#he's a wonderful person and gave us a really good sermon

[sleepyheadnat]

Dear pastors, you already have a mic. There's no need to shout into it. You sound like Funtime Foxy when you preach o(TヘTo)

[comingdownwithme]

Mind giving us some headcanons for the woods brothers? Please and thank you

IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ASK OUGHH LOVE THE WOODS BROTHERS

Anyways, changed a few things about them and their story (a lot for Liu), so uhh I hope you don't mind all that ousgdhdhdh

Jeff the Killer

The Woods- like all families- weren't perfect, but they all tried their best despite the fact. They played their roles, attended church every Sunday when they could, and most importantly, they loved each other, and Jeffery Hodak Woods wouldn't have changed a thing.

Still, fate doesn't bend to what we want, does it?

After drastic changes and loss after crushing loss had driven the eldest Woods son to madness, Jeff wondered if those sermons truly meant anything when he damned himself to hell the moment he crawled out of the new house he was supposed to call home and decided that three men were about to pay for what they did.

Struggled with Intrusive thoughts his whole life, and though his parents meant well, being raised thinking that every awful thought was a product of the devil himself left Jeff to internalise a few things.

Speaking of internalising a few things! Internalised homophobia! Being raised in a religious, conservative household in the early 2000s is gonna do that to you lmao

He's got a Southern accent. After reading one fanfic I literally can't hear Jeff with anything else and it's a curse I must bear alone </3

Even before the incident, he's always had a bit of a gummy smile, his ruined cheeks just made his grin wider which emphasised it more.

Smoker since he was a teen, though his parents never knew that. He vaguely smells of tobacco and iron.

Is a damn good cook and huntsr. He learned the former from his mom alongside Liu, and learned the latter from his dad, but after the incident (and the fact he's basically homeless), he doesn't cook unless he truly has to due to his Pyrophobia. The only fire he can tolerate are from his lighter.

He does still use his hunting skills though, both for his targets and for, y'know, food if he's some place rural. He's kinda gross and feral though, so when desperate times call for desperate measures, well, it's not the first time he's eaten roadkill.

His burn scars are mainly isolated to his left side, though they stretch a little past half of his back.

Paints his nails black when he can. His nails and his knife are the only two things he consistently takes care of lmao

Targets anyone. He knows most people will be missed, and he doesn't want to suffer with his grief alone.

Gave himself that sick Glasgow smile when he was facing an especially bad period of grief, and since he wasn't raised in the most emotionally open household, he wasn't equipped to handle his own feelings. The end product was rough and jagged from the pain, but at least he could still smile all pretty like his mom told him to.

Jeff woke up surrounded by fire, unable to scream amidst the rubble and smoke as it threatened to suffocate him. Sometimes, when he sleeps, he relives that moment, leading him to be terrified of sleeping. He attempts to solve this by cutting off the lids of his eyes, but he pussied out before he could finish the job, leaving himself half-blind when his fucked eye dried up.

I HAVE... SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT JEFF BEING RAISED IN A RELIGIOUS HOUSEHOLD AND GENUINELY BELIEVING HE WAS POSSESSED OR TARGETED BY THE DEVIL AT A YOUNG AGE... IMAGINE, WAKING UP IN UNIMAGINABLE PAIN AS FIRE FLOODS YOUR VISION, AND THINKING THAT "This is it. I really am damned to hell."

IMAGINE CRAWLING OUT OF THAT OUT OF SHEER FORCE OF WILL, AND AS YOU LOOK UPON THE GOLDEN FLAMES THAT SPROUT FROM YOUR HOME, BELIEVING THAT YOU'RE NOT THE SAME PERSON YOU WERE, AND THAT YOU'RE A DEMON PARADING IN DEFORMED, HUMAN FLESH

THAT THE FIRE HAD REVEALED WHO YOU REALLY WERE ALL ALONG, AND THAT THERE'S NOTHING MORE YOU COULD DO BUT SUCCUMB

Liu Woods

Growing up, Liu had always been close to his older brother. He could rely on him, and Jeff, in turn, could always rely on Liu, though the younger of the two always knew that his older brother could never truly be vulnerable with him, nor could he compare to just how much Jeff had done for him growing up.

One day though, a while after they've moved, a fresh start for a new life, Liu takes the chance to protect his older brother just as he had done for him, though he'd come to regret that choice when- while in juvenile detention- Liu finds out that his home was gone, alongside his parents, and at the center of it all was the brother he tried to protect.

With the loss of his parents, Liu went around in different foster homes, though he never truly felt like he was part of their families growing up.

As he grew up, he managed to graduate and become a detective, both to help people amidst a growing amount of murders and missing persons cases, and to find and hunt down Jeff.

He'd rather die than admit it, but he does miss Jeff, and he could feel an awful, sinking feeling within him at the thought of hurting him. In the end though, his morality wins over

When he first met his brother in person, Liu recognised Jeff immediately. Jeff, however, did not. Liu was overpowered, and it was only until he had already carved through Liu's cheek did Jeff realise what he had just done. The doctors say that Liu shouldn't have survived then with how much blood he had lost, but thankfully, someone was there to help. Though when the paramedics came, all they found was Liu, alone and unconscious.

Hates the smell of tobacco.

His southern accent isn't as noticeable as Jeff's, but it's more obvious in the way he says certain words or when he's angry.

Has intrusive thoughts, though he's more capable of dealing with them compared to a certain someone. Doesn't make them easier to deal with though, and that doesn't make the guilt he suffers through any less of a burden, especially as an officer of the law.

[kafkaoftherubble]

Hi! I've really enjoyed your tags on the reblog of the screencaps of The Believers on my sideblog @nonkunchanon. I was wondering what are your thoughts on Monk Dol's next move now that he's been rejected by Dear, whether he would disrobe or not. And I think Pup will be back for The Believers Season 2 though, since at least according to this interview, it seems like Pup is ready to shave his head again to be Monk Dol. Also do you think Win has any feelings for Dear?

HOLY SHIT. With this ask you've basically allowed me to ramble about The Believers. THANK YOU THANK YOU SADHU X100 Also, Pup has an interview?! And he's ready to be Monk Dol again?!

SADHU X1000. Thank you for linking it, fella appreciator!

Okay. I'll tell you what I think, but you're gonna have to reblog this and tell me what you think too, because I'm also interested in your thoughts!!!

---

Monk Dol's next move

Okay! There are two perspectives I can go for: the showrunners' + actor's, and the character's. Judging from both Thai and international fans' reviews and reception, Monk Dol is a really, really popular character, isn't he (who can blame him)? Popularity usually incentivizes bringing a character back for Season 2, and Pup does seem pretty happy playing the character. All that means there are really good grounds to think he'll return, ahahhaha! I'm with you on this one!

However! From the character's perspective, it's a bit more nuanced, methinks!

I, uh, study Buddhist Philosophy for fun, so I can tell you that the biggest reason why I like Monk Dol is that every single dhamma talk/sermon he gave, as well as his character traits and personality, are aligned with Buddhism. In a show criticizing the commercialization of Thai Buddhism (and its relation with politics), Dol provides an example of what Buddhism "is supposed to be about."

I've been rewatching the series every now and then when I'm free, so I got to re-watch his scenes and Dhamma talks. The teachings are actually legitimately correct. Not even "Pop culture-diluted correct" or "I guess it's a correct interpretation," but befitting the dhamma as espoused in Theravadin Buddhism, which Thai Buddhism falls under.

That means Monk Dol's themes and character arc are deliberately woven with Buddhist philosophy, including concepts like anicca ("impermanence") and nekkhamma ("renunciation; letting go"). This makes it harder to write him back into Season 2 without hurting a little of the themes he's supposed to represent, you see?

In his letter to Dear, he talked about how, thanks to his love and attachment for Dear, he realized that "there are many more things about myself that I need to train on." It's a very Buddhist sentiment (the Buddha's last word before death/parinibbana was, reportedly, "strive diligently." You might also remember one of Dol's Dhamma Talks on the importance of self-effort over superstitious reliance on holy objects and the Buddha; it was his first talk since joining Wat Phummaram).

The way he exited the story was him practicing nekkhamma and the sort of "love" he talked about earlier. He also alluded to their interaction as remnants of their past kamma (this is how it's spelled in Pali; it's "karma" in Sanskrit) influencing their current lives.

Just a brief explanation in case you don't understand the "kamma" thing! In a supernatural reading of kamma, the effects of your actions in your past lives with other people can bring over to your current life. Therefore, Dol was saying that him falling in love with Dear/Dear unintentionally "charmed" him was no fault of himself nor Dear, but simply the effects of their collective kamma. He merely saw his experience—of falling in love and being rejected; of being conned and used because of said love; the general dukkha (suffering) of it all—as a lesson illuminating aspects of himself that he should overcome.

Dol recognized that he needed to let go of his attachment to Dear as she never belonged to him; previously, he explained that as part of the Buddhist doctrine of Anattā ("non-self") when he answered Dear's question about love. He also told her not to remember him, which to me, all adds up to him hoping this is it. He's hoping that the effects of their past kamma had burned out.

Now, if they want to continue the Buddhist philosophical theme undergirding Monk Dol's character, then the "good end" will be him not showing up in Season 2 at all. From a storytelling perspective, it makes sense too: his arc has a definite end already.

----

However, I can also imagine ways to pull Monk Dol back into the fold without costing his underlying Buddhist themes. For one, "kamma," to the Buddha, mostly means "action" when it's not "cause-and-effect." While Dol would like to think his kamma with Dear is over, it's also possible that his actions and interactions with Dear—and to an extent, Win and Game—have planted seeds of their own, with their own effects to be reaped. These effects can be explored in Season 2.

Where should he go? He has already exchanged his forest monk lineage for a city monk's, but his idea of Buddhism is embodied in the Thai Forest tradition, not the city ones. Can he return to his original forest temple, though? We saw that he was "punished" by one of the eminent temple monks when Win and Dear were trying to collect sacred ingredients for their amulet.

His changing of lineage was not without consequences, and it's a bit hard to imagine him being accepted back to his original temple easily. Thai Forest Tradition is a lot stricter than other schools in Thailand, and a monk who pivots from one school to another can be seen as wishy-washy, unreliable, lacking in discipline, and rather disgraceful by forest monks.

Hence, I would imagine that he either joins a very remote forest temple far away from Wat Phummaram and the show's central background region... or becomes a solitary monk.

No matter which way he chooses, though, I can imagine him being even more ardent in his practice, and perhaps rather avoidant of female laypeople. Even if he has no intention to discriminate, he might try to overcorrect his previous lapse with Dear by putting a wide berth between himself and other women no matter their intentions. I can also imagine him struggling with the actual process of renunciation, which is never as easy as it might sound. His experience with Dear is going to affect him a lot. Even dreams of her are possible.

And from there, I suppose there are two ways for him to join with the trio's Main Plot. Either he coincidentally gets roped back into their activities, or he deliberately looks out for any news about Dear and her gang because he still cares about her wellbeing.

If Monk Dol takes a more active role, he might gradually come into the line of fire by standing up against this sort of commercialized Buddhism. He might also try to help Dear (plus Win and Game; it's more understated, but Dol also cares about those two. We see it in the interrogation scene) to get out of their quandary.

I think Dol will be quite punished for his actions, though. As in, he'll suffer quite a bit. Not sure if he might die, per se, but I'll suspect something worse than what he got in Season 1. I hope he doesn't die, but that's only because I'm personally no fan of martyr tropes, ahahha!

There are also significant odds that Dol will manage to change Dear and Game's hearts through his actions and counsel once he rejoins the trio in the Main Plot. It will be harder to reach Win, I assume, because Win is the least receptive and warmed up to religions, and his attitude toward Buddhism has been very irreverent. Throughout Season 1, Win's attitude toward Monk Dol has been that of a tech bro looking at his most valuable asset.

Nonetheless, Dear and Game, being Win's friends, can bridge that gap along with Dol and Win's mother. Philosophically, it will exemplify paṭiccasamuppāda, "dependent co-arising"—causes are interdependent with one another as people are also interdependent with one another. Whether that's enough to change their fate in Season 2 is a whole 'nother thing!

That's as far as I can hypothesize about Monk Dol! I'll expect even more Buddhist-flavored character study, a psychological/philosophical arc, and if Monk Dol inclines, a more active counter-power to the corruptive political forces that have claimed Dear, Game, and Win.

Does Win Like Dear?

It's hard to say. I have to put out a disclaimer that I'm terrible at understanding human emotions and especially love because I... personally cannot feel it nor understand it! I honestly didn't even realize that Dol likes Dear until the Repentance Ritual!

I lean toward thinking Win doesn't love Dear or like her the way she—or us normal folks—hopes for a healthy romantic relationship. Win is a pragmatist who's pretty obsessed with "winning." He has a very strong ego; he wouldn't even talk to Game after the amulet business was booming, almost as if he's hoping to see Game climb back to him and apologize for being wrong and doubting him. He also saw no problem using Dear as an unwitting honeypot trap to control Monk Dol, despite Dear being someone who likes him.

I especially love the flashback scene to Dear's mother's passing. You can see Win's character in detail there; he engaged with Dear on a surface level, thinking it's enough to comfort her by telling her facts about death and failing to realize what she actually needed until Dear requested it upfront (it also served as a great contrast to Win's foil: Monk Dol interacts with other people differently. Dol always tries to address the underlying questions, takes time to listen, and only gives answers he believes are beneficial and helpful. He's like this to Monk Ekechai and even the cop who looks like fucking Robert Downy Jr.).

Win exhibited very little empathy for other people. Remember how he didn't help a granny with her bag until he realized he could talk to her while they walked together, so he could fish out any potential bait to lure Monk Dol into their scheme? If I were to describe this particular aspect of Win's character from a Buddhist perspective, I'd say he displays the near enemy of the concept of mettā, "friendliness." He is capable of caring about people only from an explicitly egocentric view, instead of caring for others for their own sake.

This hinders whatever he could have had with Dear, I think. Even if these two get together romantically, I honestly don't think it will be a rewarding relationship to Dear at all. Win is callous to everyone and is more obsessed with feeding his ego through perceived victories against the odds than anything else.

However, I don't actually think Win is incapable of caring about Dear, Game, or anyone else. I can't point fingers and tut-tut Win when I myself am also really low on empathy. In fact, from my own experience, I know that low empathy doesn't preclude apathy or an immutable lack of care. You can even catch a glimpse of Win's capacity for care in how he treated his cat.

Win also clearly suffers from trauma related to his father's disappearance. In true Buddhist fashion, there is an emphasis on cause-and-effect (i.e. kamma) in the show, telling us that he's the way he is precisely because of his experiences growing up.

We can also use his most obvious show of care as a comparison. Win is fiercely devoted to his mom and loves her deeply, and yet he's also dismissive of her thoughts, feelings, and sentimental offers to deepen their relationship. His care for her only showed when his mom was directly threatened, or when he believed his image in his mother's heart was close to being destroyed.

I think this allows the audience a bit of insight into how Win treats his loved one; he's also dismissive of Dear's feelings, thoughts, and needs... and yet that doesn't mean he doesn't care about her. There were times when he clearly cared and relied on her as a friend; he tried to call her near the end of Season 1 when he was feeling emotionally vulnerable as he was undergoing an onset of PTSD, for example.

Can that platonic care become a base for romance? I don't know. But to me, it really shows us that none of the trio are "evil," unlike what Cop RDJ insisted while interrogating Monk Dol—not even Win. In true Buddhist fashion, Win was just deluded ("moha," one of the Three Poisons) and merely needed more guidance.

Since his past is coming into the spotlight at the end of Season 1, going into Season 2, I think Win's character arc has only just begun. Dear and Game will play big roles in that as his friends and confidants, for sure, but this is also where Monk Dol's role in Season 2 can fit (as stated above).

I can't say if Win will end up falling in love with Dear for real at the end of S2 since it's not gonna be my personal subject of interest. But I'll love to see Win's striving in Season 2. As a certain monk says in his letter, I sure hope Win can also be free from his suffering, ahhahah!

Thank you for reading my ramble!

[halfetirosie]

ཐིཋྀ ALL ROADS LEAD BACK TO PHILOSOPHICAL DISCUSSION, NO ONE CAN ESCAPE IT ཐིཋྀ

(Elysium 08-09 React-os!)

1) This is the CREEPIEST peer-pressure scene I have ever seen...

( ⊙ _ ⊙ )

I CALL BULLSHIT!!!!

(This part of Vampire Bitch's creepy speech kinda reminds me of the sermon Olivine was giving at the beginning of this event. It acts as a sort of dark reflection of the message Olivine was trying to give then, I think...

In his sermon, if I remember correctly, Olivine said that everyone has "shortcomings," and that people should accept them and still try to do the right thing. On the other hand, the so-called Master of Elysium is saying people should indulge in all of their desires, regardless of the consequences.

