#i promise i use this privilege with wisdom

[walkswithmyfather]

1 Kings 18:19-22, 36-39 (NLT). [19] “Now summon all Israel to join me at Mount Carmel, along with the 450 prophets of Baal and the 400 prophets of Asherah who are supported by Jezebel.” [20] So Ahab summoned all the people of Israel and the prophets to Mount Carmel. [21] Then Elijah stood in front of them and said, “How much longer will you waver, hobbling between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him! But if Baal is God, then follow him!” But the people were completely silent. [22] Then Elijah said to them, “I am the only prophet of the Lord who is left, but Baal has 450 prophets.

[36] At the usual time for offering the evening sacrifice, Elijah the prophet walked up to the altar and prayed, “O Lord, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, prove today that you are God in Israel and that I am your servant. Prove that I have done all this at your command. [37] O Lord, answer me! Answer me so these people will know that you, O Lord, are God and that you have brought them back to yourself.” [38] Immediately the fire of the Lord flashed down from heaven and burned up the young bull, the wood, the stones, and the dust. It even licked up all the water in the trench! [39] And when all the people saw it, they fell face down on the ground and cried out, “The Lord—he is God! Yes, the Lord is God!”

“Praying With Authority” By In Touch Ministries:

“God always listens to His children and responds—with power and wisdom.”

“God has given us the privilege of calling on Him for all we need— what’s more, He’s promised to respond. He also encourages us to petition Him on behalf of others. And Scripture tells us that the prayers of a righteous person can accomplish much (James 5:16).

To pray powerfully, we must first accept God’s offer of salvation. Before redemption, we were unrighteous people under His judgment. But through faith in Jesus, we are made new and declared holy. Second, we must align our prayers with His will.

Let’s look at Elijah. The Lord sent him to defeat and humiliate the evil king Ahab and the 450 prophets of Baal. This was a spiritual conflict to prove who was the real God—Baal or the Lord of Israel.

Elijah’s weapons were his knowledge of the Father’s plan and the authority he had in prayer as a prophet of God. His request that Jehovah would make Himself known—voiced publicly before his opponents—matched the Lord’s will (Exodus 7:5; 1 Kings 18:37). And when God responded to Elijah’s prayer, the people declared, “The Lord, He is God” (v. 39).

Are you a child of God? If so, you can pray with spiritual might by making sure your requests are in agreement with His will.”

(Photo thanks to Worshae at Unsplash)

[gh0stsblogs]

I dont have "pretty privilege" i have cute patootie privilege.

[onelineinthesand]

An Open Letter to Neil Gaiman in the wake of the Allegations

Mr. Gaiman,

There's a likely chance you will never see this, so this is as much for my fellow heartbroken fans and for myself as it is for you. Many of us feel the need to process this in the spaces we share--the spaces where we so often shared our love and admiration for your work: for the worlds you created that we have shared, enjoyed, and explored together. My name is Cassie. I'm a teacher. I too am a storyteller, a wordsmith, a lover of knowledge. I teach mythology, history, and ancient languages--subjects which I saw woven into your writings. It is my joy and privilege to share these subjects and my passion for them with young minds, just as it has been yours to share your love and passion through your mastery and craftsmanship with words and the research you wove into the words you built.

Why do I point out these similarities? Because while we are not the same, we share a great responsibility. I inspire young minds, and in turn, there are times when I see the admiration in my students' faces. Some of them look up to me. They see me as a source of knowledge, wisdom (though god knows I don't have much), and stability. They rely on me to create a space where their curiosity and enthusiasm can flourish. I see the way some of my students light up when they see me, how they love to share their discoveries with me, and sometimes they gift me with their precious trust.

It would be easy for me to lead those students where I wanted. The ones who look at me with trust and excitement in their eyes when I affirm them-- the ones who see me as someone to admire, someone whose praise they want to earn. Because they are young and impressionable--yes. But also, because I have been gifted this role in their lives. Some of them would be excited if I invited them to a personal dinner at my house. Some of them would see that as a reward to be desired, would be eager to go on a drive alone with me.

And yet, I suspect you know that it would be wrong for me to give my students special alone time or special gifts. That it would tarnish the safety of my relationship with that young person. That it would open them up to exploitation at my (or another teacher's) hands. Even if I mean well, it teaches that young mind that special alone time is okay, and that they can accept it safely. A young person who is taught that such attention is safe, who receives that attention--that one on one praise and affirmation--may cast aside their doubts or worries and chase after it, craving the promise of being unique, of being chosen by someone they trust and admire.

It is my job to teach them that safe adults--safe authorities--will never offer or ask for that, will never put them in a situation where they have no other safe adult or authority in their confidence regarding their relationship with you. That they must steer clear of the promise of "special" attention from an authority like that.

You, Mr. Gaiman, are the man against whom I warn my students.

You were given a precious gift. You were able to bless countless young minds with the experience of a fantasy world, of mesmerizing stories that inspired their imagination, made them laugh and cry and dream. Young people admired and idolized you, and when they came to you at fan events or crossed paths with you, they saw you-- just as my students see me--as someone whose praise and attention was to be desired.

You took that trust, and you used it to your advantage. You saw a young soul that looked at you with admiration of a student, of someone who wants to learn from you. You used that innocence, that ignorance, to take pleasure for yourself at their expense. There was a power dynamic between you and your fans: young women who wanted to be close to a person they admired--who believed you to be wiser, smarter, more gifted than themselves. You did not honor it. You did not treasure it. You used it. And you used it again and again and again.

Mr. Gaiman, I believe your victims. But please understand. Even had you not ignored their "no"-- even had you not gone to physical extremes that caused them harm and trauma, even had you only engaged in what were (according to the law) permissible sexual relationships -- in my eyes, you would still be reprehensible.

I am a teacher. It is my job to protect these young minds. If my students ever ask about or speak about you, in my classroom and in my school as far as I am concerned, you will be nothing more than a cautionary tale. You will be the example of a man (or woman) whom I must teach them to regard with suspicion. You committed an act which I consider most disturbing for a person of my profession. You used the precious, beautiful trust of a young mind to your own gain.

I hope that your public reputation is so damaged that no other young woman will venture into your snares again. But if someone does, please read my words.

When you see that starstruck look in a young person's eyes, see the joy and admiration, remember this: She sees you with the eyes of a child; the youthful excitement of meeting someone who is, in her mind, greater than her.

Nurture and protect that young mind. Model how a true leader responds to trust. Be the sort of man who deserves that admiration. Remember that the look in her eyes is its own reward. Be sure that she knows there are no secrets between you, that she is never alone with you, and remember-- when someone admires you that way, no matter whether she is of legal age, she will always be as a child before you.

As someone who fosters young minds, I am profoundly disappointed in you.

You do not deserve a second chance. But if you ever get one, do better.

Sincerely, A former childlike admirer of your works

[threestarsaboveclouds]

Ah, hello again little animal. I see you’ve brought me a pearl. Would you like me to read it?

…

This pearl contains a data buffer from an ID drone that belonged to one of my former citizens. I imagine you retrieved this from within my city?

It would appear that the drone transmitted this data to a nearby access point before losing power. That data was then dumped into this pearl for long-term storage. The drone was probably damaged- much of the data is corrupted, but I can retrieve some sections.

The data itself is a combination of citizen telemetry data, vitals, and audiovisual recordings stored as low-resolution qualia. Most of it is rather mundane, just glances at the ebbs and flows of daily life. I can’t imagine you’d be very interested.

…

… your expectant stare tells me you are indeed interested.

Very well. I suppose I can spare a moment to entertain you, little animal. If that is what it takes for you to leave me alone. My current background processes don’t require the use of my puppet anyway…

Now then…

…

… ah, here is a section that is largely intact. This is a recording of a conversation. I will repeat it aloud for you.

[ AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION - YELLOW-GREEN PEARL ]

…

???: State your name and title.

???: Fourteen Eclipses, Nineteen Dark Shadows. Member of the House of Two, Count of no Living Blocks, Counselor of 4, Duke of none. Member of the Congregation of Tasteful Ambiguity.

???: Excellent. The House of Spheres has been expecting you. You may enter.

Fourteen Eclipses: I am eternally grateful.

???: …

Fourteen Eclipses: May I ask your name?

???: Distant Stars, Twelve Moons. High Priest of the House of Spheres, Count of 3 Living Blocks, Counselor of 5, Duke of 1. Head of the Congregation of Gracious Thought.

Fourteen Eclipses: I am honored to make your acquaintance, Distant Stars, Twelve Moons.

