#heathen pride represent

[lightdancer1]

I'm totally serious on the 'people wouldn't recognize the mythically accurate Aesir' thing, BTW.

The Lord of the Gallows of myth is one-eyed but He is a grim and murderous figure on a good day, the Fickle One, Father of Evil, the Gore-God, the Roarer. Woden did not get those names because He is Jesus with a dash of Khorne. He goes incognito in the world as a man with a hat or a hood and a staff, which, BTW, is where Tolkien got the symbolism of Gandalf from. A lore-accurate Odin would be mistaken for a Gandalf cosplayer but with an aura of brooding menace and treachery.

Thunor of the Thunders is a hulking giant with a chariot driven by two goats, one of whom has a lamed leg. He wears a belt and gloves, His hammer gets longer when He strokes it (giggity). He is ginger, with a big ginger beard, and a bit of stone wedged in His head. Very few depictions of Thunor in media outside Sandman get anywhere near the lore's take on Him.

Loki Laufeyson (who is the only As with a matronymic) has scarred lips from his gambling with the Svartalf Brokk for His head and cheating to get out of the wager. Loki is a Jotunn accounted among the Aesir, and is the most flexible of Them in gender and in appearance, though the Lord of the Gallows also went on Earth as a woman and She had offspring in that shape.

Heimdall of the Nine Mothers was well, born of Nine Mothers, and is a shapeshifter Himself. He is the 'white' God but He is also a deity of watching and of guarding boundaries, and a bit of a troll (at least according to the tale of Thunor and the missing Mjolnir).

Freyr and Frejya get some mention in video-games, at least Freyja does, but the Freyja that shows up is seldom Her fully complex 'first chooser of the slain' self who rides a golden boar and has a chariot pulled by cats. Vanadis, where She appears at all, is an over-sexualized Aphrodite riff minus the 'literally chooses the slain *first* and caused the Aesir-Vanir War because She cannot die, alone among the Gods and that freaked the Aesir out.'

And the rest of the pantheon? Fugeddabout it.

Even modern-day heathenry seldom opts to remember that Ullr was revered by the Norse as much as Woden and Thunor, that the Saxons revered Seaxnot, and that there's an entire pantheon of deities, of Whom very little to no true detail as survived. Vor, Goddess of Wisdom, Eir, Goddess of Healing, Lofn, Goddess of Forbidden Love, These were among the pantheon.

Forseti, God of Judgement and of the Law, Ullr the Dueler, Bragi the God of Poetry, Odr, Freyja's vanished husband Who may or may not be Woden, These too are among the Gods.

If someone *did* adapt the Aesir and the Vanir truthful to the lore, people would not recognize Them, due to thinking Marvel's versions are what They are 'meant' to be, in a depressingly high number of cases.

[1rintooru]

Little Agreements

Pairing: teacher! Sugawara Koshi x gn! reader

Themes: fluff, enemies to lovers 

Word Count: 2k one-shot

Warnings: light swearing - that’s all!

Summary: You and Sugawara are rival teachers at a reputable elementary school. Even though you can hardly stand each other, your students have started shipping you together and it’s just awfully annoying! Little do they know, you’ve been keeping a secret from them the entire time.

a/n: teacher suga is good suga... this was so fun to write and purely self-indulgent - i can't get him outta my fat brain🥴 but enjoy anyways..!

You clicked your pen once. Twice. Three times. Perhaps to an outsider it would appear that you were annoyed – impatient even, but you knew it was nothing more than a habit, much like the restless tapping of your foot or improper care kept to personal belongings. You eyed the worn-down mathematics book that was currently being hastily shoved into a backpack, the spine barely keeping the pages glued together.

“Looks like you’re all set to go,” you proclaimed, putting down your pen and eyeing the student in front you. The boy beamed, yanking the zipper of his backpack shut and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Couldn’t have done it without ya, teach!”

You nodded and smiled appreciatively. You were flattered but you couldn’t take all the credit. The boy you were tutoring for a couple weeks now always claimed he didn’t care for school; you still remembered how he once told you that sports were ‘where it’s at’ – whatever that meant. However, the improved grades paired with the purple shadows under his eyes told you an entirely different story. He’d made his way to the door, his hand already grasping the handle before turning around, an impish grin plastered on his face.

“Even though you and Sugawara-sensei are cute together, we’re still gonna beat your butts!”

You bolted out of your seat and glowered at the young boy.

“Don’t you have other classes to tend to?”

He smirked at your chagrin.

“I’ll see ya around!” he shouted, sending you a quick a wave goodbye before finally leaving the room. You plopped back into your seat upon hearing the door close behind the student, rubbing your temple discontentedly.

Ah. Of course.

How could you forget the school speed quiz? It was an annual event that the school implemented three years ago as a means to motivate students and raise class scores. The idea was that a group of children would be chosen to represent their class and be quizzed on a variety of subjects – the questions becoming increasingly difficult as the game progressed. At the time you sneered at the idea and even complained to the school director that it would only waste funds and resources. Now you were glad that he didn’t listen to you, though he could have skipped laughing in your face. With that being said, the event was a double-edged sword. It made you incredibly happy and filled you with pride seeing students find the joy in learning again, but on the other hand it only exacerbated the teasing comments from the students. They adored seeing you two together and you never could quite wrap your head around it. After all, you and Sugawara were rivals.

Your eyes darted down to your wristwatch: fifteen minutes left until next period. Not a whole lot of time, but just enough to shotgun a coffee and have snack in the solace of the staffroom. You hurriedly tidied the mess on your desk, arranging everything to your liking for the next class before finally stepping out into the bustling commotion of the school hallway. Excited chitter-chatter and non-discreet gossip filled halls as you found yourself surrounded by young children. Each face was familiar and you could have assigned a name to every single one. Even the tall one with fluffy gray hair and gentle brown eyes with the recognizable birthmark.

Wait, no – that’s no child; that’s Sugawara.

He walked towards you with a pep in his step and a bright grin, parting the busy hallway like Moses as students stared at him slack-jawed and awestruck. He was the school celebrity, proven by the sheer number of students that called out to him as he passed – and he loved it. You tried to swerve around him, but it was surprisingly difficult to escape through a sea of grade schoolers.

Damn it, just when you were looking forward to that coffee!

“Here, like I promised.”

Sugawara’s voice rang clearly as he firmly pressed a stack of essays into your hands, the weight of the stack momentarily catching you off guard. Your eyes instinctively scanned the first page laying on top. As per usual, your students performed well in academic pursuits but that wasn’t what bothered you.

“Green glitter gel pen?” you teased, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.

His hazel eyes gleamed confidently. “Hey, we agreed that I would help grade assignments that you couldn’t catch up on – you never said I couldn’t use my colored pens!” He mirrored your teasing lilt before continuing. “Besides, from a psychological standpoint the color green is more uplifting and motivational than a harsh red.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. You both had agreed that you would tutor his students in mathematics and sciences while he would help grade assignments to take some of the workload off your plate. But that didn’t make his claim any more convincing and it only made you roll your eyes disparagingly.

“That pseudo-science is why I’m the one tutoring your students.”

“Geez, point made Y/N!” he scratched his head embarrassedly, the other hand defensively creating a barrier between the two of you.

“Y/L/N,” you quickly corrected him.

Sugawara’s posture visibly deflated at the curtness of your words. As mature and gentle as he was, he had a tendency to have his heart on his sleeve. You felt a little guilty and even considered saying something to mince your words, but the opportunity was stolen from you as a group of young girls skipped past, snickering as they went.

“Oh my god, Y/L/N-sensei and Suga-senpai are flirting again!”

Your secure stance faltered as the unsuspecting comment hit you like a brick, nearly making you drop all your papers. Sugawara’s eyebrow quirked upwards, thoroughly amused by your loss of composure. You hoped that the heat you felt in your face couldn’t be seen from the outside as you gingerly smoothed out the folds of your sweater.

“Suga-senpai?”

Sugawara’s playful grin immediately dropped as he noticed the daggers you glared at him.

“Huh?! A-ah it’s not like I told them to call me that! It – it just kinda happened.”

Seeing him so flustered would normally have made you smile, but you weren’t going to give him any kind of reassurance. Besides, it would have only worked as ammunition for privy students stalking your conversation. So instead, you simply shook your head, an exasperated sigh just barely escaping from your pursed lips.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I have a coffee waiting for me – and you have recess duty, have you already forgotten? So, if you’ll excuse me.”

You gave him a patronizing poke on the shoulder as you moved past him, beelining towards the staffroom.

The two of you were so vastly different in your teaching methods. You took your work seriously and prided yourself in the academic success of your students – your class always scored extraordinarily well. You were stern but incredibly ambitious and dedicated to your craft. Sure, Sugawara was popular with the kids, but playing the role as best friend wasn’t going to help them pass their classes. You failed to understand why most of the schoolchildren were obsessed with you two being an intimate couple; even prior to the school speed quiz event the two of you were rivals. His laissez-faire teaching methods didn’t mesh well with your own – in fact, you resented them. That’s why it was akin to pouring salt into a fresh wound when each year your respective classes tied during the annual event.

You decided to ignore the thought. This year was going to be different.

****

Oh, how you loved being the one responsible for cleanup duty.

At least, that’s what you would say if it weren’t that you were the only one responsible for cleanup duty.

As you watched one of your students – a petite girl with long dark hair – collect a pile of dirt into a plastic dustpan, you began to wonder how Sugawara roped you into this. Again. You and him had a lot of agreements, for the sake of professionalism of course, but this was not one of them. The school day seemed to drudge on forever and you were not spared from any incessant comments, even in its final moments. Ironically, one of your pupils turned into somewhat of a teacher as they explained to you what ‘shipping’ and ‘OTP’ meant.

Why on earth would they consider you and Sugawara something like that?

You dismissed the remaining students after carefully examining the room. The floors were cleaned and the whiteboard was spotless, but the wastebasket hadn’t been emptied and the desk arrangement was crooked. It wasn’t exactly up to par with how you usually left the room, but you were no heathen and you noticed just how lethargic everyone was becoming.

You also needed to find a certain someone that deserved to be chewed out.

That certain someone was found in the school’s gymnasium, excitedly talking to the school volleyball team that was retiring for the night. The frustration you felt immediately melted once you saw how animated Sugawara became as you overheard his motivational tangent. His passion was infectious and easily fired up the young boys in yellow and blue jerseys listening to him.

Was this where Sugawara always disappeared off to?

It was a silly question, really. Seeing him zealously offer game strategies with the biggest grin on his face made the answer obvious. You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling awkward as all the children – and Sugawara – turned to face you. The boy you had tutored earlier today, now clad in a yellow jersey spoke first.

“Well teach, did ya know that Sugawara-sensei was a volleyball player in high school too? He was a setter, believe it or not!”

You could only stare dumbfounded as your eyes bounced back and forth between the braggadocious athlete and a proudly grinning Sugawara. The lack of response on your end began to unnerve the gray-haired man as the corners of his mouth began to twitch downwards and his eyes glossed over with doubt.

You shrugged, “I don’t really see it, honestly.”

The both of them gasped in unison. The young teen stared at you dumbstruck – his jaw would’ve hit the floor if it could, while Sugawara staggered backwards as if a spear had punctured him in the chest.

“She’s a tough cookie, Sugawara-sen–” the teen’s underhanded comment earned him a swift kick from his teacher.

“Well, I think it’s time to call it a night. How about we tidy up and retire for the evening?”

And just like that, Sugawara had roped you into another cleaning duty. Thankfully the volleyball team was still so fired up from his speech earlier that the tidying up went by remarkably fast. Eventually you and him stood alone in the building, after finally saying your goodbyes to the remaining kids.

He looked at you and cocked his head to the side, to which you nodded in response. Perhaps it was a simple unspoken agreement or maybe it was just a force of habit to head home together. Regardless, it was hard to imagine it any other way.

The cool autumn air greeted you the moment you stepped out of the gymnasium. Goosebumps pricked your skin as a crisp autumn breeze embraced you, sending a shiver down your spine. The sky had turned into a watercolor of fiery oranges and deep purples as evening drew closer. You glanced over to Sugawara, nestled in the layers of his scarf and his hands hidden in the pockets of his coat.

“Do you have regrets?”

Sugawara paused, brown and orange leaves twirled with the wind just short before his feet, but that wasn’t what stopped him. He was clearly perplexed by your question.

“Regrets?” He scrunched his nose as though the word itself repulsed him. He dug his hands deeper into the depths of his pockets and his features visibly softened as he pulled out a golden ring. It gleamed magnificently as the rays of the setting sun reflected off the band. Seeing him fit the ring snugly onto his finger prompted you to do the same, pulling out the velvet pouch that protected the ring within it. Sugawara smiled as he watched you slip the ring on, fondness etched into his features as he extended his hand towards you. You happily obliged and entangled your fingers in his.

“How could I ever have regrets with the life I have now?”

