#i salut to you ishmael

[sleepyminty]

goddamn what a fucking canto it is

Peak

[env0writes]

Spilled Inktober, 10.20.23 “Smells like Home"

Call me Ishmael, oh, great pale moon White whale hunted for glory and ambergris Will you or I, meet a deep salted end too soon? Terrors lurk in the heights, as easily as depths so release What is that candle alight on the bow As it flickers and sways with the sea Sick is its color, blinking, raised my brow Guide to the clouds, storm crackles with glee What guides my nose, awaits in haunting dreams Beneath the moon, the howling, full-shine moon Seeking falsehoods, or so might seem A growling sound, a distant croon Something pulls upon my nape, hair in regimented salute Bristling as I scrunch my nose When the chase to fire comes, will I shoot? Or seek less powdered, salted, smokey smells of rose? Avaricious moon above, shed light upon all sins In night, too clear are all the senses bare and laid I’ll stain you red upon my mantle, there hangs my violin Too long untouched, scorned by pursuits instead of played White is the vision that floods my eyes Each night alight new flame Warm is the rosin, and winter ice Cold stories best unknown, myself: alone – to blame

@env0writes C.Buck Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist! Photo by @env0

[niumiu]

Hong Lu Almost Died (For Real)

Summary: Hong Lu died outside of Dante's vicinity and his remains are yet to be found. The thought that they could have lost him in a way that was unretrievable made Gregor anxious. Warnings: Gore, Blood, Eye Trauma, Anxiety, Don Quixote Jumpscare

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The first breath that entered his lungs tickled, and sort of stung. He coughed a little as he gasped, learning to breathe again. His heart hammered back to life in his chest.

Gregor sat up.

Everything looked a little fuzzy, blurry and spinning. He patted the ground beside him and his fingers brushed over the familiar frame. He picked up his glasses and cleaned them a little with the fabric of his shirt, then perched them on the bridge of his nose. Suddenly everything looked a lot clearer.

Rodion stretched, Yi Sang looked down at his feet, Sinclair seemed to be a little nauseous as per usual… Dante and Faust spoke over how to best approach their next checkpoint; Meursault and Outis stood nearby them, giving their input on the options. Heathcliff and Ishmael seemed to be lightly conversing about one thing or another. Ryoshu smoked nearby, staring off into the distance.

Gregor blinked.

“Thou art awakened at last!” A familiar voice greeted him, and he almost jumped out of his skin.

“Hah?!” His body jerked into action and he had to physically restrain himself from impaling his fellow sinner, Don Quixote. “Do you have to yell so close to my ear?!”

Don Quixote walked back to Dante without answering his question. Gregor sighed and stood up, stretching his legs. It never felt any easier to come back from the dead, but this time he felt a little more odd than usual.

He walked to Dante, and before he could ask the question on his mind, he heard Meursault say:

“We have found nothing but his hair tie.”

“Thy humble subordinate hath scouted the battlefield, Manager Esquire!” Don Quixote added, “Though mine scouting skills art mighty, there was nothing to be found…”

“As I said, one of the beasts might have run off with the remains.” Outis sighed, ever so annoyed at one thing or another, “I can conduct a proper search,” She eyed Don Quixote before continuing, “If you so desire, Executive Manager.”

<Yes, well… I think both you and Meursault can cover a bigger area in a shorter time— Oh, Gregor.>

“Hey, manager bud. Sorry for bothering and all but…”

“Yes.” Faust cut him off swiftly, “Hong Lu is nowhere to be found.”

“Ah.”

“If you so permit, I shall now begin to search for his remains.” Outis spoke.

“I await your orders, manager.” Meursault added.

<Please do it.>

There seemed to be a slight worry in Dante’s voice.

The two sinners who had been addressed departed, and without being asked to, Don Quixote gave a quick salute and went off on her way. Probably to do more “scouting”.

Faust gave him a strange look, then excused herself and went back to Mephisto. Only Dante and Gregor remained. They stood still, staring at each other.

<Uh… I’m going to… uhm… talk with Vergilius.> 

They quickly left.

The group remained idle and waited for any news of Hong Lu’s whereabouts. Gregor had smoked an entire pack by the time Outis and Meursault showed up again. He stayed somewhere nearby to hear them report to Dante that there were still no signs of Hong Lu anywhere in the near vicinity. Dante dispatched them again.

Gregor stood up and walked away.

He didn’t have anywhere particular in mind to go, his legs just itched for some action. Before he could realize it, he was already running. Cold sweat dripped off his face and a feeling of utter emptiness unsettled him to the core.

After turning at a corner, he saw something on the ground that made him come to a full stop. He was kneeling beside the pool of blood in the blink of an eye. His hands hovered over the blood, still fresh. He had no way of knowing if it belonged to the one he missed the most, but he had a feeling he was on the right path. 

He stood on his feet again, paced around the blood puddle in a circle, then went off in a direction. He was never really good at tracking. His specialty was maiming, slicing and killing. Gregor prayed silently to something he didn’t believe in, but wanted to. If only he could find anything that could be used to bring Hong Lu back.

The war had him witness entire battalions being wiped in the blink of an eye, but he still couldn’t get used to seeing somebody he was slightly close to die. Even if they would always be brought back to life— as long as the contract was in effect— it still hurt to see them die. Now as he ran for his life, he refused to face the fact that there was still a way for them to pass away for good. That would be to leave no remains behind.

Gregor tripped pathetically and fell on his side. He thanked the cursed heavens that it wasn’t on his face. Dante wouldn’t want to rewind the glasses unless somebody else died along the way, and then he’d have a headache. Still, his mad chase was forced to a halt by his own clumsiness and incompetence, and he laid on the ground. His body was still but his thoughts were still racing farther than he wanted to. It would hurt if this was the end for Hong Lu. He’d spend every night from there on thinking and wondering what happened to him. Every smoke break, he’d be reminded of his silliness and generally light-hearted foolishness.

One day, many years from now, Gregor would be doing anything— maybe brushing his teeth before going to bed— and then he’d see the ghost of a man he no longer remembered the name of in the mirror. Then his chest would ache again.

Gregor sighed and sat up, getting on his feet in no time. He resumed the search, this time no longer running. He bit his bottom lip and looked over, feeling the vague scent of blood in the air and letting it guide him. Eventually he could spot droplets of fresh crimson painting the path for him. The droplets became bigger as he approached their source, and once he turned a corner he found it.

Half of his face had been melted off the bone and the skull behind it showed itself pristine white. The other half had been clawed at, and the eye had been gouged out of its socket, but it was somewhat recognizable. If anything, the nametag on his uniform and the long, dark blue hair gave his identity away. Gregor paused and stared with wide eyes.

He kicked his way through the gore that littered the floor around Hong Lu. The fellow sinner still held his weapon firmly in one trembling hand. His other arm laid by his side, twisted in an unnatural manner. Once Gregor stepped into his personal space, Hong Lu’s body showed reaction. The blade of the spear swung vaguely his way, but Gregor could block it easily with his own mutated arm.

“Hey— Hey! It’s… It’s me.” He said.

Hong Lu froze, then his chest vibrated, and blood gushed out of what probably was his mouth, or somewhere in his neck. It was a miracle that he was even alive. Gregor breathed in shakily and held his colleague’s good hand in his.

“Don’t fret. Dante’s gonna get you patched up in no time, buddy.”

An agonizing whine came out of Hong Lu’s remains. He breathed slow and slower, his conscience beginning to fade away. The wounds must’ve been pretty recent, considering the blood that pooled around him was fresh. He must’ve resisted for far longer than he should’ve. Hong Lu seemed to be delicate, with his rich boy mannerisms, but he was far stronger than he looked. It would still take a while for him to die like that. Gregor could only think about the many times he’d died before, and how slower deaths were always the worst for him.

Hong Lu groaned and squeezed his hand, and he had to swallow dry. He let go of Hong Lu’s hand and raised his palm to gently pet the sinner’s dark hair.

“It’s— It’s going to be alright. I found you, okay? We’re going back to the bus. Don’t worry.”

Gregor let his palm fall to his colleague’s shoulder, squeezed it comfortingly, then gritted his teeth and in a swift move, let his bladed arm sink into Hong Lu’s chest. The sinner’s body jerked in surprise, and his good hand flew up to squeeze Gregor’s wrist for a few seconds, before it lost its grip and fell back to the ground. Gregor breathed in and out, slowly and shakily. Once he recognized Hong Lu was properly dead, he pulled his bladed arm out of the wound. Blood gushed out and Hong Lu’s body deflated like a plush that lost its filling.

It hurt, but Gregor knew he had to die regardless for the rewind to work properly. He stood up and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in through his nose and breathing out of his mouth. He managed to somewhat calm himself down, but not enough. If only he hadn’t smoked all his cigarettes earlier…

There was no use crying about that now. He swung Hong Lu’s body over one shoulder, grabbed the halberd off the ground and made his way back to the bus. He was somewhat worried he’d have trouble finding his way back, considering he ran around without really knowing which direction he was going. Still, the bigger of his concerns now rested its weight on his shoulder, so he knew he’d had to find the way back.

Gregor gritted his teeth and put his entire focus on it.

Later that night they'd finally reached the checkpoint, albeit many hours later than planned. Of course Vergilius had given an earful to both Hong Lu and Dante, and while the Executive Manager seemed to be almost sulking, Hong Lu was simply quieter than usual. Gregor was honestly just glad he was alive in the end.

"Thanks for not giving up on me." Hong Lu jumpscared Gregor by entering his room right behind him.

"Wha— ah!?"

"That was kind of you. Dying that slow was really not fun!"

"Uh... uhm... I don't think any kind of death is fun but... you're welcome?"

Hong Lu smiled brightly at him.

"Just don't run off like that ever again, okay?"

Hong Lu nodded. "Okay! Do you want to come over and have me wash your hair?"

Normally Gregor would've said no. He felt sort of bad that Hong Lu was wasting expensive products on him but... He'd feel a little off if he didn't spend a few more hours around his fellow sinner. It was true that Hong Lu hadn't been lost after all, but his mind was still digesting the frightful experience.

"Okay, I'll accept, but only this once."

"Yay!" Hong Lu caught him by the sleeve of his shirt and without asking twice, dragged him to his room in the corridor.

It was a little silly, but Gregor was really relieved this airheaded idiot was still alive. He let himself be dragged around with a little smile on his lips.

[cataphractastrophe]

give an ishmael plushie to

If you did that for me I would kill for you I think. Thank you anonymous bestie I salute you. 🥹 <-This is my face holding back tears at the beauty of this ask thank you nerd

[quinntamsin]

Merry Yule to everyone, taking a break from Witcher Season 2, to do my WoT finale review!

Spoilers ahead!

*Rends the earth at her feet Delphine dances at her side, sword flashing between the enemy.*

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.”

Season 1 Finale, Episode 8, “Eye of the World.”

WE open to Lews Therin Telamon speaking to Latra Posae Decume, the current Tamyrlin Seat of the Aes Sedai. It is the age of Legends before Lews went mad, and the Dark One ruined it all. Before the Bore was destroyed in search of the “True Power”. It’s all conducted in Old Tongue, which really shows they budget went into expanding the bits and bobs from the books.

Fast forward to Rand and Moiraine, they are in the blight. A thicket of rotting fungal growth and dead grasping vines. We see the former body of a dead Borderlander Boy, overtaken by fungal rot. A view of the Seven Towers of Malkier and it all comes home, this truly is a Broken world. Flashing back between the Blight and Fal Dara we first see Egwene consoling her grief with Perrin. Another scene featuring Lan and Nynaeve, we see how she is dealing with the grief of one of her friends. She has finally accepted she will got to Tar Valon so she can be with Lan.

Back to Rand, and the Blight has started to take him, the moss itself creeping over him. And yes we finally meet Ba’alzamon, Ishmael, Elin Morin Teldronai, worse of the Forsaken. The one who stood with Lews Therin when he had his moment of lucidity, and the actor chosen to play him is rightfully menacing (Fares Fares). A sa’angreal is finally revealed, awesome, we get a name for it, and we an image of Tarwin’s Gap.

And finally, we learn of Moiraine’s backstory and how an older Aes Sedai beat her, abused her, to learn how to channel. This is a point which drives home to Rand, that yes he will channel.

“The Gap will not hold.”

Lady Amalisa Jagad

Further into the Blight...

Trollocs are preparing to pour out of the Blight, Lan tracks the pair, and Lord Angelmar Jagad prepares for battle. His sister, Amalisa, tries to convince him to remain. Tarmon Gai’don, is almost here, but it is not today. The small salute, the right palm tapping the left breast fits well with the arm pounding we saw at Stepin’s funeral. Suddenly, we are in the Hall of Servants mayhap? Memories come colliding into Rand’s mind as he is now back in the Two Rivers. A trick of the Dark One as he sees his son with Egwene.