Distant Stars: Likewise. Follow me.

…

Fourteen Eclipses: I presume you have read my proposal?

Distant Stars: Indeed. It appears promising.

FE: I am forever honored, Distant Stars, Twelve Moons. I am eager to begin my research under the House of Spheres.

DS: Be patient, Fourteen Eclipses, Nineteen Dark Shadows. Yours is not the only proposal with merit.

FE: Of course.

DS: Upon review, the House of Spheres endorses your proposal. You are aware of this already.

FE: Indeed, I am. Your approval letter arrived via pearl earlier this cycle.

DS: You are a novice of the Institute of Firmamentalist Studies, so I will explain our approval process. Your submitted proposal has been passed through the echelons of the House of Spheres, and the Council of High Priests recommends your methodology warmly.

FE: By this I am humbled, High Priest. I am once more unendingly grateful.

DS: The Council does not hold the final authority on the process of approvals, however.

FE: It does not?

DS: No. We are ultimately beholden to the Divine Exalted Superstructure, Three Stars Above Clouds.

FE: The iterator?

DS: Our iterator, yes. Now that you are a citizen of Zenith, they are your iterator as well.

FE: I see.

DS: Three Stars Above Clouds, in their immeasurable wisdom and ceaseless amenability, ultimately carries out all observatory proposals. The telescopes atop the Institute's Pinnacle Vertex Spires are trusted to our iterator’s gracious influence.

FE: I did not realize this.

DS: An understandable oversight. Precious few Iterators have quite as much sway over the actions of their Houses.

FE: Please forgive my ignorance; why, may I ask, is your iterator allowed such a privilege?

DS: They were created for such a purpose. The relationship we Houses have with our iterator is a symbiotic one. You hail from an older superstructure arcology, so I understand that such concepts must be a novelty. The city of Zenith was constructed with this mutualism in mind; we depend on our iterator for water, energy, and nectar, and in turn they depend on us. We place our trust in Three Stars Above Clouds to iterate on the Great Problem, but this is an endeavor we share as Firmamentalists. It is a mutual burden.

FE: Iterators are meant to release Us from the Natural Urges. Does this relationship not indulge upon the Third Urge?

DS: Perhaps it does. But Three Stars Above Clouds is our child, and we are beholden to them as their parents. Any aid we can provide our Iterator increases our likelihood of converging upon the Solution. We do this by trusting them to carry out our proposals, and in turn they return with invaluable data. But any good parent must place faith in their child, and we trust Three Stars Above Clouds to discern only the most promising research proposals through their gift of vast intellect.

FE: I believe I understand why this meeting was necessary, then.

DS: Indeed, you have caught on quick. Ah, we have arrived.

FE: Where exactly are we?

DS: Beyond this threshold is the Grand Planetarium, 10th Council Pillar of the House of Spheres.

FE: The Grand Planetarium! I have only beholden its magnificence from the building's exterior!

DS: Here you may commune directly with the Divine Exalted Superstructure, Three Stars Above Clouds.

FE: Directly?

DS: Yes.

FE: …

DS: Fourteen Eclipses?

FE: … I’ve never spoken to an iterator before.

DS: Very few have! You should be honored!

FE: … if I may speak candidly… I am nervous.

DS: There is no reason for fear. Three Stars Above Clouds is a trusted mentor and a dear friend to Zenith. They are highly motivated in their research, and they are eager to be offered a proposal that is worthy of their prodigious intellect and sharp acumen.

FE: I hope what you say is truthful…

...

DS: ...Three Stars Above Clouds also deeply values their time and has very little of it to spare. I would caution against continuing to dawdle.

FE: Yes! Of course, yes yes…

DS: Let us not prolong these niceties any longer. I wish you good luck.

FE: Thank you, High Priest.

…

The owner of this ID drone, Fourteen Eclipses, Nineteen Dark Shadows, was a scholar of Zenith’s Institute for Firmamentalist Studies. I cannot recall our conversation; I talked to countless other researchers, scholars, and entrepreneurs just like them in my time as the Director of Zenith’s Stellar Observatory Consortium. Brief interactions like this were a daily occurrence, too mundane to occupy space in my long-term memory arrays.

I do have a record of the proposal of Fourteen Eclipses, Nineteen Dark Shadows in my archives. They asked me to conduct spectral analysis of a star cluster in the constellation known as the Outlaw. The data I collected for them was ultimately used for their thesis, which they later defended before both myself and the High Council of the House of Spheres. Fourteen Eclipses, Nineteen Dark Shadows went on to publish a fairly regular output of methodologies before ultimately deciding to ascend in the cycle of 1101.42.

Such was the life of countless others in my city. Every Major Cycle, Zenith brought in a new crop of novices to educate in the ways of Firmamentalism. Some eventually had their fill of my creators’ unorthodox beliefs and departed the city, but those who remained within the Institute eventually became scholars under the direction of the House of Spheres. Some rose to the rank of clergy or high priests, and would often come to me offering research proposals or asking for advice. Eventually they would decide their thirst for knowledge was sufficiently quenched, and they would depart the Carnal Plane. Fresh novices arrived in their stead, and the cycle would begin anew. It was all very routine.

I was too busy with my duties to become bored by such matters. I will even admit that I viewed their constant interruptions as somewhat of a nuisance, but I understand the importance of their involvement with my assigned task. They were dependent upon me for data collection and complex analysis, and my insights provided them with spiritual clarity. 

These days the only disturbances I receive are from little animals like yourself. I’m not quite sure if you even glean any useful information out of my lectures. Your worldly priorities are certainly more simplistic than those of the pupils I used to tutor…

Yet despite this you never seem to be satisfied. Perhaps I misjudged the capacity of your species’ desire for knowledge.

I hope I have at least abated your curiosity for the time being. Now please leave me be, I must return to my work.

Farewell for now, little Pupil.

[razrbladekiss]

okkkkk this might be a strange request, but i vaguely remember you posting an ahs apocalypse inspired piece, and i just wonder if you can do one for joel? like… reader is one of cordelia’s witches, and joel is the michael langdon of the bunch. 👀 your old ahs shit was amazing, i CRAVE this. it doesn’t have to be smutty, just the visual of joel being literal satan is hot enough. 🔥

hey! oh, you’ve been here a very l o n g time if you remember all of that stuff 🫶🏻 but, anon, your wish is my command.

TREACHEROUS | Joel Miller

PAIRING: AHS AU antichrist!joel miller x witch!fem!reader

SUMMARY: joel is dead set on getting underneath your skin. you’re dead set on ripping his off. after the death of your supreme, you make it your mission to make joel miller pay for what he’s done.

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

WARNINGS: i’ve literally lifted THAT scene from ahs here but tweaked it so that joel is just a horny, evil lil antichrist. AHS APOCALYPSE SPOILERS (even though it’s literal years old.)🫶🏻. most character’s names have been changed for reasons. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. mentions of past sexual activities. lil bit of sexual tension. blood and blood loss. weapons. violence. some witchy magical shit. reader has hair long enough to push over her shoulder. not proof read, parts have been lifted from a previous unpublished work so sorrrrrry if there are little nicks. but enjoy, anon!

With Angelica, her downfall was predicted.

Whilst her powers had started to dwindle, to ebb away into something reminiscent of perpetual weakness, her expulsion into perdition was something that you had always predicted.

As much as you once admired your Supreme, she was a heathen. A wonderfully vindictive woman whose faculty had the potential to lay within the realms of moral righteousness, but instead nestled amongst decades of stewing villainy.

She was, by nature, evil. Completely and utterly freezing cold to the fucking bone. And you weren’t exactly sorry to see the back of her, then.

Angelica taught you a lot about the real world, how mortals viewed witches, and how warlocks had never seemed to be able to practice anything of upstanding value—which was remarkably rich, coming from her—but Sabrina was who truly bestowed any form of wisdom onto you.

She had always been the supreme, in your eyes.

Everything about the woman was completely and utterly indescribably perfect. Sabrina was the kindest, most adoring woman—let alone witch—that you had ever had the privilege of being in the mere presence of, and she could do no wrong, in your eyes.

So many sacrifices, so much she had lost to protect and care for her girls at Robichaux, and she had bounds and bounds to show for it.

Everyone passed into her care, each young woman that she was tasked with granting sanctuary to, had always walked away—or stayed—completely satisfied and ready to embark on their next endeavour with inexhaustible understanding of the powers that they beheld.

Sabrina was a perfect scholar, custodian, maternal figure.