I don't know if it was intended, but this feels like a twisted parallel to me. 🤷‍♀️)

I CALL BULLSHIT!!!! x2

Say it with me, now: If something seems too good to be true, then it probably is!

2) Bro accidentally made the most effective ANTI-drug PSA of all time:

"Here, take this drug! Then you, too, can be a pasty, skeletal drug dealer that ignores others' human rights!"

Gee, how very persuasive...

(◔_◔)

3) PFFFFFT!!! 😂

Eiden over here hiding behind Kuya like he's his big brother--

😂😂😂

4) Damnnnnn, Kuya calling Vampire Bitch out on his Bullshit!!!!!

Lemme tell you, it feels WEIRD AF to actually side with Kuya on something.

Like, I know in my last post I talked about how Kuya is more reasonable when it comes to large-scale issues. But seeing him actively scold someone for harming others? All of this ★ Responsible Kuya ★??? WEIRD.

It's like going to a high school reunion, and seeing the Deadbeat Stoner Kid™ wearing a suit and talking about their corporate job---I mean, hell yeah, good for them, but I do not know this person anymore :D

5) Eh, idk man. I'm having so many THOUGHTS.

First of all, I think it's definitely debatable whether this has "anything to do with Mr. Kuya." Yes, people always make their own decisions in the end---by their own will---but you can't ignore the reality that others have the power to influence their decisions.

It's the second part of this exchange, where Kuya talks about how our decisions make us who we are, that feels strange to me.

I assume that this statement, along with the insistence that Olivine take the "Trial of Choice" (whatever the hell that is), is Kuya's weird-ass Tsundere Bullshit™ way of helping Olivine? As in, he sees Olivine having an internal struggle with himself, and this is his way of helping him be decisive??? 🤔

Or maybe Kuya just wanted to find a non-violent way to get Vampire Bitch to let him leave (+ leave him alone in the future)?

I just don't know, man.... Why does every goddamn thing the fox say have to be so cryptic???

(╯◉ _ ◉)╯︵ ┻━┻

6) Yeah, I agree with Eiden---

Just what the FUCK is this Trial for it to be such a big deal??? I trust NOTHING that has "Trial" in its name---

Although, I wonder; was the flashback we saw at the very beginning of this event from a past Trial of Choice? 🤔

7) BRUH. What kind of drug keeps you high for MULTIPLE DAYS??? After only one pill?????

Eiden's talking as if it's expected for him to still act loopy all these days later----

Oh shit, Was my theory from my first event post correct??? That this drug's effects last a really fuckin long time, which is why "occasional" use is enough to fuck up a person's body chemistry quickly???

That just makes me wonder even more; was the pill Kuya gave him really fake, or does it just not have much effect on someone with a ton of essence?

8) SEE, THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!!!!

Ignoring others' influence on one's (in this case, Olivine's) decisions is stupid!!!! 😡😡😡

Peer pressure wouldn't be possible if that wasn't a truth of life!!!

And in this case, where Olivine was literally being threatened, suggesting that he alone is fully responsible for his temptation is, respectfully, bullshit. ♡

Fuck, man, Olivine is always way too hard on himself....

( • ᴖ • )

9) (⊙ᗣ⊙)

KUYA, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK????

I know this might be an urban legend, but honestly, it sounds like the sort of thing Past Kuya would do... The dude literally tore out the eyes of someone because they checked him out, after all....

Current Kuya has changed a lot, so I don't think something that grisly would be appealing to him, but.... the very idea that he once like that sort of thing is upsetting....

I also still strongly suspect that the "one survivor of the Trial" was the Master of Elysium....

A ton of weird vibes around this.

ཐིཋྀ End of report! ཐིཋྀ

[une-sanz-pluis]

I have a question about Henry V and his relationship with John Oldcastle. I was scrolling through some stuff and read that despite Oldcastle's lollardy, Henry was anxious and wanted to spare his life & gave him chances to change his views. I'm wondering if this is accurate, and if so, is there any more information on it? Because honestly the angst possibilities are out of this world

Hey, you managed to send this ask at the exact moment I'd written myself into having Emotions™ about Sir John Oldcastle. The story is true.

Thomas Walsingham says at a convocation of clergy, the "whole body" of the clergy - fed up with Oldcastle's "evil heretical opinions" and apparent tendency to use "terrifying threats" to silence hecklers at Lollard preachers' "wicked sermons" - asked Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury to proceed against Oldcastle for charges of heresy. But:

the archbishop, out of reverence for the king whose friend Sir John then was, and out of honour for the order of knights, went with all the suffragans present at the council and a great part of the clergy to seek audience with the king who was then at his manor of Kennington, that he might reveal to the king the failings of Sir John. But under pressure from the king who wished to recall Sir John to the right path without disgracing him, the matter was postponed for a long time. But when the king had wasted a lot of time to no purpose in trying to bring him back, he told the archbishop of Canterbury, verbally and in writing, that his labours for Sir John had been in vain.

Now, it's important to recognise that Walsingham - a monk at St. Alban's - is both heavily biased against Lollardy and known for his tendency to exaggerate, perhaps to the point of outright invention. So his description of Lollard sermons as "evil" and "wicked" is the sort of thing he would say whatever was being said at these sermons (of course, some Lollard doctrines were horrifying to orthodox Christians). We should also be very cautious of his claim that Oldcastle resorted to threats of violence. The idea that Henry "wasted a lot of time" trying to convince Oldcastle to repent of his heresy might express Walsingham's disapproval's at Henry's behaviour, i.e. he might be alluding to the question of Henry's fitness as a lay person to intervene on a spiritual matter. It might also be a veiled question about whether Henry really was trying to bring Oldcastle back to the "right path" or just delaying in hope the matter would be forgotten. Or, of course, Walsingham - with the benefit of hindsight - was remarking about how Oldcastle was incorrigible and any effort spent trying to convince him to recant his heresy was wasted despite the king's good intentions.

At any rate, Henry failed to get Oldcastle to repent of his heresies and passed the matter back to Arundel. Walsingham provides a long account of Oldcastle's arrest (where Oldcastle left Henry without taking formal leave and sealed himself up in Cooling Castle, ignoring summons) and trial. Oldcastle failed to abjure his heresies and was excommunicated and set to be executed for his heresies.

After these proceedings, the archbishop of Canterbury informed the king of what had happened. Then with a prayer from his living voice he made the strongest possible petition to the king and asked that he should think it right, now that Sir John had been condemned in the courts, to graciously grant him forty days in which to relent. For in their affection for him both king and archbishop desired not his death but his life, and they worked hard to save him. And so it happened that he was taken back to the Tower, where he could come to his senses in the period allowed him to relent, and so deserve the grace he had received from both church and king. But that special concession from king and archbishop became an opportunity for devilment, since within the fixed term he had escaped from captivity, and, collecting his wicked supporters around him, thought of nothing but vengeance.

W. T. Waugh says that there is no independent source for Walsingham's claim that Arundel urged the king and says: "Arundel had just condemned Oldcastle as incorrigible, to beg for a reprieve would thus have been tantamount to an admission he had gone too far." Edward Powell, Malcolm Vale, E. Amanda McVitty and Maureen Jurkowski all agree that it was Henry, not Arundel, who was responsible for the reprieve and that Henry did so because of their friendship. If so, Walsingham's framing may have been to take the focus off Henry's intervention by implying that he only intervened on the advice of the Archbishop of Canterbury, not out of any personal feeling between himself and Oldcastle or any suspect sympathies with Lollardy. Waugh says it was "doubtless" that Henry consulted with Arundel before his decision to delay Oldcastle's sentence but we have no evidence this was the case beyond Walsingham suggesting the reprieve was Arundel's idea in the first place. It's worth noting that John A. F. Thomson says it's likely that Oldcastle's social standing played a role in the granting of a reprieve and Christopher Allmand gives some credence to the idea that Henry "did not want a sinner lost without some effort being made on his behalf". Neither Thomson nor Allmand deny the possibility that their friendship did or could have played a role in Henry's intervention and it doesn't have to be one or the other - possibly his friendship with Oldcastle made Henry all the more determined to try and save his soul.

The reprieve allowed for Oldcastle to escape custody and rise in rebellion against Henry. At least one novel I've read depicted Henry as behind Oldcastle's escape attempt but, imo, this seems very unlikely.

Historians have suggested that Henry tried to deal with Oldcastle as leniently as possible, even after the rebellion. In December 1414 and February 1415, a pardon was offered to Oldcastle on the condition that Oldcastle came out of hiding and submitted himself to his king - though this may have also been motivated by Henry's intentions for a French campaign in 1415, i.e. he was trying to neutralise any danger Oldcastle posed while he was overseas. It wasn't until November 1417 that sheriffs were ordered to seize Oldcastle's goods.

Why Oldcastle rebelled against Henry is hard to explain. Both Allmand and Peter McNiven suggest that, as Prince of Wales, Henry was tolerant of and perhaps even sympathetic to the Lollard cause. Allmand says that "it should be noted that the Prince numbered among his associates men who some - and in two cases [Oldcastle and Sir Roger Acton] much - sympathy for Lollard doctrine of a rather extreme kind". It is likely that Henry was aware of Oldcastle's Lollard tendencies for some time before 1413.*

Both Allmand and McNiven suggest that Henry, as Prince of Wales, may well have been seen as a potential champion of the Lollard movement, pursuing reformation through the disendowment of the clergy, but hopes were ultimately dashed soon after his coronation. Oldcastle's rebellion may have been driven by the frustration and disappointment that Henry failed to live up to these expectations as well as disappointment that Henry had failed to protect him from trial and judgement.

It does seem Henry was in some way trying to distance himself from Oldcastle after becoming king - Oldcastle was not given coronation livery and he was the only major figure not to continue serving in Henry's household. However, the convocation in which the issue of Oldcastle's heresy was raised occurred - according to Waugh - before Henry IV's death and it is extremely likely that Henry V was aware of what had been said about Oldcastle there. In other words, Henry very likely knew that Arundel was about to move against Oldcastle and distancing himself may have been an act of self-preservation.**

According to Powell, Oldcastle may have seen himself as absolved of "all ties of loyalty and obedience" to Henry due to Henry's failure to protect him from the "humiliation of a public trial" (and, unmentioned by Powell, perhaps his resentment over losing his place in Henry's household). After Henry's failed attempts to recall Oldcastle to "the right path", Oldcastle left his presence without taking formal leave and Powell says this may have implied a form of feudal diffidatio, a renunciation of his allegiance to Henry. His rebellion might be characterised, then, as "the rising of an injured vassal against the lord who had forsworn him". Powell describes Oldcastle's rebellion as a "personal response" and a "personal vendetta" against the king, sentiments that are echoed by both Allmand and Thomson, the latter of whom labels the rebellion as a "desperate attempt at revenge". For Powell, the rebellion broke away from the tenets of Lollardy, "which not only exalted royal authority but contained a strong element of pacifism".

We don't know much about the realities of Oldcastle and Henry's relationship. The Gesta Henrici Quinti describes Oldcastle as "one of the most beloved and greatest men" of Henry's household but tells us very little about why he was so beloved - most contemporary sources confirm his qualities as a manly knight while condemning his spiritual opinions. We don't know when Henry and Oldcastle came in contact with each other but they had worked together in Wales, dealing with the Glyndwr revolt, for some time. McNiven argued that the legend of Henry's wild youth and rejection of erstwhile companions may have been based around Henry's close association with Oldcastle and his (perceived or real) sympathy for the Lollard doctrine. The closeness between Henry and Oldcastle may have been exaggerated in order to heighten the heinousness of Oldcastle's subsequent betrayal. But I do think Henry felt some great affection for Oldcastle. His personal invention was noted, despite the possibility of scandal, and it does seem he treated leniently with Oldcastle wherever possible until Oldcastle's outright rebellion forced him to take a harder line.

What I struggle to understand is just what Oldcastle was thinking and what he felt towards Henry.

It seems likely that Oldcastle's rebellion was not a true Lollard rising but more of a personal vendetta against Henry. It is quite a thing to attack one's friend, even moreso to do so with the intention of causing his death and the death of his three brothers, as Oldcastle was claimed to have intended. Both Waugh and Allmand suggest that Oldcastle's true aim was probably the capture of Henry and his brothers, from which Oldcastle would hold them to ransom and force change and reform. This is better but not a great deal better, since Oldcastle would be effectively making Henry his puppet through force.

After the Reformation, early Protestant writers such as John Bale and John Foxe began to raise the idea that either the revolt didn't occur or it did but was stage-managed by the royal court or by the clergy or that it occurred without Oldcastle's involvement. Most historians have dismissed these ideas because of the issues inherent in them - there is no contemporary evidence that the plot was non-existent or stage-managed or that Oldcastle was set up as the ringleader, these early Protestant texts reflect their writers' own religious biases as surely as the 15th century texts do, and that Foxe - born a century after Oldcastle's execution - is no reliable source. However, Paul Strohm gave new credence to these theories and alongside his own theory that the Southampton Plot was similarly invented or stage-managed by Henry.

These theories, quite simply, do not strike me as believable - it's too conspiracy minded, marked by a tendency to read Henry as a dictator-tyrant creating revolts to murder large swathes of people while painting himself as the victim. Of course there's "spin" in the 15th century accounts, of course Henry's response in these accounts is stage-managed to show him acting perfectly, of course they're one neat narrative. They were written, after all, with the benefit of hindsight. I think, too, that as far as the Southampton Plot is concerned, if Henry had set the whole thing up, he would've picked much better timing. We know the campaign will result in his great victory at Agincourt despite the delays but Henry V didn't. Why would Henry stage a plot against himself, raising fears of domestic instability and revolt, right when he meant to be heading overseas on campaign? When any delay to his departure meant more expenditure and losing valuable time on campaign?

But it is true that the surviving contemporary evidence is one-sided. We don't have Oldcastle's side, we don't even know how Henry would have privately expressed his view of what happened. We know that Oldcastle apparently distributed manifestos and pamphlets arguing his side but none have survived and just because the story is the "other side" or the opposite of the Lancastrian story does not make it more truthful or less biased. Walsingham wrote a scene for Oldcastle's trial for treason in 1417 where he rambled and declared the fake Richard II in Scotland was his true king but the official record says Oldcastle remained silent. It is possible that Walsingham's scene of Oldcastle's trial for heresy was similarly fanciful.

Putting all that to one side because Protestant writers aren't any less problematic as sources than Walsingham and we can't call on evidence that doesn't exist... I can't figure out what Oldcastle could have reasonably expected from Henry. Even if Henry did have sympathies with the Lollards, any intentions he had for reformation were unlikely to be on the large scale Oldcastle apparently wanted. Once Oldcastle's heresy had been discovered, there was little Henry could reasonably do but delay the process in hope that Oldcastle would chose the option that saved his life. The image of Oldcastle found in contemporary accounts as a false knight who betrayed his liege lord, imho, feels quite truthful to the reality of Oldcastle's behaviour.

* The earliest known evidence connecting Oldcastle with Lollard teaching comes from 1410 when a chaplain was living in Oldcastle's household was investigated for heretical preaching in Kentish churches, which were placed under interdict. It is also considered possible, if not likely, that Oldcastle came into contact with the doctrine when he was still young (per Thomson: "the area in which he grew up had seen manifestations of religious radicalism during these years"). There are also surviving letters Oldcastle wrote in 1410 to Woksa of Waldstein and Wenceslaus IV, King of Bohemia, praising the Hussite movement,. K. B. MacFarlane notes that these showed him as the "recognized leader of the English [Lollard] sect".

** The Prince and Arundel were in conflict during Henry IV's reign and the political crisis of 1412 was spurred by attacks on the Prince's character which Arundel may have had a hand in. Given all of this and the fact the move against Oldcastle pre-dates Henry V coming to the throne, is it possible this was intended as another attack on the Prince, suggesting he harboured heretics in his household and sympathised with them? If so (and this is very speculative), Henry distancing himself from Oldcastle may have also been in hope that Arundel would lose interest. However, we shouldn't forget that Arundel had made the destruction of heresy one of his priorities.