[fucktoyfelix]

Extrasexual, Supersexual or Megasexual Pride Post

As a person who has always had an unusual interest in sex and sexuality, and a high sex drive to match...I’ve often felt othered by my peers and culturally pressured to suppress that aspect of myself. In fact, the stigmatization is so bad it took me almost 30 years to notice that all the words we have to talk about highly sexual people are exclusively for disordered sexuality. This led me to work on creating an identity and flag for people like me, who are highly sexual, but not in a way that negatively impacts life. Flag Meaning Green represents consent, communication and respect. It takes up the most space, and is in the center because consent is the foundation of healthy sexuality. Purple represents sensuality, intimacy and vulnerability Warm pink represents physicality, carnality and play Black represents support for risk-aware consensual kink exploration FAQ

What is extrasexual and what is supersexual? Megasexual?? The terms can be used interchangeably. A supersexual, extrasexual or megasexual person is someone who is highly sexual, but not in a way that is causing them distress or damaging their life. This is contrasted with hypersexuality, which is a medical term meant for people who have a disordered relationship with their high sex drive. Extrasexual people can be slutty, or desire to be slutty, or they may just hold sex and sexuality as a hyper-fixation. If sex is such an important part of your life that demonization of sex negatively impacts you: this identity may be for you. Isn't that just 'horny'? While it's true that extrasexual, supersexual or megasexual people are often horny, the word horny is not an identity, it's a feeling. As such, people of all identities, (even some ace people) can feel horny. Extrasexuality, megasexuality and supersexuality are terms exclusively for people with a much higher than average sex drive or interest in sex/sexuality.

Why do these identities need to exist? First, to combat stigma. The stigmatization of sex and the people who are passionate about sex in our culture is often so pervasive that it's invisible. It's easier to bring attention and respect to these issues if we have terms that people can take seriously. Second, to create community. It's useful to have terms and a flag to rally under, so people who have suffered in similar ways can connect and offer each other the kind of support you can only get from people who understand your experience directly.

Are extrasexual, supersexual and/or megasexual 'queer'? Are we doing LGBTQIAES+ now??? No. Though many queer people are also extrasexual/supersexual, having a high sex drive alone is not enough to warrant inclusion under those labels. While extrasexual, megasexual and supersexual people experience stigma and shame for who they are, that shame is not rooted in homophobia. The communities can support one another effectively as allies.

What ways are extrasexual/supersexual/megasexual people stigmatized? To begin with, many of the world's largest religions mandate modesty, chastity and sexual purity. Women in particular are considered heathens or sinners for engaging in perfectly consensual and safe sex, especially outside of marriage. All throughout human history women have been stoned to death, burned alive and otherwise killed in the name of sexual purity. Even today, many women feel extreme shame about their own bodies, and guilt for enjoying sex.

Men are often expected to be extrasexual, even when they are not. They're pressure to pursue sex in unhealthy and coersive ways in order to establish social standing. As a result, men who are extrasexual may be rewarded if they are considered conventionally attractive and socially intelligent in their social circles. For extrasexual men who are not considered conventionally attractive, or live with nuerodivergency like autism however, are likely to be considered inherently predatory if they even mention sex. Sexuality has also been legally controlled in a myriad of ways, from the criminalization of sex work, to decency laws controlling what types of bodies can even appear in porn. 

Aren't overly sexual people dangerous? Anyone, regardless of their personal relationship with sex can violate consent. Consent is especially important when it comes to the topic of sex and sexuality because bodies are highly personal to us. While sex has the potential to be a very intimate and bonding experience, it's that same vulnerability that can create risk. Many people have had experiences where their bodies were not respected, and as a result have been hurt or now live with trauma. Being extrasexual/supersexual/megasexual is NEVER an excuse not to respect consent. That's why the color green, representing consent, is in the center of the extrasexual/supersexual/megasexual pride flag, and also takes up the most space. It's the absolute foundation of a strong community that prioritizes reducing harm.

Sadly, it's the stigmatization of sex that has led people to feel afraid to have the open dialogues that are required for creating a strong consent culture. It's led people to feel ashamed to seek help when something has happened to them.  https://www.consent.academy/book.html is an invaluable resource on how we can work together to build a consent culture that works for everyone, supersexual/extrasexual/megasexual or otherwise.

[spield]

journey to i - kakasaku

Author’s Notes: This has been in my google docs for so long, I’ve forgotten all about it. I low-key panicked when I couldn’t find it my files hahaha. But here it is. Not much romance, but more of... hmm, you tell me what you think it is in your comments! ;) 

Disclaimer: As I’ve said before, sometimes I just write to get things out THEN edit it after. This is the case for this one. Will probably edit this soon though! 

In the end, when Sasuke asks, Sakura says no. 

She takes his lone hand, kisses his palm and whispers why she can’t. 

Sasuke doesn’t understand but he sees the longing in her green eyes, and ah, that he understands. So he pokes her forehead, just above her seal, and hopes they meet on the road and promises a cup of tea. 

She doesn’t linger to watch him leave. Instead, the moment he turns his back, she turns hers too. One feet in front of the other, she walks through the paths of her village, through the market and takes a few turns and goes inside the Hokage tower. 

In less than an hour, Sakura files her indefinite leave with a promise to assist, help and support members of the Shinobi Alliance on her way but with no promise when she’ll come back.

Kakashi is outside when she steps out, no signs of his hat and coat but with his trademark slouch present. He must’ve jumped through the window, Sakura thinks amusedly. Somehow, even through everything, under the fading light, he still looks untouchable. Perhaps, especially now. “You going somewhere?” 

“You just approved my papers.” Sakura smiles, waving the scroll in front of him. “You know where I’m going.” 

Kakashi’s dark eyes - eyes, how odd - are unreadable as he says, “No. No, I don’t.” 

There’s much left to say, but years of cowardice and hiding are not easy habits to break. So Sakura heads home, and is gone before the sunrise. 

At the end of it all, Sakura goes on a journey to retrace her own family’s history. Beyond Konoha, beyond the Land of Fire and beyond the world of the shinobi. 

Because before Sakura was the Fifth’s Apprentice, before she was The Scorpion Killer and way before she was the leftovers of an old genin team, Sakura was a Haruno. 

And all Haruno go back to the sea. 

She left Konoha with just one bag filled with colorful clothes that she never got to wear. Clothes that her mother and father gifted her year after year, holiday after holiday, even when she couldn’t wear them. Not in the village of leaves, not when they smell of the sea even if they’ve never touched it. 

So, Haruno Sakura goes home. 

This is what Sakura tells the Godaime, the Rokudaime and anyone who asks. 

(This is what she tells herself, however, in the end, it’s still heartbreak that leads her away from Konoha. When she meets Sasuke for tea, she hopes they could talk about how Konoha broke their hearts in the way it never did to Naruto.)

All questions are quelled by a calling, by the vast distance, beyond the greens of different trees and blues of different seas tug at her heartstrings, whispering, “Darling, our darling, let us hold you.” 

Sakura circumnavigates the world and through her journey, she meets a monk, a lover and a heathen.

Suna is not known for their religious beliefs. From what she’d gathered throughout her years of friendship with Kankuro, they were pretty lenient to whatever gods their shinobi choose to worship. 

“Maybe, you know, except for another Rabbit Goddess,” Kankuro backtracked, fingers uncoordinated and stiff from fighting, trying to balance a sake cup. It was the first time they’ve seen each other after the war, on the tails still of victory and defeat. High off it. “Yup, maybe not another Rabbit Goddess, maybe not Jashin either - everything else, fair game.”

“Faith is an interesting reprieve from the terrors of life.” Gaara said, righting his brother up with his sand. His teal eyes are fond and warm, and new. His gourd is nowhere to be seen and he looks so young for a man who led their army.  “We let people have their gods.” 

Suna is not known for their religious beliefs, or rather, they’re known for not being known for it but still, it’s where Sakura meets the monk. 

Suna welcomes her with open arms because the sands may be forever shifting, but it never forgets. It remembers her as that 15 year old prodigy who saved their Kazekage’s brother, that 19, 20 and 21 year old who performed miracles in the battlefield with eyes fierce and elbows deep in people’s guts. Suna loves her for what she represents - grit, dirt and kindness honed by the cruelty of the world. 

(Abandoned. That’s what Suna and Sakura had in common.)

Sometimes, Sakura wishes she could see what they see too. 

Now, she’s 23 years old. Two years after the war and she’s still so tired. 

In Suna, she’s given free reign of the hospital. Overseeing their developments in prosthesis, their puppet corps turned into experts of the field. She supposes Sasori would be rolling in his grave at the thought of how his notes revolutionized the entire field of artificial limbs - if he had a grave that is. 

(Sasori was a brilliant man. Mad, yes, but brilliant - and aren’t the brilliant ones always are?)

When Sakura lessens her healing and caseload citing more hands-on training for the Suna medics, Gaara doesn’t ask. She’s still brilliant with her lectures and demonstration and nobody dares to question the greatest healer of the nations. 

It is on the first day of her sixth month when she sees the monk. There’s some sort of blessing ceremony to be done to the new ward of the hospital. The Kazekage’s invited the religious leaders of Suna to bless the place. 

Several came, all with different garments and different rituals. One came with water from a blessed oasis, all barefooted and with hair reaching up to the backs of their knees. They spoke a language she’s never heard, words running over like water over rocks in a bubbling stream. Another came in traditional Suna garments, and sprinkled sand over the white tiles of the new ward - under the setting sun, it looked like fairy dust and gold. 

Many came and went, but one remained still at the outskirts of the crowd, quiet and familiar.

“It’s the first time he’s gone out in public since Chiyo-baa-sama’s death,” Kankuro shrugged when Sakura asked. “He’s kind of particular and all that.” 

It isn’t until the sun dips down the horizon that the monk steps forward. At this point there aren’t anyone left but Gaara and Sakura but nevertheless, they receive no acknowledgement from the stooping man. 

He’s quiet, as he bleeds his chakra to the floor and down every grain of sand in the ward. It always amazes Sakura how chakra lives in non-combatants - a proof that it exists beyond duty. And proof that it can, perhaps, one day exist only for beauty. 

“Do you think he takes confessions?” Sakura whispers. Gaara’s lips quirk upwards, knowing that she knows the difference between a priest and a monk and yet indulges her. “Perhaps. If he does, let me know.”  They’ve all got sins to unload, Sakura muses. And yet, despite being weighed down by all the choices she’s made and been forced to make, it’s not what spills from her mouth when she finds the monk a week after. 

Or rather, he finds her. Coughing, old and sitting on her table. 

There’s something about him, lungs barely holding on and yet still at peace, old age running lines on his face that had her saying, confessing - “I believe I am lost.” 

The monk pauses, eyes torn away from the window and gravitating towards her face. Sakura doesn’t expect a response, after all, he hasn’t said a word to anyone for years. But, he shakes his naked head and offers her a smile, “Nothing is ever really lost.”

That night, she receives a missive from Konoha, like she’s been receiving for the past eleven months but this time, there are two of them. One is a response to the report she wrote about the progress of her study in prosthetics and the other, the other smelling of home and written in a piece of old weathered paper. It almost makes her smile.  Mr. Ukki misses you. 

Sakura doesn’t stay long after that. She fears that if she stays so near to home, its voice will overpower her roots’, and the sea has been waiting for her since she was born. 

She bids Suna goodbye after a year of staying within its walls. She hugs Kankuro tightly, hold Temari’s hand and kisses Gaara’s cheek. 

The Kazekage blushes underneath his hat and Kankuro jibes, “Well, if this is what farewell feels like, then you should say goodbye more often.” 

For months, Sakura moves from town to town, village to village. Occasionally receiving scrolls from Konoha, asking her to lend assistance to a new ally or an old enemy.

It’s funny, how a great military power apologizes for its sins. Never acknowledging it, never calling it reparations, preferring the term “aid” when it only ever is leverage. 

How odd. 

How hypocritical. 

(Sometimes, Sakura wonders if Uchiha Itachi was truly a loyal ninja of Konoha or if he was yet just another blinded soldier searching for idealism in a corrupted system. Was he a victim, truly? A hero? A martyr? To what end? For whom?) 

In her bones, Sakura feels time slipping faster and faster, and despite these emerging thoughts, she wonders if spring has begun in Konoha. 

She claims her free tea from Sasuke at a small town on the border of Iwakagure and Takigakure, almost half a year after she left Suna - two years into her journey. 

“You need a haircut, Sasuke-kun.” Sakura greets and watches in satisfaction as the hobo-looking man looks up to her as she sits in front of him. His hair has grown longer, covering part of his face, finally succumbing to gravity and bidding the duck-butt style goodbye. 

“Sakura.”

There’s something in the way Sasuke speaks her name. When they were kids, it’s always with dismissal and when they went on, it’s with a tone of chained fondness. During the war, it’s with disdain turned acknowledgement. 

When they were in Konoha, Sakura could swear that she could hear pride in Sasuke’s voice, hidden behind the syllables of her name. 

Here, he calls her with surprise melting into relief. Perhaps, being alone has taken a toll to her wayward teammate. 

(Here’s the difference between the two: Sasuke is looking and running from something, Sakura knows where she’s going. Whether or not she’s running or looking too is irrelevant.) (Kind of.)

“Hey, Sasuke-kun.” Sakura smiles and waves a waitress down, “Fancy a cup of tea with me?” 

Sasuke nods, his lips tugging upward. His dark eyes linger on the spider silk strands of her hair against the orange setting sun.  Her hair’s grown longer, almost as long as when they were genin. 

For a short moment, he’s filled with dread, struggling to remember what young Sakura looked like. He’s starting to forget, perhaps, and it is both a blessing and a punishment. 

The shadows shift and stretch under the guidance of the setting sun, and they exchange stories of the road until the moon nudges the sun to rest. 

It’s funny how easy they fall into bed together, right after tea. 