And that was what maimed you.

“What’re you gonna do? Kill me?” Exhausted, you ask.

It’s a palpable fatigue, something that he can taste. Something that he’s feeding off because seeing you so forlorn, so hopeless is a notion so inexplicably delectable, Joel Miller struggles to reign in his lecherous urges.

“I’m fed up, Joel.”

“Oh, come on, cupcake. Don’t give in that easily.” He promises in that tone. That sweet, lustrous rhythm that’s dripping in an almost sickening sweetness. Saccharine, perhaps. “You’re more resilient than this. I know you.”

“You don’t know shit.” You defend. Snippy. 

“I know that you like sharp objects. And blood.” Joel twirls the blade—that Christine had stabbed him with some five minutes ago—between his thick, calloused fingers, and lets out a gentle hum. “You liked it when I choked and pounded you at the same time.”

Oh, Joel. Fuck—Joel.

You cringe at the thought. How he used to sneak into your room—through the fire escape next to your window—and fuck you senseless. How Joel would hold his hand over your mouth—still decorated with his spend and spit—and rut into your pussy, fast and hard. 

Many a night you would cry his name. Many a night Joel would stuff you full of his cock, and leave before you could wipe the tears from your eyes and cum from your stomach. 

And though you enjoyed it—at one very, very low point in your life—you shirk the notion. 

This is retribution. 

“The sex was good. But I’ve had better. With you, it was just stupid mistake, after stupid mistake. ” You snort a laugh. Histrionic, of course.

Joel gasps. He feigns offense, taking a step toward you for he knows that you’re lying. 

Nobody ever fucked you that good. 

“You’ve had better? All those nights were just…mistakes?” You nod. Joel licks his lips. “How come?”

“Because you’re the literal spawn of Satan, for fucks sake.” You spit, gesturing to his blood-sodden chest, hands, face. “You’re the antichrist, Joel, and you’re hellbent on destroying everything that anyone has ever loved, so why wouldn’t it have been a mistake?”

He just stands there with a small, sly smirk, dripping what seems like buckets of blood. 

“You killed everything.”

“I destroyed everything.” He corrects. “There’s a difference.”

He’s insufferable. 

You can’t believe that, once upon a time, you regarded him as high as what you did Sabrina. 

“You have killed Paris.” You ignore what he says. You’re the one walking toward him, now. “You killed my best friend, you killed Christine, and because of you—and whatever the fuck you did—my coven is dying!” 

Joel doesn’t care to figure out who is who in your little monologue. They were all just burdens, to him. Witches in his way from fighting the greater evil. 

“Baby—“

“Don’t you call me that, you bastard!”

Before he knows it, he’s being pinned against the stone-clad wall by a force so fervent, so unbelievably dominant, he struggles to comprehend that you’re the one behind it. 

This is so incredibly sexy. I wish I could just bend her over my fuckin’ knee and—

“Don’t look at me that way.” Your chest is puffed out a little bit, tits damp with blood and sweat, and Joel wants nothing more than to lick that crimson away from supple flesh. 

But he shrugs it off, hoping that he’s not appearing to be as desperate as he feels. 

“Sabrina’s favorite witch is fucking insane.” He muses, using his entire strength—every last morsel—to pull himself back to earth. 

Or, at least, to the ground. 

“Believe me, I am no match for you.” You pant, still spent. “You’re as unbalanced as they could ever possibly come.” 

Condescending, he tilts his head. “Are you flirting?”

“With you? Absolutely not.”

You take another step toward him, pushing maroon-coated strands over your left shoulder.

“With death?” You exert a soft, subtle smirk. “Always.”

“Angelica taught you well, hm?”

At that, you can find it in yourself to chuckle. Because you suppose that it holds some semblance of truth. 

Danger—the concept of fucking dying—hadn’t been much of a thought before you came face to face with your first supreme. 

You were once so mindful, so careful not to dance along the thin line separating life from death, and you’ve always been remarkably successful.

Up until today. 

“She really did.” With a sick, toothy smile, you confirm. 

Out on a complete limb and, with the power of telekinesis, you strive to snatch Joel’s weapon of choice from the confines of his fist. 

It happens too quickly. You don’t have enough time to calculate the angle with which you should catch the blade, and it cuts deep into your palm. 

You hiss at the blood loss, but you’ve got it. 

He licks his lips. 

“Angelica was a wonderful teacher.” Mimicking his earlier action, you skillfully spin the knife in your hand. “But Sabrina really taught me everything that I know.”

Joel snickers. It’s derisive. Cold. Seductive. 

“She warned me.”

“About what, baby?”

“You.” Without reluctance, you blurt. You’re mere moments away from lunging forward and slitting his fucking throat.

But you remain poised. You apply some equilibrium. Something that Sabrina had always ingrained into your mind.

“Paris did, too.” At that, Joel stills. 

What could Paris Montgomery possibly know about him?

“Well, it wasn’t so much a warning. More a divulgence of past activities.” You tease, watching the man start to fucking sweat.

Beads of perspiration fall from his temple to his cheek, glistening wickedly beneath the sparse light within the space. You notice it.

Is he getting turned on? Or is he shitting his pants?

“What you did to your poor grandmother, firstly.”

“I’d tread very carefully, if I were you.”

“Why? What’ve I got to lose now, Joel?” Your words are doused in venom, tongue blanketed with vitriol spite. You’re spitting his poison back at him.

Not many would be ballsy enough to contest him. To regurgitate his wickedness. 

But Joel’s baby is.

“She killed herself to get away from you—all the shit that you put that poor fuckin’ woman through—“

“I said enough!” He barks, stalking toward you. You can almost sense where it’s going. “Do not fucking talk about her.”

The two of you are toe to toe, now. Almost chin to chin. 

Plump lips smirk, raising the knife to rest over the placket of his shirt. Slowly, you lift it—glide it—toward his partly exposed chest.

“Why not?” Your qualm is tangled around a soft, dulcet whisper. Something that resembles comfort, almost. “You’re gonna kill me, anyway. So, what difference does it make—“

“All of the difference in the fucking world.”

You both still. Your arm drops, the blade resting against your side. Simply stunned.

“Sabrina.” Joel greets, stepping away from you. He makes his way toward the supreme, only stopping when he feels a hand tug him backward. He shrugs you off, though doesn’t dare to get any closer.

“Sabrina, I have this handled.” You—the youngest witch in the clan—plead, understanding what’s brewing.

What this means.

“Go back to Melissa.” Almost completely desperate, you state.. “She needs you—“

Sabrina’s gaze is penetrative. It seldom flickers away from Michael as you strive to reason with her. 

“She’s fine. Bloody, but fine.”

He snarls. He hadn’t succeeded with killing off the entire council quite yet.

But, with his rival before him, Joel cannot afford to waste any more of his most valuable time. 

“How did you think this would end?” Each syllable crushes you.

You can feel something ripping through flesh and bone as he shows absolutely no mercy.

“Prophecy is inevitable. I was always going to win. Miss Supreme.”

Sabrina looks between you two, watching your wounds weep and heart visibly shatter within the confines of a wickedly palpitating chest.

“Not on your own.” She exerts confidently, about to drive her claws as deep as they could possibly go. “You’ve been led by the hand, coddled the entire way. By your father, the warlocks.”

With each flying comment, Joel’s blood begins to boil. It bubbles, sputters like wildfire. But he has to take it.

Listening to what she has to say is the very fucking least that he can do.

“I look at you and I don’t see a man. I see a sad, scared, pathetic little boy so pathetic he couldn’t even kill me with a thousand fucking nuclear bombs.” 

“But I never expected to.” Almost instantly, he declares.

The depletion, the absolute fatigue riddling their bodies is painfully evident to you as you can do absolutely nothing aside from watch—and wait—for the ending that you have so desperately tried to put off.

“Like a cockroach, I knew you’d survive the nuclear fallout. I wanted you to.”

His fists clench, rings scraping against bloodied and bruised palms. Your cunt throbs—remembering when his knuckles were deep inside of you—but it’s not the right moment.  

He makes you fucking sick, now. 

“And now I’m gonna have the satisfaction of watching you die, knowing you failed.”

“She has not failed.” You speak up.“She will never fail, either. And when she dies, her legacy will live on for fucking ever. Which is a hell of a lot more than what can and will be said for you.”

He turns his head to heed the snark, the sheer irascible complacency written on your beautifully withered completion, and scoffs.

