse

[tonyglowheart]

Since you asked for clarification, I was asking under what circumstances, if any, you think it is morally unacceptable to ship fictional characters. But thank you for your previous response, I laughed.

oooh okay. well this gets thorny and tricky, as is the wont of anything to do with like morality and ethics and nonesuch.

I think it’s hard for me to say definitively there are circumstances where something is NEVER okay, ever, for every single person? I mean probably if we get down to it, I can start nuancing some limits…

hmmm okay I… may be straying outside my lane here, but I feel like an analogy can be made with kink-related stuff? Are you shipping for yourself or shipping to participate in a community? And is your community spilling over and disrupting others who maybe do not consent to be participating in some of the conventions of your community? which kind of gets to the “are you being an anti and harassing other people” kind of dealio. I mean, I’m not necessarily morally decrying, say, ship wars. I’m just saying that’s where I start thinking it gets shitty.

In terms of like… “what is your comfort level shipping one character and another”? …without any concrete examples, I’m inclined to say if they’re fictional, then they’re your playground. If you personally aren’t comfy with a ship, then don’t feel forced to participate in it, I think? But be aware if you ship something that other ppl may take offense to it, and their objections may be valid for themselves. If THEY start harassing YOU for something you ship, then they’re in the wrong. Like people want to make the argument that “fiction affects” reality, which I think is valid, but also I think arguments that that’s a fallacy are valid too on the basis that shipping communities form a relatively smaller facet of society and hardly affect overarching societal structures the way, say, compulsory heterosexuality and homophobia do.

RPS is also not my personal cup of tea generally, but I can see the appeal, and this starts getting a bit more sticky but like, again my view on this is like the kink thing, if you’re keeping it contained either to yourself or your community and aren’t harassing ppl about it, it’s… less bad? I mean RPS does get stickier because we’re dealing with real actual people who could be uncomfortable about what the RPS is in relation to them, without their consent.. But I’m hardly going to decry it completely as unilaterally immoral. (edit: OKAY I WAS SPEED-READING and only just saw the specification of “fictional characters” yeeaaahh whoops)

I’m glad you liked my other response tho lol, I was like… yeah asked cold, I had no clue how to respond. I mean, even now, I’m not really sure what brought this on and why me of all people (if you are genuinely asking because you trust my judgment then oh my god I am so sorry anon lmao).

I mean also, for context, I sit on like… a handful of Problematique™ ships lmao so I’m hardly going to start throwing stones (glass houses, etc etc ya know). And like. I can see why people would be uncomfortable with some of the ships I like(d)! And that’s fine, they’re allowed to do that! But also like. I like what I like lmao and I sure don’t have any, like, Catholic guilt about it. It’s more like.. being discrete because the prevailing atmosphere is just Rough and I want to avoid getting on like.. the purity wank crowd’s radar, just in case :’)

(okay I’m editing to add some more thoughts or ramblings or stream of consciousness I guess)

okay so. here’s the thing. I think there’s some things that SEEM like they’re a no-brainer. “no incest. no pedophilia. no abuse ships.” that spiel. But like. the thing is those things aren’t neeeecessarily as clear-cut as they may seem on the surface. Fiction is created; two characters that ended up siblings might have started off as childhood friends and then the author decided they worked better as siblings. Characters that were siblings up until the final draft might have ended up as neighbors. And god I don’t know if I’ve ranted or not about “abuse ships” but where do we even start with THAT. How do we even define what that is. Are we also, then, discounting some canon ships that perhaps have abusive overtones in some of the interactions? Like... a lot of the way straight dudes write straight relationships... to me can be read as kind of abusive.

My other gripe with “pedophilia” is the overuse of it as a moral signalling buzzword. Like, I get why! It’s visceral! it’s the kind of strawman that’s like “oh what, are you defending pedophilia?” but I also have seen it unironically used to describe a hypothetical relationship between a fictional 16 year old (the character wasn’t even 16 in the series) and someone else over 20. My dudes I’m p sure the 16-year-old is post-pubescent. Or at least I sure hope so.

Like ultimately, I think the thing with fictional character is like... they’re fiction. no individual persons were harmed in the imaginings of what’s happening with this fictional character. And with shipping and fanfic, I think it’s a character-driven genre (I think someone wrote a post about this some time?). I can see where characters can be simplified down to sets of tropes or character dynamics that can be compelling to people and make them want to imagine those dynamics in other settings. And it’s possible for some of the other things to become set-dressing.

Speaking to when I think it’s WRONG to ship something.... I guess most of my answers are “when it translates harmfully somehow into meatspace”? Like if someone is using shipping as performative activism, or shipping as relationship advice (which isn’t to say ALL shipping is bad as relationship advice). But like. The purpose of shipping is not relationship advice, so any relationship advice that comes out of shipping is incidental and like.. a pleasant byproduct. But I don’t think it should be an explicit goal or aspiration, to only ship what seems to be idealized. Also that just flat-out sounds boring to me lol. How can you have that sweet sweet H/C if you don’t have any H, ya know?