Sakura’s childhood dreams featured more of a courtship, a promise and a marriage. Teenage Sakura’s fantasy featured more heated kisses, a fight and a leveling of a forest in rage turned lust. 

But this, this is so much better. 

Sasuke touches her with surprising gentleness and want, after they trip their way to his accommodations. There’s a softness in the firm kisses of his mouth, a tremble playing at the edge of his fingertips. It’s not a battle, or a dance but rather an introduction. A hello followed by oh... gods, yes, there -- 

Sasuke makes it good, despite only having one arm, it must be an Uchiha thing to be so good at everything, Sakura thinks as she lay beside her former team mate. 

In a different life, perhaps, she would’ve married Sasuke, she thinks as she watches his lashes flutter as he sleeps. Perhaps, she would’ve give him a child, a girl with his eyes and her hair. A pink-haired Uchiha. But this is not that lifetime. 

Instead, Sakura meets Sasuke again - or perhaps for the very first time - as a lover. Washed anew by his journey, Sakura gets to know her former teammate as a man who can reel out moans and gasps from her, who can, after they decided to travel together for a while, and will start a fire to keep her warm and will tease her about her love affair when he reads Kakashi’s letter over her shoulder.  “Was he the reason why you didn’t come with me?” Sasuke asks. They’re in the Land of Snow, farther from where Sakura really aims to go, but she’s got time to spare and Sasuke might actually be killed by the Raikage if he’s found shuffling around near their country without an escort.  Sakura glances at the words written on the wrinkled parchment (Naruto’s taking classes with Shikamaru. Lots of reading for him to do. He tried using Kage Bunshin to study and knocked himself out. Time is of the essence, he said, and I agree.) and pinches that flicker of hope budding in her chest. 

She shrugs at Sasuke’s question, “I think... I think I wouldn’t have gone with you even without him in the picture.”  Something sad flickers in Sasuke’s eyes before it’s gone, “And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are.” 

In the frigid cold of the snow, Sasuke moves against Sakura as an apology and a goodbye. It’s more than comrades sharing warmth but less than lovers making love. At the back of Sakura’s mind, she wonders if Kakashi knows - if he’s angry or if, like always, he understands.  (She misses him, even when they’ve never had each other like this. But the intimacy of sex is trumped by the intimacy in battle, in handling each other with precious care, scars and blood be damned. It is an intimacy borne of desperation, fostered by respect, watered with fondness -- and killed out of love. She misses him, but time is of the essence.) 

Sasuke and Sakura split up at the outskirts of the Land of Stone at the start of her third year of travelling. He went East, she went West and that was that. A few days in, Sakura enters Asakura.  Asakura is the city of heathens - prostitutions, gambling, and underground dealing. It’s the city of sin, which means, it’s also the land of base instincts and humanity stripped to its bare bones. 

It seems like a city just right up her shishou’s alley. Sakura only had to follow the sounds of bellowing, of bodies of men flying out of tavern, and murmurs about a (beautiful but) crazy bitch burning through her own money to find Tsunade. 

News of another jinchuuriki kage reaches her ears too, but she brushes it away.  It’s been three years since she last saw her shishou and in the dim lights of the tavern, she’s glad to see her as youthful as ever, and tries to erase the image of her wan, old, and dying. 

It is only after Tsunade wins that Sakura approaches with a bottle of sake on hand. 

Glancing down at the large money of pot she just won, Tsunade’s heart pounds hard looking at the girl she broke and trained and broke again until she remade herself - her daughter in all but name - and chokes, joking, “Are you dying?”

When her girl smiles, all calm and accepting, and raises a bottle of the most expensive sake Tsunade ever tasted, something inside the old Senju crumbles.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Oh Sakura, what have you done?”

Tsunade’s hands are shaking, the fading glow of her uselessness mocking her in the darkness of Sakura’s rented room. 

“Everything, shishou. I’ve done everything. I’ve read every book, prayed to every god--”

“God? What good is a god?”  

Initially, Tsunade refuses to let her go. Forces Sakura to stay put with the same glint in her eyes when she taught the kid how to dodge, but it seemed the Slug Princess taught her too well. 

Because after the barbs, sarcasm and nights of getting way too drunk off the pots of money Tsunade continues to win, Sakura says goodbye. 

And Tsunade, not as bitter as she would’ve been, lets her go, and curses the gods for not taking her instead - because hasn’t she witnessed to many deaths already? 

It’s at the fourth year of her journey does Sakura finally lays her eyes on the blue of seas at the border of the old Whirlpool lands. The calling is silent now that she’s come. 

She sheds her old life -  her headband, her gloves and her boots and brings out the vibrantly colored fabrics from her parents. It’s silk against her pinkened skin, and the sand is warm against her feet. 

It feels like a hug and a song of - “Darling, our darling, let us hold you.”

Kakashi writes to her and Sakura doesn’t answer with a letter of her own. 

Instead, she sends Kakashi eel that she herself smoked, a small vial of pink sand and a kiss on a card.

That night, she dances under the moonlight like a flickering moth around the pyre she built. 

The oceans sings for her and she is home. 

After that, there’s no more letters from Konoha. 

In the middle of the fourth year of her journey and the year mark of her semi-permanent residence by the seas at the border of the old Whirlpool lands, Ino visits her. Ino, with her platinum blond hair arrives, still beautiful even with sweat dripping off her.

It takes three days of sunbathing, flower weaving and rebuilding of an old friendship before Ino asks her to come home.

“Haven’t you been away for far too long?” Ino asks, quiet and grown. The days of high-pitch screams and name-calling seems so far away from this little shack by the sea, in this little life her best friend built for herself. 

They’ve spoken of their friends - Naruto’s marriage, Shikamaru’s courtship fo Temari, Ino’s love with Sai and they laughed like bells but Ino didn’t find an ounce of longing in her friend’s eyes, and she already knew she has lost. 

Sakura looks to the shore, there’s a storm coming and hums, “Perhaps.” 

The last letter she receives from Konoha is not a letter at all.

It’s a missive, an invitation - for the Rokudaime’s retirement and the Nanadaime’s ascension.

“God? What good is a god?” 

Who knows? For believers, gods are good for much but--

Because Sakura is not a reincarnation of a god, when she touched Kaguya with her fist glowing green and blue, Sakura touched something not human.

And it touched her back. 

A year into the peace, it rooted deep inside her bones, a poison of the gods against humans brave and stupid enough to lay hands on them. 

It doesn’t take long for Sakura to understand her predicament. She was rotting inside out. Her chakra is poisoning her organs, taking bits off her little by little and so she left Konoha. In leaving, she left what was blossoming between her and Kakashi too in hopes that perhaps she could spare him from this pain.  

But also, she left for this: the sea, the calling and the sand under her feet, and the presence drawing near. 

On the last day of her journey, five years after she left, with her life force draining and yet stretching still - holding on, waiting, the Rokudaime, Kakashi, the man of a thousand jutsu, her lover, her love - arrives on the shores of this little island west of Whirlpool. 

He is older, of course he is. But still, Sakura runs towards him and he, mask pulled down, feet bare and eyes warm - finally free-, takes the last step and meets her halfway. (There’s still much left to say, but they’ve had years of dealing with cowardice and hiding that they’re laughingly easy habits to break.) 

[butterscotch-brigade]

"drinks the shower water" pride flag

are u a fucking heathen. do u get so thirsty u cant control urself. are u my gf @charcolor. well then guess what!!! theres a new pride flag just for u

"drinks the shower water" pride flag!!! heres what the colors represent:

blue: represents water

gray: represents the showerhead and faucet

white: represents bathrooms

go fuckin nuts babey!!

[project-rebirth]

PROFILE: Olivia Bonaparte

Name: Olivia Bonaparte

Epithet: Mistress Olivia, Napoleon 2.0

Personal Info

Status: Alive

Nationality: French

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Height: 5'2

Family: Emma Bonaparte (Younger Sister)

Magic Name: Salvare001 - Be the savior of those who are in need of it

Affiliation: Fallen Roman Catholic Church, House of Bonaparte

Abilities

Magic: [Stigma] (聖痕 Seikon (Sutiguma)?, lit. "Holy Mark")

Power Level: Saint-level

Equipment: Sword of Gallicans

Olivia Bonaparte (オリビア・ボナパルテ Oribia Bonaparute) is a major recurring character in A Certain Magical Index: Rebirth Testament, appearing as the primary antagonist of the Inquisitorial Invasion Arc. She is a member of the Fallen Roman Catholic Church and is a member of the elite House of Bonaparte. She's also a saint and the rival and Catholic-counter-part to Kanzaki Kaori.

Background

Olivia was born and raised in Paris, France and was born into the House of Bonaparte, an elite aristocratic family that secretly controlled France from behind the scenes. She spent her whole childhood training in the art of magic and eventually rose to become a full-blown saint at around the same time as Kanzaki Kaori. During one of her first missions, she confronted Kanzaki and the two of them fought which ended in a stalemate but Kanzaki was scared because Olivia had killed many members of the Amakusa church. Ever since then, the two have had a never-ending rivalry and they seek to fight each other whenever they can and want to see the other one be defeated.

Personality

Olivia is a strict disciplinary, always having a hard and stern look on her face and only smiling to those whom she deems worthy of it. She tends to act cold, calm and collected in general and this helps her especially in the battle against her opponents. She has fierce devotion and allegiance to the Roman Catholic Church going as far as to refer to Protestants as "heathen traitors". She is also loyal to France and longs to have it return to the days of the French Empire under Napoleon, her descendant. Olivia also has a rivalry with Kanzaki and tends to want to fight her and the other members of Necessarius whenever she can.

Olivia is also very strict and dedicated to the idea of victory. She believes in scoring victory for the Catholic Church and/or France and is willing to do anything to accomplish that. She has a very strong sense of pride and nationalism and refuses to have either the Vatican nor France cave in or negotiate until they've won. The same applies to her as well and holds her status as a saint in very high regard. Her sense of pride and victory is so strong that upon being captured, Olivia will shut herself out and lay in shame and will refuse to speak to her captors. She will be vigilant against them and will even go as far as to demand to be gagged so she can't speak to them believing that she'd be dishonoring either the Catholic Church or France by doing so.

Powers & Abilities

Like Kanzaki, Olivia is a type of magician born with Stigma. As a result, she has the ability to call upon God's power as a Saint who has bodily characteristics similar to the Son of God, and is endowed with super-human capabilities. It is said that she is capable of fighting with a christian angel in most circumstances. She is highly proficient in non-magical combat, having been trained sense childhood by the sword and other martial arts. Because of her ability, she is stated to be one of the top Magicians in Europe.

She has great knowledge of western magic, primarily christian and kabbalac spells.  

The Sword of Gallicans

The Sword of Gallicans is a sword that is passed down from generation to generation within the House of Bonaparte to the head of state, the French monarch. It is a ceremonial sword that is used during the coronation ceremonies, however this was not its original use. The sword was used in battle by the Bonaparte  family for many generations, and continues to be used as such by the family.

The sword is referred to as the "sword that brings judgement", specifically because it has also been responsible for many executions by the family head.  It does not necessarily mean the sword is the symbol of the monarch but represents the proof of being the person chosen to be the family head. It is also known as the Sword of Honor and the sibling of Britain's Curtana.

Like Curtana, its importance lies in its use as a spiritual item where it is called the sword that determines the country's leader of the angels. The sword is able to empower its weilder with Telesma, the same type of power that Archangel Michael, the leader of angels, possesses. As a result, Olivia gains a significant boost in power. It should be stated however, that while the boost in power she gains is significant, its affects drastically weaken when she is not in France. Still, when armed with the Sword of Gallicans, she is formidable in combat and is capable of empowering her allies from the French division of the Roman Catholic Church and the revived Knights of Orleans.

The Sword of Gallicans does not have the same limitations as Curtana Original and its subsequent variants, as its effects can be used outside of the country of France, although as mentioned before, its effects will be much stronger in the country of its origin. With it empowering Olivia's allies, they also are able to possess telesma to enhance their own abilities, with the conditions that her party must all be French in order to feel its affects, for example, a person from Italy or Japan would not be enhanced by the Sword of Gallicans' power.

Sword's capabilities

Invisible Air Spell

The Invisible Air Spell (風王結界Fū-Ō Kekkai lit. Barrier of the Wind King) is a spell that produces  a sheath of wind that covers the Sword of Gallicans and conceals it so that it cannot be easily recognized as such. It is made up of multiple layers of wind compressed into super-high pressure air with a massive amount of magical energy, which distorts the refraction of light and renders what is inside completely invisible. This spell is not just limited to the blade, as it can also be used on its wielder to conceal herself and others.

Upon the Sword of Gallicans, it takes on the shape of the blade and renders it as an invisible sword that doesn't appear even as sparks fly off of it. It lacks the capacity to annihilate the enemy like Light of Gallicans Spell, being more suited as a "sharp tool" in battle. It isn't used for any particular strength, but it is easier to use in battle than Light of Gallicans and it is a trump card that can bring about victory if used well. It is also possible to implement the barrier on something other than the sword. She can form the barrier in the area around her or as a quick defensive wall of wind, which she can keep active for a number of minutes with her magical energy. She uses it to completely envelop an entire Building in an unbreakable protection.