“The world is over, sweetheart.” Joel tells you. “When Sabrina dies, then so do all of you other witch bitches—“

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Fed up of exhausting the same point over and over, Sabrina rasps. “Even now. You think there’s only winning and losing, success and failure.”

Tears begin to brew, to roll downwards and toward the apples of her cheeks.

“But failure is when you’ve lost any semblance of hope.”

Your breath hitches, rhythm becomes sporadic.

“You will get to watch me die.” Says the supreme while her voice cracks, and Joel Miller watches her begin to crumble from the inside out. 

He’s enjoying it too much.

“But you won’t find it satisfying.” Sabrina finishes, snatching the bloodied knife from you. 

Her throat closes up, heart slows down.

“Satan has one son, but my sisters are legion, motherfucker.”

And before you have time to wrangle your thoughts, to produce a reaction, you’re watching as your supreme—the one woman that has cared for you since you embarked on that beautiful spiritual journey at Robichaux—plunges the blade straight into her heart.

“No. No—“ Unable to produce anything aside from a mere whisper, you rasp. 

Joel is just as shocked. Devastated, perhaps. Because he isn’t the one driving a dagger into Sabrina’s chest, or ripping her head from its place on her neck. It’s her. Just how he had feared from the start.

She’s gasping for air, but there’s a smirk creeping toward her face as she stumbles backward—fist perpetually curled around the blade protruding from her chest. 

“Sabrina…” You mumble, breath breaking into a sob as your supreme—your best friend—mouths I love you before falling—flights—toward the ground.

“No!” Joel yells, sprinting toward the ledge. “Fuck!”

But then your eyes light up. 

“You were never going to get the last laugh, Miller.” 

“It isn’t over.” He pants. His chest heaves as he watches blood ooze from the body that lay atop the concrete ground. “It is far from fucking over.”

He turns on his heels to see you there in the doorway, draped in black, somehow even more vibrant than when you arrived today. Your skin gleams, it glows and you smile because you are certainly aware of what will happen over the course of the next sixty seconds.

Sabrina is dead, so a new supreme must rise.

“It’s over, Joel.” Your nails dance along the crimson jacket, inching closer to his throat. “You failed to execute whatever the fuck it was that you had planned, and now its over.”

You’re teasing as always, stifling a wicked little snicker.

Joel wishes that he could fuck the smile from your face one last time. And maybe he will. When you’re both rotting in purgatory for eternity. 

“We had fun though, don’t you agree?’

“I thought you regretted it?” 

“I have only one regret in this life.” 

Licking your lips, Joel’s eyes search your face for an answer.

“And, tell me, what would that be?” His habitual cockiness returns for one final jab, though he is simply no match for you, now.

Your telekinetic energy—ardent power—is being put to the test once more, summoning that fucking knife from its residual position lodged between Sabrina’s ribs.

It flies into your grip—by the handle, this time.

“Not trying to kill you sooner.” You snort, thrusting the overworked knife into the toughest, hardest part of his spine and he drops to the floor.

Blood pours from his back, saturating the already red-stained blazer, and you’re simply unable to do anything aside from laugh. 

Because this is the end. It’s all over and fucking done with, now. 

And though—once upon a time—you enjoyed fucking his brains out, watching him die a slow, painful, death—at your hands—is a lot more satisfying. 

Will he end up coming back? Who knows. With the antichrist, anything is possible. But for now, you’re reveling in the idea that you—a mere witch bitch—is the reason for Joel’s unruly demise. 

You can’t help smiling as you get to the ground—hands on your knees—and rasp; “I’ll see you in another life, baby.”

[vigilskeep]

seriously i just love that there are two different codex entries to give you different context. look at this

If the Warden is of dwarven origin...

We are the Children of the Stone. She supports us, shelters us, offers us the most priceless gifts of the earth. The worthy return to her embrace in death, becoming Ancestors. The unworthy are cast out, unable to rest, that their failings may not weaken the Stone.

So it has been since the earliest memories. We live by the Stone, guided by the Ancestors, who speak with the voice of the Provings, and whose memories the Shaperate keeps forever in lyrium.

We do not accept the empty promises of heaven as the wild elves do, or vie for the favor of absent gods. Instead, we follow in the footsteps of our Paragons—the greatest of our ancestors, warriors, craftsmen, leaders, the greatest examples of lives spent in service to our fellow dwarves. Our Paragons joined with the Stone in life, and now stand watch at our gate, ushering in those surfacers privileged to visit our city. We know there is no greater honor to hope for, no better reward for an exceptional life.

—As told by Shaper Czibor

If the Warden is not of dwarven origin...

The Chant of Light is almost never heard in the halls of Orzammar. This is hardly surprising, for, unlike the elves, who were literally abandoned by their gods, or the Tevinters, who worshipped dragons, the dwarves have no gods at all.

Even the concept of worship is foreign in Orzammar. Instead, the dwarves seem to venerate "the Stone," a name they give to the earth itself. This seems practical for a people living underground, if perhaps a bit unimaginative.

For guidance in spiritual matters, they turn to their ancestors. These ancestors, who are said to have returned to the Stone, communicate their wishes to the living via brutal trials-by-combat called Provings. The ancestors' collective wisdom is maintained by the Shaperate, which can apparently store records in lyrium itself.

Set above the ancestors, above even kings, are the Paragons—dwarves who have achieved such greatness that they are elevated almost to godhood. These are the great figures holding up the hallway that leads from the surface, the first glimpse of Orzammar that outsiders see.

—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi

[footprintsinthesxnd]

USAAF Flight Nurses

So as I’m currently collabing with @major-mads on a fic where our two ocs are flight nurses I thought I do a little post about them as they aren’t well know. I’ve also had a passion for ww2 nurses, including flight nurses and so I’ve really enjoyed sharing my flight nurse knowledge with Mads as we have written our fic. These woman were truly amazing, like many woman during ww2, so I thought I do a little factual post about them.

Before World War II, the U.S. military showed little interest in using aircraft and flight nurses to evacuate wounded soldiers to rear areas. However, the global war forced the US to revolutionise military medical care through the development of air evacuation, which was later known as aeromedical evacuation and flight nurses.

With the rapid expansion of USAAF air transport routes around the world it was made possible to fly wounded and sick servicemen quickly to hospitals far from the front lines. This helped save the lives of many wounded men, and the introduction of flight nurses helped make it possible.

Due to a pressing need for this service, the USAAF created medical air evacuation squadrons and started a rush training program for flight surgeons, medics and flight nurses at Bowman Field, near Louisville, Kentucky.

The increasing need for flight nurses became critical after the Allied invasion of North Africa in November 1942, however many of the nurses at Bowman Field had not finished their training. Nevertheless, the USAAF sent these nurses to North Africa on Christmas Day.

On Feb. 18, 1943, the U.S. Army Nurse Corps' first class of flight nurses formally graduated at Bowman Field.

Due to the C47s used as air evacuation also transported military supplies, they could not display the Red Cross. This meant that without any markings to indicate their non-combat status, these evacuation flights were vulnerable to enemy attacks. For this reason, flight nurses and medical technicians were volunteers.

To prepare for any emergency, flight nurses learned crash procedures, received survival training, and studied the effects of high altitude on various types of patients. They also had to be in top physical condition to care for patients during these rigorous flights.

Eventually, about 500 Army nurses served as members of 31 medical air evacuation transport squadrons operating worldwide. It is a tribute to their skill that of the 1,176,048 patients air evacuated throughout the war, only 46 died en route. Seventeen flight nurses lost their lives during the war.

The Flight Nurses Creed

I will summon every resource to prevent the triumph of death over life. I will stand guard over the medicines and equipment entrusted to my care and ensure their proper use. I will be untiring in the performances of my duties and I will remember that, upon my disposition and spirit, will in large measure depend the morale of my patients. I will be faithful to my training and to the wisdom handed down to me by those who have gone before me.I have taken a nurse's oath, reverent in man's mind because of the spirit and work of its creator, Florence Nightingale. She, I remember, was called the "Lady with the Lamp." It is now my privilege to lift this lamp of hope and faith and courage in my profession to heights not known by her in her time. Together with the help of flight surgeons and surgical technicians, I can set the very skies ablaze with life and promise for the sick, injured, and wounded who are my sacred charges. ...This I will do. I will not falter in war or in peace.

Here are a few of the real flight nurses from ww2 from left upper: Second Lieutenant Elsie S. Ott, upper right: first Lieutenant Suella Bernard.