[halloweenvalentine1997]

Cupola Avenue

My lucidity died in the house I grew up in. I was raised in an arcane Hitchcock mansion with a cupola. There were no servants due to my guardian, Scarlett Freeland’s, illicit exploitation, and her fear of it being discovered. Therefore, she let everything collect dust. Her mansion was tall and monumental. It reminded me of a Halloween sticker decoration one puts on a windowpane. On our street, Cupola Avenue, named for the cupolas on each house, I suffered many seasons of violent turmoil at the hands of Scarlett. She owned a video camera that she balanced on top of a tripod and told me it was my “surveillance.” On several occasions, at the age of thirteen, I was raped by a multitude of strange men that Scarlett invited inside. She would put 80's hair metal on the stereo while they raped me and she sat in a red armchair, smoking numerous cigarettes. Sometimes, I wouldn’t get raped and instead it would be my deed, according to every person in the room, to kill a person in front of me. I’ve killed 37 people in Scarlett’s house, each one dissolved with acid in the cupola on film, and killed on film as well, before being doused with acid. Each time this event happened, it was recorded and burned onto a disc to be viewed on Scarlett’s TV. There were only two other houses on Cupola Avenue: the Tarringtons' house and the Miltons' house. Clyde Tarrington lived in a two-story house painted white with black shutters. He lived there with his daughter, Blithe. On their front door was a poster of a symbol that held a cryptic enchantment for me: a cross with an hourglass in the center of it. It always reminded me of their time running out. I had wanted to kill Blithe for so many years. I felt her to be prettier than me with her lustrous black hair and piercing green eyes. She always loved to remind me of how I would have been killed by my twin sister, Adele, had she lived. In the womb, she was the alpha and I was the omega. On a rainy day when lightning split the sky into slices, Adele and me were playing dress-up with red velvet gowns and silver high heels. We were twelve. I convinced her into a “baptism,” holding her head underwater. Despite my carrying the title of the omega twin, my newfound strength prevailed and she soon ceased to breathe.

When Scarlett found out, she didn’t seem to care. Neither did the rest of the neighborhood; they were always killing people. We melted her body into the floor of the cupola with acid. My name used to be Lillian Freeland, but once my twin was dead, I uncontrollably became someone named June. She came to me, like a doppelganger, looking exactly like me, but bearing no evil intentions. “I am here, and I am not leaving you,” June told me. I regret killing Adele despite her greater knowledge of schoolwork. We were both homeschooled and Scarlett never told us what she did for a living. I learned later on that she worked for the federal government.

My liberation from Scarlett’s persistent and unyielding abuse came on the day of my eighteenth birthday, April 17. After she made me read Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shallot” to two men, who raped me when I was done, and when they had left, I waited for Scarlett to go upstairs and watch one of her movies. I sauntered to the garage and snatched an axe, the same one Scarlett used in satanic rituals when she was young. I made the predatory ascent up the stairs and into her bedroom. Then, as though she were a chopping block and as though her sanguine bloodflow was sacred, I swung the axe down upon her skull. Hard. She was watching The Caretakers, a black and white movie about women in group therapy. She fell to the side, writhing in pain. I went to the front of the chair and brought the axe down upon her back until her spinal cord was severed and her tenebrous heart gave out. I left her there and ran back downstairs, screaming the whole way. Next, I opened Scarlett’s freezer and grabbed a carton of Marlboro 100's, lit one, and burned the subtle swastikas hidden in the patterns of an Oriental rug. I gazed around me, took in the contents of the living room: the Kit-Kat clock shaped like a black cat with bulging eyes, the white topaz chandelier, the gutted hearth, the period furniture. I decided it was time to leave my home behind forever. I grabbed a pink backpack and shoved the carton of cigarettes inside, along with a drawer full of working Bic lighters. I threw in three shirts, six pairs of socks, six pairs of underwear, two pairs of pants, a journal, a pen, and a gun. I topped off the luggage with some rubber vampire teeth I endeavored to save for a malevolent purpose: murdering Blithe Tarrington. I put my hand on the gun as I walked outside, holding it securely within the large pocket of my forest green trench coat. To my knowledge, the Miltons across the street were always killing people (Scarlett always said so.), but I didn’t know how they felt about Blithe. I didn’t care. I rang the doorbell, staring down the cross and hourglass on the door’s poster. Luckily, Blithe answered the door. I pulled out the gun, and her face became as stricken as one being lashed with a switch. “Get inside,�� I gnashed, pushing her onto the floor  and slamming the door behind me. “And don’t get up. Don’t even talk.” She talked anyway. “Lillian, please don’t kill me. You don’t have to - “ “But I want to, and I can, and I will kill you and nothing will ever be able to resurrect you!” “What’s going on with that Freeland bitch? Why is she in my house?” screamed Clyde, who had just descended the stairs. I shot him in the head, and he slumped over, instantaneously dead. “You’ve been killing people in this house for years, and it’s time to go!” I vociferated over her harrowed wailing. “Now, put these in.” I unzipped my backpack and handed her the rubber vampire teeth. She stared at me, wide-eyed with feral fear. She did nothing. She said nothing. “Your mouth, dummy. Put them in your mouth.” I handed her the teeth, and she took them from me and placed them over her own toothpaste commercial-white teeth.