It is rather simple in execution, but it proves tremendously effective in hand-to-hand combat. The barrier isn't a vacuum, so the air constantly whirling around the blade is essentially a weapon. It increases the damage and cutting power of an attack, and the amount of mana released from each strike is high enough that it is visible to the eye. It also provides for an increased accuracy and defense against opponents unfamiliar with the nature of her weapon as it is difficult for the opponents to parry lunges and thrusts from Olivia. They cannot discern the length, width, reach, or trajectory of the blade, or even the fact that it is even a blade until they actually make contact with the weapon, which leaves them constantly on guard due to having to rely solely on Olivia's movement to decipher her attacks. They are confused both offensively and defensively, only allowing them to approximate the movements of the strikes and keep outside of her range to avoid being easily struck down. Against an opponent who can figure out the nature of the weapon quickly and correct the visual disturbance, or someone with a resistance to visual impediments, it becomes nothing more than wind around a sword.

Once the barrier is released so that the Sword of Gallicans can be used, the previously compressed wind surges around her chaotically, creating a vacuum as it diffuses into the air with enough force to knock over normal people and shake heavy, firm trees like a typhoon. The compressed wind can also instead be released as a single use projectile spell called Strike Air: Hammer of the Wind King (風王鉄槌, Fū-ō Tettsui?). Acting like a hammer made out of wind, it creates a gale made out of super high pressure condensed air that is powerful enough to easily crush and blow away armies and fling a stone slab weighing several tons into the air as if it were nothing. It is a long range attack with a constant amount of damage that is not influenced by Olivia's physical condition or her level of magical energy. It can only be blocked by overwhelming it with a higher amount of magical energy. It can also be used to accelerate her own body towards her opponent, allowing her to travel at three times her normal speed. By holding the sword in a backward wide stance, she releases the air and changes into a supersonic bullet that charges towards her opponent. If working together with another person, the partner can use the vacuum left behind by the attack to immediately rush in behind it by using the surge of air taken in by the vacuum as a Slipstream. After releasing it, she can recall it by compressing the surrounding air to reform the barrier.

Light of Gallicans Spell

Her strongest offensive spell yet, the Light of Gallicans is a spell that takes a large amount of Telesma within it and unleashes it as an offensive power. It has been noted by Olivia that it is an extremely dangerous spell to use and that it has a good chance of overloading and destroying her if not prepared properly. Because of its destructive power, it has been regarded as  an "ultimate killing technique" that releases Telesma in its purist form from the tip of the blade once the sword is swung. To an observer, it looks like a giant beam of light, but the attack's target point is only at the tip. It is the "ultimate slash" that cuts through everything in the "area" the light goes through. Its enormous power heats space around the tip, and as a result, it is interpreted as a wave of light that mows across the surface of the earth. One could also call it a directed energy weapon. Even if it is dodged, those in close proximity can still be temporarily distracted by its intensity.

Because of its nature, the spell cannot be used consecutively and runs the risk of overloading the user with Telesma and destroying their body and the surrounding area. It is capable of eradicating entire armies at its fullest capabilities, as well as destroying numerous buildings in a place like Academy City. The sword itself being a spiritual item,  it is able to be negated by Imagine Breaker, however, the Light of Gallicans Spell would have enough force to completely blow Kamijou Touma away, despite the spell being dispelled by Imagine Breaker. It is possible to limit its destructive power if the opponent focuses on close-range combat, and it cannot be used against opponents who fight at extremely close range.

[asynjja]

                      𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄   𝐖𝐀𝐒   𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐂   𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍   𝐌𝐎𝐀   𝐙𝐇𝐀𝐎   𝐖𝐀𝐒   𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍     and   although   the   Count   of   Rouen   would   not   be   baptized   and   take   on   the   name   Robert   until   one   year   after   her   death   and   vanishing   in   910   AD,     Christianity   was   all   too   PRESENT.     The   depiction   of   her   baptism   varies   and   it   is   one   of   the   memories   that   she   desperately   attempts   to   FORGET,     but   one   detail   remains   the   same   whatever   elaboration   she   is   giving:     she   was   baptised   against   her   will.  

In   truth,     it   takes   place   LATER   than   she   often   says ;     Olav   I.   Tryggvason   becomes   the   first   Christian   king   of   Norway,     born   in   968   AD   and   baptised   in   994   AD.     Six   years   prior,     Moa   Zhao   migrates   to   Norway   and   carries   the   name   Ástríður.     She   begins   an   affair   with   the   then   twenty - year - old   Viking   and   accompanies   him   on   several   raids ;     it   is   her   first   relationship   and   for   a   long   time   after   his   death   in   1000   AD,     her   ONLY   ONE.

He   agrees   to   the   baptism   after   raiding   the   town   of   London.     Moa   objects ;     she   has   SEEN   the   Allfather   Óðinn   in   several   visions,     clings   to   him   like   a   hungry   wolf.     And   so   Olav   BETRAYS   her.     In   the   Orkneyinga   saga,     Olav   I   Tryggvason   summons   jarl   Sigurd   the   Stout   and   orders   him   and   all   his   subjects   to   be   baptised,     or   be   KILLED   upon   refusal.     She   loves   him   but   her   rejection   of   the   Catholic   faith   is   treated   the   same,     and   the   rest   of   Norway   is   also ;     she   can   follow,     or   she   can   die.     For   years,     she   pushed   the   REALISATION   away   ――     he   marries   the   same   year   they   begin   an   affair,     she   always   thinks   she   can   sway   him   to   RENOUNCE   his   marriage   to   Gyda   and   marry   him   instead.     But   when   she   is   baptised   with   her   teeth   gritted   and   her   tears   like   acid   on   paling   skin,     she   realises   that   loving   him   was   a   MISTAKE.     And   so   she   leaves.

Moa   Zhao   knows   the   Catholic   faith,     it   isn’t   entirely   unfamiliar.     But   she   takes   OFFENSE   at   being   called   a   Christian   and   consequentially,      also   PAGAN   or   HEATHEN.     Both   labels   are   rooted   in   the   vilification   of   polytheism   and   particularly   pagan   is   not   used   as   a   self - descriptor   by   new   polytheistic   or   pantheistic   movements   until   the   LATE   20THS   CENTURY.     She   takes   pride   in   her   beliefs   and   like   any   other   religion,     it   influences   the   way   she   lives   her   life.   There   are   FIVE   major   gods   that   are   regularly   honoured   with   sacrifices   ( BLÓTS ) :

Óðinn,     so   he   may   forgive   her   whatever   she   did   to   be   barred   from   Valhalla,     is   given   a   BLOOD   SACRIFICE   during   the   first   fall   storm   to   honour   the   Wild   Hunt.     Additionally,     the   last   handfuls   of   each   harvest   go   to   him.

Njörðr   always   receives   the   first   FRUIT   of   every   harvest   to   ensure   the   fertility   of   her   garden.

Heiðr   receives   a   BLOOD   SACRIFICE   every   new   moon   to   grant   her   knowledge   of   her   future.

Iðunn   receives   the   first   APPLE   of   every   fall   in   the   absence   of   a   better   explanation   for   her   immortality   and   eternal   youth.

And   Rán   is   given   a   BLOOD   SACRIFICE   whenever   she   crosses   the   sea   to   ensure   safe   travelling.

Despite   her   insistence   upon   the   IMPORTANCE   of   the   blood   sacrifices     (   which   to   large   extends   consists   of   her   OWN,   immortal   blood   ),     she   self - evidently   is   neither   demon   nor   antichrist.     She   can   enter   churches   without   suffering   any   supernatural   CONSEQUENCES.     Holy   ground   does   not   burn   her   feet,     holy   water   does   not   burn   her   skin,     and   the   cross   does   not   frighten   her.     And   it   does   not   do   so   for   ONE   reason,     as   Ubbe   says   to   Othere   in   History’s   Vikings   602,   Ep   11:

“   I   believe   in   the   Allfather,     the   father   of   all   gods.     […]     I   remember   all   the   ceremonies   in   Wessex.     In   all   those   ceremonies,   your   Christ   reaches   out   and   prays   to   the   holy   father.     Allfather.     I   know   that   your   divine   father   and   mine,     they’re   one   and   the   same.   ”

Moa   Zhao   was   christened   against   her   will   by   a   man   she   thought   to   be   the   love   of   her   life,     after   a   lifetime   of   physical   and   sexual   abuse,     several   miscarriages,   constant   ostracization,     no   identity,     no   name,     and   no   parents.     She   KNOWS   Catholicism   to   an   extent   that   she   can   effortlessly   mimic   Catholic   traditions   should   a   situation   ever   require   it.     She   knows   the   Pater   Noster   in   several   languages   and   can   cite   the   Bible   ―――     but   she   HATES   Christianity   all   the   same   for   what   it   represents   and   what   it   took   from   her.     She   respects   another’s   belief   only   as   much   as   her   own   is   respected.     In   CERTAIN   verses,     particularly   those   in   which   she   is   married   and   lives   together   with   Kua   Hale   who   is   a   practicing   Catholic,     she   allows   the   Bible   on   the   bedstand   and   the   wooden   crucifix   on   the   wall   of   his   room,     as   much   as   he   allows   the   wooden   depiction   of   Óðinn’s   HEAD   that   hangs   above   the   entrance   and   all   her   sacrifices.  

[captainkurosolaire]

Re: Vital

A bristling light cast of the purest form luminescence broke throughout the psyche after the dealing with the Tormentor had been resolved. Calling the Captain by name repeatedly to attain attention. His fist still sizzled from how much he had left his ‘Undeserving’ side as curb roadkill and disfigured the disgusting three-piece suit bastard that represented everything he opposed against; in himself. The scoundrels pocketed in his overcoat as he strolled inward. An eye refracting off that which was positively enchantingly… “Well, I b’ a Red-District Whore... “ Revelations came matching thumping in rhythmic audibility. A finding and discovery of oneself would be uncovered here. However, It’d be cut-short from rejoicing in this recreational discovery. As the Trip -- was about to end! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now if anyone ever suggested you take psychedelics or anything that may influence your reasoning, never, ever. Do it alone or least be responsible. Unfortunately. The Captain on the other hand didn’t realize this being, his virginity speaking for drugs or ‘product goods’ he merely smugged, so while his visage almost had a fished-shroomed out expression and he was zonked. Many events had unfolded in reality! He had gotten himself hitched with a small rowboat named Delilah! The lipstick had seemingly been smeared throughout over, possibly from a making out. Roped and collared her and he found himself in the midst of the Shrouds lent against a tree. “...Ugh…” He’d say while constantly hearing the nagging or was that just common-tongue? He couldn’t be clear, his vision blurred. Boots slowly began focusing on viewed vision. “Get up.” “Get up.” Constantly a stern voice with authoritarian pitch rattled out of a caged chamber. The Captain in haze snarked back, ‘Five more minutes.” Attempting to rehash himself into a doze before a hot-fist would be felt against his cheek making him face-plant into soils. It finally made him react back with a propping, “Alrighte what’s th’--” He’d be in the presence of his recent advisory in The First or better known Captain Parabellum formerly recognized as yet a switch-knife being juggling between his fingertip’s imposingly.

“You know why I’ve come. It’s time for an end. Don’t you agree?” Tension began to stir while he was implored to begin his ascension up the bark as his bare-back shredding against. “Like mate, can’t you buy me dinner before you kill me? But if that’s what you want.” He’d say nonchalantly before his face settled from relaxed to his own intensity fired-up. Reaching for his scimitars but recognizing they were no longer in his possession… Wait, did he even get dressed before this whole shenanigans? His mind-circulating trying to place catch-up within that headspace. The Midlander intimidatingly now points his knife towards the direction. Was this to be just another mindless battle? How many of these did this pirate have to get himself into? He couldn’t have foreseen what came after his discovery, was that the discovery itself was beginning to unravel itself for the Captain. Almost like responsible aetherial energies that had come into Captain’s existence would begin shaping and molding themselves into materialization's. This was but the journey the chapter dubbed one. The tension felt as Captain loosened and accepted his fate. Well, he was bested. If he was worthy enough to be somehow tracked and scoured through all this stuff he couldn’t even remember or repeat. He wouldn’t oppose it. The former First loosely drew an ilm closer threatening and imposing as he paced. Before discarding more knives and tossing them towards the sides of the tree’s trunk diagonally in corners of the Seeker’s hue. He didn’t flinch there was resolve or sheer admittance towards a no-win situation. But a duel seemed to have been given in equalization. Given room to move. He noticed around them this meadow had become a battlefield or a one-sided one. As poachers remained arse high and stacked all unconscious all the Captain’s belongings scattered throughout the flowery meadows. What was the meaning of that? His thought surfaced internally. Interruption in harsh gravel voice, “Captain Kuro Solaire… You’re a dead man. At-least so is rumored. It doesn’t answer how you stand before me though... I understand why you tracked me down but to leave yourself exposed this vulnerable. It’s foolish. To spare me when you’ve reclaimed your vengeance? Your thoughts are unsettling.” For piracy, the Midlander spoke clean and fluent Eorzean despite being a sailor himself. A sign of diplomacy and strategic it was no-wonder this man became the Captain’s First. Tension surfaced throughout the atmosphere. It caused imaginative humidity in the Shrouds. As if they were scorching. This was the result of separated and broken strings that once connected. Unspoken messages of impossible love for their era. Hatred festered but yet… Love was it’s counter shadow. Weight of arrayed emotions that are felt is dictating how deeply in depth’s someone is carried to your heart. “I see my beating didn’t jog your memory, perhaps, I failed. Or maybe you need to search th’ truth.” Parabellum’s hand quivered afraid. “Aye. You spoke with want.” He glossed softly. “Want?” Captain questioned, “Try need.” The scoundrel gave a dispatch to his equipped arms into fearlessness a startle broke through. As an embrace clutched and wrapped tightly around the Midlanders. A hug that broke and transcended and sealed a past wound.