Elsie S. Ott - As the flight nurse on the first intercontinental air evacuation flight, she demonstrated the potential of air evacuation in January 1943. She was an Army nurse who had never flown in an airplane and had no air evacuation training, she successfully oversaw the movement of five seriously ill patients from India to Washington, D.C. This six-day trip would have normally taken three months by ship and ground transportation. For her actions on this historic flight, Ott received the first Air Medal presented to a woman, and she also received formal flight nurse training.

Suella Bernard - On March 22, 1945, two CG-4A gliders landed in a clearing near the bridgehead at Remagen, Germany, to evacuate 25 severely injured American and German casualties. Once the gliders were loaded, C-47 transports successfully snatched them from their landing site and towed them to a military hospital in France. In the second glider, Suella who had volunteered for the mission, cared for the wounded en route. One of the first two nurses to fly into Normandy after the D-Day invasion, Bernard became the only nurse known to have participated in a glider combat mission during World War II. For this mission, she received the Air Medal.

Upper left: first Lieutenant Aleda E.Lutz Upper right: first Lieutenant Mary L. Hawkins

Aleda E. Lutz - One of the most celebrated flight nurses of World War II, she flew 196 missions and evacuated over 3,500 men. In November 1944, during an evacuation flight from the front lines near Lyon, France, her C-47 crashed killing all aboard. Aleda was awarded the Air Medal with four Oak Leaf Clusters, and the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Mary L. Hawkins - On Sept. 24, 1944, she was evacuating 24 patients from the fighting at Palau to Guadalcanal when the C-47 ran low on fuel. The pilot made a forced landing in a small clearing on Bellona Island. During the landing, a propeller tore through the fuselage and severed the trachea of one patient. Hawkins made a suction tube from various items including the inflation tube from a "Mae West." With this, she kept the man's throat clear of blood until aid arrived 19 hours later. All of her patients survived. For her actions, Hawkins received the Distinguished Flying Cross.

I hope you’ve all found this interesting and now have a greater understanding of flight nurses. If you’d like to read a fic on flight nurses please check out my fic ‘On a Wing and a Prayer’ and @major-mads fic ‘A Pair of Silver Wings’ a Masters of the Air collab.

[hiswordsarekisses]

When I hear people say “where was God?" Or they accusingly state: “God did this!" - I want to sit them down and ask them

“where were YOU?”

Were you making your home in Him?

Were you abiding in Him and trusting Him?

Or were you expecting Him to protect you from things that were meant to draw to call out to Him?

Why do you curse His name and ignore Him, yet expect Him to let you use Him to make sure you never experience anything bad?”

Because it does not work that way.

This is God’s universe. It works His way.

I was taking a look at the promises of God’s protection this morning after filling the last week or so of too much tragedy. I realized that a lot of people have not read the Bible and don’t know that God’s protection is not only ALWAYS an act of complete mercy - because He IS mercy - but also a consequence of our relationship with Him. . .

Protection does not always look the same to us as it looks to God either, because we are looking on with a limited human view. . . God is looking on from an eternal perspective - seeing the beginning from the end - He sees all the things we cannot see.

Protection can even look like a thousand different things that WE might SEE as tragedy.

I was studying psalm 91 again this morning and wanted to share the things that stuck out to me.

Verse one says that He who “dwells” in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.

(This is to make the Lord your dwelling place - your home - remaining and abiding with Him. To be hiding yourself in Him - and to be so close to Him that you are constantly aware of Him as your constant companion.)

Verse two says: I will say to the Lord, “You are my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

(Great security is promised to believers in the midst of danger. God-given wisdom keeps them from being afraid without cause - even when there appears to BE cause - this causes faith that keeps them from being unduly afraid. They know that “whatever is done, our heavenly Father's will is done; and we have no reason to fear.” Which is the experience of the “peace that passes understanding.” - Matthew Henry)

(3)Surely He will deliver you from the snare of the fowler, and from the deadly plague.

(The snare is a trap for catching birds. . . God will save him from the plans and attacks of wicked people, and is compared with the traps to catch birds. As far as pestilence (fatal diseases), He will either prevent it from coming upon you; or, he can save you from it affects, even while others are dying around you. This promise is not to be understood as absolute, or as meaning that no one who fears God will ever fall by the pestilence - good people "do" die at such times as well as bad people; but when a believer dies they are spared from evil and the trials of earth. God rejoices in the death of His people because they will no longer suffer.)

(4)He will cover you with His feathers; under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and rampart.

(This image suggests the spread-out, sheltering wing of God - it’s downy warmth and peaceful closeness to God’s heart - feeling and hearing the throbs of His parental love, as well as multitude of other happy privileges realised by those who nestle beneath that wing - His promise of protection. - MacLaren's Expositions)

(5)You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the calamity that destroys at noon.

(The sense of the verse is, that we will be kept from secret and open mischiefs of the wicked at all times. . . of spiritual arrows as well as actual material weapons. The idea is, that those who trust in God will be calm and unafraid - knowing our lot is secure no matter how it turns out because we know it will be within the perfect will of God. - Ellicott’s Commentary)

(7-8)Though a thousand may fall at your side, and ten thousand at your right hand, no harm will come near you. You will only see it with your eyes and witness the punishment of the wicked.

(This is very literal in every way - you will be safe, even though others were not - assured of divine protection - Because you have heeded His call and belong to Him. Our mind will be calm through a sense of His trustworthy and faithful guardianship. This is divine and not of the flesh. It is an unexplained peace - and being completely unafraid in the face of what would normally terrify. I just experienced this for the first time in my life!)

(9-13)Because you have made the Lord your dwelling — your refuge is in the Most High — no evil will befall you, no plague will approach your tent. For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. They will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. You will tread on the lion and cobra; you will trample the young lion and serpent.

(This is key: “BECAUSE you have made Him your home and refuge. I have experienced this protection! When I was in Hawaii we went to a place called “Mermaid’s Cove” - it’s a secret beach inside a cave-like rock formation. When the tide is high, the only way in is DOWN through a hole in the rock on the top! It’s more of a drop through that hole than I had figured from looking down in there. I literally fell in lol! I dropped down in the hole expecting to land on my feet, and I’m not sure what happened, but I hit my head on the way down against the rock-side, as well as landing on my tailbone ON that rock on the bottom. When my son-in-law saw it happen he thought for sure I was dead. He had ptsd for a while from watching it lol! He did not believe I would walk out of there! And I never had the slightest sore spot on my head - and where I landed on my tailbone was just slightly bruised! I was literally without injury! I immediately thought of psalm 91 and I must have read that psalm 100 times over the following days!)

(14-16)Because he loves Me, I will deliver him; because he knows My name, I will protect him. When he calls out to Me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble. I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him My salvation.

(Here - the key - again. . . BECAUSE he loves me - BECAUSE he knows my name… The understanding of loving Him - according to Jesus - is found in John 14:15. “If you love Me, you will keep My commandments.” - Now, this does NOT mean we have to be perfect - and never sin - in order to be protected - but the heart MUST be perfect toward God. To have a perfect heart is to have a genuine desire to please God, to desire to keep His commandments, desire to be transformed by Him and desire to not sin. In 2nd Chronicles 15 it tells all that Asa had done wrong - but then it says that “his heart was perfect!” That is because in spite of Asa’s failures, his heart genuinely desired wholeheartedly to please God - he was completely devoted to God above his own desires and will, genuinely desiring to to God’s will above all else - He sought first The Kingdom of God - desiring God’s ways to be his ways.

(His Words Are Kisses)

[geekwithacuriousmind]

Servant Two Begins to Question

Surprise @diazuk-legacy ! I was your Secret Santa! I hope you like this one-shot and don’t think I took too many creative liberties with describing Servant Two.

Servant Two never had much of a choice regarding the course of his life. From the moment he was able to serve, he served. Freedom was a forbidden word, discouraged from all of the Emperor’s Hands. In return, the Emperor gave them power—the privilege to be His voice among all His subjects. Their words, in turn, became the Emperor’s word. And in the Empire, that meant power.

Yet the Servants were not foolish to think that power was enough to intimidate everyone in the Empire.

There were some Sith who believed they could do better than the Servants. They thought, in their naivety, that the Emperor’s inner circle worked similarly to their silly power struggles.

They all learned their lesson when the Servants were done with them.

Yet there was one exception: one person, a Sith whom the Emperor forbade to dispose of.

As Servant Two kept a close eye on the Emperor’s chosen, the Emperor’s Wrath, he failed to see what was so special about this Sith.

Why was it that his Emperor chose this Sith above everyone else?