“You look the very caricature of Halloween,” I said, laughing as I blew out her brains. The remains flew against the wall and painted an inkblot test of blood smears everywhere. I walked into Blithe’s bedroom after I was sure she was dead, and saw a purple canopied bed, a bookshelf filled with many classic and contemporary novels, among them: the Brontes, Oscar Wilde, Theodore Dreiser, Jane Austen, Anais Nin, D.H. Lawrence. I grabbed Nin’s House of Incest, Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray and Charlotte Bronte’s Villette, and left the house. I didn’t make it very far. I was down the road not very far when I was arrested.  I always feared them coming for me. I fell onto the asphalt, scabbing my knees and not feeling it. I denied what was happening. I muttered to myself incoherently. “We know you killed some people, Lillian.” “My name is June,” was all that I said before my mind shut off and I suddenly woke up vegetative in a jail cell.

******************************************************

Eventually, I was labelled not guilty by reason of insanity. The police found Scarlett’s recordings and the recordings that the Miltons and the Tarringtons made of their own killings when I told them about the neighborhood, and what Scarlett had done to me. One day, I will get out of the forensics services ward, where the criminally insane are housed. I have spent many nights here, remembering the death and ravagings, my hair coiling like Medusa’s on the pillow of the restraint bed, the leather straps leaving black bruises on my wrists. Every night, I pray to God and Jesus and all the saints that ever were that I’ll be forgiven for my killings, and be accepted into a realm I can call heaven. My lucidity will live again, resurged.

- Vivica Salem

[oldkindandtheverylastofyourkind]

JonxSansa Remix 2017 Day 6- Hamilton and Eliza

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

           Let me tell you what I wish I’d known

           When I was young and dreamed of glory

           You have no control

           Who lives, who dies, who tells your story

The fallen leaves cracked under the boots of the former Lady of Winterfell as she slowly made her way to the crypts beneath her home. She found herself coming here more and more often as yet another winter approached. It would be her tenth winter- and something told her- her last. She had come here often over the years to visit her deceased family members- her father, her brother, her sister, her son. Today, however, she was here to visit her husband, Jon Snow.

Every other founding father story gets told

Every other founding father gets to grow old

But when you’re gone, who remembers your name?

Who keeps your flame?

Who tells your story?

After Jon and his allies had prevailed in the war for their future, Daenerys Targaryen had been unanimously elected in Westeros’s historic free-election. For the first time ever, every citizen in Westeros, from the high lords in their castles, to the common people in their modest houses, had chosen their ruler. The Mother of Westeros, as she had affectionately been known as, ruled the country wisely for twenty years before deciding to step down to spend the rest of her life in peace at her home in Dragonstone. Sansa could not imagine a ruler that could have been more admired, respected, and revered than their first elected-ruler, Daenerys Targaryen. She would forever be known as a Mother to her country.  

           Those twenty prosperous years under Daenerys’s rule had been tumultuous, but mostly happy ones for Sansa and her family. After the War of the Dawn, and Jon’s true parentage had been revealed, he and Sansa had married to rule as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. There had been some talk to crown them King and Queen in the North, but in the end, they decided to trust Daenerys and the democratic process. They believed Westeros would be stronger if it were united as one instead of split up into seven different kingdoms.

Jon and Sansa were deeply in love and thrilled that they no longer had to be ashamed of their true feelings. Arya had been a bit hesitant, but she was happy that Jon would be in her life as her brother once again. After their wedding, children soon followed. They had four children, two boys and two girls. The first-born had been a boy which Jon and Sansa enthusiastically agreed to name Robb, after their dearly departed brother. Sansa would remember the feeling of holding her son in her arms for the first time for the rest of her life and beyond. Sansa loved all of her children equally, of course, but Robb was particularly special to her simply because he was her first.

That’s why it had hurt her so deeply when Robb died as young and as tragically as his namesake. Robb was nothing if not an honorable and dutiful son. When other boys started calling the Lord of Winterfell an adulterer and Robb a product of incest, he knew he had to challenge them to a duel. When Robb came to his father seeking advice, Jon had told him to be as honorable as his grandfather by laying down his weapon to settle the dispute. This advice, which Robb followed to a T, ended up costing him his life.