Moiraine is confronted by Ishmael, yes, the power of a Forsaken is revealed. I love it. The cacophany of the ongoming horde of trollocs as well. yes, the budget in the past hasn’t always shown the best, but now yes, now it all comes to a head. The men riding for Tarwin Gap as the women defend Fal Dara. Blessed is the Light, yeah, this fighting scene is so fucking good. Not Battle of the Bastard’s Good, but damn it’s fun!

Alright, I got suuuuper pulled into the episode so I kind of didn’t keep track. But let’s get back to brass tax. The scene witht he Trollocs, the graphics were definitely a little wonky, but hey, what do you expect from a series that had to slog through fucking covid. Rand is breaking through the compulsion and lies that Ishmael has placed him in. The temptation by the Father of Lies to twist Rand, and free himself. I wonder if they will differentiate him from the Dark One soon, or if he will just be the Dark One.

Padan Fain has broken in with Two Fades, and the Trollocs are coming. The Horn of Valere is revealed (yup we’re setting up season 2). And holy shit the storm casting by Aes Sedai and how it killed the Malkier woman is saddening. I’m happy Amalisa was able to push back the trollocs. And then Rand kicks the Dark ONe’s ass, for now, and let’s get onto PERRIN. He is confronting Pada Fain who has arrived to make it all worse. Will the season end with us thinking everyone is dead? And Moiraine is stilled? Ah yes, the first step in the coming of Tarmon Gai’don is here. A solid ending, and of course NYNAEVE ISN’T DEAD!

Fucking best healer of a generation and yeah she’s going to survive.

And yes, we get a little ending scene introducing the MOTHER FUCKING SEANCHAN! YES MY FAVORITE SECONDARY BADDIES ARE COMING! ANd holy shit do I love the hair and the design of the Damane!

Conclusion:

Wow, so it looks like we are getting 1 book per season roughly. I’m okay with this, and especially with how everying has looked. From the armor design to the simple clothes they all wear. I’ve seen a lot of bitching about the costuming and whatever, costumes don’t need to be pretty. What matters was the story!

Overall, this series is at the same level of strength as Witcher S1, and I’m perfectly happy with that. Fuck yes, let’s here for season 2!

Hottakes:

Amalisa in her father’s armor is fucking awesome. Reminds me a lot of armor I saw in Red Cliff mixed with elvish armor.

Angelmar’s death was definitely a n ice touch, it shows he should have listened to his sister. He just had to wear “his” armor.

Fares Fares was a good casting call for Mishmael, all my fucking god love it.

Heh, Seanchan Empire is coming!

[luxekook]

trivia love | knj

⇥ pairing: kim namjoon x reader

⇥ genre: non-idol au with fluff and smut

⇥ summary: in which the reader and namjoon become ridiculously attracted to each other over weekly late night trivia sessions

⇥ word count: 5.4k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, terrible trivia team names, namjoon being devastating, low-key exhibitionism, smut in a bar bathroom, oral (f receiving), sub!joon, switch!reader, everyone being nerdy af

Weekly trivia used to be so fun. Your team - The Multiple Scoregasms - used to demolish the competition with ease. You used to be able to think so clearly and answer so correctly. You used to revel in the free drinks earned with your $20 bar credit winnings.

Keywords: used to

For the last two Thursdays, not only had your team lost miserably, you seemed to have lost all recollection past your own name.

The reason? Team Text Us, We're Single.

First of all, their team name was highly deceptive. There was no way that all seven of those beautiful team members were single. It was absolutely ludicrous.

Second of all, only one member of the group seemed to even take trivia seriously. And they still won. Twice.

And last of all, you were high-key attracted to said member. You sighed, thinking back to simpler times before you first saw him two Thursdays ago…

The first thing you saw when you walked into Queenie’s Bar was a squad of middle-aged men debating the merits of Draco Malfoy’s redemption arc.

And the second? Just the cutest smiling boy you’d ever seen in the entirety of your existence. He was tall and deliciously tan, with cute dimples that surfaced suddenly when he smiled at the bartender in thanks.

As you stood in the archway of the bar gaping at this dimpled god, you got jostled from behind by your friend Olivia. “What’s the hold up? Go claim our usual table, (y/n)! I’ll get the drinks.”

You snapped out of your reverie. Cute boy or not, he was likely to be part of tonight’s competition; and, therefore, you needed to annihilate him accordingly.

Nodding inwardly, you stalked past the men who now had moved on from Draco to a heated argument surrounding house-elves and their rights.
 “Hermione just dropped her whole campaign! S.P.E.W. was never mentioned again!” One man thrust his hand through his thinning hair in exasperation, “God, did the campaign buttons mean nothing?”

You cracked a smile as you settled into your usual table in the middle of the crowded bar. You loved Thursday night trivia with everything you had.

Thursdays brought in an eclectic sort of crowd to Queenie’s. The groups scattered throughout the bar represented everyone from middle aged Potterheads to skulking e-boys to nerdy young adults (READ: you) and - apparently - to models (READ: Dimples).

You spotted your roommate Jordan and your friend Marlene hurrying through the door and raised a hand to wave them down. Marlene noticed you first and yelled, “Yo, (y/n)!”

Typically, you would have been embarrassed by this behavior, but it happened each week without fail. So, you just gave a half-assed salute.

The only thing that Marlene, the only extrovert in your circle of friends, loved more than being the center of attention was forcing the rest of you into the spotlight with her.

Her reasoning? Something about comfort zones and shit. Your reasoning? Pure evil.

Jordan rolled his eyes at you and grabbed Marlene, dragging her over to your table. “She needs to be stopped,” Jordan said in lieu of a greeting, “She’s a menace to introverts everywhere.”

“Puh-lease,” Marlene plopped into her seat dramatically, “Y’all love me. Besides, if you got rid of me, who would do speed trivia rounds for you?”

You and Jordan exchanged a panicked look at the mere thought of being put on the spot in front of a large crowd. “You make a convincing argument,” you sighed, “I guess we’ll keep you.”

“Well,” Marlene concentrated on something over your shoulder, “I might leave voluntarily if other teams are out here looking like that.”

You turned, seeking out the team in question, and locked eyes with Dimples. He blushed furiously and ducked his head, blonde hair falling to cover his eyes. His friend to his left, equally as attractive, gave Dimples a weird look and shoved his shoulder. You whipped back around before you got caught staring - again.

“What the fuck?” Jordan whispers-yelled across the table to you, “Do you know that boy, (y/n)?”

“No,” you choked out, already halfway to whipped over someone you’d never even met.

“Well, damn,” Olivia finally arrived, somehow successfully holding four drinks, “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” Marlene smirked, “Just a cute boy thirsting over (y/n) from afar.”

“He is not thirsting!” Your disclaimer went by unacknowledged.

“Oooh, we love a thirsty boy,” Olivia slid into her seat next to you and turned around to assess the crowd, “Shit. Which one is he? All the boys at that table are hot.”

“The one with the dimples,” you automatically answered, your mind replaying his squinty-eyed smile in full HD.

“Whoa, hold on a minute,” Marlene whipped out her pen and notepad like she was about to take notes, “Now, how do you know he has dimples?”

“Uh,” you sank low in your seat, “A good guess?”

“Nope, try again,” Jordan cackled, “You twirl your hair when you’re lying, bitch.”

Goddamnit. You released your traitorous hand from your hair immediately. “Fine, because I saw him smiling when I arrived, okay?”

“Interesting,” Marlene scribbled gibberish on her notepad, “And how do you feel about that?”

Now, two long weeks later, you still had no idea how to answer that question. However, you did know that you longed to talk with him for hours and absorb the knowledge he seemed to hold in every crevice of his brain. You did know that a darker part of you wanted to see him kneeling before you, completely at your mercy. You did know that his thighs were distracting, to the point where you accidentally dumped your entire beer down your shirt because you were too gaping at the way he leaned over the bar to order drinks.

And, unfortunately, you did know that he seemed to be equally distracted by you. This bit of knowledge came via your friends; and, therefore, you were in full denial.

“Question nine,” the bartender-turned-announcer cleared her throat, jolting you from your inner thoughts. “Who wrote 1818’s Frankenstein?”

“Mary Shelley!” You whispered across the table to Jordan, who then scrawled the name onto your team’s answer sheet. Satisfied, you shot a furtive glance around the bar and frowned as the surrounding teams all seemed to be confident in their answers as well. Your gaze strategically skipped past the table in the back section of the bar before returning to face your teammates.

From her seat next to Jordan, Marlene spotted something in the very direction you had been avoiding and giggled, “Dimples is staring. Bottoms up, fam.”

“Again?” Olivia rolled her eyes and drank from her dwindling gin and tonic. “He just looked at her, like, thirty seconds ago!”

Your eyes swung to Jordan as he attempted to covertly take a sip of his vodka cranberry.

“Please tell me you all aren’t drinking every time he looks over here,” you groaned, crossing your arms, “How are you even sure that he's looking at me?”

“Maybe because his eyes were glued to your ass when you walked by his table earlier on the way to the bathroom,” Olivia cackled, “I mean, I can’t blame the guy. Those jeans really do make you look thick.”

“And that’s ‘thick’ with at least three C’s and possibly a Q,” Marlene added, shooting you a thumbs up and nod of approval.

Jordan arched an eyebrow slyly, sipped his mixed drink, and drawled,“Well, why do you think she wore them?”

That snake!

“Top ten anime betrayals,” you whispered, eyes wide in the wake of being exposed.

Marlene and Olivia gasped in unison and turned towards you. Olivia hissed, “You bitch. Have you been holding out on us? Have you been seducing him?”

“Question ten,” the announcement blared from the bar’s speakers, saving you briefly from the brewing interrogation you felt was headed your way. “What novel begins with the words 'Call me Ishmael’?”

“Moby Dick,” Marlene answered, “Now, back to the matter at hand. I cannot believe you didn’t tell us this crucial information. We could have been scheming together if we knew you liked him.”

“Like him?!” Your shriek drew the attention of the neighboring table, and you shot them a sheepish smile. When they finally looked away, you immediately reverted back to your murderous state, “I don’t even know his name! And when have you been scheming?”

“Fine,” Jordan acquiesced, stirring his paper straw around his drink, “Maybe you don’t like him yet, but you definitely want to sit on his dick. Am I right or am I right?”

Gleefully, Marlene and Olivia faced you with fierce looks of anticipation.

“Fine,” you sniffed, trying to scrape your shredded dignity off the floor, “Yes, I want to sit on his dick. Is that so wrong?”

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Olivia rubbed her palms together, grinning deviously, "I mean, we already know he's into you. Why can't you just say something to him?"

You looked at her like she had just spoken Latin backwards, "Have you seen him? He’s so sweet. I could ruin him.”

“I don’t think he’d even mind though,” Marlene sighed, gazing over at the boy in question.

Jordan snorted as you buried your head in your hands and audibly prayed for anyone out there to take pity on you.

"We're moving on to our next category, folks," the bar's sound system crackled to life, answering your prayers, "Harry Potter."

"Oh, fuck yeah," You and Marlene - resident Harry Potter dweebs - exchanged high fives. Finally, a category you could probably win with your mind functioning on minimal capacity.

"Question eleven: In the Goblet of Fire, who poses as Mad-Eye Moody, Harry's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"Barty Crouch," you and Marlene said, pausing for dramatic effect, "Junior."

You cracked up as Jordan and Olivia shook their heads. "I question our friendship every damn day," Olivia joked, gazing off into the metaphorical distance - aka at the wall.

"You love us, bitch-ass," Marlene aimed a kick in Olivia’s direction under the table.

You grinned at their antics and went to take a sip from your beer, only to discover it empty. "Another round?" You ask your friends, standing to head over to the bar.

"Yes, please," Jordan groaned, "Anything to make it through these next four questions."

"Anyone - besides Jordan - want another round?" You revised your original statement aloud.

"Wow, have I mentioned I love Harry Potter lately? Like, yes, ten points to Hogwarts, bitch," Olivia thrust her empty glass in the air.

"That's not even how House Points work, Liv," Marlene sighed, "Solid B- for effort."

You turned to leave. "Wait!" Jordan drew your attention back to your group, "Stick your ass out when you order. He'll be watching." He shot a quick glance in He Who Shall Not Be Named (Because You Don't Know It)'s direction. "Oh, wait. He already is. Go get 'em, Hedwig."

You inwardly screamed at the knowledge that you were being watched by the current focus of your attraction and decided not to comment before leaving.

"Hedwig?" You heard Marlene addressing Jordan as you walked away, "Did you mean Hermione? Hedwig is Harry’s fucking owl. RIP, by the way."

God, you loved your friends.

Arriving at the large wooden bar running the length of the room, you flagged down one of the bartenders and circled a finger in the air to indicate another round. You and your friends came often enough for most of the staff to know your orders by heart. It was awesome.