Sources

The Chronica Maiora of Thomas Walsingham, trans. David Preest (The Boydell Press 2005)

Christopher Allmand, Henry V (Yale University Press 1992)

Gwilym Dodd, “Henry V’s Establishment: Service, Loyalty and Reward in 1413“ in Henry V: New Interpretations, ed. Gwilym Dodd (York Medieval Press 2018)

Maureen Jurkowski "Henry V's Suppression of the Oldcastle Revolt“ in Henry V: New Interpretations, ed. Gwilym Dodd (York Medieval Press 2018)

K. B. MacFarlane, John Wycliffe and the Beginnings of English Nonconformity (The English Universities Press 1952)

Peter McNiven, Heresy and Politics in the Reign of Henry IV: The Burning of John Badby (The Boydell Press 1987)

E. Amanda McVitty, Treason and Masculinity in Medieval England: Gender, Law and Political Culture (The Boydell Press 2020)

Edward Powell, Kingship, Law and Society: Criminal Justice in the Reign of Henry V (Oxford University Press 1989)

Paul Strohm, England’s Empty Throne: Usurpation and the Language of Legitimation, 1399-1422 (Yale University Press 1998)

John A. F. Thomson, "Oldcastle, John, Baron Cobham (d. 1417), soldier, heretic, and rebel", Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (2008)

Charity Scott Stokes, "Sir John Oldcastle, the Office of the Privy Seal, and Thomas Hoccleve's ‘Remonstrance Against Oldcastle’ of 1415", Anglia, vol. 118, no. 4 (2001)

W. T. Waugh, "Sir John Oldcastle", The English Historical Review, vol. XX, no. LXXIX (1905)

Malcolm Vale, Henry V: The Conscience of a King (Yale University Press 2016)

[not-so-superheroine]

Some Black Community of Christ/RLDS History as I write this Article

Joseph Smith III is so funny because what is this. (probably funny bc i experience racism. none the less it is history)

At General Conference, he’s like. “A colored congregation down the road from here has started meeting nearby. They reached out to us to send a speaker when they realized we’re friendly (not virulently racist, ig)”

and like. good. okay. cool. you are all reorganized saints and should totally do that. it’s their space tho. D&C 116 implicates segregation but ALSO means colored congregations don’t need white oversight. You are in their home. 

the first Brother remembers this.

JS III sends Brother Shippely  over to the Black congregation and they hit it off. According to JS III, a pleasant time for all.

Because of this, one of the founders of the Reorganization (then the New Organization) Brother Zenas H. Gurley, takes it upon himself to go visit and speak to them.

JS III writes that Brother Gurley gave a sermon so “long-winded and pedantic” that it “so disgusted our colored friends that they gave us no further opportunity to address them.”

What did Bro, Gurely say??? I can only think that it was racist. But it also could have been a very bad and very long talk on a topic that had little to do with their lives mixed in with ignorant microaggression (because there had to be racism imo. even if only subconsciously). I really want to know but that is lost to time.

Poor Black congregation of saints in Iowa. I’ve been there and I am sorry because it had to be worse then. and dang, they be in IOWA at that.

Like, what did he do to make the Black people say “forget it” after trying to form a relationship with the white parts of the church. I have had my “dis too much” moments. And this sounds like one of them.

Back to JS III, he is so blasé. Like. “well, it was a commendable effort. this shows positive intentions among the saints (summarized).” 

Mr. Prophet please. I… I can’t take this. So darn familiar to me. The church even says that to marginalized people, this will happen, as others learn and grow. It’s right there in the text of the Enduring Principles. So I got a warning. So I guess I can take it. But I also have a duty to make it better.

I would say, maybe he should have proof-read their work. Extemporaneous speech was more common back then. But the guy JS III sent had his things together. Brother Gurley just went and blew it up on his own, rip.

I wonder if/when they made peace.

Now, I have made similar apologetic responses for JS III and the church like he makes for the church here. Like, not bad for a white man/white church in the 1800s.

But oh my goodness, i swear this happened to me when I went to a more white congregation one sunday. They were trying to talk about racial justice but i was the only person of color around, i swear, and i had nothing to do with the presentation. I will say that they tried real hard.

Or when the white man on the pastoral team preaches. It’s a brace yourself moment. He means well, but God help him and us some sundays please. I couldn’t kick him out but I walked out. (i still love him).

i miss some things about my Black church growing up. But I had other issues there that played a similar role. I am healthier where I am. my congregation is like 50% Black and has been integrated for a while. though not so long ago that i don’t personally know the person who integrated it. i do, we speak and sit in adjacent pews from each other every sunday.

[wysteir]

.

I think about my old dead prince a lot

I remember when he looked out to the open field and dreamed of running away

I remember that young selfish prince

He had everything. He had nothing.

He had stability. He was unstable.

Volatile

Dead

I puppet his corpse around to look presentable at work. To leech off his name, his records, his work.

All my responsibility now, for as long as it remains "Convenient" and "Practical" and "Efficient"

When was it that he realized he was unkind?

How often did I self reflect since his death, how often did he, before? My chrysalis, my prince, my larval form, ghost that haunts me.

.

.

In some ways I was lucky to be a contrarian smartass, at least for a little while. Realized quick that it was better to remain silent sometimes. Spent a decade learning how to sit down and stay quiet.

But I used to go to church, or at least be forced to go. I wondered why my parents were unkind sometimes when they gossiped about strangers, why we had to spend an hour kissing ass to a God who really didn't have to give a shit about us.

I thought about Gods, about how different things can be incomprehensible, and I wondered how much we really understood.

People barely understand each other

They'll assume the worst of someone and when proven wrong they'll make up more facts to keep allowing themselves to assume the worst of that poor sap

I don't think my parents will make it to heaven immediately, but don't tell them I said that. It doesn't really matter anyway, I'm sure if it's all real St. Peter will give them a good talking-to and maybe they'll get a lecture from the J-Man himself

Not that I'd think they'd listen anyway

Not that I was much better

Well, I DID consider priesthood once. The prince did, anyway. Poor thing.

Exhausted. Wondering when he'd ever get to live. Desperately crawling towards the next milestone, the next stage of life, larva, larva, larva, larva, always. No power for you, my dear sweet prince, not until you become king.

The sermons got stale a dozen years in see. Parables were repeated and he got to hear a bold new take on a story- who even gave a priest the right to declare that as true. He coulda made something up. Something better. He thought he could.

It was a way out, for a tired, weary soul. So that he could stop striving for greatness. Stop having his life in upheaval. Finally have a day to day routine. It's a shame he died, but it had to end this way. He would have never been happy.

And you know, even if I woke up and took over the version of him that was ordained, I'd probably abandon everything anyway.

I think.

I hope.

.

.

I was supposed to be a story teller you know. One of the first things I did for my friends in early elementary was come up with situations for make believe to put them in. I ran a dungeon once, across the walls of the playground.

It's why I loved video games so much. Then later tabletop games.

But it was all for the sake of making a video game when I grew up

You know, you can do everything for the game, right. You can make the art, the music, the writing, the code, everything.

It was all for that.

My first act of self, I think, that splintered the prince's mask.

What would he do, when he grew up?

He would do game programming for a living, then maybe make smaller games on the side for himself.

I would learn the arts, participate in the joy of creation, tell a story, share my soul with those who would listen

Take pride in my job making something big

Take pride in my hobby making something personal

And if it all failed, I would still have a degree in software I could use that would give me an edge up

Convenient. Practical. Efficient.

Excuses in the hopes of a dream come true.

My parents approved but I wasn't ready

I never learned how to work hard

I never learned a thing

I relied on natural talent

I relied on being inspired to work

He fell apart and I couldn't pull him together

He broke

The world shattered him, I never graduated

But a break wasn't suggested

I had to drag his corpse along

I stubbornly declared I still wanted to follow my dream. It was all I had left

I wasn't ready but there was nowhere to go

Nowhere to hide

I transitioned in secret before making it through my courses

Slowly burying his fragments and replacing them with my own until only his "face" remained

God would not save me, no matter how hard I prayed. He wouldn't even kill me.

I was alone, I was lonely, I was nobody

I thought a lot about people who went to church

I thought a lot about how personalities formed and how people grew

I thought a lot about the empty shell of instincts that formed my dead prince

I thought about virtues, maxims, likesz dislikes, habits, actions, reactions

I thought of a beautiful woman, who was kind, attractive, and cool

It was too late to grow into her naturally

But I could become her

I almost named myself Prattil Decordas. The silver lining. I didn't like it very much

Now Wisteria stands before you

She is a devil, a witch of sorts, a plant I suppose. She is of earth and wind. She is a saint, how she envisions a saint should be: godless, virtuous, proper, just. She enjoys being a maid and hates being looked down upon

She is the heart I grew under this porcelain shell

She's me

Goodnight, and rest forever, dear prince

I will take it from here

[loveerran]

I got a chance to go into the 'tunnels' that lead to the Church Administration building! (though 'tunnels' as used here just means a very nice underground parking garage, with an entryway into the Church Administration building where I could wait while David went upstairs). The security staff were very nice and professional.

While I was waiting, it was interesting to see various church employees and leaders entering and exiting. Elder Christensen, president of the North America Southeast Area was the first I recognized. Elder Patrick Kearon, the third living apostle to be born outside the US, came by with his wife and we exchanged a brief smile.

I waited patiently and quietly and read a book I brought with me - until President Jeffrey R. Holland came through the area. "Elder Holland!" I exclaimed involuntarily (editor's note: the correct form of address should have been 'President Holland' as he is now the acting president of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles). He waved an acknowledgement and said something in passing. I couldn't help but reflect on the many wonderful sermons I have heard from this man, from 'Of Souls, Symbols and Sacraments' to the difference between Love and Lust. From his teachings about Angels, seen and unseen, to the power of faith. And, of course, his sermons touching on mental health. President Holland has been much loved by the members of the church, something that made his now infamous 'musket fire' speech so difficult to bear for so many, a sorrow and pain he acknowledged in a recent interview with Sheri Dew. Words can have great power, and President Holland's words have been some of the most powerful uttered by a church leader in this generation. I am grateful for the many times his gifts have been used in the service of Christlike love and compassion.

And then the inner doors opened, and stayed open for awhile. Eventually, walking slowly, President Dallin H. Oaks of the First Presidency came into view. I stood and called out in a single motion, "President Oaks!" I had tears in my eyes as I did so. In 2007, President Oaks gave a talk titled "Divorce". It was a memorable talk for me, and one that gave me perspective when my own marriage was straining years later. I consider it to be one of the most influential conference addresses I have ever heard. I had wanted to thank him for that message for many years. He turned toward me. "Please forgive me for intruding, but I have wanted to thank you for a talk you gave a long time ago on divorce. That talk gave me a better perspective, and helped my marriage endure during a difficult time". He walked over to me and extended his hand. I reached out my hand and he took it. "Thank you". We spoke very briefly, just a few sentences, and then he left. I was filled with a profound feeling of reverence, love and respect for this man, born in 1932, who has done so much good in this world. I believe he is doing his best.

As a visibly transgender woman, it was a special opportunity to wait in that space as leaders of the church went in and out. Speaking personally, it was particularly meaningful to me to meet men who have said things that hurt members of our lgbt+ community - sometimes very badly. I recall a closeted queer friend in an institute class after President Holland delivered his musket fire speech, listening to the other students collectively decide queer people should really just leave. I remember the video of a man, possibly a priesthood holder, pouring water over beautiful chalk rainbows at BYU a few days later, saying "F*ggots, go to hell". And I think of the book @nerdygaymormon shared with the Renlunds, containing my story of attending an LDS family ward and Relief Society for the first time, and the way the love and acceptance of the sisters welcomed a beautiful spiritual experience into my life as we discussed a different talk from President Holland.

It has been healing beyond belief for me to associate with the sisters. I am heartbroken that our leaders' new church policies on trans people forbid me and others like me from approaching the Savior to partake of those healing experiences, perhaps because we are believed to be unclean or sinners. And then I think about how and why Christ died for me, and for those I love, and for those who have hurt me.

Love, Erran

Meeting with the Renlunds 2024

On my trip to Utah for the 2024 Gather Conference, I had an opportunity to meet with the Elder & Sister Renlund.

Gather Conference and Gatherings

I shared with them that I was in town for the Gather conference, which is for LGBTQ people, regardless of whether still in or out of the church, who are spiritual as the conference focuses on Christ. This year, in addition to having a big conference, Lift+Love began something called "Gatherings" where people host a group in their home, and to help them there is a guide with scriptures, stories & questions, and it follows the Come, Follow Me schedule. Later, I emailed the Renlunds the September guide and a link to the website showing Gathering locations.

Stake Executive Secretary

It came up that my calling is still stake executive secretary. Sister Renlund commented, "You've served in that capacity for a long time." Yes I have, 9 years. Elder Renlund shared this a calling that he covets because there's something appealing about being at the nerve center but not in charge of making the hard decisions. It's good to be the helper, to make a difference by organizing things and creating order out of chaos. By making things predictable, it takes some of the load from the stake presidency.

Elder Renlund told the me executive secretary to the First Presidency is Elder Brook Hales, and he's able to get things done without interposing himself, he is respectful of the First Presidency's desires. I commented that is how I approach my calling, I am not the president nor the counselors, I'm there as the secretary, but my stake president is clear that anyone in the room can receive inspiration and should share it. If time has gone by and I haven't said anything, the stake president will call on me and ask what I think. Elder Renlund then said, "Revelation is scattered."

Elder Renlund commented that when the stake president is anxious to hear from everyone in the room, that usually indicates he is a good one. The person who presides has to set that tone to encourage others to share. Those who don't preside should share their thoughts but not argue and make it difficult on the one who presides and make him feel he needs to negotiate or compromise. Then Elder Renlund added, "I think he's pretty wise to keep you on all this time."

Everybody is Equivalent when it comes to Revelation

The music text team for the new hymnal had asked if there is a notable author, like Janice Kapp Perry, whose song is going to be included, should those lyrics be treated the same as the rest of the hymns? Elder Renlund directed them to treat all identically.

Years ago President Nelson wrote a hymn titled "Our Prayer to Thee," and the choir has sung it at General Conference. With living authors, they won't make changes without their approval. The music text team proposed 12 minor changes to the lyrics along with explanations, and brought them to Elder Renlund.

President Nelson could have said, "Dale, you shouldn't even be asking. I was inspired to do it this way, I can't believe you're even suggesting this." Instead, President Nelson reviewed the changes and proclaimed that these made it better, and accepted 11 of the proposed alternatives. A leader should be humble enough and confident enough to accept correction. Elder Renlund used this example to illustrate his point that everybody is equivalent when it comes to getting revelation, but there's one person who is different, which is the person who presides.

The New Hymnal

Elder Renlund mentioned Elder James E. Faust's lyrics for "This is the Christ" which says, "How many drops of blood were spilled for me?" It's not doctrinal that each individual has a few drops of Christ's blood directly shed for them. Elder Renlund, the cardiologist, says that if there's drops for everybody, that would exceed the amount of blood in the human body. Sister Renlund then commented that it's poetic, it's a metaphor to ponder what did I contribute to His grief.

Next Elder Renlund spoke about the hymn "Love at Home" and how there's some lines that could be uncomfortable to sing if a person doesn't have the kind of home described in the song. Just as with the drops of blood, Elder Renlund shared another example of concrete thinking with the line "Roses bloom beneath our feet," and said if they're underneath your feet, you smash them. The lyrics were changed to "Roses bloom around our feet." Elder Renlund actually didn't want this song included in the hymnal because it was used in minstrel shows of the 1800's to say that life for slaves on America’s plantations was full of joy and love. Elder Renlund felt that alone should disqualify the song from being included in the new hymnal, however the committee overruled him. I agree with Elder Renlund, I’ll never think of that song the same way and will probably decline to ever sing it again.

Translating each one of the 450 or so songs into every language version of the hymnal is a large undertaking and some were concerned about the cost. While saying it's important that every member have access to the same songs, it’s a matter of equity, he added that the cost of translation is "probably no more than installing 5 scoreboards at the BYU campus." 😂 The impact of the new hymnal on the church will be universal if it's done in each of the languages.

Music Invites the Spirit

Elder Renlund stated that for him there's very few things which invite the Spirit more than music, it has the ability to set the right tone. I responded that I think music has a key to our hearts that words alone don't. At weddings or funerals, someone may or may not cry at other times, but if they are going to cry they will do so when the music plays.

Sister Renlund shared that they are traveling to Houston, TX and will meet with the missionaries. They invited questions be submitted ahead of time, and one they received is "How do we invite the Spirit into our lessons more?" In addition to prayer, scriptures, and an expression of gratitude, she will suggest music is a great way to invite the Spirit. Whether it's singing or using the phone to play music, it's a way to quickly set the tone for a spiritual message.

Elder Renlund shared that years ago he was in Edmonton, Canada and visited the home of a family. Two sister missionaries sang "Where is Heaven" by Janice Kapp Perry, and the non-member dad felt the room flood with the spirit. Any concerns, any doubts, just disappeared. The music opened his heart.

I commented that at last year’s conference I met Janice Kapp Perry and she had written a song for the conference which I find moving. Elder Renlund said, if you bump into her, tell her that her music has an impact.

All Are Alike Unto God

The song for last year's conference is titled, "All Are Alike Unto God.” Janice wrote the music and Megan Decker, a lesbian member of the church, wrote most of the lyrics, which are generic enough that they could apply to anyone, but for people in that room it touches on themes we often wrestle with, such as "Am I enough? Am I loved? Am I wanted?" As we sang this song at the conference, I felt the Spirit so much.