In her heartbreak and grief, it took Sansa months to forgive Jon for the part he played, but forgive him she did. After all, part of the reason she loved him so much was that he was always as honorable as her Lord Father. Always. It wasn’t long before Jon found himself involved in another duel. This time Jon himself was defending the honor of the newest ruler of Westeros, Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island. In his bid to be as honorable as Lord Eddard, Jon was struck down by Cersei Lannister’s sole surviving heir who believed that the seat of ruling in Westeros belonged to him by right.

I put myself back in the narrative

I stop wasting time on tears

I live another fifty years

It’s not enough

For months after Jon’s death, Sansa was angry at the Old Gods for taking away her eldest son and her husband within such a short amount of time. But she realized that she didn’t want to spend her remaining time mourning them. She wanted to do something productive. She wanted to feel connected to Jon even if he was no longer with her physically. She wanted the entire world to know of his accomplishments, as well as his bravery and kindness. So, she dried her tears and steadied herself for what was to come next. She had so much to do.      

I interview every soldier who fought by your side

She tells our story

As her bastard brother, and then her cousin, and finally her husband, Sansa always knew that the man she loved was capable of great things. But she was only one person and she only knew one side of the story. To truly understand her husband, Sansa knew she would have to dig deeper. She talked to Sam Tarly, the Maester of Winterfell, and asked him to tell her everything he knew about Jon. She traveled North to the Wall to talk with those former brothers of Jon who remained. She traveled South to King’s Landing to talk to Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister, Missandei, and Grey Worm. She talked to anyone and everyone who had any experience fighting with or under Jon - Tormund Giantsbane, Davos Seaworth, even Gendry Waters, her sister’s husband. But of course, the person Sansa relied on the most relies on to tell her every detail about Jon was her brother Bran, the Three-Eyed Raven.

I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writing

You really do write like you’re running out of time

Sansa also spent days and nights buried in Jon’s solar reading everything he ever wrote. Every letter, every correspondence, every decree, every personal journal entry. Sansa could not believe how much Jon wrote. Almost as if he knew his time was limited.  

I rely on Angelica

While she’s alive, we tell your story

She’s buried in Trinity Church near you

When I needed her most, she was right on time

Despite telling herself that she came here to visit Jon, Sansa found herself lingering in front of her sister’s statue and getting lost in another memory as she was so apt to do these days.  

One night, as Sansa is reading through yet another correspondence between Jon and Daenerys Targaryen, her sister enters the solar. Sansa is so wrapped up in reading every word Jon ever wrote that she doesn’t even look up. Arya sits on the floor next to Sansa and takes her hands in hers. This is what finally makes Sansa look at her sister. Arya can see how blood-shot her sister’s eyes are and the bags under them that Sansa cannot hide.

Arya sighs and whispers, “Sansa, you don’t have to do this alone. I may not have been married to him, but that doesn’t mean I loved him less. After all, in a way, he was mine before he was yours.”

Sansa just looks at her blankly.

Arya continues, “Let me help you tell his story. I want to make sure his legacy is preserved, too.”

As realization dawns in Sansa’s eyes, her lips spread into a smile. She pulls her sister into a hug and whispers, “Thank you, Arya.”

As Arya pulls back, she asks, “So, can I help you sort through this reading material?”

Sansa thinks for a minute before replying, “Actually, have you ever talked to Gendry about what happened North of the Wall?”  

Arya had died ten years ago from a fever. It wasn’t traditional for statues to be made of family members who were not Kings in the North or Lords of Winterfell. However, her lord father had broken tradition by having a statue made for his deceased siblings Brandon and Lyanna. Sansa had felt that Arya had done so much for their family and for her in particular, that she deserved to have a statue made of her just as much as their aunt and uncle, if not more. And so Arya Stark would forever rest beside Jon in the crypts underneath Winterfell.  

And I’m still not through

I ask myself, “What would you do if you had more time?”

The Lord, in his kindness

He gives me what you always wanted

He gives me more time

Sansa had scoured the North to find a skilled artist who actually knew what Jon had looked like. She didn’t want a repeat of her father’s statue. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life staring at a piece of rock that did a poor job of imitating her husband. This slab of concrete was a poor substitute for Jon’s warmth, his comforting smile, and the crinkle in his eyes. Still, it was all she had left. As Sansa looked into the stone eyes of the freshly made statue for the first time, she wondered what her next move should be. She whispered into the quiet air of the crypts, “What would you do if you had more time, my love? What should I do with mine?”

I raise funds in D.C. for the Washington Monument

She tells my story

I speak out against slavery

You could have done so much more if you only had time

Sansa travels to King’s Landing to ask the newly elected ruler, the son of Lady Brienne and Sir Jaime, to commission a statue celebrating Westeros’s first elected ruler, Daenerys Targaryen.