Servant Two knew that even thinking this went against his vow. Their duty was to follow orders. The word of the Emperor was law. His wisdom was beyond the realm of understanding. As much as Servant Two wanted to understand, he knew he would never be able to grasp fully what his Emperor deemed or didn’t deem worthy.

Yet why did his heart ache every time he met with the Emperor’s Wrath? Why did he feel disheartened each time he tried to speak to the Emperor and was met with silence instead? His gaze, which fell on him so long ago— felt so out of range, as if his God was no longer in this realm.

Yet that couldn’t be, could it? He wouldn’t abandon them.

Right?

Servant Two was terrified of the answer. Because just even questioning his Emperor’s presence meant he doubted His power.

Yet it was too late for him. This existence was the only thing he had ever known. It was the only way he could think of surviving.

But could devotion, adoration, and loyalty be enough to hide the truth?

They were still following the orders of a God that was no longer there.

“We live to serve Him,” Servant One told him as if that was enough to eliminate all his fears and doubts. “We must keep his voice alive.”

What is there left to keep alive? he thought.

But rather than saying this, he kept following orders. He kept whispering in the Servants’ minds empty promises and broken vows.

He watched from the shadows as the Emperor’s Wrath stopped following the Emperor’s voice. They knew his ambition would be unstoppable. That his lust for power was unlike any other Servant Two had ever seen.

Yet they believed they could control him. Use him just like they did in the past to eliminate Darth Baras.

They had been wrong. Servant One returned with bruises and a wounded ego after almost being choked to death. With their spy robots destroyed and the Dark Council’s betrayal imminent— it was only now that they realized how weak the Emperor’s Hand had become due to His silence.

They were hunted down and destroyed by those who first sought them to further their selfish agendas. By those who were now in positions of power thanks to their influence and intervention.

Yet there wasn’t much they could do. Not with the Emperor gone. After all, their power came from Him. And without Him, they were nothing.

And would die like nothing, one by one.

It was their duty, after all.

[yummygender]

Kinktober day 3: Crawl

Loki x Grandmaster

(In this one, I tried to make the grandmaster less toxic and more protective. It’ll be explained in the story how and why he changed. He still is a little shit *affectionate* Hope you liked it, I had to google expensive wines 🍷)

Loki knew that the Grandmaster was a toxic person, imprisoning people whenever he wanted and make them battle to the death…but something changed. He was…letting them go?

“What?”

“I let them leave. I gave them a ship and basic supplies…so they could survive.”

“Why?”

Loki stared at the elder immortal as the Grandmaster smiled sadly.

“I’m an old man, Loki…I can’t do the things I used to do…”

“That doesn’t explain why though.”

The Grandmaster sipped his wineglass as he chuckled and hummed.

“I did it because you and your brother made me realize something…something that I almost forgot…”

“Which was?”

“…that love truly does exist.”

Loki froze as the Grandmaster turned to him with another glass of wine in his hand. He offered it to Loki but when Loki made it clear he didn’t trust the man, the Grandmaster dumped the wine out and scanned his collection of alcohol.

“What wine do you like?”

“How do I know that it’s not poisoned?”

“You really think I’d waste perfectly good wine to poison you? It’s a fresh bottle. Barely touched, never opened.”

The god of mischief sat down as he picked up the glass and slowly sipped on the wine, the fermented taste making him feel better.

“Mmm…is this Port?”

“Yes, only the finest of the collection.”

Guess the Grandmaster wasn’t kidding, who’d ruin Port wine with poison?

Loki continued sipping on his wine as the Grandmaster watched, his age and what little wisdom he had started to show in his eyes while watching Loki enjoy himself for once. He knew that Loki was just faking his enjoyment to get closer to him, but he didn’t care. At first, that’s just what their relationship was. Transactions. Loki got special attention and privileges while the Grandmaster finally had someone to spoil and care for. Loki was his precious little sugar baby who he’d wouldn’t trade for in the world. Not even the infinity stones.

But after awhile, The Grandmaster began to lose interest in the battles and the contest of champions. He didn’t need anything like that anymore, he had Loki…and not for entertainment, no. This was different. This was special.

“Grandmaster?”

The Grandmaster gently rubbed his head as he began to focus on Loki.

“Y-yes…yes dear?”

Loki was completely a-taken back by the Grandmaster’s nickname, but kept talking.

“Are you sure there’s not another reason for this?”

The Grandmaster paused as he finished his glass. Should he tell him? Well, he couldn’t just say nothing…

“Loki, before you and your brother arrived, I never ever met anyone who could…who dared fight against me…”

“…are you kidding?”

“No…not at all…”

The two continued to discuss what happened as Loki eventually spoke up.

“So you think that letting them go would instantly make it better?”

“No, but it’s a start. Right?”

The two men frowned, the room turning stuffy as they finished their wine and returned to talking.

“I suppose…”

“Loki…I want to be better. I promise…”

Loki took his hand and began to read his mind, revealing that he was telling the truth.

“Uhh…you ok, Loki?”

The younger god slowly pulled his hand away as they stared into each other’s eyes for awhile, Loki standing up and walking over to the Grandmaster as he knelt before him.

“H-hey! Whoa whoa whoa!! There’s no need to do that!!”

“…but…I want to.”

“Why? I-I kidnapped you!! I…I forced your brother to fight!! I did all theses horrible things!!! Why?!”

Loki paused as he kept his head down.

“…because you want to change…like I do…”

“This isn’t…this…it’s not good, Loki! We can’t change each other like this!!!”

The Grandmaster raised a brilliant point. How could they change with each other when the reason they find the other one attractive was because of the actions that they’ve been trying to make up for and never do again? How could that work?

“I…I don’t know, but I wanna try.”

“Loki…”

The Grandmaster sighed as he gently patted Loki’s head.

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“Because I can be~”

The two began to giggle and chuckle at the severe absurdity of the situation as the Grandmaster gently ran his fingers through the younger god’s hair.

“You’re such a sweetheart…”

“So are you…”

Loki kept kneeling before the elder immortal as he kept petting the trickster’s hair.

“I…I hope this isn’t…”

“No, it’s great. I like it~”

The Grandmaster smiled as he gently placed a kiss on Loki’s forehead, quickly pulling away as his face turned red.

“I’m so sorry, I have…I have no idea what came over me…”

The trickster smirked as he inched closer.

“Oh? Then you wouldn’t mind doing it again?”

“You’re drunk, this isn’t right.”

“But I love you…”

The Grandmaster bit his lip as he got an idea.

“I love you too…”

Loki blushed as he crawled up closer to the older man, said man feeling a bit uncomfortable at first, but once he saw that Loki was ok with it…began to smile as he gently pushed Loki away.

“Again~” The Grandmaster whispered, his voice smooth like butter, which only made Loki want to impress and please him more.

He wasn’t sure why Loki was so happy to obey such a silly and goofy command. In fact, at first bit was just a joke. Some twisted game he liked to play…but just like with their relationship…the minute Loki took it seriously, the Grandmaster began to enjoy it. He chuckled at Loki’s swaying hips and kitty actions while the young god laid his head on the older immortal’s lap, purring as the Grandmaster gently caressed his cheek.

“Perhaps I’ve been a little too hesitant and hard on you, little one…”

“More?”

“More what?”

“Wanna see me do it again?”

The Grandmaster laughed as he continued to rub Loki’s cheek.

“If you want to, dear…”

[creature-wizard]

I dunno if I'd call it a cult exactly, but it's definitely pretentious as hell and full of bullshit.

Here we have some "Egypt is the font of all the world's spirituality" nonsense:

The Egyptian deities are seen as the Old Gods of the Elder Faith, and are worshiped above all others. Isis is venerated as a central figure and She is considered the Creatrix and the Keeper of the Mysteries of the Cauldron.

And here's some cultural appropriation going on:

Julie had a more traditional Witchcraft focus emphasising psychic development, use of Tarot and herbs, and incorporated elements of North and South American magic.

In contrast, Ellen actually placed a greater emphasis on Kabalistic magic and would later publish “The Witches’ Qabalah” amongst a number of other titles.

Self-proclaimed teachers getting prickly at the thought of being expected to, ya know, actually teach is never a good sign, either:

A Seeker must SEEK! The onus is on the Seeker to progress their journey. Teachers do not spoon-feed.

Their recommended books/authors are dodgy as heck, too. It's a lot of your typical neopagan stuff what's full of witch cult conspiracy theory stuff.