Elder Renlund queried, "In the song, does she reach a conclusion, is there an answer to those questions?" "Yes it does." "That's right, the answer is 'yes.'"

He then said, "The one thing I absolutely know is that anything that's unfair in life will be made right by the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I don't know how, but it will."

In the follow-up email I sent with information on the Gatherings, I let them know the song “All Are Alike Unto God” was released on streaming platforms, and included a link to Spotify.

Cambodia

They were in Cambodia earlier this year and made a visit to the killing fields where about 1 million people were executed by order of Pol Pot. There were stacks of skulls along with notes of what kind of farming implement killed them because the regime was trying to save bullets. It's a demonstration of absolute evil, yet Elder Renlund felt absolute peace as he felt the message that "We don't need to worry about these people, I've [Christ] got them." The atonement is infinite. We may have questions we don't have answers to, we have situations which aren't fair and which are difficult, but people who do the best they can are going to reap great rewards.

The Book of Queer Mormon Joy

At the end of our visit I gifted them a copy of The Book of Queer Mormon Joy. Being in this space of being LGBTQ and a Latter-day Saint is difficult, but there is joy, too. These aren't simple stories of joy, they're complex and the joy has to be worked for. A lot of the stories are of people choosing to change their situation, changing what they think is possible for their life, or what they want for their life.

There was a song from the 1960's, "Turn! Turn! Turn!" based on Ecclesiastes 3, which says there's a time for joy and a time for sadness. Often we think of it as separate times, but often we experience joy while we deal with hard things, we don't have the luxury of waiting for the hard times to pass.

I bookmarked the story I wrote of my friend Kris who is trans masc. I also bookmarked my good friend @loveerran’s story of her first time going to an LDS family ward and attending Relief Society presenting as her feminine trans self and how meaningful that was for her. I mentioned she had given me a ride and was waiting for me downstairs.

They promised to read both stories.

Then, they handed me a book they had written and asked if my friend Erran would accept a gift, they'd like her to have it as a thank you for bravely sharing her story💗 and for giving me a ride😆.

[journeyofmars]

I give up

I think I’m finally ready to say I give up. 

Not “I give up” as in we’re gonna stop trying. I’m giving up on making all the futile efforts to track my ovulation, researching on all the supplements to boost ovulation/the best ovulation tracker apps/devices/tests/whatever, and also researching about our other options in case all else fails. 

The truth is, I’m really not too sure how to feel right this very moment. In fact, recently, I’m finding myself unable to put into prayers. Typically, my prayer goes like this “God I have faith that you can do the impossible, but, even if you don’t do this thing that I so clearly desire for, you are still good”. After all, I believe that God does not owe me anything, and that includes a child. He really doesn’t. He already gave me salvation, there should not be anything else I want. But I also know that he is a good God and he wants to give good things for this children. By this point, my prayer already rumbling everywhere or nowhere at all and that somehow made me worried that God thinks i don’t believe in him.

But my logic is this. God is good no matter what. He doesn’t have to give me a child, if that’s his plan and I believe his plan is always good. But if he does give me a child, then I will give thanks. Hallelujah if he gives, Hallelujah if he doesn’t. THERE, that is literally my whole mindset right now. But if i can be honest, I think I hold back feeling something because I don’t want to expect too much. 

We’re barely a year and a half into TTC and I already felt all sorts of horrible things. Defeated whenever my period comes even though I’m late by a few days. Jealousy when I see yet another friend on Instagram announcing their pregnancy. Envy when I see this one friend consistently posting about her pregnancy journey. I kept thinking and promising myself that I will NOT be that pregnant mom who annoyingly posts too much because I want to be mindful of my followers who might feel the same way that I am right now. Dreadful when I started reading about IVF and adoption because of the complexity of each of those process. 

All of these negative feelings are ugly and I hate myself so much for even feeling them. I try to give myself grace, saying that I am human, of course, I am allowed to feel. I try to always remind myself that the way I cope with my feelings is what’s important because I really do not want to be a bitter and envious person who ended up relying on herself to get what she wants. Today’s sermon reinforced that bitter envy and selfish ambition are characteristics of earthly wisdom and it’s foolish to do so. When the pastor said that, I immediately felt called out. Bitter envy, yup, that’s me when I silently judging my friend’s IG story about her maternity photoshoot. Selfish ambition, yeah, that’s me when I relentlessly used google to search for alternatives when in reality, I should’ve just relied on God. It scares me because if I’m alread like this when we’re barely a year and a half in, how is it going to be if and when our TTC period is longer than expected? will i grow even more bitter?

I don’t want to. And today, I want to put a stop to it. 

No more obsessing over fertility tests

No more being jealous of a friend’s pregnancy

Look to the Father, and think of all the good things He has given me. Wonderful loving parents, amazing husband, supportive friends who lift me up, a job that I love, and many other opportunities in life that i can still do while waiting for my children to come. 

God, forgive me for doubting you. Forgive me for trying to do this on my own. Help me to be wise in my waiting season. Help me to understand that my calling is to you and you alone. When you decide to give us children, i know it’s in your perfect time. Amen.

[sethrine-writes]

Unholy

Fandom: 14 Days With You

Pairing: Priest!Ren/[REDACTED] x F!Reader

Words: 5.8k

Warnings: RATED E, SPICY CONTENT, Not for children, Religious symbolism, dubious con/non-con, Priest!Ren/Incubus[REDACTED], Yandere

A/N: Absolutely huge shout-out to my lovely best friend, @monibunbun, for trusting me enough to write out her wonderful idea! I didn't really know much about 14 Days With You at first, but she showed me the vn and told me about this idea of hers that I just couldn't help but bring to fruition!

And she also drew a very nice, spicy piece to go with it! Look forward to that as you read.

@14dayswithyou

---

“Are you attending Wednesday’s evening service?”

“Of course! That new Father Ren is just a delight to listen to!”

“Isn’t he? Such a lovely voice to recite the sermons, and such a kind soul.”

“Truly, he is a fine replacement for Father O’Canahan, bless him.”

“Have you heard how he’s doing on his mission?”

“I believe Father Ren had news-”

You zoned out of the conversation happening behind you as you paid for your groceries, a few necessities to refill your empty fridge. The cashier bade you a good evening and flashed a tired smile as you grabbed your bags and began your trek out of the store and to your parked car.

There had been a lot of talk recently about the new priest that had moved into your small hometown. From the talks of others, he was a gentle man, so kind to everyone who entered the church, and there were many new faces that found themselves flocking to the pews in a timely manner. He was said to have a gentle voice, calm and soothing to the ears, and his appearance was almost ethereal in nature, a sure reason why a portion of the younger men and women from the congregation found themselves coming back every Sunday for the holy word.

Father Ren.

When you heard about him, the first thing that came to mind was that he must have been foreign, considering his name and the way others had described him to you. It wasn’t but roughly a week later that you formally met him at your place of work, the town library, and he was every bit the wonder others had made him out to be.

It felt…off to you, but you couldn’t quite explain why.

Father Ren was just as kind and gentle as your next door neighbor had described, just as charming as the owner of the local barber shop had suggested when conversing with him in the non-fiction section. The priest’s smile was lovely, and his eyes were warm when he greeted you upon your first meeting, but even so, you found it incredibly odd to have such a person be so…perfect in almost every way.

“It would be a pleasure to have you join us for Sunday’s service,” he told you one afternoon as he checked out a book, something on mythological applications in historic events, or something along those lines. It honestly didn’t seem like the type of book a priest would be interested in, but you weren’t sure what a priest should have been interested in, in the first place, besides the God he spoke for.

“I’ll…I’ll think about it,” you told him, moreso to not offend the priest with an outright no.

His smile didn’t falter, but it also didn’t feel as if it reached his eyes the way you had seen on others.

“Of course, there’s no obligation, though it’s always nice to have a new face join us for the good word. You have a blessed day.”

And that was that. There was no forceful word of God to smite you for not going, no reprimanding for not confessing your sins or renouncing your blasphemous ways and joining the congregation. He didn’t prattle on or bore you to death with scripture, he just gave a suggestion and, as people of the faith often did, blessed your day and went about his business.

It was refreshing, honestly, and though you couldn’t say you were the religious type, it was nice to have a priest who didn’t want to force you into the town’s religion when you were nothing close to a believer of things that felt almost supernatural in nature.

The nightmares that began to plague you, however, began to test what little faith you had.

You’re not sure when they started, the haunting dreams that were so vivid, they felt real in nature. It had to have been some time after the new priest came to town, some time after you met him, though at that moment, there was no reason for you to believe there was any correlation nor had it even crossed your mind.

They started relatively the same, your dreams, with you lazing in bed on the cusp of sleep, almost as if you hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet. For the first couple of dreams, there was a flicker of darkness, short and quick enough to believe it was nothing more than a flutter of your eyes. The darkness would manifest into something more solid, some days after, a shadow of a being that you could not fully make out, but could feel the presence of, all the same.

It frightened you terribly, enough that you would cower in your dream and curl yourself up to keep away from whatever it was that was in your line of sight.

The first night it fully manifested, it did nothing but watch you with unseen eyes, towering over you as you stared at its hazy visage in fear. You attempted to move away, crawl out of bed and make a hasty retreat, but whenever you opened a new door or turned the next corner, it would be there, watching you with deep interest.

The second night, it grew bolder and reached out to you with newly formed limbs, its hand touching your leg. You let out a horrified scream and pulled away, startled that it had attempted more than just follow you around and stare. Just like the first night of its full manifestation, neither your fear nor you moving away deterred it from reaching out again and full on grabbing your ankle, yanking you closer even as you kicked and struggled in its hold. For the remainder of that dream, it continued to pull you closer by your ankle, your leg, petting over your skin as you shook in its hold.

The night after, it continued to touch you, though it wasted no time in bringing you much closer and holding you to its body of darkness, squeezing you to it no matter how much you struggled to get away.

For every night following, the figure in your dreams became bolder, more assertive, even more real. Its hands touched you everywhere, and its mouth, unseen by your eyes, began to make itself known to you. It pressed to your skin in what you could only assume were some form of kisses, small presses of unseen lips that became more firm and more demanding as time passed. Before long, you could feel teeth, and despite your screams and cries for it to stop, you could sense the satisfaction that came from the creature that haunted your very dreamscape with each nibbling bite against your skin.

Each morning you woke up, it was an instant relief, though as the dreams began to feel more and more real, the more you began to feel drained of energy and paranoid beyond belief. Your paranoia heightened when one morning, as you were getting ready for work, you found marks along your neck. They were faint the first time you noticed them, almost shadows of bruises from an unknown source. Within another three days, there were far more marks, purpled and properly bruised and right in the areas you remembered the dream entity had bitten.

There was no way…there was absolutely no way that was possible, and yet the proof was there, staining your skin for the whole world to see. You, obviously, tried to rationalize it; maybe it was actually a rash, or maybe, somehow, you were marking yourself in your sleep, clawing at your flesh as the nightmares continued to plague you.

Surely, you were losing it.

If you were to tell anyone of what you were experiencing, they would think you were crazy. Dreams couldn’t hurt you, they weren’t even real. Dreams weren’t supposed to cause damage, at least not physically, but there was no other explanation as to why you were marked up like some harlot from a bad romance novel.

For a while, you kept your nightly troubles to yourself, waking every morning just a bit more tired, just a bit more paranoid, just a bit more sore. You would hide the bruises and marks with make-up, turtle-necks, and scarves, only thankful that it didn’t seem out of place in the cooler weather of the mid-autumnal season. You went to work, did your job with tired smiles and helpful words, and you went home to repeat the same process over again, sometimes staying up as late as possible before your body couldn’t handle being awake any longer.

As you continued to struggle with whatever it was that haunted you, and you were almost certain at this point that, yes, you must have been haunted for anything to make sense, you began to notice Father Ren around a lot more.

You blamed it on your problems, on the ingrained religion of your childhood that had you seeing the priest as a potential light in darkness, an unknown guide standing at a distance from your sea of woes.

He was everywhere; at the library, the supermarket, paying a visit down the street to the twins that caused trouble for old Mrs. Kurthan…it was as if he was everywhere you looked, a beacon, an answer to ungiven prayers.

When he saw you, and most times he did, Father Ren would give you that warm, reassuring smile of his, always gentle, never reaching his eyes. He was doing it at that moment, his gaze having caught your own as you passed by the congregation having just finished their morning at the church, his bright eyes shining amongst his tired-looking flock.

Just like every time before, you smiled back and went on your way, always a little more hurried, always missing the way his eyes lingered on your retreating form.

That night, your unending nightmare changed once more, the evolution of the creature that haunted you only giving it more power, more ways to torture your dreamscape. It touched you and grabbed at you, hands reaching beneath your night shirt despite your whimpered protests. You expected to feel its unseen mouth on you at any moment, but when you didn’t, you opened your eyes only to find what you never wanted to see.

A smiling mouth, eager and pleased. Teeth, so many teeth, sharp and gleaming in the light of your faux room. That very mouth morphed even higher in its grin, startling and frightening and thrilled at your attention.

It opened next, and what left it was a garbled mess of sounds, at first, nothing that made sense and only fueled your want to get away even more.

It was like that for many nights following, the creature garbling out words and phrases that you could not make out. It was talking, but it was not making sense. It was reverent as it spoke against your skin, yet it only led to you trembling in fear.

Then, one night, the figure spoke as it had been doing, only you were finally able to make out words amongst the baritone, garbled ramble that it had been using before.

“Angel,” it spoke, its timbre deep and rumbling and almost too loud, “Angel, soft.”

You screamed in fear, and it laughed, amused and delighted as it began to bite at your skin as it did every night before. Its hands felt more present, more insistent as they pulled and pinched and prodded at your chest, your stomach, your thighs. All the while, it spoke to you, each distorted sound vibrating every nerve in your body as it repeated one word like a mantra.

“Angel, Angel, Angel…”

Waking up from that dream, paranoia was not what greeted you. It was fear, fear of knowing that, now, your nightmare had a voice, and it was only becoming more real, even harder to ignore.

So, while you were at work, you began to research. How fortunate it was that you worked in a library with unlimited access to all the books there, and you made good use of that in your ample downtime between all your other duties. Anything that dealt with ghosts and hauntings and possible possessions found its way within your hands, eyes unbearably tired but incredibly wide as you took in the information and even wrote down notes and probable ways to help get rid of whatever was causing the creature to latch on to you.

There were multiple home remedies you tried that could possibly ease you into lighter sleep, resting without having to dream, but they did nothing. You were damn near on the cusp of doing witchcraft with some sort of incantations and drawing sigils that were meant to ward off evil things, spirits and fae and goblins and demons, all allegedly, but nothing was working.

Your breaking point came with the most vivid dream to date.

The creature was not present, at first, when you fell asleep, and it was almost scarier not knowing where it had gone than having it all over you. You made to stand in the endless void that was your faux bedroom, stepping away slightly from the bed and walking into the darkness. A few steps farther, and you were able to make out a door, illuminated by an unknown light. For a long minute, you stared at the painted hardwood, unsure if you should move closer and find out what was on the other side.

It seemed your choice would be made for you, however, as a deep chuckle echoed all around the endless blackness before the sound focused acutely from behind you.

You turned, knowing what you would find, yet becoming surprised once more at the being standing there a short distance away.

Long black hair faded out into light pink ends, framing a tall, lithe body painted in meager swathes of black leather and gold trinkets, pale skin swirled with faint black markings only seeming more lustrous against the darkness. Something moved from behind him, a swaying motion that paused just to the side of his silhouette, and it took you a moment to register that it was a tail, of all things. Just as strange were the pair of what looked to be horns protruding from his head, curling up and standing tall from his forehead, though one appeared to be broken at the tip.

The man -was it really a man?- held a beaming smile, icy eyes staring straight through you with purpose.

“My darling Angel,” he spoke clearly, his smile endearing at seeing you there, “oh, how I’ve waited to come to you properly.”

You could not find your voice; in fact, you couldn’t think of anything to say at all. You were stunned more than anything, trying to process what you were seeing before you, what you were hearing from the being. Truly, the creature before you was stunning, ethereal in a way. His voice was soothing despite the edge it held, and his features were so incredibly attractive that even the blind would notice.

Then, all at once, your fight or flight kicked in, and the fear you had grown used to had hit you full force. You took a step back, eyes wide, and the being before you stepped forward to compensate for the motion.

“I’ve been waiting all this time,” he continued, “all this time, just for you. I must admit, I hadn’t realized I had found such a gem, not at first. There were so many prospects, so many delicious outcomes, but none could even compare to you.”

He took another step forward, then another, and your body finally moved with the impending danger coming closer.

You made a mad dash for the illuminated door, fingers almost slipping against the cool brass of the doorknob as you clasped it and tried desperately to push it open. It finally gave way, but just as the door cracked open, it was yanked shut again by your own hands, a scream leaving you as the long arms snaking around your middle pulled you away from what felt like your only escape.