“My Lord, my late husband believed in Daenerys’s vision for this country. She brought us back from the brink of ruin and established the peace and prosperity that we are still enjoying today. Across the Narrow Sea, she ended the inhuman practice of slavery in the area that is now known as The Bay of Dragons. I beg you to build a statue in King’s Landing to honor her and her achievements.”  

“Lady Stark, the efforts of your husband and aunt have not gone unrecognized. Moreover, my mother has warned me repeatedly to never deny Sansa Stark anything, lest I want to start a fight that I will most surely lose. Your request will be granted.”

And when my time is up, have I done enough?

Will they tell our story?

Sansa sits alone in her solar one evening staring into the fire, trying to think of her next project. What did Jon love the most? Me and the kids, Sansa thought bitterly as tears threatened to come to her eyes. But, then, the answer came to her. Jon’s most passionate cause. His biggest complaint about his own life. Of course, it was so simple.

I establish the first private orphanage in New York City

I help to raise hundreds of children

I get to see them growing up

In their eyes, I see you, Alexander

I see you every time

Sansa establishes the first private orphanage in the North, as well as helps to clean up the ones in King’s Landing. Sansa knows how lost Jon felt growing up, not knowing his mother, and never being able to be a true son to his father. Jon was lucky to grow up at Winterfell, but he still felt alone in his youth, even in a castle as large and crowded as Winterfell. Sansa wondered if he would have felt more at home with other orphans or other bastards who didn’t have a place in the world- just like him. The idea makes her sad, but happy at the same time.

The orphanage, called Winter’s Children, was built in the only city in the North, White Harbor. Sansa was needed at Winterfell, still being its lady, but she spent as much time at Winter’s Children as she could. She loved meeting the children and watching them grow up and eventually leave to make their way in the world. And she always saw Jon reflected in their eyes. At first, she only saw Jon’s lack of direction, insecurity, and anger. But as the children grew, she saw Jon’s kindness, strength, bravery, and perseverance. In those moments, she felt closer to Jon than she did when she started at his statue in the crypts. She was wrong when she thought that Jon’s lifeless statue was all she had left of him. As long as Jon’s spirit was alive in these children, then he was, too.

And when my time is up

Have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

Sansa stood in front of Jon’s statue for nearly an hour before she spoke.

“Hello, my love. For fifty years, I have tried my best to make sure people remember your name centuries from now. You are the most incredible person I have ever met and all I want is for your accomplishments to be recognized. And I’m not sure I did enough.”

“You did.”

A new voice cut through the empty crypt.

Surprised, Sansa gave a squeak and jerked back.

“Sorry, Sansa, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Sansa turned to her side and saw a familiar figure slowly approaching her. He was very large and very round with a strong white beard. He had become a dominating figure from the boy who came to Winterfell so many years ago.      

“That’s alright, Sam,” Sansa replied to her friend.

They stood in silence for a few minutes before Sam said, “Jon would be so proud of everything you have accomplished.”

Sansa turned her face to look at him. “I certainly like to think so.”

“He would. No doubt about it. History had its eyes on you two and the world will know your names.”

“I hope so,” Sansa said.

Then, Winterfell’s Maester pulled something from behind his back.

“I want to show you this,” he said.

“What is it?” Sansa asked.

“I’m calling it A Song of Ice and Fire. It’s the story of Westeros around the time of the War of the Five Kings and the War for the Dawn. It’s the story of your family and the Lannisters and the Targaryens. It’s the story of Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister, and Sansa Stark. Through this book, the world will know his story. Yours, too.”’

“Mine’s not important,” Sansa said.

“It is,” Sam urged. “It’s more important. Jon Snow was a great man, but you proved that women don’t need husbands to accomplish great things. You will be remembered by history, not as Jon Snow’s wife, but as a hero in your own right. This book will make sure of it.”

Sansa started to cry as she threw her arms around the maester.

“Thank you, Sam,” she whispered against his beard. “Thank you so much.”

I can’t wait to see you again

It’s only a matter of time

Sansa Stark died in her sleep that night. She died as she lived, surrounded by those that loved her. But the North’s daughter was never forgotten. Thanks to A Song of Ice and Fire Jon Snow and Sansa Stark went down in history as two of the North’s most legendary and loved historical figures.

Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?