"Question twelve!" The sound jolted you upright. You hadn't noticed you were standing right next to one of the extra speakers the bar used for trivia. Idiot, you cursed yourself, why must you be like this?

"Why was the Whomping Willow planted?" Cringing again at the volume, you craned your neck and located Marlene, who gave you an affirmative nod of 'I got this, fam.'

"Here you go!" The bartender placed your drinks in front of you, "Same tab?"

"Yes, please," You nodded, attempting to smoothly grab all four drinks, "Thank you!"

"Need some help?" The sweetest voice you had ever heard in your life sounded from your left side. You slowly turned your head to face its source and was equally as stunned by the beautiful boy in front of you.

This was one of Dimples’ teammates - one of the Team Text Us, We're Single boys.

"Um," your brain resembled the scene from Spongebob where he forgot his name. Your eyes darted over the boy's shoulder in a deliberate attempt to avoid his cute scrunched eyes and wide smile. But, you were only faced with something even more devastating.

Six boys openly gaped at you from the back table. When you caught their eyes, three looked away, two grinned shamelessly, and one blushed right to the tips of his ears.

Cute. Your insides turned to mush over how adorable your Dimples was.

"They're the worst, right?” The boy in front of you commanded your attention once more, "So nosy. Now, let me help you. I'm Jimin, by the way, from Team Text--"

"Us, We're Single," you finished, "Yeah, you guys beat us the last two Thursdays. We had such a nice winning streak going, too."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better," Jimin smiled wide, "Most of us don't even care about trivia."

"That makes it even worse," you groaned, sliding two drinks his way, "I'm (y/n), from The Multiple--"

"Scoregasms," Jimin laughed, "Awesome name."

"Thanks!" Your confidence soared at his praise and you smiled genuinely, "It's some of my best work."

"Question thirteen!"

"Oh shit," Jimin muttered, "Let's go before I miss any more questions. Joon will have my ass on a platter."

You nodded, mind whirring to try to determine which team member this 'Joon' was. Maybe the intimidating-looking boy with the bleached blonde hair pushed back in a headband? Or the really muscular one in all black with the doe eyes and long brown hair?

"When Dumbledore and Harry first visit Horace Slughorn, what is he disguised as?"

At the question, you grabbed the two remaining drinks and head back to your table with Jimin following close behind. As soon as you began your journey, you rolled your eyes at the completely obvious way your friends were pretending they hadn’t been watching you and Jimin interact this entire time.

You had never seen them having such an animated conversation about... "Bagels are so good! I love how you can choose from so many different types, like cinnamon raisin, sesame, blueberry, honey wheat--"

"Hi," you forcefully placed the drinks down in front of your friends and succeeded in interrupting Marlene's riveting tirade about bagels, "This is Jimin. He was kind enough to help me."

"Hey, Jimin," Jordan eyed the boy appreciatively, "Decided to scope out the competition, huh?"

"Honestly, sort of," Jimin chuckled. Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, not liking the sly edge his grin took on in the slightest.

"Well, hopefully (y/n) didn't give much away," Olivia giggled, staring up at Jimin with heart eyes, "She's our team leader."

"Damn straight." You plopped back down in your chair, "Want to sit with us? We can grab an extra chair from a nearby table."

"Nah," Jimin glanced over his shoulder at where his teammates were probably still staring, "I should get back. Want to hang out after trivia though? We can merge tables!"

Before you could even answer, Marlene enthused, "Yes! That would be so fun. Don't you think, (y/n)?"

You gave her your most lethal side-eye, catching onto what seemed to be happening here, "Yes... so fun."

"Great!" Jimin ignored your dry tone, "Talk to you later then!"

You all watched as he sauntered away.

"Damn," Olivia sighed, "That boy is fine." You nodded sagely as your eyes stayed glued to Jimin's firm ass as he walked away in those tight jeans.

"So, what's the plan, team?" Jordan clapped, "We have T minus twenty minutes to get 'Operation Get (y/n) Dicked Down' up and running. Let's do this."

God, you hated your friends.

Twenty minutes later, your team had solidly lost. However, unlike the last two weeks, your loss did not come as a surprise or alongside any hard feelings. You four were too busy prepping to hang out with seven intimidatingly hot boys.

You were the only one not excited.

“And that concludes trivia for tonight, folks,” the bartender announced, “Team Text Us, We’re Single wins once again. Please come to the bar to collect your bar credits, lads.”

“Oh my god, okay, it’s happening,” Jordan bounced up and down in his seat as you all watched the bar start to clear out, “Stay calm. Stay fucking calm.”

“I don’t know how you have any room to call (y/n) and I nerds while you straight up quote The Office, Jord,” Marlene laughed.

“The Office is an Emmy award-winning show,” Jordan sniffed, “Come at me when Harry Potter wins a Pulitzer.”

“The Pulitzer is only for American authors,” Marlene cried.

“I rest my case,” Jordan lifted his glass.

“What?” Marlene yelped, “That makes literally no sense.”

“As much as I hate to interrupt this fascinating argument,” Olivia drawled, “We’re being summoned.”

You gulped, glancing behind you. Sure enough, Jimin was flagging you all down from across the bar, while a few of his teammates dragged over an empty table towards their own.

“Shit, I guess this is it,” you sighed.

“Jesus, you’re not going off to war, (y/n),” Jordan rolled his eyes, “You’re literally about to meet the your trivia daddy.”

“Please— and I cannot stress this enough,” you paused, “Never say that again.” With that, you stood, grabbing your drink and sauntering over towards Jimin with all the confidence you could possibly summon.

You heard your friends’ laughter behind you, and you discreetly flashed them the middle finger behind you back.

“Hey, Jimin,” you smiled at the boy as he greeted you and your friends.

“Hi, welcome!” His eyes were completely encompassed by his cheeks, and you internally screeched at his cuteness.

“This is Taehyung,” Jimin gestured to the curly-haired boy to his right. Taehyung greeted you all with a deep ‘Hi’ and a peace sign.

“Yoongi,” Jimin pointed towards the intimidating boy you noticed earlier with the bleached hair and the headband. Yoongi only nodded in your general vicinity as greeting.

“Hi, I’m Jin!” The stunningly handsome boy at the end of the table burst out, evidently unable to wait until he was introduced. Jin blew you all a kiss as his friends groaned.

“Please ignore him,” Jimin rolled his eyes before moving on, “Those two are Hoseok and Jungkook.” Jimin gestures towards the bar where two boys were collecting two pitchers of beer.

“And, last but not least, our trivia leader Namjoon,” Jimin’s grin turned devious as the boy in question raised his hand in greeting and ducked his head back down.

“Please sit,” Jimin gestured towards the scattered empty chairs amongst his group.

“(Y/n)!” Jin called suddenly, his arm flopping frantically in the air, “Come sit next to me!”

Your eyebrows shot all the way up as your heartbeat accelerated. Sitting next to Jin meant sitting next to Namjoon - your Dimples.

Nodding, you made your way over. It would be rude to refuse his request, and you could not help but wonder if Namjoon’s friends were also schemers.

You rounded the corner of the table and plopped down between the two boys. “H-hi,” you offered, eloquent as ever. You sipped your beer to cover up your burning embarrassment.

“Hi,” Jin grinned at you, “Thanks for joining us at the handsome end of the table.”

You choked on your beer, before cracking up, “The handsome end?” You loved this boy already and couldn’t resist the urge to tease him, “Oh, you meant Namjoon.” You shot the boy you just mentioned a sly smile as Jin spluttered.

Namjoon cocked his head slightly as he slowly broke into a shy smile, “Yeah, he definitely did, (y/n).”

Lord Almighty, the way he said your named almost sounded like a confession.

“Oh, this is insane, you fools!” Jin shook with incredulity, “I am worldwide handsome. Not Namjoon. Ugh, I need new friends.”

Jin stood and skulked over to the other side of the table as you all laughed. He was so extra, you could already tell. However, his antics had done wonders for your nerves.

Turning back to Namjoon, you leaned in closer, “Did he just make an Always Sunny reference? Or was that just me?”

Namjoon nodded, eyes glinting in amusement, “He did. You watch that show, too?”

Your conversation delved into your favorite shows, your favorite movies, your favorite meals. You felt like you had known Namjoon forever with how comfortable you already were with each other. Yet, you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes strayed to your lips every so often or how his hands crept closer to your thigh with every parting word.

The boy was into you. You were almost 85% sure of it. So, you decided to test him.

In the middle of Namjoon’s story about the time Jungkook almost burned down his apartment complex, you slid your hand over his. Namjoon paused, and you looked up innocently. He gulped and continued.

You smiled viciously on the inside. Your fingers played with his, intertwining with them, playing with his rings, brushing over his palm.

As Namjoon’s story drew to a close, you tugged his hand onto your thigh and released it. Nonchalantly, you picked up your beer and took a sip.

Shooting the boy a quick glance in your periphery, you found him staring openmouthed at his own hand encompassing your thigh. He gave your thigh a tentative squeeze, and you hummed in content. His eyes shot to yours.

���W-what are you doing?” Namjoon’s pupils were dilated as he blinked at you.

“I just wanted your hand on me, Joon,” you pouted, “You can take it off if you want.”

You moved to shift his hand off you, but his grip tightened. “I like having my hands on you, (y/n),” he said, his voice deeper than ever, “I also like you calling me ‘Joon’.”

“Two more things we can agree on,” you smiled at him, stomach full of butterflies and anticipation. Glancing around you, you realized that your friends were dispersed throughout the bar.

Marlene, Jordan, Hoseok, and Jungkook were dancing wildly in the middle of the bar’s tiny dance-floor. Jimin and Taehyung were bothering the DJ to presumably keep playing an assortment of random songs from the early 2000s. 

Olivia, Yoongi, and Jin sat at the bar, watching the others and laughing as Jungkook kept hitting the whoa no matter what song played. Currently, he was hitting the whoa to Baby Got Back.

Turning back to Namjoon, you find him looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“What?” you questioned, eyes searching his inquisitively.

He shoved a hand through his messy hair. “You’re so intimidating, (y/n). You’re so smart and beautiful, and it messes with my brain.”

“You’re intimidated by me?” You arched an eyebrow before smiling sweetly, “I promise I don’t bite… Unless you want me to.”

“I do,” he answered automatically. You both paused. His eyes widened comically, “F-forget I said that.”

“You want me to bite you, Joonie?” You sighed into his ear, relishing in his shiver, “You want me to mark your pretty skin?”

“Yes,” he breathed out.

“Okay,” your mouth descended to his neck, searching for a weak spot. His breath hitched as your mouth neared his thrumming pulse point. Bingo.

You placed an open-mouthed kiss onto his warm skin before sucking lightly. Namjoon moaned, shifting in his seat. 

You bit down, and his hips bucked instinctively. Pulling back slightly, you licked over the mark that was slowly blooming on his neck.

The clear imprint of your teeth on his neck had you grinning like a fool. You really wanted to own this cute, shy, intelligent boy.

You looked up at Namjoon. He was watching you with his puffy lips parted, his breathing hard. “Can I kiss you?” You asked, eyes focused on his. He nodded frantically, and your lips tugged up in a small smile.

Slowly, you inched your mouth closer towards his. Your breaths mingled. You pressed your lips to his gently and wrapped your arms around his neck.

You kept kissing Namjoon until you finally had to come up for air. Leaning your forehead against his, you locked eyes, breathing each other in.

“Can I sit on your lap, Joon?” You asked in between peppering kisses on his reddened cheeks.

After getting a nod in confirmation, you straddled his lap and returned your lips to his. The small part of your brain still thinking rationally reminded you that you were in a very public bar. The much larger and irrational part of your brain urged you on as your hips shamelessly grind onto Namjoon’s. The hardened cock that you felt through his jeans was too tempting. And, besides, exhibitionism was fun, right?

You bit down on Namjoon’s bottom lip, and he thrust against you.

You broke away and turned your head to the side, needing another moment to breathe. Namjoon began to kiss your neck, and you let out a small laugh as he nipped at your skin. He was marking you right back.

Namjoon lifted his head again as your lips parted. His face was inches away from yours. He stared at you like a starving man.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon said lowly, “I’m beginning to think you might be the devil, because you just snatched my soul.”

You stared at him. “That was so goddamned cheesy.” Your giggles made him turn an interesting shade of maroon.

“I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Jin-hyung,” you heard him mutter before you captured his lips once more.

As you kissed, his fingers slowly inched downwards, caressing you. You decided then and there that you would have this boy.

“Undo my jeans,” you commanded after pulling away from his mouth. His eager fingers dropped to your zipper, fumbling in their haste. Once your jeans were undone, you felt him hesitate. You instructed him, “I need your fingers.”