"Now, Angel, don't you think it's been long enough? There's no need to make me chase you any longer."

Whimpering, you struggled in the creature's hold, shuddering at the long, inhuman tongue that slithered its way against the side of your neck. As if pleased, the being practically purred against you, or growled, some sort of sound that rumbled against its chest in a pleased way.

You had to find a way to escape.

"L-let me go," you mumbled out, trying to find your voice amongst your fear. "P-please, just…just let me go!"

"Oh? Of course, Angel, but only for a moment," the creature teased, and you found yourself being spun around quickly and shoved backwards, falling for longer than you should have before landing on the softness of your mattress.

You barely had time to process how you even made it back to the bed before the creature was on you, legs straddling your hips as it leaned over your prone form. Immediately, you lashed out, but your wrists were caught just as quickly, though not by his hands, of which were leisurely sliding their way up your shirt. A quick glance found something black and mobile sliding around your wrists.

His tail.

Your struggle continued, though it didn't seem as if the lithe appendage would budge unless its owner wanted it to. Said owner was cooing things at you, things meant to be affirming and full of praise, but his words left you feeling numb, your mind not wanting to process the vile things being said.

"My darling, my Angel, you're so soft, so scrumptious against my fingers and my tongue. I can't wait to taste you properly, this time. I can't wait to fuck you and indulge in all your delicous sounds."

"S-stop! Get off of m-me, leave me alone! I don't want any of this!"

"But you do," the creature insisted, slotting his hips to fit against yours smoothly and grinding down, forcing a gasp from you. It was obvious how much he was already enjoying himself; you could feel how hard he was, how eagerly he was responding to having you beneath him with little else to rile him up.

"You respond so perfectly to me,' he crooned, "so much better than anyone else. I could feast on you forever, truly!"

You didn't understand what he meant by that, nor did you really want to. For weeks, he had been haunting your dreams as nothing but a shadow, but now he was as real as he could be, and you were nothing short of terrified over what he could possibly do…what he had already told you he would do.

Once again, you struggled in your binds, twisting and turning and kicking out in an attempt to dislodge the creature from your form. It almost seemed effective, as the body above you swayed and almost fell to the side. The tail binding your wrists suddenly tightened, however, and you immediately winced and halted your movements to lessen the hold it had on you. It didn't hurt, not really, but there was potential there, and you worried it would be used against you.

"That won't do," your captor proclaimed, voice eerily calm and just on the side of concerned. "I don't want to hurt you, darling! It's not how I want to bring you pleasure, though if you ask nicely, I can definitely make arrangements."

He righted himself above you, leaning down incredibly close as his tail loosened its hold, allowing you only a moment of comfort before it was taken away with a kiss you couldn't pull away from.

"Look at me, Angel. Look into my eyes."

Immediately, you looked away, avoiding the iridescent gaze that hadn't left you once. Clawed fingers gripped at your chin, forcing you to turn back to face him, but you immediately closed your eyes, not giving the creature the satisfaction.

"LoOk aT mE!"

His voice had distorted and deepened, echoing loudly all around but just a whisper against your lips. Your eyes opened automatically, afraid all over again of what he could do to you if you did not comply. You didn't know he wouldn't hurt you, that he was incapable of doing so unless you told him to. He wanted your pleasure, not your pain, but how could you possibly know that when his very existence within your sleep had caused you nothing but dread for months?

Reluctantly, you met his gaze, the impossible depths of incredibly light blue shimmering within pools of blackness and distorting everything around you until it was the only thing you could fathom. Your body began to relax despite your still present fear, your mind becoming hazy and far less aware of anything but his presence. What fight you had in you dissipated, and even though you would much rather be anywhere but in your dreamscape, you were the calmest you had been in what felt like months.

"Tell me your inner desires, darling. Let me make them come true. Let me give you unimaginable ecstacy. Won't you let me have all of you?"

Your immediate thought was to deny him, just as you had been doing the entire time, but an even deeper part of you, a part you had not even given thought to, wanted whatever the creature above you was offering. It made absolutely no sense, but the more you lingered on the thought, the more it grew in your mind, so much so that, for a moment, it was the only thing you wanted. Giving in would be easy; giving in would be pure rapture.

Unable to stop yourself, you began to nod, agreeing to what you had been asked. You felt the creature smile against your lips, pressing forward to leave behind a light, lingering kiss.

"There, isn't that better?" he questioned, his smile creeping into something a tad more lecherous, a tad more sinister as he pulled back to gaze at you better. "You just sit back and relax, Angel, and let me do all the work. All I ask is that you give me every little piece of you, and I will give you pleasures you've never known."

The creature -no, the demon, because what else could such a being possibly be?- made good on all his sweetly spoken, sickening promises, and you were left at his damning mercy. Unable to lash out, you were made to take what he gave you and enjoy what you, at first, didn't want, but what your body gave into readily.

He touched you with reverence, devoted his palms and fingertips to the softness of your skin as he undressed you, possessive of every flaw and perfection. He tasted with lips and teeth and tongue, leaving nothing unsoiled by his want to pleasure and devour and caress.

His tongue was a wicked thing, sliding against your flesh and raising goosebumps along your body as he made his way lower and lower. He was between your legs in no time, tasting you as he said he would, praising the wanton sounds leaving your lips with pretty words and sharp, golden nails digging into your thighs, the pinpricks doing nothing but heightening the sensations.

How long he pleasured you this way, you were uncertain. It felt like hours he remained there despite your cries to stop as you grew too sensitive at his touch. When he finally did give you a moment's reprieve, you were greeted with that damned silver-blue gaze, wide and wanting, face wet and gleaming from your unwanted desire.

"Angel, you taste like heaven," he praised with a moan, sliding up your body to kiss you.

You could do nothing but accept everything he was doing, your sounds positive, your tears an unfortunate acceptance.

Easily, your body welcomed him, the mess he had made of your warmth allowing him to slide in with one smooth thrust. He shuddered above you as you made a small, breathy sound, eyes closing as the creature actually had the decency to give you a moment to adjust.

In all honesty, you wanted him out of you immediately; in all honesty, you wanted even more.

“Divine…absolutely divine!”

His words were nearly a moan, his hips slow to move, but picking up pace quickly. You were quiet, at first, biting at your bottom lip to keep from letting out any sounds, to keep from letting the creature know that you were enjoying it far more than you wanted to. Your silence only seemed to spur him on, however, as he shifted your positions slightly and had your legs over his shoulders.

The new angle forced a whine from your lips, each thrust hitting something within you that had all your nerves lighting up. You could feel every movement sending sparks down your spine, could feel the heat and the girth of the creature spearing into you with vigor and excitement. With that one sound escaping, you were unable to hold back any longer, giving in to the pleasure that wracked your body and letting out moans and keens and cries.

“Hah…yes, let me hear you, Angel! Let me feast on your rapture!”

You were pushed and pulled into several positions, barely aware of much else besides the cock moving in and out of you. At some point, the tail that had been wrapped around your wrists had unwound itself and made use in other places - wrapping around your waist to pull you into every thrust, twisting around an ankle, and even finding its way within your mouth, practically choking you with its curious nature.

You felt no pain, only unadulterated pleasure, absolute ecstasy everywhere you were being touched.

Delirious, you were only mildly aware of your begging for more, begging to stop, your cries of sensitivity and your screams of delight. The creature practically surrounding you in every sense answered in full, thrusting harder and faster with each new position, exclaiming with your shouts and pleas.

He was close; you were sure of it. The way his claws dug deeply into your sides, the rough smack of his hips against your own, and the teeth nibbling sharply against your shoulder were all solid indications. You had already come twice, a third and hopefully final time just out of reach. Just a little more…just a little longer…

The creature reached between your legs, fingers slick, insistent, and you were screaming to the heavens as your body tensed and trembled almost violently. Your fingers were in his hair, one hand finding purchase against a twisting horn, pulling as you convulsed around him. With a delighted snarl, he bit into the side of your neck, his thrusts slowing as liquid heat filled you deep within. 

It was quiet for a long time after, save for your harsh breaths as well as the lilting, gentle endearments from the creature lying atop you. Clawed hands brushed over your sweaty skin, creating goosebumps in their wake.

“You are absolute perfection. A delicious temptation, and all for me to devour every night.”

He sat up, exposing you to the coolness of the void around you. All too quickly, you were coming back to your senses, a feeling of shame making itself known. You had given in, despite your want for the creature to leave you alone, and now all you felt was ashamed and sick to your stomach.

The creature moved back further, pulling out with a groan and looking to where you were previously joined. You tried closing your knees together, but he was faster, prying your legs apart and gazing at the mess he had left behind. Embarrassment had you weakly fighting back, but it was all for nothing.

Faintly, you were aware that something in your mind was shifting, that your sight was becoming almost hazy, and the creature’s words ringing in your ears almost coming to you muffled.

“Oh, yes, no one else could ever compare. You are all mine, Angel. I can’t wait to have you again.”

Without warning, you found yourself shooting up in your bed with a gasp, eyes wide and full of tears. It was really your room, the walls decorated just as you always had them, lit by the light you had kept on in an attempt to keep yourself awake. The waking world that greeted you was the same as it had always been, but you felt a stranger in your own space.

You looked down at your shaking hands, reaching for the comforter and throwing it off of your body with a flourish.

You were still clothed, yet your skin was littered with marks, red lines and shadowed bruises. Shifting out of bed was a little more difficult than normal, as you were far more sore than you should have been, and when you stood, your legs wobbled beneath your weight. It was as you steadied yourself that you felt it, the undeniable existence of slick wetness between your thighs, and your blood ran cold.

How could that even be possible? How the hell was that…that thing able to do such a thing outside of your dream?

An even worse thought entered your mind:  what if your dream hadn’t actually been a dream, but a delusion of reality morphed by the very creature that was haunting them?

With that lone thought, you finally broke down and began sobbing, terrified and at your wit’s end. Nothing you had done had warded off the creature, and there was seemingly nothing else you could do. 

Was there anything or anyone that would be able to help you at all?

“It would be a pleasure to have you join us for Sunday’s service.”

Your mind suddenly conjured up the image of the new priest, Father Ren, and his gentle, comforting voice. He had been so kind, so understanding despite your blatant disinterest in joining the church. He would have no judgments, no reason to fault you or turn you away.

With a newfound hope, you checked your bedside clock, wincing at the extremely early hour.

Surely, if you sought him out, he would be unbothered, especially if you were in as much trouble as you currently were in.

Surely, if you asked for his help, he would be more than happy to lend a hand.

Determination began coursing through your veins as you stumbled your way into the bathroom, doing your best to clean yourself up and calm yourself down. You ignored the mirror, did your best to not glance at the horrible bite mark imprinted in your neck as you quickly dressed and ran out the door.

The church was just down the block from your home, thankfully, the doors always open to those of the public who sought refuge and forgiveness. You practically ran the whole way despite the soreness in your muscles, mind only on wanting to find Father Ren, despite how early it was.

The sun hadn’t even begun to peek over the horizon, and it was highly unlikely that you would find the priest awake at such a time. Still, if you stayed within the church, maybe the creature wouldn’t try to reach you in such a holy place.

Gasping for breath, you practically threw yourself through the entrance of the church, back pressing against the door as you closed it behind you and gulped in air. Already, you felt a little better within the church entryway, the gentle lighting setting the atmosphere in a peaceful tonel. Around you were glass panes depicting holy figures in colorful, abstract hues, and down the long walkway lined with pews that led to the podium, a giant cross made of dark wood stood at attention, a looming symbol of the faith many people flocked to.

“Oh my! I thought I heard something. To what do I owe such an early visit?”

You turned abruptly at the voice, surprised to find the very one you had been looking for.

“F-Father Ren!”

He stepped closer, clothed in his robes and looking every bit as perfect as he always did. His hair was twisted in a braid to the side, and his gentle, light blue eyes were downcast ever so slightly. There was a small smile on his face, his full attention solely on you.

“You seem troubled,” he commented, words carefully prying. You had to keep yourself from breaking down all over again, despite knowing you would have to tell him of your horrible problem.

“I…I am,” you stuttered out, swallowing heavily. “I…I’m so sorry, Father Ren, I didn’t want to bother you at this time-”

“Think nothing of it,” he immediately interjected, waving a hand up as if to dissipate the thought. “What seems to be troubling you?”

“I think there’s something…following me, in my dreams,” you began slowly, biting at your lip. “I know it sounds so stupid, so silly, but it’s haunting me, and I…I don’t know what to do! I’ve tried everything, but…but nothing’s working, and it…it leaves marks on me.”

You pulled down your collar slightly, showing off the purpling bruises and imprints of teeth. Father Ren’s eyes widened as he moved closer to study the marks further; you mistook the action as shock and shied away somewhat. The priest understood and took a step back, giving a single nod in affirmation.

“I see. I’m glad you feel comfortable coming to me for such a matter.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you admitted, defeated and mildly embarrassed to express he had been your last resort. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it, his smile once again finding its way to his lovely face. It reached his eyes, unlike any other time you had seen it, and though it was genuine, it didn’t bring you as much comfort as you thought it should have.

“You have nothing to worry about, now,” he assured, his voice gentle but his words feeling stiff, almost practiced. His eyes, so incredibly light in color, almost seemed to shimmer in the holy glow of the church, though instead of the clarity you thought you found in them, they only held unknown deceit.

You had unknowingly walked into the lion’s den, and what you had mistaken for a beacon of safety had turned out to be the bait leading you to being devoured.“I will be your sanctuary in your time of need. After all, I’ve waited all this time…all this time, just for you.”

[marabrosca]

[REUPLOAD] - What You Seek Will Find You (Cullen x Lavellan)

a commission for @cullenvhenan with her OC immy 

words: 3k

summary: Cullen reflects on his heart's desires, and comes to the one thing he wants the most. (Cullen’s pov fic and his falling in love with Imryll Lavellan)

tags: pining, soft, romance, kissing

warning: contains mentions of racism/colorism but is never directly said to any poc

Read it on AO3

It was uncomfortable to see a chantry half full, Cullen decided. He couldn’t remember a time where he and his family would attend a sermon, and be joined by only a dozen people. The chantry in his youth accommodated with every seat and then some, as many late arrivals would continue to listen to the Revered Mother’s litany whilst standing in the back by the front door. Having the room be so scarce, having so many pews be empty, made the ceremony feel far more serious and intimidating than intended.

It was here that Cullen would be fulfilling his dream of joining the Templar Order, taking his vows and swearing to protect Thedas at the behest of the Andraste Herself. He peered over at the towering statue of the prophet, Her pyre burning brightly but expanding no more light into the room than a few candles. He felt himself shrink into his armor, picking nervously at his embroidered skirt as Andraste’s stone eyes bore into him. It was a dull service he had to admit. A withered old chantry Sister recited the Chant Of Light in an almost monotone voice, pausing every few lines to include the sacred blessings given to those joining the Order.

Cullen had practiced his vows more times than he could count. There were formal promises to make, but they came strictly with a list. When he had been given the list, the scroll lay heavy in his hands. The gold ribbon around it had made it seem as resplendent as the Chantry’s interior, and no less important than the impression it made. Each Templar was to choose their own vows, their own honest promises to the Maker.

Everyone is different, and we are all here for different reasons. But now we join as one, and must do what is expected of us. Therefore, it is the responsibility of one who chooses to walk the path of sacrifice, to pave the road they walk on.

It was something that was repeated to him in the upcoming weeks of the ceremony. There were many ways, as it turned out, to prove one’s faithfulness to the Maker. There was fasting, sacrificing of material goods (not that Templars had many personal items to begin with), excessive prayer, public preaching, and at least ten other things that Cullen could remember. There was only one that gave him pause: chastity, and the detachment to romantic relations, even within marriage. Cullen felt weak for admitting it, but the idea of a future in solitude wasn’t exactly appealing. Not that it was supposed to be. The idea was that a Templar-to-be would set aside personal desire and focus solely on duty, devoting themselves entirely to their service.

But Cullen saw no reason why he couldn’t do both. A part of him, a part he hid from others, was enamored with the idea of marriage. He’d caught himself many times dreaming of the day his soul-mate would enter his life, accepting the promise to live in each other’s hearts. It was indulgent and juvenile, but he wondered if perhaps one day he’d be in chantry taking entirely different vows than the ones he would proclaim that day. As far as Cullen could see, there were no obstacles in finding someone who was Andrastian. They’d have to be, wouldn’t they? Followers of the chantry and the Maker filled every space in Ferelden, and certainly he wouldn’t be traveling far from Kinloch Hold after the ceremony. Frankly, there was no reason to worry.

The young man heard his name and he stood, almost too quickly, and shuffled out of the pew, making his way to the Revered Mother. She looked at him with a kind smile, and he bowed his head in response. The woman’s hand hovered above him, pausing.