[mcjulf]

d church is now making foul to urinate & toad to run for nothing at day times,how then can u best explain d sacrilege that smokers,fornicators,remarried divorcees who are perpetual adulterers/sinners are pastors,preachers,evangelist,bishops,general overseers confirmed holighost carriers.what an irony!even when our father said be ye Holy bcos GOD is Holy,without Holiness,no man can see HIM.4ur body is d temple of GOD&whosover defiles d temple,him shall GOD destroy.as Eden was given 2 Adam&Eve 2 cherish&nurture,so our bodies individually as d home of GOD was given to each person 2 cherish,nurture,dress&keep.what is d problem of man that made him say 2 hell with d duty of GOD&prefer 2 go against GOD?d same game d devil played against Adam&Eve concerning dea duty@Eden,he is playing on man 2day.instead of dressing,keeping,cherishing d body,mankind is defiling it with phantasmic phantasmagoric impunity.d 2 nations dat came 4rm Isaac are vivid example of mankind 2day,Jacobians d transformed Isrealtes&Esaurians d degenerated Edomites.in all d strugles of Jacob,he worked into d hall of fame amoung d descendants of d lion of d tribe of judah.he made good preparation 2 leave home but @d point of rest,he threw away comfort&chose inconvenience like Daniel,Hananiah,Mishael&Azariah who refuse d kings meal 4 spiritual warfare.he slept with stone,battled&put himself in d sportlight of GOD.4rm then on GOD defined his life 4 him hence what he became.but Esau left home in rebellion&stubbornness. Genesis 36:1 Now these are the generations of Esau, who is Edom. Genesis 36:2 Esau took his wives of the daughters of Canaan; Adah the daughter of Elon the Hittite, and Aholibamah the daughter of Anah the daughter of Zibeon the Hivite; 36:3 And Bashemath Ishmael's daughter, sister of Nebajoth. 36:4 And Adah bare to Esau Eliphaz; and Bashemath bare Reuel; 36:5 And Aholibamah bare Jeush, and Jaalam, and Korah: these are the sons of Esau, which were born unto him in the land of Canaan. 36:6 And Esau took his wives, and his sons, and his daughters, and all the persons of his house, and his cattle, and all his beasts, and all his substance, which he had got in the land of Canaan; and went into the country from the face of his brother Jacob. Genesis 36:9 And these are the generations of Esau the father of the Edomites in mount Seir: 36:10 These are the names of Esau's sons; Eliphaz the son of Adah the wife of Esau, Reuel the son of Bashemath the wife of Esau. 36:11 And the sons of Eliphaz were Teman, Omar, Zepho, and Gatam, and Kenaz. 36:12 And Timna was concubine to Eliphaz Esau's son; and she bare to Eliphaz Amalek: these were the sons of Adah Esau's wife. 36:13 And these are the sons of Reuel; Nahath, and Zerah, Shammah, and Mizzah: these were the sons of Bashemath Esau's wife. 36:14 And these were the sons of Aholibamah,the daughter of Anah the daughter of Zibeon, Esau's wife: and she bare to Esau Jeush, and Jaalam, and Korah. 36:15 These were dukes of the sons of Esau: the sons of Eliphaz the firstborn son of Esau; duke Teman, duke Omar, duke Zepho, duke Kenaz,what do u think d fusion of Esau&Ishmael could bring?dis are d most agrieved of d same lineage,how does d names sound?bokoharamic&isis.d fusion of Ishmael&Esau is d effect of d amalgamation of bokoharam&isis u witness 2day.d greatest wars are d wars amoung brothers especially of them that do not hv CHRIST who choose 2 defile d temple @will.they lost d ability 4 mind transformation&renewal. Genesis 36:16 Duke Korah, duke Gatam, and duke Amalek: these are the dukes that came of Eliphaz in the land of Edom; these were the sons of Adah.dis wea they that fought Isreal standstill. Exodus 17:8 Then came Amalek, and fought with Israel in Rephidim. 17:9 And Moses said unto Joshua, Choose us out men, and go out, fight with Amalek: to morrow I will stand on the top of the hill with the rod of God in mine hand. 17:10 So Joshua did as Moses had said to him, and fought with Amalek: and Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up to the top of the hill. 17:11 And it came to pass, when Moses held up his hand, that Israel prevailed: and when he let down his hand, Amalek prevailed. 17:12 But Moses' hands were heavy; and they took a stone, and put it under him, and he sat thereon; and Aaron and Hur stayed up his hands, the one on the one side, and the other on the other side; and his hands were steady until the going down of the sun. 17:13 And Joshua discomfited Amalek and his people with the edge of the sword. 17:14 And the LORD said unto Moses, Write this for a memorial in a book, and rehearse it in the ears of Joshua: for I will utterly put out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven. 17:15 And Moses built an altar, and called the name of it Jehovahnissi: 17:16 For he said, Because the LORD hath sworn that the LORD will have war with Amalek from generation to generation. Deuteronomy 25:16 For all that do such things, and all that do unrighteously, are an abomination unto the LORD thy God. 25:17 Remember what Amalek did unto thee by the way, when ye were come forth out of Egypt; 25:18 How he met thee by the way, and smote the hindmost of thee, even all that were feeble behind thee, when thou wast faint and weary; and he feared not God. 25:19 Therefore it shall be, when the LORD thy God hath given thee rest from all thine enemies round about, in the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee for an inheritance to possess it, that thou shalt blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven; thou shalt not forget it.deas certainly no difference 4rm d beheading&executions carried out by d isis&bokoharam u see 2day.one is very good with sword&d other with bomb. Numbers 24:20 And when he looked on Amalek, he took up his parable, and said, Amalek was the first of the nations; but his latter end shall be that he perish for ever. 1 Samuel 15:1 Samuel also said unto Saul, The LORD sent me to anoint thee to be king over his people, over Israel: now therefore hearken thou unto the voice of the words of the LORD. 15:2 Thus saith the LORD of hosts, I remember that which Amalek did to Israel, how he laid wait for him in the way, when he came up from Egypt.15:3 Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman,infant &suckling,ox&sheep,camel&ass.but Saul by disobedient&stubbornness failed bcos of lust of d eyes&world. 1 Samuel 15:32 Then said Samuel, Bring ye hither to me Agag the king of the Amalekites. And Agag came unto him delicately. And Agag said, Surely the bitterness of death is past. 15:33 And Samuel said, As thy sword hath made women childless, so shall thy mother be childless among women. And Samuel hewed Agag in pieces before the LORD in Gilgal. 15:34 Then Samuel went to Ramah; and Saul went up to his house to Gibeah of Saul. 15:35 And Samuel came no more to see Saul until the day of his death: nevertheless Samuel mourned for Saul: and the LORD repented that he had made Saul king over Israel.bcos u hv defiled d temple,ur only good 4 destruction.can u see GOD regretting that HE made u?when will u be tired of that nakedness,nudity,lesbianism,homosexuality,incest,bestiality,masturbation,divorce,cheating,lies,murder,hate,witchcraft,cultism?why would u let ur carrea drag u into it?do u want GOD 2 do 2 u what they did 2 Agag?repent or u perish.stay Holistically JESUS-tic.