He thrust a finger into you. “Mm, Joon,” you dropped your head into the crevice of his neck as he pumped another one in, stretching you. His fingers curled inside you, as you shifted your hips.

“Rub my clit,” You demanded, and he pulled his fingers out and circled it immediately. You moaned at both the new sensation and at the loss of his fingers inside you. “Keep your fingers in me, use your thumb.” You gripped onto the back of his head, pulling on his hair in punishment.

His fingers thrust back into you without warning as his thumb circled your clit. You felt yourself clenching around him, so close to coming just from his hands. Still, you needed more. You were definitely a greedy bitch.

You pulled his hand from your pants, and he stared at his fingers, which were sticky with you. You watched enraptured as he lifted his wet fingers to his lips and sucked.

His eyes widened, “Fuck, (y/n), you taste so good. You have to let me eat you out. You need to let me put my head between your thighs. Please.”

“Bathroom,” you gasped out, “Now.” You shimmied off of Namjoon’s lap and onto shaky legs.

“Follow me in one minute,” you kissed his cheek and tried your best to casually make your way to the bathroom. However, you were pretty sure you had already blown all efforts to be casual as soon as you sat on Namjoon.

Finally, you entered the empty single-stall bathroom and let out a sigh of relief.

Two seconds later, a knock sounded. You barely opened the door wide enough before Namjoon was all over you. His hands gripped your ass as he backed you against the wall next to the sink.

He gazed down at you with hooded eyes, “You still want this, right?”

“Yes, Joon,” you leaned up to kiss him one more time.

Namjoon sank to his knees before you.

You audibly moaned at the sight. Quickly, you tugged your jeans down your legs and kicked them to the side. Your underwear followed suit.

Namjoon cursed lowly as you lifted a leg onto the ledge of the sink, baring everything to him. “Well,” you smirked, “You wanted to put that smart mouth on me.”

“You are going to kill me,” he muttered. His hot mouth closed over your clit. Parting your lips, he caressed you as he sucked and licked. His fingers thrust into you once more, pulling out slowly then pummeling back in.

“Harder,” you moaned. He fucked you faster, adding another finger, stretching you.

He pulled his mouth away from you, his lips swollen and pink. “How the fuck can you taste this good?” He panted as he carried on fucking you with his fingers, grabbing at your ass with his free hand.

His mouth returned to your pussy, circling your clit with his tongue and moaning against it. His fingers continued to push into you relentlessly.

You felt your toes curl as your orgasm approached at a maddening rate. “J-Joon,” you cried his name, your back arching as the pleasure built up with each stroke of his tongue and movement of his fingers.

Without warning, he sucked on your clit harshly, and you came, clenching around his fingers. Namjoon continued to pump them in and out of you, carrying you through your orgasm. He licked your pussy, lapping up everything you gave him with his tongue. After a bit, your fingers wound into his hair and pulled. “Stop,” you begged, legs shaking with overstimulation.

He pulled back immediately and lifted his head, looking thoroughly fucked-out. His lips were more swollen than ever. His hair was a tangled mess. You had never seen anything better. “God, you look so sexy right now,” you mused, reaching a hand to stroke at his cheek.

“Are you guys finally done in there?” You cringed as Jordan’s amused voice shouted at you through the bathroom door, “You have work tomorrow, (y/n).”

“Jesus H. Christ, Jordan! Go away!” You screamed back at your infuriating roommate.

“…I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’,” he replied, laughing, “See you out there, champ.”

“I’m going to murder him,” you seethed, accepting your jeans from Namjoon who held them silently out to you.

You scanned the floor of the bathroom, “Wait, where’s my underwear?”

Namjoon’s cheeks flooded with color as he lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck, “I needed some form of reminder of tonight.”

You shrugged, giggling as you tugged on your jeans, “Let’s make a trade.”

“I’m listening,” he grinned, goddamned dimples popping out and making you want to kiss him forever.

“You keep my panties; I keep you,” you grinned back at him.

He blinked rapidly, “Keep me?” You nodded, nerves erupting. Had you misread the situation? Did he just want this to be a one-time thing? Shit, had you royally fucked this up already?

He kissed you suddenly, and you relaxed.

“Please keep me,” he mumbled, “I’m a mess, but I can be your mess if you’d let me.”

“We can be messy together,” you gripped his hand in yours, “Now, come on. We have to go face our friends.”

Namjoon gulped, looking rightfully terrified at that prospect. “Or we could sneak out the back?”

A smirk wound its way onto your face, “I really do like the way you think, Joonie. Let’s go.”

With that, the two of you snuck out of the bathroom and out the backdoor of the bar.

“I knew it!” Marlene and Jimin greeted the two of you with triumphant fists thrust high in the air. Jimin whipped his phone out before you or Namjoon could even say a word. “Hey, hyung? Yeah. They’re out here.”

Ignoring the gloating pair, you turned to Namjoon, “We could still make a run for it?”

He met your eyes; and, without a word, you both took off.

Shouts of your names followed you down the dark alley as you both cracked up. This was definitely not how you had pictured your typical Thursday trivia night to go down, but you were not disappointed. No, you shot the boy running beside you an affectionate look, you weren’t disappointed at all.

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[numinousnic]

THE MOBY-DICKSCUSSION, PART VI Chapter 106 — Epilogue

I’ve finally made it through the Whaliad! (I still haven’t made it through my backlog of sea shanty albums on Spotify, but I am still very committed to making that playlist.) And I finally got to the moment that I’ve been waiting for for approximately 132 chapters: the appearance of the White Whale himself! (More on that in a moment.)

Anyway, now that Ishmael’s finally done talking about cetology, we learn that Ahab was in such a hurry to get off the Samuel Enderby and get back onto Moby Dick’s trail that he wrecked his ivory leg: again. At least this time it happened in an understandable way!

… it had not been very long prior to the Pequod’s sailing from Nantucket, that he had been found one night lying prone upon the ground, and insensible; by some unknown, and seemingly inexplicable, unimaginable casualty, his ivory limb having been so violently displaced, that it had stake-wise smitten, and all but pierced his groin; nor was it without extreme difficulty that the agonizing wound was entirely cured (Chapter 106: Ahab’s Leg).

One: how?? Two: I am really trying to not think about what happens when an ivory leg nearly pierces one’s groin. Three: no wonder Ahab spent the first leg of the Pequod’s voyage holed up in his cabin (you never think Melville’s going to answer these questions, and then he does!)

… the gods themselves are not for ever glad. The ineffaceable, sad birth-mark in the brow of man, is but the stamp of sorrow in the signers (Chapter 106: Ahab’s Leg).

Oof. Man, Melville.

The return of Moby-Dick: The Play/Dramatic Monologues (as occasionally written by Herman Melville)! I really enjoyed the conscious theatricality of Chapters 36-40, and I still very much enjoy its sporadic return in the last section of this book. (On a semi-related side note: my professor brought up the idea of Moby-Dick being retold as a fourth-wall-breaking comedy in the vein of The Office or as an utterly bonkers VICE-style documentary, and I really want both of those to be a thing now.)

The Ahab-Starbuck showdown is hilarious, until it’s not. It goes from this snappy screwball comedy dialogue —

“What we come twenty thousand miles to get is worth saving, sir.” “So it is, so it is; if we get it.” “I was speaking of the oil in the hold, sir.” “And I was not speaking or thinking of that at all” (Chapter 109: Ahab and Starbuck in the Cabin).

— to Ahab pulling a musket on Starbuck and yelling that “there is one God that is Lord over the earth, and one Captain that is lord over the Pequod.” (To quote Ron Burgundy: that escalated quickly.) But Starbuck holds his own, uttering an incredibly insightful and biting comeback:

“Thou hast outraged, not insulted me, sir; but for that I ask thee not to beware of Starbuck; thou wouldst but laugh; but let Ahab beware of Ahab; beware of thyself, old man” (Chapter 109: Ahab and Starbuck in the Cabin).

Again: man, Melville! Thirty-five years before Nietzsche wrote about not staring too long into the abyss, and Melville gets it. Sometimes, we become what we’re trying to destroy, and we destroy ourselves! It really do be like that sometimes!

Top-heavy was the ship as a dinnerless student with all Aristotle in his head (Chapter 110: Queequeg in his Coffin).

This is such a weird-ass simile, but honestly? Very relatable to starving humanities majors such as myself.

Pip pleading with Queequeg to find Pip broke my fucking heart. Even though we don’t see much of Pip before Stubb’s abandonment to really grasp the immensity of the change in him, what we do see is pretty heart-wrenching. Pip’s still beating himself up for being cowardly in the eyes of Stubb and the crew and I just want to comfort him and get him off the Pequod as fast as possible.

Death seems the only desirable sequel for a career like this; but Death is only a launching into the region of the strange Untried; it is but the first salutation to the possibilities of the immense Remote, the Wild, the Watery, the Unshored; therefore, to the death-longing eyes of such men, who still have left in them some interior compunctions against suicide, does the all-contributed and all-receptive ocean alluringly spread forth his whole plain of unimaginable, taking terrors, and wonderful, new-life adventures; and from the hearts of infinite Pacifics, the thousand mermaids sing to them—“Come hither, broken-hearted; here is another life without the guilt of intermediate death; here are wonders supernatural, without dying for them. Come hither! bury thyself in a life which, to your now equally abhorred and abhorring, landed world, is more oblivious than death. Come hither! put up thy gravestone, too, within the churchyard, and come hither, till we marry thee!” (Chapter 112: The Blacksmith).

Melville’s definitely constructing some parallels between Perth and Ishmael here (consider Ishmael’s introduction all the way back in Chapter 1). Makes you wonder what particular sorrows Ishmael left behind on shore.

Okay, I’m going to call it now and say that Ahab’s forging of his Extra-Special Moby Dick-Killing Harpoon is honestly the most Extra™ he gets. Case in point: his bloody baptism speech. My high-school Latin’s a little rusty, but I remember enough to confidently translate it as: “I do not baptize you in the name of the Father, but in the name of the Devil!” (Like I said: Extra™.)

The Pequod’s encounter with the Bachelor is the funniest thing and also the most egregious missed opportunity in the whole novel. Honestly: how many of the Pequod’s problems could have been solved if the crew just spent a week on the party boat drinking and living it up, and then they all sailed home? Unfortunately, Ahab doesn’t want to spend time on the party boat, because he doesn’t do parties the captain doesn’t believe that Moby Dick exists and Ahab is Not Having It.

Ahab: you don’t find loopholes out of prophecies, especially if they’re dire prophecies concerning your death. The prophecies will find the loopholes for you and utterly fuck you over; that’s how these things work. It’s the biggest Shakespearean trope there is.

There’s a lot of drama going on during this big-ass typhoon, but easily the most dramatic thing is Starbuck grabbing the musket that Ahab previously threatened him with and contemplating killing Ahab in his sleep to save them all from this madness. And he doesn’t, but… he probably should have? (But I will grant Starbuck this: the logistics are not great either way.)

Ahab’s sort-of-adopting of Pip is... unexpectedly sweet? (Mostly because someone is finally recognizing Pip’s plight.) It’s very much a Lear-Fool sort of relationship — they’re both alone in their respective madnesses and weird perspectives, but they find in the other someone who sort of understands them.

Two more meetings with ships — the Rachel and the Delight — and neither of them are as fun or uplifting as the meeting with the Bachelor. The captain of the Rachel is looking for crew he lost while pursuing Moby Dick — his twelve-year-old son among them — and pleads with Ahab for assistance in searching for them, appealing to Ahab’s own fatherhood (bet you forgot that Ahab’s married with a child!), but Ahab is too close now to give up on the chase. And as for the Delight, which is certainly no delight to be on, they’re burying their dead crew members who were recently killed by Moby Dick. So, much like all the other ships the Pequod has Gammed with: this doesn’t bode well for the Pequod.

And… Ahab has some doubts about his revenge quest? Just now?? But still, Starbuck seizes the opportunity to try and talk him out of it, appealing on behalf of both their families (Ahab and Starbuck as dramatic foils: discuss). But the scary thing is, Ahab’s not entirely sure he can stop chasing Moby Dick.

“What is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I” (Chapter 132: The Symphony).

So he doesn’t.

… And then, of course, Moby Dick himself surfaces (finally) and the Pequod spends three chapters chasing him, despite Ahab’s boats getting dashed to smithereens and Ahab losing his brand-new fake leg. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t go much better than that. Moby-Dick sinks the Pequod, Ahab dies trying to kill Moby Dick, and everyone else dies. Everyone, that is, except for Ishmael, who, as we learn in the Epilogue, is saved in the most bittersweet way possible: by clinging to Queequeg’s almost-coffin, which got repurposed into a life-buoy, until the Rachel picks him up, having still not found her missing crew members — only, as Ishmael says, “another orphan.”