“Have you prepared your promises to the Maker, accepting His blessing as a holy child and servant of Andraste?” “Yes.” He replied firmly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

-

Decades had passed since that day, disappearing like a dream interrupted by daylight. At no point would Cullen expect anything he had experienced, or where he was now. Snow crunched under his boots as he surveyed twenty new recruits to the Inquisitor’s forces- the DalishInquisitor – yet they served just as devout to the chantry as he had once been. An uncomfortable, heavy force weighed on him at the thought; a reminder of his skewed mind from the past. It was a part of him he didn’t want to forget, so that he would never become that man again. He didn’t, however, want it to swallow him whole. That part was harder.

Two of the newest recruits, George and Elliott, were sent to fetch a requisition officer that had been surveying the Storm Coast for some time. The men seemed eager, and promising, and gave off an air of charisma that delivered a boost in morale. Soon enough they returned with the aforementioned officer. She was a tall, lanky elf with pale skin and large, striking emerald eyes. Her black hair fell to her mid-back, lips pink and puffy in the cold. Cullen greeted her politely, taking the missives from her hands as she smiled pleasantly at him. The officer followed Cullen to the desk planked beside the staircase extending from the ramparts. He didn’t miss the almost pungent smell of perfume on her, but made no comment. The commander settled the forms into a neat pile, getting ready to turn to his scouts, when he looked up and noticed that she was still standing there. He cleared his throat when she did not have anything to say. “Thank you, Deanna, for going out of your way.”

“No problem at all, Commander.” The elf smiled at him, folding her hands behind her back.

“Ah…was there something else you needed?” Deanna twirled a finger through a lock of hair, her cheeks turning pinker than before.

“Actually, I was wondering if you were busy tonight.” She replied, eyeing the desk quickly before settling her sights on his face. George and Elliott watched the sight, impressed with their Commander’s obliviousness to her body language.

“As it happens, I am very busy tonight,” Cullen answered, turning and handing the papers over to a scout without pause. “There is still much work to be done if Skyhold is to ever be inhabitable. And I fear the most difficult challenges are yet to come. Why? Does something require my attention?” Deanna’s smile sunk to her knees with her shoulders following suit. “Um, no, it was nothing. Thank for your time, Commander.” “And you, as well.” Cullen responded with a nod, watching the elf turn and make her way up the stairs.

-

As busy as the ex-Templar seemed to be, he had set some time aside that evening to have a walk down the ramparts with Inquisitor Imryll. Soon the easy stride had turned to a pause, then to a conversation, then to a kiss. It was clearly unplanned and unexpected- quite the opposite of how Cullen had always carried himself- but there was no doubt in the way Imryll held onto his back and caressed his hair, that she didn’t object to it.

Gossip spread like the Blight within Skyhold regarding the Inquisitor’s supposed “dalliance” with the Commander. A couple of messengers and guards that had been making their way by wasted no time sharing the tale of what they had witnessed, or exaggerating it.

“It was a sweep of passion! He grabbed her and they nearly dipped as if they were dancing!” “I wasn’t that close, so I couldn’t really tell, but Ser Rutherford appeared very harsh with our Lady Inquisitor. Do you think he treats all his women that way?” “She hypnotized him with blood magic, I swear!” The only things the tales had in common was that a kiss was involved, anything else could not be answered, much to the disappointment of the staff who were almost growing bored of the mundane. When the news reached Elliott, he was quick to share what he heard over a drink on the grass with George, who turned his nose up in disgust. “See that, I just don’t get.” “What’s not to get? You don’t know what a kiss is? Do you revolt women that much?” “No, smartass.” George took a swig from his flask before continuing. “I don’t get how someone would, ya know, go for an elf. Does he seem like the type? And that elf on top of it- what’s next, a Qunari?”

Elliott let out a cackling laugh, almost catching his lip between his browning teeth. “Not your type, eh?” “Not anybody’s type.” George tried to adjust himself on the ground, reaffirming his seat in the same spot once the dizziness ceased his actions. “At least you got- at least you got some lookers here, right? Like that one from before…that, uh, Deanna. Them ones with the big eyes and the curves and all- and have you ever seen an elf that was so dark?” “Not before the Inquisitor. Her eyes are black, did you notice? Do you think she’s blind?” “I thought all elves were ivory and lanky and- where did she even come from?” “Somewhere up north.” “Up north, bah.” George, not heeding the warning his body gave him before, took another large gulp. “If you asked me, I’d kiss an ogre any day before I’d even think about kissin’ her. She wouldn’t-”

Before he could finish his ramblings, a pair of hands grabbed them both from behind, lifting them by the collars and onto their feet. George almost vomited, feeling the searing burn shoot up his throat at the assault. Both men turned sharply to be met with the fiery eyes of their Commander. The men could feel their faces turn numb and a pulse beat in the back of their skulls. Elliott dropped his mug without thinking, licking his lips in an attempt to speak.

“Commander-”

“I don’t want to hear another word.” “But-” “Not. One. Word.” Cullen’s teeth stuck out starkly against his reddening face.

The recruits gulped, bugged-eyed as George swayed slightly from the alcohol. Cullen’s gaze locked onto the mug spilling yellow liquid onto the grass. “I see that your night of leisure has given you loose tongues.”

Cullen pondered what kind of punishment should bestow them. Perhaps they were to be bound and brought to the Inquisitor on her throne, and beg at her feet for mercy after confessing their crimes? The idea was enticing, but it was likely the display would embarrass Imryll, and he needn’t put more on her shoulders regarding her reputation. Besides, she hadn’t heard the words herself, so why hurt her feelings? No, that simply wouldn’t do. They needed to learn a lesson…a long-term lesson. Without warning Cullen grabbed them by the collar again and pushed them both face-first into the dirt. “You will clean this mess, and then pack your things. At dawn, you will be deployed to the Hissing Wastes, where you will remain until the hole in the sky is welded shut.” The Hissing Wastes was the most miserable landscape in Thedas Imryll had ventured to that he could think of. It was a constant scorching mass of dry air and sand, flipping the coin completely when all was frozen over at night. Only the most hardened travelers could tolerate its climate. It was a long-lasting punishment for a crime that could permanently scar having landed in Imryll’s ears.

Without another word Cullen turned on his heel and walked back to the fortress, ignoring the groaning coming from behind him. As he moved out of sight, Elliott wobbled down to pick his mug off the ground, and George let go of all the liquid courage in his stomach that had sealed their fates.

-

Days had passed since the new blood of the Inquisition seemingly vanished overnight, but Cullen’s hands still upturned into fists at the memory. He hadn’t been there when they were carted off, but it was reported right before that they wished to beg forgiveness. Cullen dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand and went back to his business like he was the only one in the room. He scowled, eyeing the ground with intensity as not to scream, a look that caught the eye of the curly-haired elf standing across from him. She walked up to him before he could react, kissing the knot between his eyebrows. All at once he melted, tense muscles going loose for a brief moment as he looked up. Her smile was concerned, and he felt his face relaxing as not to worry her further. “Are you alright?” she asked, grazing the back of her fingers along the side of his face, leaving goose bumps in her wake.

“Yes…I’m fine.” He let out a breath, willing himself to calm down. His hand reached up to grasp hers, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. It made them both blush, and Imryll’s fingers curled in his grasp.

“I had been wondering this for a while,” she started, not pulling away from his hold.

“That day you kissed me on the battlements…how long had you wanted to do that?”

Cullen couldn’t help but let out a laugh, smiling despite the heat in his cheeks. Her tone wasn’t mischievous, merely curious. A part of him advised against telling her; it was unprofessional at the very least to admit that he had wanted his lips on hers not too long after meeting, before Skyhold, even. Despite not being the best of friends at the time, Cullen found himself gravitating towards her, and desired her approval for more than just reasons regarding their duty.

He smiled sheepishly before finally answering her query.

“Longer than I should admit.”

-

Springtime scarcely differed from winter when it came to living on a mountain. Everyone still wore furs up to their noses and the courtyard was rarely full. Merchant deliverers unloaded their cargo as quickly as they could before ducking into the tavern. Orlesian noblewomen paraded their flower-adorned shifts about, calling attention to their “eye to detail”, modeling their appearance after the Skyhold garden. This, in reality, was meant to turn attention away from their unseemly reddening noses each time they needed to lift their mask and cough into a handkerchief.

Despite this -and despite her own hatred for the cold- Imryll could still be found tending to her plants- the ones that would survive the elements. She frowned as she lifted a limp stem with her finger, disappointed she wouldn’t be able to expand her alchemy skills just yet. Vivienne had warned her it was too early to start studying potions that required foliage, but in an effort to impress her, Imryll had tried it anyway. And now she was thinking of a way to dispose of the dead roots without embarrassing herself.

The sound of familiar footsteps behind her turned her attention away from the frozen soil, lifting her mood in an instant. “There you are. I was worried you’d still be out here.” Cullen sighed.

“Oh, yes. I was seeing how things were going,” she replied, gesturing to the frozen soil “Don’t tell Vivienne.” Cullen chuckled and removed his cloak, draping it over her shoulders.

“You’ll catch cold out here.” His touched his forehead with hers, watching as she scrunched her nose at the tickle of the wind.

“Walk me back?” Imryll guided them the long way around, entwining her arm with Cullen’s. Halfway there her legs had “gone completely numb from the cold”, and their only solution was to duck into an archway that housed a small stone bench. The elf laid her cheek on the part of his armor still covered by cloth, and sighed as his fingers glided down her arm.

“Feeling better?” “Not yet,” she replied, moving ever closer into his arms. Cullen held her tighter, making the Inquisitor smile. Her soft, round cheek was squished up against his chest, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. The atmosphere was too serene to believe. The moon now overshadowed the sun, leaving the walkway empty aside from them. Imryll gazed out at the greenery that still grew around them. But Cullen’s eyes were transfixed on her. In these escaping moments of peace, he found himself wondering what he would do in the future. If she survived- when she survived the impending battle with Corypheus- what would he do? He had been only a child the last time he lead a normal life, even though nothing for him would be truly normal again. Would she go with him? Would she go back to her clan? His stomach coiled at the thought, as selfish as it was. He wouldn’t blame her for returning to her people when this was all over, but surly he could not join her. The Dalish didn’t welcome humans as passersby, let alone a human lover. What if she left him? Did she not feel as strongly about their relationship as he did? Would she have to choose?

And more importantly, how would he declare the choice he’s made?

He couldn’t imagine a life without her. Despite the hardships and horrors he’s endured, having Imryll walk out of his life would be the breaking point. His gaze solemnly drifted to the bare blackness of the sky, subconsciously tightening his grip on Imryll.  

“Cullen? Is something wrong?” she asked, lifting her head.

“Oh- I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” “No…” the Inquisitor waited for an answer to her question.

“I think we should go back inside. I’m sure you’d be far more comfortable with warm tea in your bed, wouldn’t you say?” Imryll perked up at the thought and reluctantly sat up to stretch.

“Will you be joining me?” Imryll asked over her shoulder, half flirtatiously. “If my lady wishes so.” Cullen responded, chuckling and standing to join her on the walk back to her quarters.

“I do. But is that what you want?”

What I want… Without warning the commander hoisted her up into his arms, leaning his head down to kiss her lips. She let out a yelp before laughing, slapping lightly at his chest as he carried her through the garden. Wind brushed roughly against the pathway flowers, sending a few white petals into the air, catching onto Imryll’s curls. Their white littered the stone, creating an almost snowy effect as he walked. They went unnoticed by Imryll, who was too distracted reaching up to playfully peck at her lover’s chin.

What he wanted…

He knew now more than ever.

-

Imryll had taken some time to teach Cullen threads of Dalish before, but nothing like this.

“Sylaise enaste var aravel…”

The sound of her native tongue caressed his ears. Everything in that moment disappeared except for her; and although he couldn’t understand the words, he felt them in his heart. He wanted her promise to be true, and he trusted that it was.

“I swear unto the Maker and The Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

As the words left his lips, they connected with hers. Perhaps he should have waited until Mother Giselle made the official decree, but he couldn’t wait another moment.

The kiss ended with the faint tickle of Cullen’s breath against her lips. His nose stayed atop hers, soft chestnut eyes barely open beneath his lashes. It was their first kiss as a married couple, a term they could barely comprehend. Cullen sighed blissfully, capturing the moment in his mind down to every detail as the setting sun painted them in golden light, as if the world turned just for them. Imryll’s skin blended with the rays. Her eyes reflected, but were not illuminated by the shine, creating a stark clear surrounding of white around the onyx that seduced him so many times.

Imryll took but a single step before she was whisked off her feet. A surprised yelp quickly turned to giggles as her husband hoisted her into his arms in a true bridal-fashion. Mushy bounced excitedly at Cullen’s feet and wagged his tail, attempting to angle himself so that he could leap up to join Imryll.

“Blasted-get down! I can’t hold the both of you.”

Imryll laughed joyously, taking her lover’s face into her hands.

“How long have you wanted to do that?”

Cullen smiled down at her.

“Longer than I should admit.”

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

Little things I loved about the Chosen season finale:

"I know what the prophecies say about my appearance. Is this you trying to change that?"

Yeshua says this in reference to Isaiah 53:2-3, which states that the Messiah would not be anyone particularly attractive or striking in appearance. He would be a normal man (which is why--SPOILERS! (lol)--Judas has to designate which one He is when He is eventually betrayed). Yeshua's making a bit of a joke, while also affirming Himself as Messiah!

Also loved the whole ascension/opening-the-veil symbolism at the end (as I broke down in my other post). That gave me chills! Especially since James and John are at His sides because this is the first step of His earthly "ascension" just as they'd requested to be on either side of Him when He fully ascended to heaven (which we saw on the show and occurs in Mark 10:35-45)!

The conversation with Quintus (ik ik this was episode 7 but I have to mention it)?? Ooh that was good, especially the

I'm sorry to have caused such confusion over matters of flesh and bone!

Like HMM wonder what that could be referencing??? Another nice little nod which I'm so glad we keep getting to see.

The way the disciples interacted just felt so natural, and the conflicts that occurred stemmed from genuine hurt feelings, fear, and doubt. And it also was so realistic how they all had different ideas and interpretations of Yeshua's words and just wanted to do what was right but couldn't agree.

JUDASSSS I knew it was him as soon as the scene in the bar started and it really hurts my heart to know that he will be remembered, for the rest of time, just like he wanted--but not for anything good...it's so easy to picture him becoming gradually disillusioned with this "supposed" Messiah because he didn't understand what Yeshua's actual mission was. This is gonna hurt so much...

I also love the great way they showed us the Lord's Prayer and the Sermon on the Mount. They were so personal and intimate, which is exactly how they were intended. Especially the Sermon's introduction being directed to the disciples. The lines to Matthew about being unjustly treated really touched me. It made the whole thing seem directed at individuals, just like how John would preach! And how Simon was the first one to ask Yeshua how to pray--he is the first in so many things. There's a reason he's going to be called Peter!

Also also loved how Yeshua explained why He speaks in metaphors that might be hard to understand. He wants people who seek out the truth and really think about His words, and not everyone will.

The explanation of the salt of the earth honestly was something I hadn't thought of. He says so much with so little, and He means it not just for them (although he certainly was thinking of his disciples) but also for us. That's who we are called to be--what an exhortation!

The fact that the proposed colors for Yeshua's sash (which made Him stand out instead of being a disembodied voice?? Like how God's voice in the past has always been since no one could look upon His face??) all represented different and yet all completely true aspects of Himself? And how the one they chose was to show Him as Peacemaker, which is an important thing to emphasize because He will be saying many hard things and is now being seen as more of a threat by the Pharisees and Rome. As He said to Matthew, He came to make changes--but also to bring peace.

Speaking of that, how they chose the colors together?? How Matthew's input was valued?? How Mary designed the flyers and everyone else handed them out?? How Yeshua trusted the disciples to plan the way the sermon would be organized???? Basically how God values our contributions and uses our skills and talents to further His purposes and also appreciates them as the beautiful things they are and parts of what make us who we are and just He loves us, somehow, for some reason, He loves us and wants us to help Him accomplish His will!! Feeling like John out here, just in awe of His love

There's so much more but I just really loved like everything about this episode and I cannot wait to see what happens next!!

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

Neither of them said anything for a long minute. Murky water dripping carelessly into a puddle somewhere. 

Asivus looked Astor up and down, taking him in. He then nodded, before kicking his legs back out and resting his arms behind his head, resuming his entertainment of staring at the wall. This time he put on the smile.

“Welp! I was kinda hoping a couple decades imprisonment would do the trick, but execution is fine too, I guess. Swiftness and punctuality and all that.” He let out a fake yawn. “Though you’re wasting your time if you’re looking to give a prayer. I intend to go out without asking the gods for anything.”

“I’m not a priest.” Astor said bluntly.