[stevejehovahbible]

Genesis 7

1  And the Lord said unto Noah, Come thou and all thy house into the ark; for thee have I seen righteous before me in this generation. 
If Noah is the only righteous man, why is God saving his family? They’re not listed as righteous, or in God’s favor. And if God is going to make an exception for them, why not do the same for at least a few other people so the Earth doesn’t have to be repopulated through incest? 


2  Of every clean beast thou shalt take to thee by sevens, the male and his female: and of beasts that are not clean by two, the male and his female. 3  Of fowls also of the air by sevens, the male and the female; to keep seed alive upon the face of all the earth. 
Now we have different numbers of animals than He listed before. Originally, in Genesis 6:19-20 He said a pair of every animal. One male, one female. Now He says 7 pair of clean animals (so 14 of them), and two pair of the unclean animals (so 4 of them). Why can’t God keep his numbers straight? Also, he makes no mention of the animals coming to Noah like he did in the last chapter.


4  For yet seven days, and I will cause it to rain upon the earth forty days and forty nights; and every living substance that I have made will I destroy from off the face of the earth. 5  And Noah did according unto all that the Lord commanded him. God gives Noah a week to load up the ark, and it takes him the entire week to complete the task. Some people suggest this is God’s final act of mercy before the flood, giving everyone a final week to repent. That doesn’t seem to make much sense, but that hasn’t stopped anything so far! Observation would lead you to believe that it would be IMPOSSIBLE to flood the earth with rain over 40 days, and even if you could, atmospheric conditions wouldn’t allow for a consistent 40 days of worldwide rainfall. How do we get around this logical barricade? Simple. Remember the firmament from earlier? Well, we’re asked to accept that God just opened that up and dumped all the water being held back onto the earth. Because EVERYTHING that defies logic can be explained away with mental gymnastics and baseless assertions. either God planed to exterminate the human race before he even created the first human being (contemplate THAT for a second!) or He’s just pulling a Macgyver and using whatever happens to be lying around to accomplish his impulsive genocide. Neither one of those fits with the Christian idea of God.      

6  And Noah was six hundred years old when the flood of waters was upon the earth.
 So, if we take the text literally, Noah had tripletts when he was 500 years old. Not 499 or 501. Exactly his 500th year. And God came to him AFTER his sons were born (Genesis 6:10-13) and told him all this was going to go down. So they have less than 100 years to complete this project. We’re not told exactly when the boat construction begins, but you can at least guess that Noah didn’t have 3 infants running around with hammers. If we accept that they’d be at least 20 years old, then we have 80 years at maximum for 4 men and 4 women - 8 people - to complete this task while simultaneously living their lives. Ken Ham’s Ark Encounter project employed over 1000 craftsmen using modern equipment, cost over $100 million to create, and still took 3 and a half years to complete. That means that the Ark Encounter had 125 times the manpower that Noah used to build his boat. Even if you ignore the boost from modern equipment that Noah and his family didn’t have access to, that would suggest that it would have taken Noah almost 400 years to complete his Ark, not 80. Math! It is also (apparently) a Satanic conspiracy!       