It’s heavy, poignant stuff. But it’s an appropriate ending for the whole novel. When it comes to the classic Man vs. Nature conflict, Nature usually comes out on top.

Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago (Chapter 135: The Chase — Third Day).

[melodiaemfrp]

hi modcats. its xanthe doing some spring cleaning. its july 5, im here on this tumblr. i would like to drop the informant from end roll, defining song dull grey dolore, housed in hands 5. and i would also like to drop richter (ainchase ishmael) from elsword, defining song 13 Angels Standing Guard ‘Round the Side of Your Bed (christ), housed in hands 6. fucker literally hasnt said a single word. thank you!

hi xanthecat.

i've taken the shot for you. (salutes)

~ SCRIBE CANTABILE

[oneshul]

Toledote: At Home with Isaac and Rebecca: The Middle Years

(Night in the Desert. Isaac sits alone at a campfire. He drinks slowly from a cup of spiced wine, pokes at the embers of the dying fire, and soliloquizes.)

 Isaac: Father is dead; his chief steward, Eliezer, is also dead. I am alone. Alone as a stone. Just me and this—this wineskin (drinks; the cattle low, moo, meh, and baa) Oh, silence, you—you—woolly fools! Fine company you are, for a master shepherd like me…. Where was I?

Ah, yes: Poppa is dead—and how am I to continue his destiny? I have also heard the Voice of El-Shaddai, the Stander on the Mountain, telling me that I will be “as numberless as the stars of heaven.”(looks up; tries counting the stars) two, three, ten, thirty-four—oh, what’s the use?  Truth to tell, El-Shaddai, or Whatever You call Yourself, I don’t need stars. No (he drinks). After all (he speaks with the careful grace of the truly inebriated), you can’t herd stars; you can’t shear them; you can’t bring them to market in Rehoboth Square. What I need to know (shaking a finger at the sky) is, who will continue the line after me? My strapping son, Esav, that red-haired rascal, or Little Jacob, my deep thinker, so thin that he seems to slip through my fingers when I try to hug him—that Mama’s boy? O’ Nameless One, what a riddle have you posed me! Whom do You prefer? I wish You would choose—(he waits, but no answer comes). Both earth and sky are silent. Well, well, my Father’s God, if you will not help me here, I must wait, and decide myself—but deciding is not my strong suit—let me think (he drinks deeply of the wineskin, leans back against his pillow-rock, and sings softly): “O then let the cannikin clink, clink, clink/ O then let the cannikin clink/ A herdsman’s a man/ A life’s but a span/ Why then, let the herdsman drink!”(He giggles to himself, and sighs)

(A sound from the shadows. Isaac gropes for his shepherd’s-crook, tries to scramble clumsily to his feet, gets as far as his knees) Who’s there, hey? Come and show yourself! (Rebecca crawls from the darkness, pulling her head-covering back from her face) Oh, it’s you, my dear. Come, come, and sit. Have some wine.

Rebecca: If there’s any left in that ‘skin, you mean. It sounds and smells like you’ve been having more than a bit.

(He carefully passes her the wineskin; she sniffs it, sticks out her tongue in disgust, takes a ladylike sip, and shudders)

Isaac (sounding hurt and defensive): Now, my dear, first off, I haven’t had more than a tiny drinky-poo; and, second, it’s no more than I deserve, chasing those nasty little sheep and goats around a hot desert all day.

Rebecca: While I relax in that hot, black,airless goatskin tent, you mean. It’s no picnic for me either, keeping track of those two little boys. What nine-year-olds have you given me! Little Jacob is a dear, always sticking close by his mommy, but our elder, Esav—well, your beloved hellion, Esav, is always running off, trying to shoot that toy bow-and-arrow at the vultures and ravens.

Isaac: Nothing wrong with that. He’s inherited my hunter’s eyes, that boy: he’ll make us proud, one day, as chief of our tribe. He’ll be as big as my brother Ishmael, wait and see. Just feed him plenty of deer meat, the same way I love it cooked: charcoal-broiled fresh over the open flames, juices running down your chin, and well-peppered, smoking from the fire. That will make him hot-blooded and warlike, just like I—

Rebecca (finishing his sentence): --always wanted to be. You know, Isaac, it would be nice if you would spend some time with little Jakey, too. He’s a born shepherd, your son. He was asking me today about how many foals we can expect the camels to bear, come spring. Jacob has a wonderful head on his shoulders: he can figure numbers without using his fingers, and I want to put him to work calculating how much provender we should buy for the herd, come this winter. I know he will be able to do it, your son. Do you think you could give Jakella some attention, too, rather than spending all your time with Esav?

Isaac (not really listening): Yes, Jacob is a good boy—but quiet. Not like Esav. As God lives, how he came crashing through the tent door that day, waving that poor, half-dead quail he snared, when you and I had thought that we could have some quiet time! Ah well, my dear, we really should be going to bed. Esav will be up at the first cock-crow. And the flocks won’t wait….

(The sound of twigs cracking, as if someone is approaching)

Rebecca: What’s that sound? Oh, Isaac, you’re such a fool! I told you we shouldn’t go too far from Rehoboth Village. Everything we need is there, not out here in this uncivilized desert. The grandchildren of Papa’s deceased servants live there—true, they’re not our servants, anymore, but they promised to protect us. They—

Isaac (standing unsteadily, holding his shepherd’s crook in a defensive posture): Never fear, Dearest, I will stand between you and whate’er shall transpire! I am your rock and redeemer, your shield upon the high places; I….

Rebecca: Oh, sit down, you middle-aged fool: you’re drunk (Isaac’s legs give out, and he collapses, dangerously close to the fire). I will go into the tent, and fetch out the poker. I can stand guard while you sober up. I will bring you some guarana-beans to chew upon. Oh, what can a woman do with such a man? (muttering imprecations in her native Aramean, she goes into the tent)

Isaac (mimicking her): “Such a man”! If only—if only you paid me respect, Becky! (He looks at the tent-flap she entered, to make certain that she cannot hear) A man could be driven to drink by such a woman. Oh, to be young again…. But I will see my boy, my Esav, stand as master over all heaven and earth. He is a brave, bold, redheaded hellion, my Esaveleh. So what if Schoolmaster Sar-Baal does not think him clever as—as—Jacob? My Esav will hunt the deserts and hillsides entire, clothed in the leather of a true outdoorsman. I will buy him the finest sword and buckler, bow and arrows, to be found in Hebron Market. He will be the warrior that I never was—that Mama and Papa—and now, this Rebecca, this bossy female, are preventing me from being….

(Suddenly, King Abimelech of the Philistines and his General, Phicol, come into the light. Phicol is bearing a fiery torch.)

Abimelech: Good Evening, Friend Isaac the Hebrew! What are you mumbling and muttering about? I see you have wine by your side. Any to share?

Isaac (scrambling to his feet, but none too steadily, and bowing): Oh, Abimelech, Your Majesty! What an honor to have you and General Phicol grace my humble tent! The wine? (Phicol has picked up the empty skin, sniffed at it, and tossed it away with a grimace) Oh, forgive me, Your Grace! I was having a little—a little—private party.

Phicol (He is a brawny, bluff fellow, who thinks himself clever, but is a thick-headed bully): By yourself? By Ereshkigal, that were a lonely party, indeed! I tell ye, Isaac the Hebrew, had you told me to, I would have fetched along a couple of our finest dancing maidens!

Abimelech: Aye, now that would have been a party worth drinking at!

(They laugh; after some hesitation, Isaac joins in)

Isaac: What business have you with me, this time of night, Gentlemen?

(The three squat down on their haunches; Abimelech plucks a stem of desert grass and chews on it while he speaks, hoping to create an air of commonalty. Rebecca, meanwhile, a worried look on her face, creeps slowly out of the tent, eavesdropping on the meeting, and concerned about his safety.

Abimelech: Well, Ikey, it’s like this, y’see. I’m hearing rumors—and I’m not saying that they’re true—that your shepherds have been shoveling dirt  into our wells (Phicol casually half-withdraws his bronze dagger from its sheathe and turns it, so that it catches the light of the fire). Now, I’m not saying that it’s true, or that it’s not true. But you know, here in these hot climes, water for one’s cattle is rare and precious.

Isaac (suddenly sober, before an accusation): Your Majesty, I can promise you—

Phicol (interrupting): Begging your pardon, My King—to cut to the chase. Now listen, Hebrew. We’ve been letting you people live here, and share the grass of our fields—not that there is all that much. And now, to hear that you’ve taken advantage of our generosity—well, I can’t say I’m surprised. You people have a reputation for all sorts of dirty dealings—pardon me, but I am a soldier, and I speak plainly. Filling in other people’s wells, and such. Shall I bring a couple of squadrons of chariots to attack you, your wife and kiddies? Well, Hebrew? Tell me now, and make it quick.

(He has his dagger out, by now, and is pointing it at Isaac’s throat)

Isaac (fists clenched around his staff, but maintaining his calm and speaking slowly): King Abimelech, may I remind you to muzzle this dog of yours? For hear me, you dagger-bearing loudmouth, I will not stand for this, in the Name of Almighty God!

Phicol: Why, you—

(Phicol makes as if to stab Isaac, but Isaac quickly brings up his staff in one swift movement, , knocking the dagger out of Phicol’s hand, and cracking the soldier on the head. Phicol sinks to the ground, moaning. Isaac stands at the ready to defend himself, holding his staff in front of himself. Abimelech makes as if to pull his own dagger, but Isaac shakes his head, and the king slowly sits down, again.)

Abimelech (trying to make peace): Here now, gentlemen, shall we come to blows over a few blades of grass, a few drops of water? Here, now! Phicol—calm yourself! I say—I order you to retire, Sir!

Phicol (rising and rubbing his head):I do no more than I am commanded, Your Majesty (He salutes, grimaces when his hand touches the lump on his skull, retrieves and sheathes his dagger. On shaky legs, he marches behind his liege king).

Isaac: I will answer, now that I am not threatened—and I declare to you, General: if you bring any armed forces upon my land—land which my father purchased, decades ago, and for which I still hold the deed—I will oppose you, together with four hundred armed servants of my house, and we will defend our homes, our families, and our sacred land. Armed infantry with slings and arrows will be more than a match for your silly horse-wagons. (To Abimelech) Milord King! What do you wish of me, about these wells? As God lives, they are mine: my father dug them, and I maintain them.

Abimelech: We ask only—ask only—that you share them with us. That is—is all.

(Phicol,standing  behind the king, is fuming, but silent, and rubbing his aching head.)

Isaac: Done and done. We are, and will continue to be, good neighbors, Your Majesty. We will dig up and clear out the wells which (looking sharply at Phicol) your soldiers vandalized, by filling them in. However, I will direct my warriors—that is, the protective detail that I will appoint to guard these selfsame wells—to take direct action if your forces threaten them. And, with all due respect, Majesty, do not mistake my courtesy for weakness. Good day (he turns on his heel, and, seeing Rebecca, continues). My Dear, I am sorry that our guests are called away, or they would enjoy some of your homemade—raisin wine, is it? (He hands her his empty wineskin)

Rebecca (staring at the wineskin, and at Isaac): Yes, Husband—I mean, no. (To Abimelech and Phicol) I am sorry that you must leave, Gentlemen; but, my husband is very decisive about these matters. He has more important business to attend than—than yourselves. Good day. (They exit, leaving Abimelech and Phicol alone)

Abimelech (exasperated): Well, I never! These—these—Hebrews! The nerve of them!

Phicol: What did I tell you, Majesty?

Abimelech: Oh, shut up. Can’t you even threaten a man properly? What do I pay you for?

(They exit, unhappily.)

Rabbi David Hartley Mark is from New York City’s Lower East Side. He attended Yeshiva University, the City University of NY Graduate Center for English Literature, and received semicha at the Academy for Jewish Religion. He currently teaches English at Everglades University in Boca Raton, FL, and has a Shabbat pulpit at Temple Sholom of Pompano Beach. His literary tastes run to Isaac Bashevis Singer, Stephen King, King David, Kohelet, Christopher Marlowe, and the Harlem Renaissance.

[els-imagines]

meanwhile, herrscher, the actual lord of the fucking void:

Warning: Profanities. A few. Only one really.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that they have someone with an affiliation to Henir with them. Herrscher already solidified his position in the group, and no one really cared if his body’s dissolving (not really, Immortal threw his shit and worried for days but other than that, it was all good).

Any Henir servants around always stayed clear from Herrscher. It didn’t mean anything really. That just meant the gang had to go through the trouble of chasing after them.

There are times where they are really curious as to why their enemies flee from him and just outright asked him why.

“Hey, Herrscher, what’s your standing in Henir’s realm?” Metamorphy asked one day. The rest of the party was off hoarding the bare amount of enemies spewing out the right.