Acceptance quaked the foundations. This was no longer a pirate who steered blindly or without unspoken. In losing and attaining the strength and beauty of a world clutched in those dastardly palms. He had seen unlike ever before. To act under frightening convictions. …. Silence broke out. The Switchblade was still held by the handle as they came to the bareback of the Captain. Would the Betrayer or the snake take a bite of Lion’s head remaining in breathless revelations, The Seeker muffled everything and grinned goldenly as was taught as his chin cupped over the broad shoulder. The hurt, pain, screeching of the Midlander traveled throughout impulsive streams to end what harmed. Nothing hurt this man more than betraying someone who was held, dear. Who he defended for his dreams when the Captain couldn’t do it for himself. He could end the Seeker right here. But it’d go unheard. And why he tread would remain. This… Captain proved even in losing the parley to being cast out, exiled, to being scarred, he could stand against the test of time. He was a difference. One that if pride’s skin was shed. This may be the beginning path. On the owner of this heathen Midlander was a man of many reasons and weights but when he donned the mantle and became his own Captain he was only scavenging to stay afloat. Even unfortunately slowly resulting in a decline by becoming just another atypical slave trader. But who embraced him here, was the opposite. Even unfortunate was replaced for making his wealth. He was unrelenting and daunting, free, vast. Did he rumble, did he swallow to despair? Of course. Plunges were necessary to uncover troves. This was no longer a dreaming young man anymore. Whoever touched the Captain in their parting had forged this man into stone. That didn’t break to the Void. That didn’t flinch to the unparalleled Depths of Empires. That survived curses and being of Living Death. What was the Crimson vessel merely by the Founding Captain he transformed into a Phoenix that was remarked and recognized until it’s last rising death, however, in the ashes… Came this of holding. His grip was lost as his own weapons disengaged from his person. As he retorted in the brace. “Never again.” Was only uttered suspiciously. “If we do this again, you can’t be the person who loses. I won’t let you. I’d rather stab you in the front myself than see you give another monster, that victory. You can’t go on and act as the main character to a story, you can’t do this without your crew. If we embark… You have to become reliable.” Autumn fell between them.“...Aye. Never again. Shall I ever stray from course, and if I do, I’ll supply you the knife to do me, n’.” Here in this unmarked location. The Golden Crosses reunited. To be empowered to prevail, to truly understand harsh compassion. To overcome true tyrants, from juggernauts that were unbeatable that pirates were more warmongers, pirate’s that shaped existences, to one’s that crossed every murk seas, sand, sky, space, time. This joining had to take place. A bond that together could puncture the past of regrets, slip-ups. This was daylight. “...From now on I return to my following with my new lease and name. Judas Caesar.” As their brace ended, “Sounds edgy and ominous, mate. But It’s got a ring. I take it yer whole Betrayer Mates won’t be any form ov’ happy, eh?” A firm nod stiffened from the Lander, “Aye. They’ll not take kindly to the disappearance and me erasing myself. It’s but another enemy against us if ever found out. Which I believe leads us to think we should return to the cabin and prepare accordingly what sort of dangers and threats are out there. Which conflicts we can quell, avoid, or outright exterminated.” The Seeker smirked as the situation resolved, “Hmm, I concur. Don’t remove yer authoritative leading cap’ just yet…” As plans on a cog steered as the Miqo’te revealed somewhat an inkling he gambled and put everything at stake to this arising. Still playing with the wenches of close-calls. A more serious question caught the attention of Judas, “Uhm, You should change first though, Cap’n. As well, those bands of poachers nearly held all your belongings. I’d refrain from ever going on some sort of loose trip or whatever you were under as well, least if you do it, ensure someone is watching you. I take it you had yer reasoning's behind actually getting into ‘shipments’, I strongly know you’ve disagreed beforehand to those dire motions.” “Aye. I found everything possible I could ever need t’ uncover and resolve. Let’s chew th’ rag elsewhere.” Feeling completely fine and unnervingly comfortable in the get-up that was donned over him ever striking a pose. For these confrontations in briefness taught him, never again, never again... Would he ever have to halt from expression. This was it, the signed  /glimmer/  that could change the tides direction, despite, the grim current and challenges it foretold!

       (Previous)  — References  —   ♫ ‘Hold your Heart’ — (Next Page)

[lisinfleur]

My fate, my rules!

The request:

Author’s Notes | I hope you like it, dear anon! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, Saxon Princess! Reader, requested by anon for 5CW7 Words | 3245 ⁑ Warnings: None

When you first saw the man standing inside that hall, he was nothing but a rag. Young, dirty, a prisoner being carried around by your father's men like a bag of potatoes or something similar. You could still remember how his face was softer, his body was thinner, and his hair could barely cover his forehead with a strange hairstyle that caused your brother to call him "Nordic Acorn" for days…

Well, you had to notice Aethelwulf's expression since your brother's eyes were almost popping out of his head as the acorn-boy he liked so much to mock as inoffensive, was now standing in front of him - taller than him, by the way… - with long braided hair, fierce blue eyes, and a thousand soldiers wanting to put your castle down to the ground for his desires, held back by nothing but his command.

"Ivar, the Boneless," your brother stated as if recognizing that boy from years ago. "The second to last son of Ragnar Lothbrok."

You rolled your eyes when Ivar frowned, naturally not understanding your brother's colocation: Aethelwulf was convinced Kwenthrith's son was one of the sons of Ragnar indeed.

"I think you don't know my family as well as you think you know, Ecberth's son… I'm the last son of my father, but surely not his last legacy in this world."

Even his voice changed from what you had in your memories. Ivar was a grown man now despite the lack of a beard that you could say was even charming in him. He became a beautiful man. But your feelings for that Viking weren't something new.

The two of you weren't something to come from those glares Aethelwulf already had noticed. Ivar was the owner of your heart since the time when you sneaked into the dungeons to know him in a cell and spend entire nights talking to him about the most variable subjects as your father was deciding his father's fate. He earned your heart with his ways, learning how to read the parchments you brought for him, teaching you words in his language your father's friend Athelstan didn't teach. Ivar was the first man that ever touched your lips with his, even thou there were metal bars in between the two of you.

You never really forgot how hard it was to let him go without goodbyes, watching as the chariot took him away leaving you with nothing but his promise.

"What will happen after you go away?"

"I'll come back for you."

Aethelwulf never dreamed about this. He never understood why you became more astute after "the heathen" - in his words - went away with his desires that Ivar's boat would sink and no one would ever find his remains. Your brother would only repeat incessantly that Ragnar's visit was a curse and even you were different after those men appeared in your father's door - words that the following events that ended up with your father's crown in your brother's head confirmed in the peasants and your brother's minds.

But the truth was that Ivar taught you. He changed you and stimulated your curiosity. Because of him, you sneaked to read the whole library, you learned, you studied and understood. And regardless of what Aethelwulf was planning for you, you had in your mind that Ivar would never forget you.

And you were right…

"I see you're not aware of Magnus…" your brother started and, without respect, Ivar simply cut his sentence, remembering you of the frisson of seeing a Norseman facing one of yours.

They were fearless. And it always made you melt.

"Kwenthrith's son wasn't my brother. And I'm not here to speak of the past."

Firm, like the tone you'd always imagined his god Odin should have to speak.

"Then what brings you here, Norseman?" Aethelwulf said.

And you held your breath. It was always funny to hear how your brother used to say words like "heathen" or "pagan" or even "Norseman" as if they were curses or mocking terms. Well, if they were, Ivar wasn't as bothered by them as your brother wanted him to feel.

"I've come to keep my word for I might break a bone but I can never break a promise."

Aethelwulf's face frowned but you smiled. Those weren't words to your brother but to your heart. And you couldn't avoid showing how happy you were to know he didn't forget.

"I don't remember any promises coming from you nor your people other than killing my lineage and stealing our lands," Aethelwulf's pride taunted.

But Ivar's eyes remained on yours. He knew you understood and you stood forward, surprising your brother with the smile you had on your lips for that man he would call a pagan.

You walked down the stairs and stood in front of Ivar, and for an instant, nothing seemed to exist but those two sapphires clear like the sky looking at you with the same tenderness you remember seeing into them years ago. He was pretty taller than you now - standing, Ivar was imposing and huge, like any other Norseman you ever see. - and it was good to look up to see his face now: you could remember how much he hated people had to look down to speak to him and the many times you sat on the floor just to lower yourself to his level so the two of you would look at each other as what you were: equals.

Now, he was bigger, stronger, more beautiful. And yet he was looking at you from upon your head, his eyes were still the same. Your pretty boy was grown, but still yours such as you were a grown woman now, but still his were your heart and your soul.

"May I ask what, in the name of God, is happening here?" your brother's voice cut the scene and took your sapphires from you, to his face.

Ivar's glare was fierce and strong when looking at your (noisy) brother who was really looking bothered in his throne.

"You come into my kingdom, take lands that aren't yours, kill my men and invade my territory, stand into my hall with promises I don't recognize and now this... What is this that you have such intimacy with my sister?"

You looked back at Aethelwulf, sighing.

"When our father took him and Ragnar as his visitors..."

"Prisoners," Aethewulf corrected you, not giving you space to speak, causing Ivar to crisp his lips, annoyed.

But you only sighed again. You knew your brother, but somehow, you also knew it was soon to be over, so why bother yourself with his behavior?

"When our father took him and Ragnar as his prisoners," you repeated, correcting your word just to have Aethewulf's silence, "I took care of Ivar's cell for a while and he made me a promise when he went away."

"What kind of promises could a Norseman do to you, Y/N?" he cut you again and this time, Ivar's head moved that snaky way you knew were a clear sign he was about to get himself fed up of your brother's behavior.

"He said..."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Aethelwulf cut you once again and this time you sighed annoyed and Ivar frowned looking at him.

His ways towards you were really bothering the Norse Commander but it wasn't enough for Aethelwulf to stop.

"We have no time for these minimalisms when something bigger demands our attention," he said, standing. "I hope you came intending to negotiate the withdrawal of your army from my lands, Norseman."

"Kinda," Ivar answered, surprising Aethelwulf that from the top of his arrogance wasn't waiting for an attempt of negotiation coming from the enemies. "I think the lands I have are quite good and enough for my people to establish a settlement and since I'm about to become a king, I think I'll need a proper queen to reign beside me over my new lands..."

Despite the arrogance and intentional taunt in his tone, Ivar's words surprised you.

His queen?

Was he speaking of marrying you?

You never thought he would take it so far and your heart hushed into your chest with the mere idea of becoming his wife.

Crowns were never important to you, but the thought of being by his side was delightful, despite your brother's disbelief stamped in his face.

"So," Ivar continued, "My proposal is quite simple: you won't stand in my way as I take my precious Y/N to be my wife and I'll cease the attacks and settle in my new lands with my new wife. We can co-exist without problems and I may even be your ally in case you need any military support, which seems to be something pretty valuable for someone with men like yours."

A clear mock on the fact that Aethelwulf's army was losing terrain for Ivar's men like rats fleeing from a bunch of cats.

"What you're proposing is absurd!" Aethelwulf protested "I would never deliver my sister in the hands of a man I don't trust!"

Lies.

Your brother was offering your hand like a prize to any Christian king that was up to get his lands free from the threat the Norseman represented to your people. And Ivar's men were so strong and harsh that not even the promise of a future crown was enough to bring suitors to his proposal.

Yet, Ivar giggled at your brother's almost hysterical reaction.

"In this case, I see no option but invade your town, take the crown from your head, and marry my Y/N unfortunately without the blessing from my brother in law."

The sound of those words was enough to have all his men unsheathing swords, causing a huge tension to install itself into that Hall when your brother's men also did the same in what would be the prelude of war to happen in your house.

The most sensate thing to be done would be to cede: Aethelwulf knew he should accept Ivar's request and grant his people's safety by marrying you to him - it would be something to warrant the end of the Norsemen's threat over his kingdom once and for all and the price was low taking the fact that the lands Ivar's men had invaded were unused and idle since your father's time as king. However, your brother was no king...

Aethelwulf was a spoiled brat with a crown in his head and an ego that would never admit taking the same ways your father once took. For him, to negotiate with the heathens was to lower himself from God's grace somehow he thought was over him and you knew he would never accept what was obviously the best option to your people.

Even then, you tried to guide him in the right direction.

"It's a good proposal, brother. A low price for something we're longing for..."

"That's ridiculous! You're my sister! A Christian! A soon to be queen! I would never give you to these pagans as a sacrifice and a plead for mercy we don't need!" Aethelwulf cut you for the last time before Ivar was finally full of his bullshit.

He stood, chest stuffed, ready to speak in your favor, but, for his surprise, it wasn't his voice that echoed at the Hall, but yours, finally taking the reins of your own life.

"What's ridiculous is your stupid ego speaking louder than your mind, Aethelwulf!" you started, hearing his scoff as you proceeded, ignoring his outraged expression, "You're a king, my brother, no longer a spoiled child that can only hit your feet on the ground for what you want! You have dozens of people relying on you to protect them, to keep them safe, to get rid of the threats around them! What you're doing is not the right posture for a king! Even our father knew when it was time to cede and accept king Ragnar had won and if he wasn't stupid like you, maybe we had ended the Norsemen's thread earlier with that deal! You, men, seem to have your balls thinking instead of your head sometimes! We could have his people as our allies and once again this chance is presenting itself for you as once it did to our father!"