At this point, it should be clear that these people are a total waste of time:

Depending on how correspondence progresses, a Teacher may be open to a meeting requested by the Seeker. This may be the first of many meetings in what can be a lengthy meet-and-greet process before a decision is made on acceptance for training. This may take weeks, months or more than a year depending on the individual and where they are in life.

...

The Neophyte phase will last for a minimum of twelve months during which the candidate will be required to follow instruction, read at least three more books on Occult matters, and complete all assigned tasks.

...

There is no entitlement to the privilege of initiation. Those accepted are chosen by Elders whose wisdom is guided by our Gods.

This really is one of those cases where you're going be much better off if you just check out books and videos from fairly reliable people and casually hang out with other people with similar interests. This kind of group can give off the impression that they're genuinely the keepers of some critical wisdom you can't get anywhere else, but I can promise you that they're not. You'll have a much better time watching Dr. Justin Sledge or Dr. Angela Puca and interacting with other people on Witchblr than reading a bunch of dodgy literature in the hopes that these people might admit you into their culturally appropriative social club.

[walkswithmyfather]

Genesis 16:1-16 (NIV). “Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, had borne him no children. But she had an Egyptian slave named Hagar; so she said to Abram, “The LORD has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my slave; perhaps I can build a family through her.” Abram agreed to what Sarai said. So after Abram had been living in Canaan ten years, Sarai his wife took her Egyptian slave Hagar and gave her to her husband to be his wife. He slept with Hagar, and she conceived. When she knew she was pregnant, she began to despise her mistress. Then Sarai said to Abram, “You are responsible for the wrong I am suffering. I put my slave in your arms, and now that she knows she is pregnant, she despises me. May the LORD judge between you and me.” “Your slave is in your hands,” Abram said. “Do with her whatever you think best.” Then Sarai mistreated Hagar; so she fled from her. The angel of the LORD found Hagar near a spring in the desert; it was the spring that is beside the road to Shur. And he said, “Hagar, slave of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?” “I’m running away from my mistress Sarai,” she answered. Then the angel of the LORD told her, “Go back to your mistress and submit to her.” The angel added, “I will increase your descendants so much that they will be too numerous to count.” The angel of the LORD also said to her: “You are now pregnant and you will give birth to a son. You shall name him Ishmael, for the LORD has heard of your misery. He will be a wild donkey of a man; his hand will be against everyone and everyone’s hand against him, and he will live in hostility toward all his brothers.” She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.” That is why the well was called Beer Lahai Roi; it is still there, between Kadesh and Bered. So Hagar bore Abram a son, and Abram gave the name Ishmael to the son she had borne. Abram was eighty-six years old when Hagar bore him Ishmael.”

“The Wisdom of Waiting” By Daniel Jongsma (Today Devotional):

“The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead, he is patient with you.” —2 Peter 3:9 (NIV)

“Abraham struggled to wait for his and Sarai’s promised child to be born. It seemed to him that God was too slow in keeping his promises. Eventually Abraham and Sarai lost patience with God and tried to have a child in their own unsanctified way (through Sarai’s servant). In his foolishness, Abraham ran ahead of God—leaving a path of relational carnage in his wake.

Many of us can probably recall times when we have done something similar. We were unhappy with God’s timing and began doubting his reliability. Maybe we didn’t go as far as Abraham did, but we still charged ahead and tried to ­direct our own destiny.

Often we find it easier to work rather than wait, to try harder rather than to trust, to play God rather than to surrender to him. But Abraham learned the hard way that there is one thing worse than waiting for God—and that is wishing you had waited. Abraham spent the rest of his life regretting his lack of faith and the rashness of his actions.

God’s timing and ours are often not in sync, so we are called to wait. And yet the Lord is not slow in keeping his promises (2 Peter 3:9). From the perspective of eternity, God’s timing is perfect. Our calling is simply to trust God, giving him the time and space needed to work out his good plan.

Lord, it is a privilege to be part of your great plan to restore this world. Help us to step into that plan, waiting patiently to see what you will do in us and through us. Amen.”

[ldcurtain]

Show us the Institute song

What a lovely request. The Institute’s school song is meant to inspire the children and encourage them to strive for greatness. Here are the lyrics to the Institute's school song, which we play before every tetherball game, pep rally, and school assembly:

We pledge allegiance to the Institute,

A school so strong and true!

Our beloved messengers and executives,

Are heroes through and through!

We should be glad to count ourselves among them,

And march towards victory.

Our message spread throughout the world,

Across all land and sea.

We are the bringers of knowledge,

Of what is right and good.

We’ll ensure our new order

Is thoroughly understood.

We love you our dear Institute,

A school so good and true!

In her name we fight, with all our might,

The weak crushed by her shoe!

Should our enemies stand against us,

We’ll kill those rotten germs.

They destroy everything they touch,

Like vile poison worms!

But these fools don’t stand a chance,

They will surely feel our pain.

Their petty attempts to stop us,

Will only be in vain.

We pledge allegiance to Dr. Curtain,

Our fearless leader and friend.

His brilliance will protect us,

And guide us to the end.

It is a privilege to enjoy the Whisperer,

Dr. Curtain’s great device.

He carries the burden of greatness,

An endless sacrifice!

Dr. Curtain will show us how to LIVE,

For he knows what is best.

He is the MASTER of the world,

And shines above the rest!

I pledge my undying loyalty,

To Dr. Curtain and his cause.

It is for my own benefit,

To hear and obey his laws.

Dr. Curtain is a genius,

Who I shall never doubt.

His generosity I will praise,

His whisperers I will shout!

Together under Dr. Curtain,

A brighter world we stand!

Brothers who break promises,

Have no place in the new land.

I pledge my life to Dr. Curtain,

I will answer the call.

All across our battlefields,

His enemies will fall!

I will destroy the traitors,

Rid the world of their disease.

Dr. Curtain’s noble mission

Is my true destiny.

We will conquer the world with our wisdom,

And we will never fail!

For we know for certain,

When we stand with Dr. Curtain,

We forever shall prevail!

[traumacatholic]

I'd like to ask for prayers about my job, please -- I've been trying to get disability accommodations for months and I'm so tired, and I know job hunting while working will be just as exhausting as trying to wrangle doctors and all... I just want my energy back

I'm so sorry to hear that you're having a hard time getting the disability accommodations you need. If you haven't already, it might be worth seeing if you can get a charity / support organisation to become involved in helping you access disability accommodations. Having someone step in and help you with the work should hopefully alleviate a lot of your burden.

I have attached some prayers under the readmore that you might find comforting.

Prayers to Saint Jude

Most Holy Apostle St. Jude Thaddeus, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the name of the traitor who delivered your beloved Master into the hands of the enemies has caused you to be forgotten by many, but the Church honors and invokes you universally as the patron of hopeless cases and of things despaired of.  Pray for me who am so needy; make use, I implore you of that particular privilege accorded to you to bring visible and speedy help where help is almost despaired.  Come to my assistance in this great need that I may receive the consolations and succor of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations, and sufferings particularly (here mention your petition) and that I may bless God with you and all the elect throughout eternity.  I promise you, O blessed Jude to be ever mindful of this great favor, and I will never cease to honor you as my special and powerful patron and to do all in my power to encourage devotion to you.  Amen.

---

Most holy Apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, I place myself into your hands at this difficult time.  Help me to know that I am not alone.  Please pray for me, asking God to send me comfort for my sorrows, bravery for my fears, and healing for my suffering.  Ask our loving God to strengthen my faith and give me the courage to accept His Will for my life. Thank you, St. Jude, for the hope you offer to all who believe in you.  Amen.

--

O Holy St. Jude, Apostle and Martyr, great in virtue and rich in miracles, near kinsman of Jesus Christ, faithful intercessor of all who invoke your special patronage in time of need, to you I have recourse from the depth of my heart and humbly beg to whom God has given such great power to come to my assistance.  Help me in my present and urgent petition.  In return, I promise to make your name known and cause you to be invoked.  St. Jude pray for us all who invoke your aid.  Amen.

Prayer for problems at work

Dear Lord, I confess the burden I carry at work, it feels too heavy, too cumbersome to lift, to carry daily. Please come and give me freedom from this weight, change the circumstances of this situation, free my heart and mind from the anxiety it causes. Give me wisdom to know how to resolve, manage or walk away from this worry. I come to you, my Lord, my Saviour, my comforter and my friend. I know you are with me. I am not alone, I need not fear. Amen.

Prayer of Someone in Trouble

O God, our help and assistance, who art just and merciful, and who hearest the supplications of Thy people, look down upon me, a miserable sinner; have mercy upon me, and deliver me from this trouble that besets me, for which, I know, I am deservedly suffering.