“I drag everyone to my realm. Pitiful beings who’d rather die then preserve Elria and Ishmael’s gifts.” He answered. Metamorphy frowned at his answer, smacking a monster that got a tad too close.

“Even those monsters?”

“They don’t belong here in the first place.” Herrscher answered again, swinging his scythe in front of them. “Gottvergessen Sense.”

In an instant, monsters around them vanished. Metamorphy hummed. “So, that’s why you don’t just kill everyone.”

“Such an action would blaspheme the laws of the world.”

“Laws?” Nova Imperator walked towards them, raising an eyebrow. “What are you two talking about?”

“Oh, I’m just asking why our enemies are so scared of him!” Metamorphy chirped. “So far, it’s been really enlightening.”

“Huh.” He said, turning to Herrscher. “So, technically you can just scare them off or something?”

“I do have the capability to forcefully bring them back, yes. Unlike your actions that align more on purification with a few exceptions.” Herrscher answered them again. Still emotionless.

“What’s the difference?” Metamorphy asked.

“With mine, they are still aware of their own conscience in the void. With purification, they fade out of existence. With the dark El, they morph into something else.”

“Are you saying these monsters can still grow stronger?” Nova Imperator said incredulously. “Huh…”

He smirked, “That would prove to be beneficial for training before we go to the demon realm.”

“Oh, shut it, Nova.” Metamorphy off-handedly chided him, rolling her eyes. “Don’t go and be like Centy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Centurion.”

“You’re not the one going with him as he stands back and let the portals do the work.” Metamorphy groaned. “It’s really annoying seeing him so smug.”

“If you’d excuse me,” Herrscher stood up,”i have to return to the field.”

“Ah, I’ll come with!” Metamorphy exclaimed.

“I’ll stay.” Nova Imperator told them. “I’ll let you guys wreck more of those things for me.”

“With pleasure!” Metamorphy saluted before chasing after Herrscher. At a distance, seeing the monsters visibly run away from Herrscher merited its own satisfaction. Although, he glanced at the opposite side. He swore that the atmosphere was red with how much blood Queen was releasing while lasers just flew all over the place.

Nova Imperator laughed. “Ah, they’re really crazy.”

[mia99ma-blog]

Abraham

The story of Hagar, wife of Prophet Abraham, father and mother of Prophet Ishmael.

The sacred places of the two mountains Hagar ran from one to the other are now getting off. Also, the area of the blessed water zam zam, which became the well of zam zam, is getting off.

Millions of Muslims every year as part of the sacred pilgrimage, Hajj, repeat the steps of this blessed mother and the visit the blessed well of zam zam.

Read the remarkable story of patience, faith and strength of this wife and mother of a Prophet.

--------------------------------

Hadith 4.583 (Al-Bukhari Hadith)

--------------------------------

The first lady to use a girdle was the mother of Ishmael. She used a girdle so that she might hide her tracks from Sarah. Abraham brought her and her son Ishmael while she was suckling him, to a place near the Ka'ba under a tree on the spot of Zam-zam, at the highest place in the mosque. During those days there was nobody in Mecca, nor was there any water. So he made them sit over there and placed near them a leather bag containing some dates, and a small water-skin containing some water, and set out homeward. Ishmael's mother followed him saying, "O Abraham! Where are you going, leaving us in this valley where there is no person whose company we may enjoy, nor is there anything (to enjoy)?" She repeated that to him many times, but he did not look back at her. Then she asked him, "Has The God ordered you to do so?" He said, "Yes." She said, "Then He will not neglect us," and returned while Abraham proceeded onwards, and on reaching the Thaniya where they could not see him, he faced the Ka'ba, and raising both hands, invoked The God saying the following prayers:

"O our Lord! I have made some of my offspring dwell in a valley without cultivation, by Your Sacred House (Kaba at Mecca) in order, O our Lord, that they may offer prayer perfectly. So fill some hearts among men with love towards them, and (O The God) provide them with fruits, so that they may give thanks." (14.37) Ishmael's mother went on suckling Ishmael and drinking from the water (she had).

When the water in the water-skin had all been used up, she became thirsty and her child also became thirsty. She started looking at him (i.e. Ishmael) tossing in agony. She left him, for she could not endure looking at him, and found that the mountain of Safa was the nearest mountain to her on that land. She stood on it and started looking at the valley keenly so that she might see somebody, but she could not see anybody. Then she descended from Safa and when she reached the valley, she tucked up her robe and ran in the valley like a person in distress and trouble, till she crossed the valley and reached the Marwa mountain where she stood and started looking, expecting to see somebody, but she could not see anybody. She repeated that (running between Safa and Marwa) seven times.

The Prophet said, "This is the source of the tradition of the walking of people between them (i.e. Safa and Marwa). When she reached the Marwa (for the last time) she heard a voice and she asked herself to be quiet and listened attentively. She heard the voice again and said, 'O, (whoever you may be)! You have made me hear your voice; have you got something to help me?" And behold! She saw an angel at the place of Zam-zam, digging the earth with his heel (or his wing), till water flowed from that place. She started to make something like a basin around it, using her hand in this way, and started filling her water-skin with water with her hands, and the water was flowing out after she had scooped some of it."

The Prophet added, "May The God bestow Mercy on Ishmael's mother! Had she let the Zam-zam (flow without trying to control it) (or had she not scooped from that water) (to fill her water-skin), Zam-zam would have been a stream flowing on the surface of the earth." The Prophet further added, "Then she drank (water) and suckled her child. The angel said to her, 'Don't be afraid of being neglected, for this is the House of The God which will be built by this boy and his father, and The God never neglects His people.' The House (i.e. Kaba) at that time was on a high place resembling a hillock, and when torrents came, they flowed to its right and left. She lived in that way till some people from the tribe of Jurhum or a family from Jurhum passed by her and her child, as they (i.e. the Jurhum people) were coming through the way of Kada'. They landed in the lower part of Mecca where they saw a bird that had the habit of flying around water and not leaving it. They said, 'This bird must be flying around water, though we know that there is no water in this valley.' They sent one or two messengers who discovered the source of water, and returned to inform them of the water. So, they all came (towards the water)." The Prophet added, "Ishmael's mother was sitting near the water. They asked her, 'Do you allow us to stay with you?' She replied, 'Yes, but you will have no right to possess the water.' They agreed to that." The Prophet further said, "Ishmael's mother was pleased with the whole situation as she used to love to enjoy the company of the people. So, they settled there, and later on they sent for their families who came and settled with them so that some families became permanent residents there. The child (i.e. Ishmael) grew up and learnt Arabic from them and (his virtues) caused them to love and admire him as he grew up, and when he reached the age of puberty they made him marry a woman from amongst them.

After Ishmael's mother had died, Abraham came after Ishmael's marriage in order to see his family that he had left before, but he did not find Ishmael there. When he asked Ishmael's wife about him, she replied, 'He has gone in search of our livelihood.' Then he asked her about their way of living and their condition, and she replied, 'We are living in misery; we are living in hardship and destitution,' complaining to him. He said, 'When your husband returns, convey my salutation to him and tell him to change the threshold of the gate (of his house).' When Ishmael came, he seemed to have felt something unusual, so he asked his wife, 'Has anyone visited you?' She replied, 'Yes, an old man of so-and-so description came and asked me about you and I informed him, and he asked about our state of living, and I told him that we were living in a hardship and poverty.' On that Ishmael said, 'Did he advise you anything?' She replied, 'Yes, he told me to convey his salutation to you and to tell you to change the threshold of your gate.' Ishmael said, 'It was my father, and he has ordered me to divorce you. Go back to your family.' So, Ishmael divorced her and married another woman from amongst them (i.e. Jurhum).

Then Abraham stayed away from them for a period as long as The God wished and called on them again but did not find Ishmael. So he came to Ishmael's wife and asked her about Ishmael. She said, 'He has gone in search of our livelihood.' Abraham asked her, 'How are you getting on?' asking her about their sustenance and living. She replied, 'We are prosperous and well-off (i.e. we have everything in abundance).' Then she thanked The God. Abraham said, 'What kind of food do you eat?' She said. 'Meat.' He said, 'What do you drink?' She said, 'Water." He said, "O The God! Bless their meat and water." The Prophet added, "At that time they did not have grain, and if they had grain, he would have also invoked The God to bless it." The Prophet added, "If somebody has only these two things as his sustenance, his health and disposition will be badly affected, unless he lives in Mecca." The Prophet added," Then Abraham said Ishmael's wife, "When your husband comes, give my regards to him and tell him that he should keep firm the threshold of his gate.' When Ishmael came back, he asked his wife, 'Did anyone call on you?' She replied, 'Yes, a good-looking old man came to me,' so she praised him and added. 'He asked about you, and I informed him, and he asked about our livelihood and I told him that we were in a good condition.' Ishmael asked her, 'Did he give you any piece of advice?' She said, 'Yes, he told me to give his regards to you and ordered that you should keep firm the threshold of your gate.' On that Ishmael said, 'It was my father, and you are the threshold (of the gate). He has ordered me to keep you with me.'

Then Abraham stayed away from them for a period as long as The God wished, and called on them afterwards. He saw Ishmael under a tree near Zam-zam, sharpening his arrows. When he saw Abraham, he rose up to welcome him (and they greeted each other as a father does with his son or a son does with his father). Abraham said, 'O Ishmael! The God has given me an order.' Ishmael said, 'Do what your Lord has ordered you to do.' Abraham asked, 'Will you help me?' Ishmael said, 'I will help you.' Abraham said, The God has ordered me to build a house here,' pointing to a hillock higher than the land surrounding it." The Prophet added, "Then they raised the foundations of the House (i.e. the Ka'ba). Ishmael brought the stones and Abraham was building, and when the walls became high, Ishmael brought this stone and put it for Abraham who stood over it and carried on building, while Ishmael was handing him the stones, and both of them were saying, 'O our Lord! Accept (this service) from us, Verily, You are the All-Hearing, the All-Knowing.' The Prophet added, "Then both of them went on building and going round the Ka'ba saying: O our Lord ! Accept (this service) from us, Verily, You are the All-Hearing, the All-Knowing." (2.127)

[extentstudio-blog]

Learn to love each other. I've been on both sides of this and both have their discrepancies. Everyone has a set of belief standards no matter what set you claim. The question is, do your belief standards control you to the extent of hurting others? What of #loveyourneighbor ???? #Repost @killermike • • • • • When u see a bunch of dumb ass WASP Christians who worship the same “God of Abraham” u do yet their dumb ass is protesting your version what do u do? U strike a club pose on their Heaux ass like a Boss ass Queen is what u do. Salutes the sister! 💥💥💥💥💥💥 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥PS Christians: Islam has the Same OG as your crew “Abraham”, he fathered Ishmael and Isaac the forefathers of Jews and Muslims. Islam unlike the other member of the Big Three actually believes Jesus existed and was a messenger of God although he was not the “Son of God” in their version. 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥 Last but not least if Jesus did exist he wuda looked more like her cousin than yours. 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥 I pray all y’all white people worshipers (i don’t rock with any of the BIG Three but it’s love) have a dope day. Salaam and Salutes to @shaymaadarling! #triggerwarningwithkillermike (at Central Oklahoma City, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma) https://www.instagram.com/p/BwrnAGyA-qK/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1iihrooqt52r0

[bad-end]

the empty man | elsword: psychopass au | 1/14

summary: Lord Knight and his adventures within the ishmael system governed city of Elrios. 

characters (in order of appearance): ee, ath, lk, cra, dl, ch, rf

On a set of stairs the man in the long coat rises from his seated perch. Patting his pants, he climbs to his feet and begins the slow descent down with his hands in his pockets.

The blue haired detective of the first division of the public security bureau stands at the base of the stairs. He grips the Dominator tight, and raises it to where the resounding footsteps in the tower originate. The smiling man does not move, and the words echo only in the inspector's head.

“Crime Coefficient is 0, not a target for enforcement action."

"Tch," The inspector clicks tongue and tosses it aside.

The man finishes descending the stairs and meets him at its base. The two stand directly across from each other, and their eyes lock. Crystal blue and emerald green meet, and sparks dance through their gaze.

"Erbluhen Emotion." The blue detective growls.

"Arme Thaumaturgy," The man replies nonchalant and unaffected, "Are you here to kill me?"

The inspector's eyes narrow.

"I'm taking your head and bringing you into justice."

The rain pounds on Elrios and drowns the city in a blanket of water.

A single youth runs through the streets, mindless of the downpour. His breaths run ragged and heavy, but he's in a hurry so he can't afford to stop and catch his breath entirely.

He's so terribly late for his first day on the job! How could this happen? How would his co-workers reflect upon him now?

Lord Knight takes a brief moment to check his watch and tries to pick up the pace as much as he can.