Siv cocked an eyebrow. “Uh…...n...nun—?”

“What happened to you, Assivus?” 

“Ahhhh…And interrogation…” He nodded up and down again. “Then I’ll tell you what I told the other guy—you can goooooooo suck my dick.”

Siv turned to the side, fiddling with something metal in his right pocket, the rattling echoing on the stone floor.  He finally pulled out an old flask, shaking it back and for, the sound revealing a little less than a third of alcohol left in the container. He shook it again and looked at the seer. 

“Snuck this bad boy in, earlier! I know my way around a pat down or two, heheh…” He took a swig before gesturing towards Astor again. “How ‘bout you, choir man? Got any sorrows to drown?”

“A kind offer, but I actually value my health,” he replied. “You got any other contraband keeping you company, then?”

He tensed, but recovered so quickly Astor nearly thought he imagined it. Asivus then let out a laugh before taking another drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—which despite the grime, was probably the cleanest part of his person. 

“So they took the nearest homeless looking pal and sent them down to ask me shit...that’s certainly new.” He studied the seer again. “What? We supposed to bond over our greasy hair? Lack of fashion?” Another beat of silence. “...I’ll admit, it’s working a bit!” He laughed, leaning back against the wall. 

Astor sighed silently, before cutting to the chase. “You’re being charged with manslaughter—the rampaging Guardian that destroyed part of the castle. But I know it wasn’t you.” Water dripped in the back end of the cell. “I want you to tell me about the malice.”

One of the cells down the corridor rattled, some Lizalfo shifting in it’s sleep. The echoing metal left a sense of unease in the air. 

“Listen…” Assivus’s voice dropped to a dangerously quiet tone. “I’m not looking for a defense attorney, and I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. So you should probably get on your way before you miss your sermon.” He glared at Astor, blue eyes seemingly a shade darker. 

“There were timelines where the world ends today, you know.” He stepped closer to the cell bars. “The princess far too weak to awaken her powers, the Calamity having grown just strong enough to erupt around the castle, infecting stone and flesh alike.” 

“Well whatareya doing here, then, Mr. Doomsday?” Assivus cocked his head to the side. “If the world’s supposed to end, shouldn’t you be...out there? Maybe holding an ‘End is Nigh’ sign or something?”

“It doesn’t end for us, though. I’ve spent my life studying the endeavours and feats that await this world and the next. We’ve luckily still got a few years before hell starts to walk.” Astor stepped closer again, unwavering to Assivus’ gaze. “I’m merely curious about how your little disturbance—or perhaps, failure of a disturbance—coincides with the Calamity’s potential return.”

“I fucked with some Sheikah Tech. Guardian got funky. Brat nephew saves the day. I get arrested. Don’t remember running into any ancient evils on this little joy ride.”   

“You and I both know the official report is made-up bullshit. I imagine your spite is derived from the unfairness of the situation.” He tucked his hair behind his ears. “Guardians can’t be corrupted through mechanical means. They’re forces crafted to take on ancient magical forces, and as such are engrained with magical components. They don’t just break out into violence over a broken gear, much less be purposefully made to go against their ancient purposes.” He scoffed at the smirk on Asivus’ face. “Especially not by some idiot like you.” Asivus placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. 

“In addition,” Astor continued, “I imagine your father didn’t have purple and gold slitted eyes. So that trait you occasionally have is certainly suspect.”

Assivus blinked, and the creeping colors in his eyes faded along with his confident smirk. He rubbed his blue eyes and sighed. 

“Hey well that’s just rude,” Siv said, playfully. “Maybe I got it from my mom.”

Astor clicked his tongue, before clenching his jaw.

“Welp, you’re certainly a smarter cookie than I gave you credit for, purple man.” Asivus crossed his legs—criss-cross-applesauce—and turned completely too Astor. “But the fact of the matter is, I don’t really care anymore. And I don’t know why you care. Knowing doesn’t change anything for your little predictions, does it?”

The prophet’s face remained unreadable. Siv started scratching his head. “You know I do remember you now...I’ve seen you around. You used to pester the Dick-Rhoam a bunch. Walking around with your little maps and star charts or whatever...yeah, yeah. The weirdo that would tell the rich bastards around here that they were useless. Very bitter insults, I respect it! Suppose some heroes wear robes over capes.”

“It’s not about insults, it’s the truth.” Astor narrowed his eyes. “I’m trying to help you, but rest assured, we all are doomed to be consumed by the Calamity.”

There was silence between them again, but the slight smile on Siv’s face didn’t fade.

“You know, this whole dark and edgy doomsday act is great and all, don’t get me wrong. But since it’s just us alone here there’s no need to keep up the act. I mean, I’m pretty sure I saw you left that anonymous gift of exotic bird encyclopedias in Larc’s office last year.” Astor’s jaw tightened and Siv winked. “And I know because he claimed he saw me leave it—and I don’t buy books, ever. Might wanna change your wardrobe, you wouldn’t wanna be confused as the homeless orator—”

“The Malice.” The seer cut in. “How’d you get it?”

“Ah, it all started when I was born in Rauru Settlement to Lord Ligero Arist—”

“I mean how did you manifest it?” He articulated.  “Everyone has malice, yes. But it takes something else to make it a physical power. Much less enough to infect Sheikah Technology.”

Asivus tapped his chin for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t I just perish in peace? The ol’ axe seems for sharper conversation.”

“Look, I just want...I want to…” Astor shook his head, restarting. “Any information I get is something I can use to make our future demise just slightly more bearable for whatever unlucky generation lives. Don’t you care about that?”

“Nope! Got no kids. Larc and his brats either didn’t care to look at me, or Larc’s too much of a spineless brother to care about me over the rules. Soooo, I’m all for looking out for me, myself, and I, thank you very much.” He tapped his foot against the stone floor. “Plus, I had an ex that used his kids to scam me of 6k rupees in a pocket monster match a while back, so I’m still recovering from that.” 

“Can I trade you then? What do you want? If I come back here with a good wine, will your lips loosen?” Astor was already mentally planning who he could buy a bottle from without a paper trail, already expecting Siv to say yes.

Water continued to drip and drip and drip. Asivus sighed.

“...Nah.” Astor raised an eyebrow. “I’m good...you can’t get what I want, anyhow…”

The seer looked at him for a long moment. Siv had gone back to staring into blank space, deep in thought about something that had caused his smirk to fade.

Let’s see...What would a dead man value? He’s got a rough relationship with his family, he’s got no friends, he’s tainted by a crime of his past…

“Are you interested in the past?” The prophet finally asked. “I know stuff about your mother. If the material doesn’t mean much to a dead man, then I’m all for a trade of information.”

Siv’s eyes suddenly shot up, specks of gold appeared in his pupils before disappearing.

“Wh..*What...?*”

“I’ll start. We’ll both trade details bit by bit, alright?” It was his turn to smirk at the look on Asivus’ face. 

“I’m a bastard child.”

Asivus scrunched his eyebrows. “The fuck does that have to do with my…” His eyes suddenly widened, his mouth opening and closing. He quickly checked his flask to see how much was left, and took a swig. He stared back at Astor. “Explains a bit but...What the actual fuck.”

“Her name was Serenity. Serenity Lior Astor, from Deya Village. There, I think that’s adequate, yes?” Astor gestured down to him. “Your turn.”

Asivus scratched his chin, before standing. He drank the rest of his flask, before dropping it to the ground. “How’d she die?”

“Your father is Lord Ligero. You know how this game works.”

Siv bit his lip, for a moment, before shrugging. Suddenly, purple started to creep at the edges of his eyes, pupils thinning to gold.

“OK, magic man. But don’t be a snitch, alright?” Assivus raised one of his hands open in the air, and for a moment, Astor wondered if he was supposed to take it in a weird sideways handshake. 

Then, the air swirled, a sensation of mixed euphoria and misery tainting the corridor. Cell occupants were rustling.

A glow of magenta swirled up Assivus’ forearm, before swirling in an orb hovering over his palm. The sound of it forming was like the thick, suffocating scream of hot metal as a smith plunges it into water.

The malice left as quick as it came, and hovering in Assivus’ palm was a strange, and beautiful astrolabe. It’s alluring faint glow nearly made him reach out between the bars to touch it.

“Your turn.”

[dawntheduckrb]

Bonjour! I've missed another couple weeks, but not because I didn't go to those services. I haven't had the energy to type these out, amongst other various reasons, but I've been notified that they have been missed and now have renewed motivation to keep writing :D  Surprisingly no huge content warnings for this other than the general religion and religious shenanigans, so without further ado…

cw: religion, religious themes

Week 7: Are We Really Killing Our Planet?

Heads up, this was two Sundays ago so I don't think I'll be able to give as much detail as I usually do

Global warming and the environment and other related issues are a very common point of discussion today; out pastor pointed out that it is particularly a matter of concern for younger people. He didn't want to leave everyone wondering what their "biblical answer" to this question was for the whole service, so he went ahead and gave a quick answer: no, we aren't.

He says this because saying that "humans are killing the planet" is giving too much power to people and undermines the strength of God. However, that doesn't mean we are free to do whatever we want to it. Throughout the sermon, we discussed why exactly we should add taking care of the planet to the list of important things to do as a Christian.

1.) Why is Creation Care Important?

Before I go into the meat of this point, I'd like to point out the use of "creation care" vs. "environmental concerns." He said that using the former term is much better, because it emphasizes and reminds us of God's hand in creating the world. Even though that's what he said, I can't help but think this was also, in part, to make people feel better about being told that driving around their no-muffler lifted-tire diesel trucks to Sunday mass was maybe not a great idea. Despite this change in language, he apparently still received a lot of emails where people complained about him being a tree-hugging liberal sissy snowflake. If anything, I hope that says something about the kind of people that attend these sermons.

There had to be a lot of prefacing at the beginning of this point. The pastor spent a good minute why people should not look at this as a political issue. The thing is, most everyone here is extremely and proudly conservative, to an almost alarming degree. For some people, politics are a part of their personalities. They will not listen to you if you try to defend progressive points, so he had to be very clear that he didn't think this was a political point. You'd think he'd say this is more something that everyone living on the planet should be concerned about, right?

Haha, no. He believes that this is very much a Christian-specific issue. It's not quite on the mark, but at least he's saying to care about it, so there's nothing really to complain about there. I just found it funny how everything becomes a Christian issue if it stays on the news long enough.

"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." (Genesis 1:1)

God created the world; it's the literal first sentence in the bible. The bottom line of this entire sermon is that we are, and are living in, God's creation. Protecting the Earth is important primarily because we need to respect what God has given us. Just as our body is a temple to be respected, so is the earth that we inhabit.

"'The most important one,' answered Jesus, 'is this: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.'" (Mark 12:29-30)

Not only is respect of the Earth needed due to who created it, it is an important part of "loving thy neighbor." When things go bad in nature, the first ones that are usually affected by it are those who are impoverished. For example, things like disasters, accidents, and scarcity massively drive up prices of food/fuel/etc. which makes it harder for people in those circumstance to live. Caring for the environment is just one way we can be not actively making their lives worse.

2.) We are Commanded to Care for Creation

"Then God said, “Let us make human beings in our image, to be like us. They will reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, the livestock, all the wild animals on the earth, and the small animals that scurry along the ground.” (Genesis 1:26)

"The Lord God placed the man in the Garden of Eden to tend and watch over it." (Gensis 2:15)

These are both verses that pretty explicitly state that it was man's intended purpose to watch over the land. The only thing that was added to this was how we are supposed to care for it; responsibly. Our pastor said not to exploit it, but care for it with gentleness.

"You must not muzzle an ox to keep it from eating as it treads out the grain." (Deuteronomy 25:4)

Here, utilizing the help of animals is not forbidden, but using them while not treating them well is. We are allowed to use the resources on the Earth, as long as we do so with a kindness in our hearts.

He also made a point to emphasize that while we are to respect creation, we are not supposed to worship it. He said "we're all familiar with the term 'Mother Nature,'" implying that referring to the Earth in those terms was a bad thing. He said it was best phrased in the following:

"We neither denigrate nor deify nature."

-Herman Bavinck

"Claiming to be wise, they instead became utter fools. And instead of worshiping the glorious, ever-living God, they worshiped idols made to look like mere people and birds and animals and reptiles." (Romans 1:22-23)

Worshipping nature and worshipping God can't both happen at the same time; is it important to remember who made everything around you and thank him for those things.

3.) Creation is Meant to Reflect the Character and the Beauty of our Creator

"The heavens proclaim the glory of God. The skies display his craftsmanship." (Psalms 19:1)

All I wrote down was "pretty nature=god's work," which is just kind of a restatement of the previous point. The pastor showed a ton of pretty nature pictures to emphasize the point that everything was all in God's design, because it was beautiful and had to have had a creator.

"For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God." (Romans 1:20)

This verse directly compares the beauty of creation to God's power, and the pastor argues here that to deface creation is to deface our creator. I wrote a complete sentence here in my notes, and I never do that, so I can only assume this is a quote from out pastor (or at least, very similar words): "The issue is not 'are we hurting the planet' but 'are we defacing the glory of God.'" So, with all of this crammed together, we don't need to be taking care of nature out of concern for Mother Earth's sake, but out of the need to properly respect God.

4.) Creation Care is Anchored in Prudence, not Panic or Passivity

The first thing he said here was an apology for using the word "prudence" knowing it wasn't a commonly used word. He was just really proud of the alliteration in the title lol.

He moved on to mention how young people these days always seem to have so much anxiety about the state of the environment. He says that there is no need to panic at all though (he specified; just because we shouldn't panic doesn't mean it's good to just not care. "Panic is not good, Ford-450 Diesel is not good")

"Then Noah built an altar to the Lord, and there he sacrificed as burnt offerings the animals and birds that had been approved for that purpose. And the Lord was pleased with the aroma of the sacrifice and said to himself, 'I will never again curse the ground because of the human race, even though everything they think or imagine is bent toward evil from childhood. I will never again destroy all living things. As long as the earth remains, there will be planting and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night.'" (Genesis 8:20-22)

If you're not familiar with the story of Noah and the Ark, then the really short version is as follows: The world was filled with rampant sin, and God was angry with it and wanted to wipe it clean. He didn't want to destroy humanity though, so he chose someone named Noah to build a massive boat. It was then made to carry two of each animal that existed (male and female), and Noah's family. He then flooded the Earth for forty days and forty nights, and after 150 days, the water had finally receded enough for Noah to land. The quoted verse takes place right after Noah got off the ark.

The reason this was shared was because it explains that God does not intend to let the Earth suffer as punishment for humanity's sin. Meaning, there's no need to worry or panic over the state of nature (again, not meaning to just do whatever you want). The pastor talked about the 2010 Deepwater Horizon oil spill; as horrible as it was, apparently jellyfish have a kind of mucus that they excrete when stressed that can break down the oil. God's creation was able to protect itself from disaster caused by humans in this case, and it can do it again. (I think this is the source he used, he didn't mention at all that the oil still killed lots of jellyfish even with their ability to break it down).

5.) What is our part in this issue?

The pastor talked about how we can grow in our spirituality through "creation care." Things like including creation care in our discipleship plans, helping the environment with our small groups, or even just going outside (insert "we're on our phones too much" here). He didn't mean to sell our trucks or drop our A/C. He just said that it's important to be sensitive to the spirit. He is likely to speak to you about these things; you just won't hear it until you ask him about it.

I started spacing out after that last sentence (explanation below), but somewhere afterwards, he started to reiterate the beginning of the sermon. We are killing the planet, but not in the way we think. We don't have a carbon emissions problem, we have a spiritual problem. We need to make sure we stay connected with God and praising him in all that we do.

He closed by sharing these verses:

"For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies." (Romans 8:19-23 NIV)

He emphasized that childbirth pains were used here, not the pains of death. Things may be awful now, but they signify that something good is coming; the return of the father. Birthing pains get worse when they're closer to the actual birth, meaning that things getting worse now can only mean good things are coming soon.

For my thoughts…

1.) Honestly this wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. He said to not make things worse, to be conscientious of your footprint, to go out and do things to help the Earth, and to not let it be an all-consuming stress. The motivation and reasoning for doing those things is a bit odd to me, but they're not bad things that he talked about here.

2.) That being said, I think telling the congregation that we don't have the power to destroy the earth is a bit dangerous. This is considering the fact that a notable number of them presumably listened to the entire sermon, and the only thing that they got out of it was that they needed to find a new church that wasn't run by the libs.

3.) I hate that we can only have the capacity to do things if we're motivated by some grand deity, and not out of genuine concern for the place we live in. Things can only be good things on their terms. I hate that some of these people are so explosive to words like "Environmental Issues" that they have to make up a whole new term that includes their religion in order to get them to care about these things. If a good thing isn't 100% about God, then it isn't something to be involved in.