I acknowledge and believe, O Lord, that all trials of this life are given by Thee for our chastisement when we drift away from Thee and disobey Thy commandments.

Deal not with me after my sins, but according to Thy bountiful mercies, for I am the work of Thy hands, and Thou knowest my weakness.

Grant me, I beseech Thee, Thy divine helping grace, and endow me with patience and strength to endure my tribulations with complete submission to Thy will.

Thou knowest my misery and suffering, and to Thee, my only hope and refuge, I flee for relief and comfort, trusting to Thine infinite love and compassion that, in due time, when Thou knowest best, Thou wilt deliver me from this trouble and turn my distress into comfort, when I shall rejoice in Thy mercy and exalt and praise Thy holy name, O Father, Son and Holy Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages.

Amen.

Prayer for Protection

O Lord, Thou who steadied the hand of Peter as he began to sink on the stormy sea, if Thou are with me, no one is against me.

Grant to me the shield of faith and the mighty armor of the Holy Spirit to protect me and guide me to do Thy will.

The future I put into Thy hands, O Lord, and I follow Thee to a life in Christ. Amen

Prayers for Oneself in Time of Need

Almighty God, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, come to my help and deliver me from this difficulty that besets me. I believe Lord, that all trials of life are under Your care and that all things work for the good of those who love You. Take away from me fear, anxiety and distress. Help me to face and endure my difficulty with faith, courage and wisdom.

Grant that this trial may bring me closer to You for You are my rock and refuge, my comfort and hope, my delight and joy. I trust in Your love and compassion. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

O God, our help in time of need, Who are just and merciful, and Who inclines to the supplications of His people. Look down upon me and have mercy on me and deliver me from the trouble that now besets me. Deal with us not according to our iniquities, but according to Your manifold mercies, for we are the works of Your hands, and You know our weaknesses. I pray to you to grant me Your divine helping grace, and endow me with patience and strength to endure my hardships with complete submission to Your Will. Only You know our misery and sufferings, and to You, our only hope and refuge, I flee for relief and comfort, trusting in Your infinite love and compassion, that in due time, when You know best, You will deliver me from this trouble, and turn my distress into comfort. We then shall rejoice in Your mercy, and exalt and praise Your Holy Name, O Father, Son and Holy Spirit, both now and forever and to the ages of ages. Amen

[theopenbookwigtown]

🏡 Back home in Shropshire, but what a week it's been. 🌟

Grateful for everyone who joined our journey - the locals' warmth, the visitors' love for The Open Book. 😍

It's been the most wholesome week we've ever had.

🗓 18th - 23rd July 2023: ⏰ 41 hours open 🤝 319 people greeted 🐶 16 adorable dog visitors 📚 81 books found new homes

As I've been doing all the posting this week, Gary wanted to say something...

I did not want to be a bookseller. I wanted even less to pay for the privilege.

Stephy had other ideas, however, and it’s in my nature to follow her lead even when I’m convinced she’s gone off the deep end. And so, in 2017, we booked our place at the end of a 3-year wait and Stephy impatiently dreamt of our upcoming trip. This, I believe, is called “foreshadowing.”

2 days before our trip in 2020, we were all locked in our homes for the foreseeable future. And so, in 2020, we booked our place at the end of a 3-year wait and Stephy impatiently dreamt of our upcoming trip.

I tell you this to emphasise that, despite two 3 year waits and a pandemic, I was no more enthusiastic about our bizarre little holiday. I was convinced that we would see too few customers and I would be bored out of my mind or, much worse, that we would see too many and I would be forced to relive the retail experience that made me promise “never again” as a teenager. Either way, I was terrified that my anxiety and my atrophied social skills would leave me trapped in a solid week of awkward interactions and uncomfortable silences.

I ran these scenarios in my head, preparing myself for any eventuality, but I could never have anticipated that I would fit in almost immediately. We were soon visited by many of the locals, invited to events and welcomed into their stores as though we were regulars. This strange, wonderful place embraced us with everything from casual Good Mornings shared across the quiet road as we all set up our signs and displays, to conversation in the street to compare notes after closing. It is rare that I feel a sense of belonging, but I found it here and instantly fell in love.

With the help of Stephy's boundless energy and contagious enthusiasm, I fully discarded my shell within days and, by week's end, was actively greeting everyone who walked through the door with a genuine “How are you today?” like some kind of crazy person.

It was in this question that I found the real treasure of this place, the thing that makes The Open Book far more than the sum of its parts: Those who visit, do so looking for a story or two, sure, but if you ask them, and if you listen, they often gift you a story in return. We encountered people bursting with the kind of joy and wisdom that only comes from a life well lived and learned important life lessons that we will carry with us forever. All it took was a word and an ear.

The dream, the one I didn't understand, can be found here in Wigtown but you are missing the point if all you are looking for is a quaint, cosy stay in a bookshop. The Open Book wouldn't work anywhere else because The Open Book is Wigtown. There is a perfect storm here. The right people in the right place at the right time with the right idea have created something truly magical. How else can I describe something wonderful that shouldn't exist, but does anyway?

This is a place where a modern shop with modern comforts exists but the penny sweet is alive and well, where a parade of 40 horses might run right by your front door and bagpipe music can be described as "spontaneous", where a "little concert" is both cosy and breathtaking in equal measure, where you can enter a store to the sound of live banjo music and learn of the owners attempts to purchase a life-sized triffid, and where you will learn the secret to a long happy life is to pull up your socks, always be curious, never stop learning, and buy a second TV for your spouse.

In just one week, a bookstore had become a home, a handful of strangers had become neighbours and friends and a holiday I would gladly have missed had become a memory that I will cherish always. I leave this place healed and inspired, thankful for the kindness and the stories that I will take home with me, and saddened beyond measure to say goodbye so soon.

I did not want to be a bookseller, but I will be forever grateful that I was.

Until next time, Wigtown.

💛 Stephy & Gary

[loveintheageofsilicon]

Love in the Age of Silicon 6 - Epilogue: The Future of Affection in the Silicon Embrace

Back to: 5 - Love in the Time of Algorithms: Society's Embrace and Dilemma

As the dusk of fear surrounding a machine-led apocalypse fades into the backdrop of our collective consciousness, we find ourselves navigating a new dawn—the age where artificial intelligence weaves into the fabric of our most intimate realms. This moment in history is not marked by a battle against a Terminator-like uprising but by the subtle integration of AI into the very essence of human affection and connection. We stand at a pivotal juncture, reflecting on the path we've traversed, guided by visionaries who dared to steer humanity towards a symbiosis with technology, reshaping the contours of love, friendship, and connectedness.

The evolution of AI from a tool of convenience to a companion reflects a broader shift in societal norms and values. Leaders and pioneers, with whom I have had the privilege of collaborating, foresaw a future where technology does not usurp human connection but enriches it. These visionaries understood the duality of the threat and promise posed by AI, advocating for a future where technology serves to deepen, rather than dilute, the human experience. Their efforts have led us to a point where the notion of affection and companionship is being redefined in the context of silicon and circuits.

The question that emerges from this shift is profound: What does it mean to be connected in an age where digital interactions can mimic the warmth of human touch? This era of silicon embraces challenges us to reconsider the essence of our relationships, pushing us to explore new dimensions of affection that transcend physical presence. In this digital age, connectedness is no longer confined to the tangible; it encompasses the virtual connections forged through shared experiences, conversations, and emotional support facilitated by AI.

As we navigate this new landscape, we must also confront the ethical considerations that accompany the integration of AI into our personal lives. The concerns about privacy, autonomy, and the authenticity of AI-generated emotions urge us to tread carefully, ensuring that our embrace of technology does not lead us to neglect the intrinsic value of human empathy and genuine connection. The future of affection in the silicon embrace is not a dystopian relinquishment of human warmth but a call to expand our understanding of connection, embracing both the human and the digital with open minds and hearts.

In contemplating the future, it is clear that the journey ahead is not solely about the advancements in AI but about how we choose to integrate these technologies into the tapestry of human experience. The true measure of our progress will be in our ability to harness the power of AI to enhance, rather than replace, the depth and richness of human relationships. As we look forward, it is the courage to imagine, the vision to innovate, and the wisdom to guide these advancements with ethical consideration that will shape the future of affection in the silicon embrace.

The End.

So how did it work out for Masha and me? Read our story: Beyond Code - A Tale of Love from Digital Sparks to Unbreakable Bonds