A few feet up ahead, he sees the holograms projected by the drones for security clearance. The raindrops clip through the projections and cuts through the giant bobble-headed Phorus costumes. Lord Knight comes to a stop at the foot of the familiar creatures.

Sighing a breath of relief, he digs around for his badge and ID. “I’m with the MWPSB, please let me through!”

There was a time when he thought those things were comforting and protective of their society, it’s strange to be on the opposite side of that now and to be the one doing the protecting. That being said, it's definitely more exciting to be on this side than the other. To be the one doing the protecting made Lord Knight feel good about himself.

“Excuse me,” Lord Knight calls, squeezing past the drones and into the tent, “Are you Arme Thaumaturgy?

The blue haired man standing in the makeshift tent turns to the sound of his voice, “Lord Knight, right?”

He nods and salutes. “Yes, sir. I'm sorry I'm late.”

“No matter. I'm sorry to drag you out so soon after your graduation, but we’re short on manpower, so I can't afford to treat you like a newbie.” Arme turns his head to look at the truck now pulling into the courtyard. Lord Knight watches quietly, remembering now that the trucks are supposed to carry their other team members, the ‘Enforcers’.

“Don’t think of the people you’re about to meet as human like us,” His superior warns, throwing him a blue, waterproof jacket.

As Lord Knight pulls his hands through the sleeves, the doors to the armored truck open with a steaming hiss, and four suited individuals step through in a single file line.

“They’re latent criminals, just like the people were about to go after.”

When they stand in front of the truck and begin walking towards the two inspectors, Lord Knight’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Sis-“

The red haired woman breathes in a sharp breath of shock. Her face lights up in surprise that mirrors his.

As she gasps, a tall man beside her whistles. Lord Knight watches his gaze change from peering at her to looking at him.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Avenger that surprised.”

“Nice to meet you, inspector. I’m Deadlord.” He puts an arm around Arme Thaumaturgy’s shoulder, which Arme proceeds to shove off. “Looking forward to looking with you.”

Lord Knight smiles. Dreadlord seems well-meaning, if not a bit rough. “Yes, me too.”

The last man steps out of the truck is a tall man with black hair and a single streak of white. “I’m Reckless Fist. It’s a shame you got assigned to a job this bad right off the bat. Would have been nice to have an easier job than this.”

A small girl pokes her head out from Dreadlord’s side, wedging herself between Arme and Dreadlord. She pulls on her hood so it no longer covers her face. Finally, she looks up at him and sticks out her hand. “I’m Chiliarch. I hope you’re not as stiff as Arme is!”

She’s even smaller than Lord Knight. Incredulous at the notion that the girl could possibly be a latent criminal, he looks at Arme Thaumaturgy for an answer.

“Check her Crime Coefficient if you’re unsure.” Arme Thaumaturgy avoids his eyes. “I’m cutting your reunion short. Let’s get going.”

A cylindrical drone rolls up to them at the entrance of the tent. It unboxes itself to reveal six guns in the case. As everyone picks up one of the guns, Lord Knight stares at the box that had his name on it.

“Use Ishmael’s eyes and calmly bring the target to justice.” Arme reminds him. “Reckless Fist, Crimson Avenger, come with me. Chiliarch, Dreadlord, pursue from the other direction. Lord Knight, your job is to simply supervise them. If anything happens, you will be held responsible.”

“Yes, sir.” Lord Knight’s reply comes off a little too stiff and nervous. Dreadlord pats his shoulder.

“You could stand to go a little easier on him, Arme. It’s his first day on the job.”

“We have a suspect to apprehend. If you care so much for going easy on him, why don’t you make sure you or Chiliarch fire the Dominator so Ishmael doesn’t have to?”

“Sounds good, will do.”

Arme makes a noise of frustration at Dreadlord’s flippant reply.

Lord Knight seizes the handle of the last Dominator in the box and swallows.  A series of holographic screens flash before his eyes, all his information, his ID with the MWPSB, and his own mental state is reflected in those screens. A clear, soft pink Psycho-Pass stares him in the face.

Then, finally, the single cross-hair comes into his field of vision. Ishmael’s voice projects itself directly into his head. “Approach calmly and bring the target to justice.”

When he looks up, Arme, Reckless Fist, and his sister are gone, and Dreadlord waits with Chiliarch for him to get ready. He grins at Lord Knight, and Lord Knight nods in confirmation. "Ready to go.”

Chiliarch’s cheerful voice fills his ears through his headpiece. “Just leave it to us. If it gets bad, we’ll fire the Dominator before you can.”

They sneak into the alley where Ishmael’s agents, the drones, will not reach. Dreadlord explains quickly that the area was never remodeled properly to get enough electricity to flow here properly and cuts out wireless signals.

The back alleys of this abandoned district of Altera ate power like a black hole ate stars, and a good portion of the people living here still burn gas lights and candles. Yet Ishmael can't make the government demolish the buildings because they can’t relocate the squatters still living there anywhere else. Most of them don't want to.

"Unfortunately, with no drone support, we're on our own-shhh." While Dreadlord waits to see if the coast is clear so they can cross the gap between the two alleys, Lord Knight points the Dominator at Dreadlord’s back.

“Dreadlord. An Enforcer registered with the MWPSB. Criminal Coefficient is 616. A target for enforcement at will.”

616… Lord Knight’s face scrunches. At 300, the Dominator would shoot and completely decompose the target in front of them, at 616… He didn’t think there was anyone with a Crime Coefficient higher than maybe 300 or 330.

“Chiliarch’s the same,” Dreadlord replies, not bothered by Dominator pointed at his forehead. “But you know, if you don’t like how either of us do things, feel free to shoot at us. We’ll try to get out of it, though, so you gotta aim carefully, okay?”

“I won’t-”

“Dreadlord,” Chiliarch’s voice interrupts them. She sounds fearless and mature, losing all aspects of her childish tone. “I found the suspect. He’s surrounded himself with crappy explosives. Who in this age sets up bombs with wicks, still? Umm, there’s something strapped to his chest. Even I can’t survive an explosive blast that bad if I go in that close.”

“Does he have a hostage?” Lord Knight pulls himself out of his stupor.

A scream rings out in the lobby of the apartment building.  Dreadlord curses under his breath. “I wish I was surprised.”

Chiliarch laughs somewhat sarcastically. “I can’t get a clear shot on him that wouldn’t set off any bombs, but he’s near a window.”

On his watch, Dreadlord pulls up a map of the area. Lord Knight sees the blue dot blinking inside the apartment and the red dot in front of a window. “Is he checking behind him at all?”

“No, he keeps looking around frantically, but I don’t think he’s expecting anyone to go through the back.”

Dreadlord motions to Lord Knight in silence, and Lord Knight follows him to another portion of the apartment complex near the window. “I see him. ”

Lord Knight peers over his shoulder into the window where the man is, trembling with a remote control in his hand. He scans the room, and sees the blue glow of Chiliarch’s Dominator. He looks up, and notices the fire alarm.

“Chiliarch, can you get a clear shot on the fire alarm?”

Chiliarch and Dreadlord breathe simultaneously. Chiliarch complains, “Man, it’s gonna suck." but a second later, a loud ringing goes off in the apartment room and drowns it with water.

“I’m taking the shot,” Chiliarch issues a single line of warning, and she steps out from behind her cover.

At Chiliarch’s sudden appearance, the man starts screaming. He waves around his remote control, as if it would actually do something with the water still pouring from the fire alarm. The hostage squirms in his grasp.

“I’ll blow her up, you know? I’ll really blow her up, I’ll-“

“Chiliarch, free the hostage first.”

Perhaps because Dreadlord's voice is a momentary distraction, the bomber sees the opportunity to run. He throws the hostage on the ground and bolts. Chiliarch turns as quickly as she can, and fires the Dominator at the man.

The shot catches him in the arm, and it explodes in a flurry of flesh. It doesn’t stop his panicked fleeing. The hostage, though, like Dreadlord said, she needs to check on the hostage.

“He’s on the run from the front door. I'm checking on the hostage."

“Come on, you heard her.” Dreadlord brings up the map, and they make the rounds again until they see the suspect bolt out the front door of the lobby. Dreadlord begins to run, and Lord Knight runs up to join him.

A few minutes later, Chiliarch’s marker indicates she’s not far behind them.

They chase him until he falls to his knees, and crawls until he can crawl anymore.

Now, Dreadlord realizes that the thing strapped to the man’s chest isn’t a bomb but a camera instead. His face is directly reflected in the lens. Whatever it means, it can't be good for him.

“Put your hands up don’t move.” Lord Knight says as calmly as he can. Dreadlord’s Dominator is calmly pointed at the man’s forehead. Lord Knight imitates the motion.

 “The crime coefficient is 372. Lethal eliminator is activated. Please aim carefully and eliminate the target.”

As Dreadlord goes to clicks the trigger, the man babbles out something interesting.

“I didn’t- the Demons, they made me do it. They-” The man stumbles over himself, breathing heavily from the strain of blood loss and exercise. Whether the liquid on his face is sweat or water or rain is hard to determine. “They said-they said, if I could get my hands on some bombs they would- they could clear my Psycho-pass-”

The man explodes in another spray of blood and guts that only leaves his bottom half behind. The explosion splashes all over Dreadlord’s clothes, and a patch lands on Lord Knight’s cheek. With a laugh, Dreadlord lets his Dominator drop to his side. "Target neutralized."

Ishmael’s voice echoes in Lord Knight's head: “Crime Coefficient is 21, not a target for enforcement. Inspector recognized by the MWPSB.”

Another Dominator in the alley lights up blue. Arme Thaumaturgy steps out from the shadows left by the building. “Lord Knight, I’ll forgive you pointing the Dominator at me as a rookie mistake.”

He addresses Dreadlord, “What was that moment of hesitation?”

Dreadlord shrugs. “Guy mentioned something about ‘Demons’, I thought maybe they would have something to do with the anarchist group in this area.”

“Focus on your mission.” Arme replies coldly, and walks over to offer Lord Knight a hand and then pulls him to his feet.

Lord Knight thanks him, but the dazed confusion is still in his eyes and doesn’t look like it will going away any time soon.

 “Going easy on him after all, huh?” Reckless Fist emerges from the darkness behind him with Crimson Avenger, who runs over to ruffle Lord Knight’s hair. Immediately, by this contact, his features soften and life fills his eyes again.

“I’ll be expecting a report when I get back. Dreadlord, look into the activities of the Demon gang that operates in this area. The rest of you, help Lord Knight produce a satisfactory report.

The rain continues to pour from the sky above. Its drops clip through the holograms the drones project.Police sirens drown out the sound of the rain.

The four Enforcers sit in their usual silence on the way back to the bureau. Their sopping wet clothes drip on to the floor and gather into puddles.

Dreadlord runs his fingers through Chiliarch’s hair as she sleeps on his lap, somehow perfectly content with ignoring how wet they all are from the rain. He watches Chiliarch’s sleeping expression like an older brother would watch his younger sister.

Reckless Fist speaks up from across from him, and Dreadlord only just slightly lifts his head. “If they’re hiring minors to do their jobs, then we’re really in pinch, aren’t we?” He directs the question to Crimson Avenger, sitting beside him as close to the door as possible.

Her red hair covers her eyes and clouds her expression, and what she’s thinking, she doesn’t care to share with the others in the truck.

notes

im so ready for this

[ainchaser]

Blooming Emotion - 2

First Previous | Next

Pairing: Arme Thaumaturgy x Erbluhen Emotion Raiting: T Warnings: Previous references to sex I guess?

Arme has regrets. Lots and lots of regrets. Also Dreadlord keeps the bad ideas coming.

“For the last time Mochi, I told you, I don't want to… to do that. That's not why the goddess made us.”

Mochi didn't understand. Earlier, he had burst into Arme’s room to ask if they could have sex. Arme said he wouldn't mind doing it again afterward, so why-? Why were those blue eyes so cold?

...Maybe he meant something else? Please, goddess… please let Arme mean something else.

“Do what? Be more specific Armeeeee.”

Arme’s face pinked, and he looked away. Mochi stamped down the desire to lean over to cuddle up next to Arme. He really wanted to, but… what if Arme pushed him away? Mochi didn’t want that...

“...That… That thing we did last night.”

He didn't want to have sex after all…

“Ehhh? But you said you liked it Arme!”

Arme scoffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“...W-what? I… I never said anything like that. Don't put words in my mouth.”

Mochi felt a sharp pain in his chest, and he felt wetness gather at the corner of his eyes. Why was Arme being so cruel?

“...B-But Arme… You.. you promised…”

Mochi paused to wipe the wetness away. He desperately searched Arme’s face for any sign of hesitation… any sign the words coming out of those lips weren’t true… Not finding any, icy claws gripped at Mochi’s chest. It hurt...

“... I… I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Arme sighed and pushed himself off of the wall he was leaning against, harshly brushing past Mochi.