"And I'll take it as our father did and spit on these demons' faces! I have no intentions to..."

"Then it is my duty to decide for you, once you show you're not in the plenty of your mental faculties," it was your time to cut him and watch as the steam started to come up from his head.

You knew Aethelwulf never admitted your voice sounding louder than his. But this time, you wouldn't accept his stupidity.

"You have no say in this!" he insisted, but you stood for your ground, looking at him with strong eyes that weren't able to notice the amused and aroused expression in Ivar's face by your side.

Your Norseman was pretty taken by your strong behavior, thinking you had grown even better than his imagination allowed him to draw in his mind.

"Before speaking about lands and people, we're talking about my life, brother! I am the one who will marry for this alliance, I'm the one who will become his queen, and I decided long ago that if this ever happened; if Ivar ever came back for me; I would be his. It won't be you to prevent me from ruling my own life, not when you can barely rule your own men, my king."

Ivar's laugh echoed through your Hall along with the sound of his hands clapping. He never thought you could be so strong and whatever changed in your personality was really attractive for him, even more than what you were before.

His laughs were enough to infuriate Aethelwulf and he threatened to advance towards you, causing Ivar's smile to close immediately and his hand to raise a dagger that landed in your brother's neck as soon as his steps were close enough to you for him to almost touch your neck.

Aethelwulf grunted, angrily. Yet, you stood in front of him without fear.

"Our father died because of these pagans, Y/N and he trusted me to care for you after his death. I won't allow..."

"You won't allow or disallow me anything, brother," you cut him one more time causing him to clench his jaw, furious. "I've learned enough along the years to know I'm more than just a property for you to trade for your interests. I'm a free woman and the owner of my destiny and whether you want it or not, I'm leaving with Ivar today. You can take this chance and sign the papers to have my future husband as your ally or I can sit and wait as he comes to take this stupid crown from your hands and land them in the hands of someone that will surely take care of our people better than you do."

"Your hands sound perfect for me, my queen," Ivar said, looking at your brother's face.

Aethelwulf growled in fury. He knew he was defeated. With your support, Ivar would soon be accepted as King in his place, once the people of Wessex had you in their higher place of admiration and love. You would conduct them easily and his memory would be nothing but dust in a few years...

By letting you go, he could maybe take the chance to get some time, gather some support, maybe go against your husband later, despite knowing it would be hard to convince his people to betray the Norsemen one more time when the first time had such disastrous consequences. Yet, it was the best option in his mind.

He had no other choice.

"You leave with your filthy heathens away from my hall, Y/N! And don't you dare to claim our father's blood to your unacceptable progeny with this demon you'll call your husband! You abandon all your rights to Wessex's crown by deciding to get yourself married to this sinful man under his false gods!" he vociferated, angrily.

But you just sighed, looking at him.

"Don't worry, my brother. I have no intention to steal what you have that's most precious for you. Keep your metal crown, Aethelwulf. Freedom sounds better for me," you said, touching Ivar's hand and feeling as he lowered his dagger releasing your brother from the tension of imminent death.

With a single wave of his hand, Ivar's men sheathed their swords and the tension around started to dissolve slowly, despite your brother's crescent fury.

"I think there is nothing to be solved in here anymore, right?" Ivar mocked, looking at your brother. "You have my word as long as your men stay away from my lands, no new attack will be done and if you need any help, do not hesitate on sending me a crow... Brother."

That smile on the corner of Ivar's lips was taking your brother out of his sanity and you knew that, but Aethelwulf straightened himself, looking at Ivar with that attempt to pretend he was still upon the situation.

"If something ever happens to my sister..." he started trying that stupid theatre of a protective brother you knew he never was.

"Don't worry. I'm sure I'll be safer beside Ivar than I ever was into this castle," you said, looking into your brother's eyes. "And don't mind about coming to my marriage, brother. As you said, it will be under my husband's gods and we both know you must keep clean your image of a good Christian king so let us pretend you politely refused to take part in a heathen ritual and keep things among us restrict to the papers I intend one of our messengers to come and pick up tomorrow," you stated.

Getting one more amused smile from your soon to be husband.

"Our father would be disappointed with you, Y/N, but it is not like you didn't know that, right?" the last movement: an emotional shot that passed far from hitting your heart.

"Our father knew me as nothing but a coin to be exchanged, brother," you said, looking at Aethelwulf untouched by his words, "Let us think he would be proud that you knew how to exchange this coin for a good alliance instead of wasting it with that Southern King you thought would do more than pee on his pants if he was here when Ivar crossed those doors."

The more you spoke, the more Aethelwulf's anger was growing into him. But you had a life to enjoy outside those walls and now, with the Norsemen opening the castle doors, you wouldn't waste your time with your brother's tantrums.

"Take care of yourself, brother," you said over your shoulder.

Feeling when Ivar's hand embraced your waist, conducting you towards the doors in the hallway that his men opened for the two of you to pass.

You could still hear Aethelwulf breaking half of the hall's vases and decorations in an outburst of anger after you crossed the doors with your soon-to-be husband beside you.

But you were too happy with yourself to really pay any attention to him anymore.

With Ivar smiling by your side and conducting the horse, you stood in his chariot, looking forward to seeing how pleasurable it would be to be the owner of yourself.

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[minnesotadruids]

I applaud your stand on racism. Could you give examples of the racism you see in the druid community? What exactly has been said or posted. Also would there be any history supporting the isolation of the druids? Did they ever come in contact with people of africa ever?

The first one that comes to mind is one of my ex-grovemates whose membership I terminated a year or two ago when someone sent me video proof of him harassing people in public. I actually don’t want to give out specifics on that incident because it actually made local news briefly. At the time he did have symbols of racial bias. He later attended a private social gathering and allegedly harassed a transgender person and got into a verbal altercation before being removed from the vicinity. After he was booted from Oakdale Grove, other grovemates came forward with complaints against him I wish I would have been informed of sooner, as he was an all-around asshole in addition to being a racist.

My YouTube videos on druidry occasionally received comments from people who subscribed to racist channels. One of them commented that since I’m hispanic I can’t be a druid because they don’t have Celtic blood. I’ve stated before there’s no genetic requirement to be a druid, so not only was this racist individual incorrect about that, but he’s also wrong about me not having Celtic blood. There were Iberian Celts in far western Europe in the Iron Age, including what is now Portugal and Spain. They’re still there - the Basque people are ethnically Celtic still today.

I don’t need to defend myself with caveats that I do have Iberian Celtic ancestry, nor do I need to tout my DNA test results for validation. A mantra growing in the druid or Celtic pagan community is (paraphrased) leave genetics out of it. Don’t let ancestry be the sole reason for exploring any given modern spirituality.

As a morbid fascination, I watched a couple YouTube videos of a conservative druid in Poland to try to understand how they rationalize their way through their beliefs, and he started rambling about protecting “white heritage” in Europe, and called it a dying culture. He segued into promoting total abstinence until marriage, and restoring women to what he described as their proper submissive roles. The longer I watched, the more disgusted I was with his backwards rhetoric. He kept circling back to rambling about white culture and pride. I watched one more video and it was just more of the same, ranting against interracial marriages, claiming it’s “white genocide” and right then I was just done with him. 

Unfortunately YouTube’s algorithms assumed I was interested in watching more of his videos and kept recommending them to me. That’s when I remembered to just report his content and channel. A few of his videos got taken down, but YouTube said some of them did not violate their guidelines and his channel stayed up, so I just blocked him.

Then there was the Neo-Nazi who liked Oakdale Grove’s Facebook page. His profile page banner was a photo of a Nazi flag over his bed. On his timeline he said he was a self-described asshole and didn’t care what anyone thinks. He had also posted a selfie of his swastika tattoo. His Likes page was rife with Folkish, Heathen, Odinist interests. Heathenism in itself is fine, but it’s being hijacked by racists. He also had Celtic and general pagan interests. But there were a lot of Neo-Nazi likes and a lot of confederate flags to boot. I felt nauseated that a person of that character had liked Oakdale Grove’s page. Luckily I was able to remove his “Like” from my end, and banned him from the page, then reported his profile and Facebook suspended his profile (whether permanently or until he cleaned up his content, I do not know).

As for your questions about ancient druids, I don’t believe they were very isolated, as some may have traveled beyond the druid schools to acquire more knowledge. One druid who we know by name, Divitiacus, was an acquaintance of Julius Caesar and served as a representative of the Aedui tribe of Celts. The ancient druids did not write down their own customs, but some druids were probably literate. It is possible that some druids may have made their way to Alexandria, Egypt to visit the Great Library to acquire more knowledge. 

Unfortunately I don’t think there is any surviving documentation from ancient times that would indicate to what extent they had much interaction from the peoples of Africa. Furthermore when the Great Library of Alexandria was burned, so much of the historical record was lost forever. However, during the Bronze and Iron Ages, tin ore was widely exported from southwestern England, and copper ore was exported from Wales. This fostered a vast trade network of other goods circulating around the known world at the time, and I think there is archaeological evidence that these trade routes that extended to North Africa and the Middle East, but it’s been about seven years since I’ve read about it so I’m foggy on the source.

[lightdancer1]

Then if you get into the more convoluted/deeper world of heathen cosmology:

Due to Tolkien the Svartalfar/Dwarves, Dragons, Trolls, and the like make it sound like 'fantasy novel but real.' It's......a lot more complicated than that. The Jotnar, for example, are not universally nor close to it welcome among Asatru or Vanatru. They are the bane and the foe of the Gods, after all, even if as with Skadi, Lady of Winter, They can be among Their number.

Then there are the weirdos who apply the path of Rokkatru and focus on the most malevolent entities in the cosmology like the Fenris Wolf, the Niddhogg, and the Thursir and view Them as evil and get surprised when this proves a bad idea. Basic rule of thumb: Tread carefully, and do so even more if these people really *do* have some idea what they're doing.

My own path involves some elements of Muspelheim and its volcanic forces of creation and destruction. Muspelheim is often mislabeled 'the realm of fire' and true, it is a realm of fire and heat. The proper translation of Muspelheim is 'World-Destroyer Home.' The sons and daughters of Muspell *earned* the name. They too are not to be invoked lightly for what They can and will unleash carries devastation and regrowth in its wake like a volcanic eruption.

Beyond Them, however, are the children of Bergelmir, the entities that are most often named Jotnar, the Devourers. They are kin to the Gods and Goddesses, but They are primordial annihilating forces as often as not. They are Nature, red in tooth and claw.

The Aesir and the Vanir are to be treated with the greatest of respect, for They are stern and They can be unkind given a piece of a chance, as with all the Gods and Goddesses of pagan paths.

Jotnar don't even need the piece of a chance, They will make the chance and break anything in Their path to do so. They too deserve respect for They are powers that are divine in Their own way, but They are not the friends of humanity and They never remotely intended to be, nor do They desire to be.

[tawakkull]

Spirituality in islam: The Horizons of Faith

There are two sides to the love of truth; one is constituted by knowledge while the other is constituted by faith. Indeed, while on one side of the relationship is the discovery and determination of the truth, i.e., what creates the link between human knowledge and consciousness, on the other side is the attitude adopted in relation to the truth. The former is pursued by the sources of knowledge of religion and by science. The latter is determined by religion itself. Science which does not possess a love or purpose that is intent on analyzing and explaining existence and discovering the truth is blind, and the determinations of such types of scientific endeavor are not free from contradictions. It is always true that any scientific pursuit based on considerations of personal, familial, or social interests will run into some obstacles, and it is unavoidable that any knowledge attained with such a mentality, thought, or doctrine should lead to a very tortuous path. Religion, being a bountiful basin for science with its sources of knowledge, is an essential element, an important dynamic, a guide that has a clear method in matters that go beyond the horizons of knowledge; it is a guide that has a profound benevolence that does not mislead.

It is always possible to turn science into a punishing, spectral and frightening ghoul standing in the way of truth by leaving it at the disposal of a particular thought, a particular happening, or a particular doctrine, and thereby limiting its horizons; it is also possible that religion, which is a celestial truth, can be presented by some as possessing feelings of resentment, hatred, fury, and revenge. What a great contradiction that something can be twisted into appearing as its total opposite!

Now try to imagine a science—which in truth should be considered as holy as a temple—that has one way or another linked itself to a particular philosophical current, and has even become subservient to it. This means that science is now a slave to a bigoted thought; it is in no way free, and thus is so cursed as to make the greatest ignorance appear favorable in comparison. And try to imagine a religion which has been sought to be made into a vehicle for the interests of some political or non-political parties; then, the temple becomes the fortress of that party, and the prayers that take place there become some sort of political ritual. In this case there is no doubt that both religion and the holiness of religion have been sacrificed.

Indeed, if in a society some people speak of “knowledge” and then use the dwelling places of this knowledge as their own villas, as showcases for their desires, fancies, and ideologies, then these abodes for science have long ceased to be temples and have become arenas where desires, ambitions, and hatred are sharpened. Again, if in a society some people speak of “piety,” and then are able to call those who do not think like them and who do not share the same political considerations “heathen,” “atheist,” or “infidel,” then the fault lies with those who have assumed the position of representatives. They have turned religion into a phobia that alienates people from God, which blackens their hearts, and closes the doors of hope in their faces; this is an image that is in total contradiction with why religion was sent down in the first place. Just as the enmity toward religion that emanates from mouths foaming with resentment, hatred and fury and from pens which blacken the soul constitute bigotry and are gifts presented to the Devil, quoting “religion” and then raising one’s fists in the air in protest of a particular view or thought is equally bigotry and ignorance; such things sadden the inhabitants of the heavens.