4.) The whole thing really wasn't so bad, up until the end. It's one of the most disgusting things the church does; using your own thoughts to bring you closer to the church. They say that "God will talk to you about these things as long as you ask him about it first," but…

I was so scared of going to hell as a kid because I never heard anything from God. I thought I was doing something wrong, and that I was unsavable and that eternal fire and torture was inevitable if I didn't get my act together. I was 6. This kind of thought does permanent damage; in a few days, I'll be 21. To this day, so many years later, I am still as scared of hell as I was when I was little.

The difference is, now I know why I never heard anything. I thought God would be some otherworldly outside voice that I would recognize as soon as I heard it. The truth is, "God" is you. Your passing thoughts, your pride, your insecurities, your guilt. If you have a good idea that lines up with the bible, that's not your idea, that's God speaking to you. If you did something and feel bad about it, that's God convicting you and you need to be on your knees and beg for his forgiveness. Are you proud about something? That's God reminding you of what he's done for you. It's all you, and it's always been you. Of course God isn't going to speak to you about the environment specifically if you don't ask about it; you need to be thinking about it on your own in order to "hear a command."

I'm still very bitter about these things, so maybe my view on this will change over time. I'd like to be clear though, if this religion brings you comfort and is healing for you, then more power to you. There is nothing wrong with prayer and talking to God, but I don’t want to ignore the irreparable damage caused to people through thought policing. Especially to children who can't mentally handle the scope of eternal damnation (or at least, as it was described how I previously mentioned)

5.) I hope I am not the only one creeped out by the readiness for the end of the world. I'm biased (see previous), but looking forward for things here to get worse because that's the main indicator of the return of Christ was just a bit off-putting for me

That's all I can think of for now. It's almost two in the morning so I'm a bit too tired to read over this fully. I'll check it again in the morning, but as always, if I said something goofy, let me know 🙏 otherwise, thanks for reading :D

Also, since this was about nature and the pastor got to share some of his pictures, I wanted to share some of mine;

Nature really is pretty :)

二週間前の日曜日のアヒル

(sermon notes will be added later today! I just like these little guys and wanted to share them)

[exmo-freakshow]

a rant (CW: mentions suicide, religious trauma, and queerphobia)

I love the church I grew up in but I also hate it. I grew up feeling accepted by a wonderful community. Now I can't tell how deep their kindness goes. I feel like I have to hide my identity in order to be accepted, because I am unsure if my church leaders would ostracize me - strip me of privileges, or tell me I lack faith or that I've been deceived - if I lived truthfully. Church leaders speak words that are 99% beautiful and uplifting and 1% scary or offensive. The church spends millions on humanitarian aid while spending billions on stocks, real estate, and lobbying. It shaped my life for the better. It's now arguably making my life worse.

I love the BYU/Provo community but I also hate it. People are incredibly friendly and invite you to parties and bring you food and also whisper the word “queer” like it's a dirty word. They'll talk so much about loving everyone - and they really try! - but see any act of acceptance as "condoning sin". They are quick to serve but they also speak of people who have left the church or identify as LGBTQ+ or struggle with addictions with a strong "hate-the-sin-love-the-sinner" tone. They are very wholesome and will defend their values to their dying days yet many will bristle at being told to wear a mask. Many of them have never met a Black person before, or a queer person, or a person who is not a member of the church. They are essentially the only friends I have. I love them. I hate it.

I love BYU itself but I also hate it. It’s given me an amazing education, and its tuition is very affordable for anyone - and through scholarships, it’s technically paid me to attend. But its standards are in many ways absurd. Modesty I can understand, to a point, but a ban on beards? no colored hair? and don't even get me started on the ban on "homosexual behavior" or the outright transphobia/enbyphobia. It offers free counseling and formed an official committee for diversity and inclusion yet condemns groups for shining rainbow lights on Y mountain, refuses to issue a statement after a church leader told students to resist LGBT inclusion with proverbial "musket fire", refuses to change a problematic honor code even after sustained protests, and boasts a student body of which a whopping 0.4% are Black. In a year and a half or so I will get my degree from BYU. My time here will shape my life forever. It already has - in good ways and bad.

I love Mormon doctrine but I also hate it. There are so, so many wonderful elements to it - eternal families, personal revelation - but also enough about its shaky history - polygamy, child marriage, racism, queerphobia - that it can be hard to balance. It talks about how God’s love is unconditional but then sets conditions on how to feel that love. Much as it repeats "you don't need to be perfect," it's easy to feel like you can never measure up. And its only answer to not feeling the way you're supposed to - having doubts, not feeling like your prayers are being answered - is to just keep going. Don’t trust outside sources, they could lead you astray. Throughout my life, through my mission, it gave me hope and comfort. But when questions came, it had few answers, and when the depression and mental health struggles came, there were fewer answers still. And then, when at the ripe old age of almost 23, I finally realized I was queer, it seemed like the nail in the coffin given the Church's history and vague doctrine surrounding queerness.

I love God but I also hate Him. I still fundamentally think He exists, and that He had a hand in my life once upon a time. When I was a child, and occasionally as a missionary, I truly felt He loved me and guided my life. I loved Him back and did the things that Mormons do not because I felt I had to, but because I loved God. But it seemed like His love and closeness expired when I hit 16. Although I did not doubt God’s existence, everything was suddenly harder, and answers to prayers seemed few and far between. And then shortly after returning from missionary service, everything stopped. I was struggling with my identity and with burnout - if there was one time I needed God's love and help, it was then, but He was gone. I nearly ended my life because I felt so abandoned. It’s been a year. There’s been no indication that He cared, or was there at all. I love God for what I truly believe He's done for me in the past. I resent Him a little now.

It's General Conference time, when Mormons everywhere tune in to watch church leaders give sermons for 10 hours or so over the course of two days. It's a big deal, especially around here where you'd be hard-pressed to find a non-Mormon within a mile radius. Everyone's excited. It's wonderful. It's also conflicting, and terrifying, for some of us. I've listened to 1.5 hours or so of the 6 hours that broadcasted today. Some of it resonated with me. Some of it made me feel sick. The same thing that used to make me feel so loved is now the thing that often makes me feel unloved.

That's the end of my rant. I want to use this blog for fun rather than an outlet for religious trauma and identity crises, but with my roommates blasting Conference on the living room TV, my social media full of #ldsconf and stylized quotes, and virtually no non-Mormons in sight, it's what's inevitably on my mind. Hopefully in a few days my brain will be off its bullshit and back onto its desired path of shitposting and memes.

[mimisempai]

Wait for me on the other side 6/8

Summary:

Mobius must face both his past and a brutal news. He opens his heart to Loki. Loki wonders about what connects them...

Notes:

Prepare some tissues...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32948254/chapters/82394134

House on the cliff - 2019

Mobius returned home, patiently awaited by Croki. While he was feeding him, he noticed that he had a message on his answering machine.

"Mobius, pick up, I have something to tell you. It's about Ravonna."

Forty-five minutes after Casey's call, Mobius rushed into the hospital.

He headed to the admissions office and spoke to the first person who came in.

"Hello, I'm looking for Ravonna Renslayer. I'm Mr. Mobius."

"Hold on a moment."

The young woman consulted her computer and looked up.

"Yes. Mr. Mobius. You are expected in Doctor Cho's general medicine department."

She pointed in the right direction.

When he arrived at the ward, he asked for Dr. Cho.

He waited a few minutes and a woman approached him, holding out her hand.

"Hello Mr. Mobius, I am Dr. Cho, I am the one who takes care of Mrs. Renslayer. Since you were the person to notify in case of an emergency, we called you."

"What happened? Is she okay?"

Dr. Cho motioned for him to follow her, "She's fine. She had a relatively minor collapse, but we'll have to keep her for a day or two, wait for the results of the tests we did. Since you are her only family according to her file, even for something minor we had to call you. I'll take you to her room."

Casey was waiting outside Ravonna's room when Mobius arrived with Dr. Cho. They embraced.

"How is she?" Mobius asked.

"You know her..." replied Casey, shaking his head. "I had to bring her some work, the latest reports from the financial department."

Mobius looked disbelieving and laughed, "Of course. The last thing we would want to do is let a little collapse endanger the company."

Mobius entered the room quietly. Ravonna laid on her bed, connected to monitoring devices, reading her reports and making annotations, papers scattered around her on her bed. She didn't hear him right away, and when she raised her head, she lowered the report but didn't put it down.

"Hi.", Mobius whispered.

Ravonna did not smile, simply nodded and continued to work on her files as if Mobius were not there.

After a while, she said, "I don't need you."'

Mobius simply replied, "I'm going to stay until your exam results come in."

"That's not until tomorrow morning."

"I'm not going to drive all the way home that late. I'm staying."

Ravonna shrugged and returned to her reading. The silence was deafening.

After a moment, Mobius picked up one of the magazines about expensive watches that was on the table and asked, "Do you mind if I..."

Ravonna shook her head, "Go ahead. If you're still interested in that kind of thing."

Mobius didn't look up and began flipping through the magazine.

When he looked up about ten minutes later, Ravonna was asleep. Mobius watched her breathe in the dimly lit room, the monitoring devices flashing silently. He picked up the papers scattered on the bed and stacked them neatly on the nightstand.

Then he sat down, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in the hospital room chair. Since this was impossible, he picked up a piece of paper and began to write to Loki.

I know I haven't written in a while.

But I need to... I wanted to tell you about someone who is very close to me. We are not related by blood, but I consider her to be family to me, like a big sister.

We grew up together in the orphanage.

She is well-known. You know her work... Ravonna Renslayer, the CEO of Time Keepers, the famous watch brand.

I always liked to put watches together and take them apart and Ravonna was good at putting things in the right light.

We decided to create Timekeepers when we were fourteen years old. We wanted to sell quality luxury watches that everyone could afford.

A dream of two orphans.

We promised ourselves that when we would be rich we would buy the house on the hill.

But Ravonna lost sight of our dreams and always wanted more. More money, more fame.

Mass production, overpriced watches, I had no pleasure in creating anymore.

Every meeting became a war zone.

Someone had to surrender. I did.  I quit. Without notice.

That's when I started Miss Minutes, my little store and got back to my roots.

Mobius must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes, he was aching from his position in the chair.

Seeing that Ravonna was still asleep, he went to the hospital cafeteria to get a cup of coffee, and when he came back up fifteen minutes later, he saw Dr. Cho.

"Ah, Mr. Mobius, we just reviewed her results with Mrs. Renslayer. Unfortunately, she has forbidden me to talk to you about them and does not want you to visit her anymore."

Mobius was hurt of course, but not surprised either, given their tense relationship.

Dr. Cho, however, took pity on him. "I can't go into detail, but regrettably, you'll have to prepare for the worst."

Mobius' heart leapt in his chest and with a tight throat, he asked, "How long?"

Dr; Cho put her hand on his shoulder and said, " At any moment. I'm sorry."

Mobius left the hospital in a daze and drove to the house on the cliff. As soon as he arrived, he fed Croki, sat down in his chair and continued the letter to Loki. At this time, it was his only source of comfort.

Loki's apartment - 2021

Loki, in casual attire with Croki by his side, was sitting on his couch reading the letter from Mobius. He was very moved by the way Mobius opened up to him.

His heart cried at the sadness he felt in the letter. Obviously Ravonna was someone dear to his heart.

Once again, Loki was frustrated by the barrier of years between them. He wanted so much to be with Mobius, to support him. He sighed as he continued to read the letter.

I don't know what I expected.

Part of me thought that given her condition, I would get more than a "She doesn't want to see you anymore."

But of course, that's not how things work. When I left TK, I rejected everything she stood for.

That's how she saw it.

I think the fact that I bought the house cemented our disagreement for her and it's too late to change things now.

One thing is for sure: if I was really hoping for a tearful little bedside meeting, I'm as stupid as she thinks I am.

Well, good. I seem to have poured my little heart out here. I'm sorry.

Thanks for reading.

I want to tell you things I've never told anyone.

Things I didn't know myself until I wrote them down to send to you.

Maybe that's the strangest part of it all.

Love, Mobius.

Loki lingered on this letter, and especially on the last word, "LOVE". He patted Croki's head, thoughtful.

He had so many questions.

Love, Mobius.

Was it casual? Mobius was the kind of person who knew exactly what he was saying. Every word was important.

So the next question was, did Loki feel the same way?

Loki didn't need to reflect, he knew what he felt.

The question that remained was, did they have a future...?

Mobius' house - 2019

Croki trotted over to Mobius' bed. Mobius was lying down, unable to sleep, but it was too early to get up. He felt like picking up the phone but resisted.

Loki's apartment - 2021

Loki couldn't sleep anymore, something was disturbing him since he had read Mobius' letter.

He got up and went to his computer, he had to check one thing about Ravonna Renslayer.

Two minutes later he rushed out of his apartment and drove to the house on the cliff.

Mobius House - 2019

Mobius après s’être préparé pour aller au travail, sortit de sa maison et se dirigea vers son pickup.

Mobius House - 2021

Loki braked hard and ran to the mailbox. He put a piece of paper in it and raised the flag with a sudden movement.

Mobius House - 2019

Mobius drove away from the house without seeing the flag that was rising behind him. A few minutes later, his phone on the passenger seat began to ring.

Glancing down, he saw that it was Dr. Cho.

He pulled over to the side of the road and with a lump in his throat, took the call.

"Yes?"

-Mr. Mobius, this is Dr. Cho. I'm afraid I have some difficult news for you.

A few minutes later, in a daze, he parked in front of his house. On his way to his house. He saw that the flag was up.

He opened it, took the note, read it and then let his arm fall back, the paper flew away before landing further.

You need to go back to the hospital right away! Ravonna Renslayer died on-

A few days later, Mobius sat in the back of the church while the pastor preached to a crowd that Mobius knew was there more for Ravonna's fame than for their connection to her.

He didn't listen to the sermon and, clutching Loki's last letter in his pocket, he thought about what he had written.

Mobius, I'm so sorry about Ravonna.

Even though every pain is different, I know what it's like to lose the little family we have left.

I knew I had to at least try to warn you. I thought I could do it in time.

I hoped we could change what happened. I was wrong.

I guess these things can't be changed.

What I do know is that the shock is still fresh for me, even though it happened two years ago, so I can't imagine what it's like for you.

These things just happen...sometimes. I know.

Last February, I remember it was Valentine's Day, but it was really hot for a day in February.

I was at the fountain in Valhalheim Square.

And something happened. I won't bore you with the details now, but it was hard. Not like what you're going through, but it bothered me a lot.

And a friend gave me some good advice.

She told me to go to a place that would bring me peace.

That's what I did. I drove to the house on the cliff.

And that was the day I got your first letter.

It's a place we both love, a place that has a huge meaning for both of us, I hope you can find some solace there.

And I hope that what has kept you and Ravonna apart will eventually seem less important, and perhaps, in time, disappear.

YOURS, Loki.

Loki's words echoing in his head, Mobius was anxious to get to the house, to seek and perhaps find the solace that Loki spoke of.

When he arrived, he saw the flag raised. He opened the box, and took out not a note, but a book.

When he turned it over, his heart stopped for a moment.

For all times - Always by R.RENSLAYER

He returned home and sitting down in his chair, he opened it and saw first a small note from Loki's hand.

The book won't be published for a year.

or two, so don't show it to anyone. But I thought you should see it.

He turned the first page and could not stop the tears from flowing.

To Mobius

This is the story of a dream.

The story of a brother and sister bound by an ideal

But like all true stories, it doesn't always end well.

They chose a different path.

They drifted apart and never found each other again.

But without the presence of one in the life of the other, neither of them would have become what they are.

A story of two lives, a story of two successes, a story of two paths.

Underneath was a photo, Ravonna and him in front of the house on the cliff.

He continued to flip through the book, his eyes blurry with tears, and felt as if he was going through pieces of his life.

Pictures of TK's creation, of Mobius' workshop, of their first offices.

The day of the first opening.

Then the various collections of watches over the years, from the first one designed by Mobius to the latest luxury watches. Created after his departure.

Pictures of the rise of TK.

Photos taken after Mobius' time.

Until the last photo.

It was the front of Miss Minutes, of his shop.

A single sentence underneath.

We have taken different paths, our views have drifted apart, but you will always be my brother. For All time. Always.

Mobius wept for a long time over Ravonna, over the lost years, over what could have been. Then when the tears had dried, he closed the book and placed it neatly on the shelf. His hand lingered on the title for a moment.

Then, looking determined, he took his old sketchbook, sat outside the house and began to draw.

Loki's apartment - 2021

Loki, looking bewildered, was contemplating a sketch of the house on the hill.

At the bottom of the house, written in charcoal, it read:

I WANT TO MEET YOU!

FOR REAL THIS TIME!

_______

As a reader, I hate cliffhangers... I apologize in advance for being so cruel, I hope you will forgive me 😭

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 (End)