7  And Noah went in, and his sons, and his wife, and his sons' wives with him, into the ark, because of the waters of the flood. 8  Of clean beasts, and of beasts that are not clean, and of fowls, and of every thing that creepeth upon the earth, 9  There went in two and two unto Noah into the ark, the male and the female, as God had commanded Noah. 
Actually, that’s only one of the contradictory numbers of Animals God commanded him to take. Now we have 2 pair (so 4 total) of every animal. Remember, Genesis 6 says to take a pair of all the animals. Verse 2 and 3 of THIS SAME CHAPTER says to take 14 clean animals and 4 unclean animals. Now we’re told that it’s 4 of every kind of animal. This also paints a picture of animals boarding the Ark as it begins to rain, which is weird because God gave Noah a week to get them situated BEFORE the flood.


10  And it came to pass after seven days, that the waters of the flood were upon the earth. 11  In the six hundredth year of Noah's life, in the second month, the seventeenth day of the month, the same day were all the fountains of the great deep broken up, and the windows of heaven were opened. 12  And the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights. 13  In the selfsame day entered Noah, and Shem, and Ham, and Japheth, the sons of Noah, and Noah's wife, and the three wives of his sons with them, into the ark; 14  They, and every beast after his kind, and all the cattle after their kind, and every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind, and every fowl after his kind, every bird of every sort. 15  And they went in unto Noah into the ark, two and two of all flesh, wherein is the breath of life. 16  And they that went in, went in male and female of all flesh, as God had commanded him: and the Lord shut him in.
 So it says here that Noah, his family, and all the animals went into the ark “in the selfsame day” as the beginning of the flood waters. Again, this just isn’t possible. You can’t have a procession of 2 (or is it 4? Or 14?) of every kind of animals entering a boat as a worldwide flood breaks on the earth. People would panic and rush the ark. The animals would get spooked by “the fountains of the deep being broken up, and the windows of heaven being opened.” This is suggesting volcanic activity and torrential storms, but we’re asked to accept that animals are calmly walking onto a boat during this, and that no-one else attempted to fight their way onto the ark? Suuuuuuure…. And then why did God shut them into the ark? Noah opens the door by himself later, but God had to shut it for them? Weird.   


17  And the flood was forty days upon the earth; and the waters increased, and bare up the ark, and it was lift up above the earth. 18  And the waters prevailed, and were increased greatly upon the earth; and the ark went upon the face of the waters. 19  And the waters prevailed exceedingly upon the earth; and all the high hills, that were under the whole heaven, were covered. 20  Fifteen cubits upward did the waters prevail; and the mountains were covered.
 Mountains. Supposedly the rain covered the earth to the point that the highest mountains were 22 feet beneath the water. The highest mountain in that area would have been Ararat (where the ark eventually settles) which has an elevation of over 17000 feet. Now, it has been suggested that if we wanted to cover the globe with a single layer of paint, we would need upwards of 14.6 trillion gallons (surface area of the earth is 196.9 millions sq miles, and a typical gallon of paint covers 350-400 sq ft). And all of this would be just enough to cover the earth in a thin sheet. In order to flood the earth, the volume of water needed would be astronomical. There would be irrefutable proof of this kind of flooding. Proof that could be measured, documented, and would need to be universally accepted. Instead we find the same level of proof offered for everything else in the bible. Tedious links, coincidences mistaken as divine intervention, misunderstood facts, misapplied data. I wish I could say this was surprising, but it isn’t. One further point: if the flooding covered the mountains, it could not be a localized flood as some claim. Nice try, but no. The bible is clearly suggesting a worldwide flood.        


21  And all flesh died that moved upon the earth, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of beast, and of every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth, and every man: 22  All in whose nostrils was the breath of life, of all that was in the dry land, died. 23  And every living substance was destroyed which was upon the face of the ground, both man, and cattle, and the creeping things, and the fowl of the heaven; and they were destroyed from the earth: and Noah only remained alive, and they that were with him in the ark. 24  And the waters prevailed upon the earth an hundred and fifty days. We’re treated to ANOTHER repetition of how everything dies. Because we didn’t get it the last dozen times. We’re then told that they (Noah, his family, all the animals) are in the ark for a total of 150 days - about 5 months - before the flood waters subside. They must have had a fantastic water filtration system to be able to get fresh water for all those animals for that amount of time, right? They must have also packed a bunch of that Lembas bread Tolkin wrote about, because otherwise I’m not sure how they could have fed all the animals for that long.