Whatever a person’s appearance may be, to consider someone who does not know what true faith is, who does not know with what the conscience calls, who has not partaken Divine love and affection, and who does not accept things that are petty in God’s consideration as being petty, or notable things as being notable, as a pious person would be to show great disrespect to the celestial and universal nature of religion. The greatest harm we can do to religion and science is to accept our fancies, aspirations and desires as reasonable thoughts, and to present these as piety. This is a deep wide cavity in every human being and the source of this emptiness is their weakness. One of the greatest weaknesses is wishing to seem better than we are, and having expectations above our capabilities. It is this weakness that needs to be cured with certain values, values which are accepted by the collective conscience as being pious and that pertain to science and religion. In other words, some people want to use religion as if it were something to fill in the cracks of their emptiness. The most powerful weapon of conscience—which is indivisible from justice—against such human weaknesses is the love of truth and the struggle toward knowledge. If there is indeed an elixir which will wipe away the corrosion from the minds of those who appear learned, and the rust from the thoughts of those who seem to be siding with religion, it is undoubtedly the love of God, and the love for all existence and the love for truth, all due to Him. When hearts are imbued with love and souls are moved into action with affection, all human emptiness and weaknesses are smothered or are transformed into an elixir of life.

The world came to know and accept the love of truth that leads people to the love of God and brings them into close encounter with existence through the prophets. From the very first day, every prophet has guided people on his way as a lord of love and has embroidered his dealings with them with adornments of love; this Divine love has melted in its basin, reaching its true value. The Holy Messiah composed a poem out of his life that was based upon love for humanity and he continued his mission, voicing this feeling in various ways. If we examine how it was expressed through Fuzuli’s poetry, the Pride of Humanity said “My word is the flag bearer of the army of lovers” and thus honored the world and continued as the breath and voice of love. When this divine love reached a transcendence, its eye upon transformation, it walked toward the hereafter. When the Qur'an is read with faith and concentration, apart from being vocally and musically enchanting, it is also seen to be the voice and breath of love, the point of convergence for longing and reunion. The passion for truth, the love of knowledge, the effort for research and serious investigation, and the attempt to get close are issues that are stressed in the Qur'an often in order to attract the attention of believing hearts. They are like brilliant quarries where attentive souls discover new gems each time they visit. Each traveler in thought who pursues the Qur'an attentively will most certainly find themselves in an artery which will take them to one of those brilliant reserves, and who knows what sort of delightful scenes will greet the traveler when they arrive.

But quite curiously, its spotless purity has a shadow thrown over it and doubts are cast in wavering souls because this book, which is richer than the richest tome in content, this book, which has been created to release us from all our pain and to provide the antidote for ancient wounds, is being misrepresented by deficient souls, people whose passion and love lie in opposing ways. Their search is superficial and they are skewed in their evaluation. Their investigation is always directed at others whose feelings are eternally linked to ambition and interest, whose intellect and reason block their feelings, whose judgment yields to fancies and who dart between “showcase” and “vision” rather than concerning themselves with inner depth and content. They are partly to blame for the fact that some of those who look on this glory see it with a little less luster. In truth, though they may seem to be on a path that leads to the world beyond and on the valleys of the metaphysical, since material interest has blinded their eyes, they are unable to comprehend or reflect a world that has been shaped by the soul and meaning. Moreover, examining the worlds of others founded upon human weakness, they fall into the trap of arming themselves with the same weapons, of using the same material and, in other words, of sharing the same things with the people whom they call “the others.” By so doing, they will, in a matter of days, be imitating the evil they used to reprimand in others, and will follow exactly in their footsteps. To date, no one has ever benefited from such an aimless and purposeless struggle. On the contrary, in a struggle in which all express a multitude of regrets, it is our collective personality that is defeated and it is we who are damaged.

The Qur'an descended to the Earth with a deep understanding of balance; it has balanced the relationship between individuals, families, society, and with all creation and has heralded to its followers a path that leads to universal harmony. However, we have imprisoned the Qur'an in the tight confines of our own reason; first we have limited that great vastness, localizing the universal, and then we have demeaned its love to the base of the commonplace, subjecting its brilliant face to one eclipse after another. People of high ideals, like Said ibn Jubayr, Abu Hanifa, Ahmad ibn Hanbal, Imam Serahsi, never were party to inflicting oppression, on the contrary, they did not yield one inch, always deciding in accordance with the voice of their conscience that is ever open to God. They chose the agony of dark places—may God forgive us—instead of the delight and pleasure of palaces and they found the true depths by worshiping the All-Wise and thus they chose freedom of thought and conscience.

Indeed, those who live with an aim, or die with an aim live on. When they die, their tombs live like hearts, or even like a collective conscience, for eternity. Standing opposite these lofty souls are the unfortunate ones; slaves to their personal interests and thinking of themselves as being so clever that they do not need to concern themselves with anything in this world, yet they remain slaves enchained in their own desires and fancies—thus their lives are slavery, what they leave behind is cursed, and what they attain is disaster upon disaster.

Faithful students of the Qur'an—you can call them people of ideal—are the riders of eternity, who take up others onto their saddles, carrying them to eternity. They are able to transcend their own ardor, aspirations, and passions. As students of the Qur'an ride toward the horizon, idealized according to their inner world of contemplation, they gallop over many things that others call reality, while some who have long suffered from their ideals and have even lost these ideals think them to be fools.

In truth, purpose and aim are like catapults which hurl us into the midst of the realm of souls, a metaphysical atmosphere beyond this world, surrounded by matter which blocks our way and holds us to our feelings, interest, gain, and reputation. Everyone who is placed within that catapult one way or another, if not today, then one day, will go into orbit around the sphere of God; while they are waiting they are like a satellite waiting on the launch pad. Religion, in its entirety, is a bountiful source which feeds this ideal and the Prophet is the affectionate attendant of this source, the sincere representative and commentator who provides the most comprehensible explanations that are in keeping with its celestial origins. In that respect, he is an innovator, a revealer, a revolutionary who recommends the best, the excellent and the most human interpretation for those who come after him, and the one who is open to the most distant future with the principles that he preaches. Those who cannot see the Qur'an with their own inner depth and those who do not accept the person of the Prophet as the most skilful navigator of the depths of the Qur'an are unfortunates who have drowned in their own depths—if indeed we can call this a depth. They are sometimes shaken and stopped in their tracks by the echo of their own shallowness as reflected in the Qur'an, they sometimes seek refuge in historical murmurs, voicing their own emptiness. In their interpretation and representation, religion—more precisely Islamic theology—is either a monstrosity which has been riddled with fairy tales, or a non-contemporary system which has been defeated by time and which is vainly still trying to struggle against it.

In fact, the Qur'an is a source which has an enigma so deep and a purity so vast, a source with such richness that all those who address it can see that it is beyond the horizon of the sphere of their understanding, and they can experience the security of having such a source. Then with the discovery of their own horizon of understanding, they watch like a rainbow, a triumphal arch that is always just beyond the point that the follower has reached. Piety is such a transcending interpretation of the source of light that pours into life through a chrysolite prism, molding and shaping it, that those who feel it witness an inimitable “ease of flawless expression,” even though they can see their level of understanding always expressed in the Qur'an.

[universal-shenanigans]

Confessions (5)

(Warning: long as hell.))

     Vincent waited at the carriage with another jacket and dress shirt in hand. The seamstress had given him a nice blue one and a white shirt for the gala. She had some time so she did play dress-up with him for a bit. When Alexa arrived she saw him in a blue jacket with a tail and he accessorized in silver bands, rings, and chains. “Oh she must have loved you. She really gave the whole regal look.”

     He turned to her and scoffed. “Nevermind me. What’s with the cape?” She wore something that looked as if she stole it from a prince’s closet. She pouted, “What? You don’t like it? I think it fits. Gets the message across.”

     “And what message is that?”

     “That I walk with pride and purpose. And that I look good in capes~. Now come on.” He rolled his eyes and hoisted himself in the carriage after her.

~

     An hour and a half passed when they had finally arrived to the castle that the meeting was being held. A woman stood by the carriage with a smile. “Welcome your highness. If you will allow me, I can take your things to your residence for the night. I have been told there is a place that you frequent when visiting here?”

     “Oh yes! I actually stay at a lovely inn a couple buildings down the road. Take this as well. The inn-keeper will know.” Alexa handed her a bag of coins, along with a bag that she had brought along with to hold her and Vincent’s clothes for the rest of the day. She smiled, “Thank you so much. And please, take my carriage if you’d like.”

     “Oh! Well, thank you, your majesty.” The woman climbed into the carriage and it rode off. Vincent couldn’t help but chuckle. She raised a brow, “What’s so funny?”

     “Nothing. Your generosity and kindness just tends to tickle me because of how selfless you are. It astounds me sometimes, but in a good way.” She smiled and opened the door for him. “Thanks. I try.” He raised a brow as they walked inside, “Now I do have one question.”

     “And I will have one answer.” She chuckled.

     He scoffed, “Anyway, why did you book an inn? It only took us about an hour, maybe an hour and a half to get here.”

     “I like to make sure that the carriage man has enough sleep before I leave. Plus the gala tends to last past 10 and I’m always tired after them.” Vincent smirked, “So it wasn’t for any other purpose~?” At first she was confused as to what he was eluding to. It took her a minute to finally realize what he meant and she instantly punched his arm.

~

     Vincent followed Alexa down the halls of the castle. It seemed as if they were walking for quite a while. Soon they arrived at two large doors. Upon opening them they were greeted by a large table filled with food and several people sitting around it. By the looks of the many other empty seats, they had arrived earlier than Alexa expected. An older man walked up to them and greeted her with a smile and handshake. “Queen Alexa, welcome. I’m glad you can join us.” He turned to Vincent and noticed how tall he was. And the lack of legs. But mostly because of how tall he was. He gave him his hand and smiled. “Usually she brings her bodyguard to our meetings. And you are sir?”

     “Vincent. A friend of Alexa.” He shook his hand.

     “It’s very nice to meet you sir, I am King Adamere. Of course you two can help yourself to the food until the others arrive.” He straightened his coat and walked out of the room. Vincent raised a brow as he followed Alexa to their seats. “King Adamere? I don’t believe I have heard of him.”

     “I don’t think it really matters if you have or haven’t. He is the king of one, if not the, highest populated kingdoms in the land. He usually tries to call these meetings every few months. Very sweet and kind. Although he hasn’t been that way for forever.”

     “What was he like before?” He asked as he sat down next to her. He noticed that they were seated pretty far up the table. Very close to the head of the table. 

     “A bigot if you want the short version. Very small-minded, and extremely racist. But, he changed his ways, and became more open-minded. Some still ridicule him for his past, but things like that happen when your actions are the result of your own thoughts. At least he realized that he was wrong. Some people that will arrive in today, not so much.” Although curious, Vincent was a bit worried about these people. He assumed because it was a meeting, anyone could and will speak their piece. He heard the doors open once more and looked to see a young woman and a man walk in. Alexa noticed as well, but as soon as she saw the two her eyes grew brighter. The woman glared back at her as she sat down in a seat further down the table.

~

     “Alright, settle down. Welcome everyone to the Meeting of the Royals. I appreciate you all being here today, and I do hope you all are able to attend the gala that is being held here tonight. Now with that being said, let us begin.”

     The meeting was very slow, and each subject of the meeting slowly grew more important. Very slowly. Alexa only spoke a few times throughout the few hours that the meeting was held. Vincent gripped the bottom of the table cloth. He regretted his decision on coming along, and Alexa couldn’t help but grin at his agony. She was used to the meetings droning on for hours, so seeing someone besides Andric, who was also used to it, witness it was a funny sight to see. King Adamere flipped through a few papers, scribbled on one, and sighed. “Alright. Our last point is to address the Mythics.” Vincent perked up. Something that he could actually listen to with interest.

     Adamere continued, “The population is increasing rapidly, with Mythics mating with each other, branching to humans and creating half breeds, or other species to create hybrids. There is also the problem that some have been unfortunately kicking out Mythics because of the laws you have in place.” Vincent was obviously outraged by this statement, however he stayed silent. Adamere turned the woman that Alexa had a staring contest with before the meeting, “Princess Penelope Chandra, being the next in line to your throne, you have taken some steps into an...interesting rule. And you have unfortunately gained a more negative reputation for your kingdom because of the laws against Mythics. So forgive me when I say that I was a bit appalled by the accusations that were thrown at two Mythics who supposedly committed a robbery in your kingdom, and they are facing a severe punishment for it.”

     Penelope nodded, “Yes and there is no “supposedly”. These two stole from a jewelry shop. They admitted to the crime, and they said that they came from her kingdom.” She pointed at Alexa. All eyes landed on the young Queen. Her eyes were a bright blue now, but she knew how to keep her composure. Vincent was about to say something, but she raised her had to him. Her ears flicked with irritation, “Even if that were true, Penelope, why would I send them? Sending them to your kingdom would be a death sentence, and you know just as much as everyone else here that I would never do that. Not even for a crime as petty as theft.”

     “Then why would they say that they came from Kingdom Vandus hmm?”

     “Maybe because they’ve lived under the rule of your family for far too long, know that my family scares you because of our acceptance of Mythics, and is trying to start a movement.”

     Penelope scoffed. Alexa straightened her posture and fixed her gloves. “Now, let’s say that they were from my kingdom. I am well aware that they should abide the laws of the jurisdiction they end up in. However, your kingdom is known to be...to put it bluntly, over-the-top racist. I want to know the punishment they are facing.” She waited for a response from the princess. Vincent was just as curious. This Penelope, from what he gathered just from her talking, was one that wanted his race wiped out. Just because they existed. The princess didn’t answer, but the man next to her stood up and spoke. “I don’t think that is any of your concern, heathen.”

     “Frankly, King Isaac, I do not give a damn what you think. As her father, if you are going to teach this girl how to rule your kingdom, she should be able to speak for herself. Besides, she claims the Mythics in question are from my kingdom, so I am going along with the hypothetical. If my citizens were to say, die, as their punishment, I want to know about it. Their families or anyone close to them need to know about it. What, is, their, punishment...?”

     Silence fell over the table. Princess Penelope fixed her posture and huffed. “...they are to have their hands cut off, and are to be hung for their crimes.” Alexa’s eyes grew wide and brighter. But before she could speak against this injustice, someone jumped in before her. “Over stolen jewelry?!”

     She, along with the rest of the members turned to see Vincent out of his chair. Alexa took particular notice to the color of his eyes. They were a light gray. At that point she knew that she had said enough. Penelope grew red at the sight of him. The young princess had to admit that he was very attractive. Even taking into account his horns, spines, and obvious tail. She regained her sanity and scoffed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re allowed to speak about matters such as these. I will not-”

     “Penelope he is a stand-in for my bodyguard, who speaks on these matters all the time, a good friend of mine, and I would like to think he is a very big representative of the Mythics that reside in this land. Now I suggest you hold that Gods forsaken tongue, know your place, and show some damn respect...”

     Penelope jumped back and fell silent. Alexa turned to Adamere, “I apologize in advance for my behavior. Although you should’ve seen this coming, I do apologize.” The King nodded and motioned for Vincent to continue. He glared daggers at the princess, “How dare you give them such a sentence for a minor inconvenience? I do not condone stealing, but the punishment these two Mythics are receiving is overkill. This is one of the many annoying and unjustified problems my kind faces now. Just because you are in power, and for some reason hate Mythics, it does not give you the right to try and eradicate us without conssequence. My kind only fight back when threatened. If you go through with this outrageous punishment, trust me when I sssay this, my people are going to take it as a threat, and they are going to fight back.” He growled. Alexa couldn’t help but smirk at the fear on the young princess’ face. She placed a hand on his arm and gave him a nod. He huffed as he sat back down in his seat and folded his arms. There was more silence amongst the leaders. Adamere decided to break it, “What do you suggest she do, Alexa?”

     “Simple: turn them over to me. If they are apart of my kingdom, I want to be the one to give them a proper trial and punishment if they are willing to confess.” She explained as she stared down the princess and her father. “As for the other point before we discussed all of this, I have expanded land to allow a lot more Mythics to reside in my kingdom. Take into account how many you all have and let me know the ones who want to leave your kingdoms.” The other rulers murmured amongst themselves, and Penelope spoke quietly to her father. After a few minutes of conversation, the other rulers agreed to the offer. Alexa hadn’t broken her stare with Isaac and his daughter. They were still talking about her offer. It looked more like quiet arguing to the others at the table. Vincent had been watching and grew impatient. “It’s as easy as one, two, three. You either agree to the terms or you don’t.”

     They turned towards the Queen and huffed. “...fine. You will receive custody.” Adamere sighed with relief, “Oh thank goodness. Now that that’s settled we can end the meeting. I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your day, and hope to see you tonight.” Everyone made their way out of the room. Alexa and Vincent left and she grinned at him. He noticed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t say it.”

     “Say what? I have no idea what you’re talking about dear~.”

     “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Is that Penelope always like that?”

     “Oh yes. She tries to pick a fight with me practically every meeting. She’s why I told you that you were gonna want to speak~.” She smirked as they walked down the steps of the castle. “I told you not to say it.” He groaned. She laughed and opened the carriage door for him. He climbed inside, she climbed in after him, and the carriage took off.

[corythesaxon]

I’m bisexual and a Heathen. The rainbow (referring to the gay pride flag) isn’t even an actual rainbow. The colors represent different aspects of who we are.

Also the Bifrost is also often believed to be the Northern Lights.

[araitsume]

The Desire of Ages, pp. 637-641: Chapter (70) “The Least of These My Brethren”

This chapter is based on Matthew 25:31-46.

“When the Son of man shall come in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him, then shall He sit upon the throne of His glory: and before Him shall be gathered all nations: and He shall separate them one from another.” Thus Christ on the Mount of Olives pictured to His disciples the scene of the great judgment day. And He represented its decision as turning upon one point. When the nations are gathered before Him, there will be but two classes, and their eternal destiny will be determined by what they have done or have neglected to do for Him in the person of the poor and the suffering.

In that day Christ does not present before men the great work He has done for them in giving His life for their redemption. He presents the faithful work they have done for Him. To those whom He sets upon His right hand He will say, “Come, ye blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was an hungered, and ye gave Me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave Me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took Me in: naked, and ye clothed Me: I was sick, and ye visited Me: I was in prison, and ye came unto Me.” But those whom Christ commends know not that they have been ministering unto Him. To their perplexed inquiries He answers, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.”

Jesus had told His disciples that they were to be hated of all men, to be persecuted and afflicted. Many would be driven from their homes, and brought to poverty. Many would be in distress through disease and privation. Many would be cast into prison. To all who forsook friends or home for His sake He had promised in this life a hundredfold. Now He assured a special blessing to all who should minister to their brethren. In all who suffer for My name, said Jesus, you are to recognize Me. As you would minister to Me, so you are to minister to them. This is the evidence that you are My disciples.

All who have been born into the heavenly family are in a special sense the brethren of our Lord. The love of Christ binds together the members of His family, and wherever that love is made manifest there the divine relationship is revealed. “Everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.” 1 John 4:7.

Those whom Christ commends in the judgment may have known little of theology, but they have cherished His principles. Through the influence of the divine Spirit they have been a blessing to those about them. Even among the heathen are those who have cherished the spirit of kindness; before the words of life had fallen upon their ears, they have befriended the missionaries, even ministering to them at the peril of their own lives. Among the heathen are those who worship God ignorantly, those to whom the light is never brought by human instrumentality, yet they will not perish. Though ignorant of the written law of God, they have heard His voice speaking to them in nature, and have done the things that the law required. Their works are evidence that the Holy Spirit has touched their hearts, and they are recognized as the children of God.

How surprised and gladdened will be the lowly among the nations, and among the heathen, to hear from the lips of the Saviour, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me”! How glad will be the heart of Infinite Love as His followers look up with surprise and joy at His words of approval!

But not to any class is Christ's love restricted. He identifies Himself with every child of humanity. That we might become members of the heavenly family, He became a member of the earthly family. He is the Son of man, and thus a brother to every son and daughter of Adam. His followers are not to feel themselves detached from the perishing world around them. They are a part of the great web of humanity; and Heaven looks upon them as brothers to sinners as well as to saints. The fallen, the erring, and the sinful, Christ's love embraces; and every deed of kindness done to uplift a fallen soul, every act of mercy, is accepted as done to Him.

The angels of heaven are sent forth to minister to those who shall be heirs of salvation. We know not now who they are; it is not yet made manifest who shall overcome, and share the inheritance of the saints in light; but angels of heaven are passing throughout the length and breadth of the earth, seeking to comfort the sorrowing, to protect the imperiled, to win the hearts of men to Christ. Not one is neglected or passed by. God is no respecter of persons, and He has an equal care for all the souls He has created.

As you open your door to Christ's needy and suffering ones, you are welcoming unseen angels. You invite the companionship of heavenly beings. They bring a sacred atmosphere of joy and peace. They come with praises upon their lips, and an answering strain is heard in heaven. Every deed of mercy makes music there. The Father from His throne numbers the unselfish workers among His most precious treasures.

Those on the left hand of Christ, those who had neglected Him in the person of the poor and the suffering, were unconscious of their guilt. Satan had blinded them; they had not perceived what they owed to their brethren. They had been self-absorbed, and cared not for others’ needs.

To the rich, God has given wealth that they may relieve and comfort His suffering children; but too often they are indifferent to the wants of others. They feel themselves superior to their poor brethren. They do not put themselves in the poor man's place. They do not understand the temptations and struggles of the poor, and mercy dies out of their hearts. In costly dwellings and splendid churches, the rich shut themselves away from the poor; the means that God has given to bless the needy is spent in pampering pride and selfishness. The poor are robbed daily of the education they should have concerning the tender mercies of God; for He has made ample provision that they should be comforted with the necessities of life. They are compelled to feel the poverty that narrows life, and are often tempted to become envious, jealous, and full of evil surmisings. Those who themselves have not endured the pressure of want too often treat the poor in a contemptuous way, and make them feel that they are looked upon as paupers.

But Christ beholds it all, and He says, It was I who was hungry and thirsty. It was I who was a stranger. It was I who was sick. It was I who was in prison. While you were feasting at your bountifully spread table, I was famishing in the hovel or the empty street. While you were at ease in your luxurious home, I had not where to lay My head. While you crowded your wardrobe with rich apparel, I was destitute. While you pursued your pleasures, I languished in prison.

When you doled out the pittance of bread to the starving poor, when you gave those flimsy garments to shield them from the biting frost, did you remember that you were giving to the Lord of glory? All the days of your life I was near you in the person of these afflicted ones, but you did not seek Me. You would not enter into fellowship with Me. I know you not.

Many feel that it would be a great privilege to visit the scenes of Christ's life on earth, to walk where He trod, to look upon the lake beside which He loved to teach, and the hills and valleys on which His eyes so often rested. But we need not go to Nazareth, to Capernaum, or to Bethany, in order to walk in the steps of Jesus. We shall find His footprints beside the sickbed, in the hovels of poverty, in the crowded alleys of the great city, and in every place where there are human hearts in need of consolation. In doing as Jesus did when on earth, we shall walk in His steps.

All may find something to do. “The poor always ye have with you,” (John 12:8), Jesus said, and none need feel that there is no place where they can labor for Him. Millions upon millions of human souls ready to perish, bound in chains of ignorance and sin, have never so much as heard of Christ's love for them. Were our condition and theirs to be reversed, what would we desire them to do for us? All this, so far as lies in our power, we are under the most solemn obligation to do for them. Christ's rule of life, by which every one of us must stand or fall in the judgment, is, “Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.” Matthew 7:12.

The Saviour has given His precious life in order to establish a church capable of caring for sorrowful, tempted souls. A company of believers may be poor, uneducated, and unknown; yet in Christ they may do a work in the home, the neighborhood, the church, and even in “the regions beyond,” whose results shall be as far-reaching as eternity.

It is because this work is neglected that so many young disciples never advance beyond the mere alphabet of Christian experience. The light which was glowing in their own hearts when Jesus spoke to them, “Thy sins be forgiven thee,” they might have kept alive by helping those in need. The restless energy that is so often a source of danger to the young might be directed into channels through which it would flow out in streams of blessing. Self would be forgotten in earnest work to do others good.

Those who minister to others will be ministered unto by the Chief Shepherd. They themselves will drink of the living water, and will be satisfied. They will not be longing for exciting amusements, or for some change in their lives. The great topic of interest will be, how to save the souls that are ready to perish. Social intercourse will be profitable. The love of the Redeemer will draw hearts together in unity.

When we realize that we are workers together with God, His promises will not be spoken with indifference. They will burn in our hearts, and kindle upon our lips. To Moses, when called to minister to an ignorant, undisciplined, and rebellious people, God gave the promise, “My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest.” And He said, “Certainly I will be with thee.” Exodus 33:14; 3:12. This promise is to all who labor in Christ's stead for His afflicted and suffering ones.

Love to man is the earthward manifestation of the love of God. It was to implant this love, to make us children of one family, that the King of glory became one with us. And when His parting words are fulfilled, “Love one another, as I have loved you” (John 15:12); when we love the world as He has loved it, then for us His mission is accomplished. We are fitted for heaven; for we have heaven in our hearts.

But “if thou forbear to deliver them that are drawn unto death, and those that are ready to be slain; if thou sayest, Behold, we knew it not; doth not He that pondereth the heart consider it? and He that keepeth thy soul, doth not He know it? and shall not He render to every man according to his works?” Proverbs 24:11, 12. In the great Judgment day, those who have not worked for Christ, who have drifted along thinking of themselves, caring for themselves, will be placed by the Judge of the whole earth with those who did evil. They receive the same condemnation.

To every soul a trust is given. Of everyone the Chief Shepherd will demand, “Where is the flock that was given thee, thy beautiful flock?” And “what wilt thou say when He shall punish thee?” Jeremiah 13:20, 21.

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THIS IS WHY WE GO TO PRIDE

If any LGBTQIA+ Heathens or LGBTQIA+ Heathen allies want to represent with us or show up in solidarity in Denver’s Pride on Saturday, Inbox me!

*You do not have to be LGBTQ to show up in support!