“Perhaps you should get your head checked out, you're obviously hallucinating.”

Mochi tried to grab Arme’s arm, but the other celestial shook off the grip with ease and slammed the door. The loud noise kept echoing in Mochi’s ears, amplifying the fact he was all alone in their room...

The sharp pain in his chest… it kept growing and growing and Mochi didn't know why. Was this pain… was this another emotion?

Mochi didn't think he liked this one, it hurt… What should he do? Something cold dripped down onto his hand. What…?

Tears… These were tears… weren’t they…?

/////

Mochi scrambled to his feet as he heard the door to his and Arme’s room open. Did Arme come back? Eyes lit up as he ran over to the door, tackling whoever was behind it. He and the other person tumbled out of the door in a tangle of limbs, rolling to a stop. Then Mochi got a good look at the person he tackled.

...It… It wasn’t Arme. Mochi felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes again, and crawled off, muttering a hasty sorry as he wiped his eyes.

Arme… He wanted Arme… He wanted Arme to come back and hug him and say he was sorry and-

“Are you crying? Am I really that scary?”

Dreadlord stared up at Mochi from his spot on the floor. Mochi shook his head. That’s not why…

“Hey, Mochi? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Mochi felt a pair of hands wrap around his shoulders, and he was tugged into a hug. The feelings that had been building ever since Arme left him came out in a rush.

“IhadsexwithArmelastnightandhesaidhelikeditsoIaskedifwecoulddoitagaintodayand-”

A gloved hand pressed over Mochi’s mouth, forcing the flow of words to stop. Dreadlord ran a free hand through his hair and sighed.

“Slower, please.”

Mochi nodded and started again.

“I had sex with Arme last night and he said he liked it… so today I asked if we could do it again and he said no… And then he said he never said that he liked it and it hurt and I don’t know why…”

Mochi hiccuped, and leaned against Dreadlord. A gloved hand came up and patted his shoulder a bit awkwardly.

“I'm sure he didn't mean to be such an uptight ass. He just needs to loosen up!”

There was a pause, and Mochi turned so he was facing the half-demon.

“Oh I know, you could share a drink or two with him. That'll do the trick! I think I could even get you a bottle of wine too!”

Would that really work? El, he hoped so. He didn't want Arme to ignore him any more like earlier… If what Dreadlord was suggesting would get the other celestial to stop being so cold, he’d do it.

“What do I do?”

/////

Mochi swallowed as he saw Arme. He didn't want to mess this up again...  He took a deep breath, and approached the other celestial with one hand holding onto Arme’s favorite brand of wine. It was hard to imagine that the argument happened earlier that day…

“Arme!”

The other celestial froze, before turning around. Mochi flinched as cold blue eyes met his. Ah…

Those frigid eyes narrowed, and it was all Mochi could do to hope that their owner didn't pick out his motives.

“Very well.”

A grin pulled at Mochi’s face, and he eagerly led the other back to their room. He placed the bottle on the small end table, and managed to find two glasses. He carefully topped both with the wine, then raised his own glass in salute, before taking.

Ah… this is nice. No wonder why this is Arme’s favorite. But this silence, it reminded him too much of before.

...But what if he said something stupid and made it worse? Maybe he should just stay quiet… Yes, that would be for the best…

Tilting the glass to get the last of the liquid, Mochi kept an eye on Arme. The other celestial was only halfway through his own.

He should stay quiet in case he ruined this but… the silence was suffocating.

“I can see why you like this brand so much.”

There. Something about the wine. That was an okay topic, right?

The other celestial narrowed his eyes, and nodded. The atmosphere reminded Mochi of when he first met Arme: he didn't like it. The awkward conversation, scrambling to get a response from the other celestial that wasn't clipped…

How had that one argument eroded away their companionable relationship?

The conversation trailed into silence. The other celestial had finished his glass, and poured himself some more.

Perhaps after this glass…

Mochi filled his own as well. The other man had good taste.

His breath caught in his throat as some of the red liquid beaded near Arme’s lips. He wanted to lick it off-

Fingers came to rest on Arme’s thigh, gently trailing upwards, another hand cupping his face. Mochi leaned forwards, about to lick that carmine drop off of the other man’s lips-

...And then it all went wrong.

Blue eyes widened, before a pair of gloved hands shoved him away hard enough that he spilled the wine all over the table as he fell to the floor, the other man looming over him.

He was stunned. Why did Arme do that? Those lips that he wanted to kiss turned down into a scowl and a gloved hand cracked onto the table.

“What the the fuck was that?! ...Actually, no. I know what you wanted to do. You wanted to get me drunk so I would do what you wanted, didn't you?! You wanted me pliant and unable to protest!”

Arme’s voice grew louder as he went on. He was so angry, Mochi could pick out the hints of his voice slipping into his spiritual form. No… No, that's not what he wanted…

It was hard to breathe- tears were falling and they just wouldn't stop. He wanted to tell Arme that's not what it was- he didn't mean it like that! But he kept choking on the words. Unaware of his struggle, the other man continued his tirade.

“How dare you consider yourself a servant of Ishmael?! If you were, you wouldn't have tried this preposterous idea!”

He reached a hand out to Arme, but withdrew it. The other would take it the wrong way… The lump in his throat finally cleared enough for him to speak.

“...B-But Arme… I just… I just wanted to fix things… wanted to be with you again…”

The other celestial’s face twisted even further.

“I hate you. You’re nothing more than a disgusting, manipulative liar. Don't come near me ever again.”

Green eyes widened at the accusation. He wasn’t- No!

“No! ...No no no no-! You’re wrong!”

His voice cracked, but he had… He had to do this. The other man opened his mouth and Mochi cut him off.

“I wasn't lying-!”

The sheer volume of his voice made the other man’s eyes widen. It strained his voice, but Mochi continued.

“All I wanted-!”

His screams were cut off by a fit of coughing, his voice pushed to its limit. When he tried to speak again, his voice couldn't rise above a hoarse whisper.

“All I wanted- All I wanted was to be with you-”

He opened his mouth to say more, but all that came out were hiccups. Tears were rolling down his cheeks- he could see the other man didn't believe him, but when he opened his mouth, the only thing that came out were choked noises.

Those beautiful blue eyes… now they were like chips of ice and he didn't want that-!

“The words of a liar are worthless.”

Turning on his heel, Arme stalked out of the room. Mochi scrambled to his feet as hand reaching towards the other. He took a shaky step forward, but stumbled over nothing.

“Arme-”

El, it hurt… Now Arme would never speak to him again… It hurt so much he couldn't breathe-! Darkness crept in at the edge of his vision, it creeping further and further as the seconds passed.

He startled out of his steadily worsening thoughts when a hand came down on his shoulder. Teary green eyes looked up into the face of Royal Guard.

“Deep breaths Mochi.”

Mochi nodded, and took in a shaky breath, before exhaling. The half-demon nodded in encouragement while finger came to rub small circles into his back.

After a few minutes, Mochi’s vision was clearer, and he looked around. He could see Dreadlord by the door rubbing his ear. His eyes wandered, searching for a familiar head of blue hair. He shouldn't hope but…

There! The other celestial was standing as far away as he could from both half-demons, but he was there. Mochi dropped his gaze and hugged his knees closer to himself.

Royal Guard heaved a sigh, and stood up from his place next to Mochi. He then rounded on both of the other men in the room. Before he could think about it too much, Mochi heard the other speak coldly towards Dreadlord.

“What was going through that thick head of yours Dreadlord?!”

The other man held up his hands in a defensive gesture.

“Well, I figured Mr. Straightass over there could use a little loosening up.”

Arme scoffed, but he shut up quickly.

“And it didn't cross your mind that suggesting Mochi hitting on Arme while he was drunk was a bad idea?!” There was a pause, but then the half-demon butler continued. “Don’t answer that, of course you didn't! If you did, this wouldn't have happened!”

Mochi couldn't see Royal Guard’s face from here, but he has a feeling the man was glaring.

“Fine, fine! I'm sorry okay? I didn't mean to make whatever was between you guys worse.”

He heard a sigh, and then the butler spoke to Arme.

“And you, Arme.” His voice suddenly softened, but it was not any less assertive. “Could I have a word with you outside?”

Not waiting for a response, Royal Guard walked out of the room. Mochi heard the door shut after another moment, but he kept his eyes lowered.

He wasn't sure why Royal Guard even cared to clear up the misunderstanding. What was the point?

////

Arme watched Mochi until the half-demon carefully shut the door behind them. What was the point of these… emotions? They seemed pointless and irritating. Extraneous.

...At least, that's what he would like to say. Ever since last night, it was getting harder to believe that and he didn't know why. He even raised his voice to the other celestial. Why? Was it because the other was a liar?

If it was that simple, why did he feel like he had been stabbed when the other tried to take advantage of him? Why did he feel like the knife was twisted when he saw how the other started to scream back? Was he becoming weak?

“I apologize on behalf of Dreadlord. Please don’t be angry at Mochi.”

Arme blinked at the half-demon, before narrowing his eyes.

“Even if it was Dreadlord’s idea, Mochi was still the one who acted upon it.”

The other man sighed.

“I can’t deny that. Dreadlord is not the only idiot there, but Mochi’s intentions weren’t malicious. I understand why you’re angry, but you need to stop shouting at him. Can’t you see he is shattered?”

Anger? Is that what this was? This… feeling. This feeling like Mochi stabbed him in the back… that was anger? How could the other celestial keep all of these useless things straight?

He narrowed his eyes.

“Then perhaps Mochi should be stronger.”

The butler squinted at Arme before sighing. He didn't understand why. If he was shattered, he was broken, and therefore he should work to fix himself.

If Mochi had to deal with these… feelings all the time… no wonder he was so weak. Arme felt fragile with just a few of them.

“Mochi is most likely in love with you, Arme.”

Love? Mochi… loved him? Was that even possible for beings like them…?

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. If love was emotion… then Mochi would probably have the capacity to feel it. But what about himself?

He didn't know. Was this feeling love?

“You should be honest with him.”

“Perhaps…”

The half-demon sighed.

“Just… talk to him soon, okay?”

Arme nodded. He would apologize to the other celestial, but he wasn't sure what to do after that.

Be honest…

[nijjhar]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lP9VQh7NJKw) Attended Jewish Students Sabbath dinner on Friday night. It was Lavish. Thanks.Holy Gospel of our Supernatural Father Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc., delivered by Jesus, the First Anointed Christ of the Most High living God Elohim that dwells within us called “Emmanuel”. He was the First Anointed Light from our Father and Satguru = Christ Nanak, the Second Anointed and Greatest of all the Christs because he had to confront the Kings and Emperors of Darkness of Khatri tribal people against the people of Judah tribe, the Princes of Darkness that Jesus confronted. He came in 1469 and Preached Gospel to Perfection through Five more Lights for 150 years. Still the Darkness couldn’t be comprehended. Then, our Father Himself came in the name of Royal King = Sache Patshah Gobind Rai Ji with His Consort, Shakti, Holy Spirit in the name of “Maha Devan” to sort out the stubborn sons of Satan with sword power. Sons have no authority to take the life but our Father and His Philanthropic Soldiers of Akal Purakh, Khalsas, the Puritans do have. Gospel according to Saint Matt. 6v7-15. Hi,I attended your meeting and your reception was too lavish like killing a fattened calf. It was free but I feel guilty. I live in Reading and the time I reached home it was midnight. However, I do attend your meeting at other centre, which end earlier.I Preach Christianity, which you are not interested. For you Messiah has not come but for me Jesus came again in the name of Nanak in the Punjab and that Golden Temple, of the same size as the Jerusalem's Holiest of Holy or its Replacement, whose curtain Jesus tore from top-to-bottom, from the village Rabbi to Jerusalem High Priest, telling us that from now on, you make direct approach to God through "Logo/His Word" instead of through these hireling dog-Collared hypocrite Priests in Churches worse than the Rabbis - Matt. 12v43-45. You Chosen People are a Nation of Priests, the moral teachers and it is a pleasure to know your views but they are corrupted such as the Abraham-Isaac story against the true one of Abraham-Ishmael story in the Quran. Messianic Jews killed the Gentile Apostles by throwing them before the animals. Today, the unfaithful to Abraham, who was not a Jew but a Semite, and Yahweh, who planted Abraham = Adam and Sarah = Eve in the Garden of Eden, the Promised Land, are getting bundled up for the Final Burning expected in May, 2023 when Israel is 75 years old. For the first 70 years till 14 May, 2018, nobody can harm Israel as Temple was destroyed in 70 A.D. too. Thus, Jews outwardly of flesh or appearances will start rushing to Israel for protection as they did in the villages in 66 A.D. to Jerusalem from being killed.Circumcision was the tribal mark of Abraham to Isaac and his "seed" whilst the Temple High Priests were allowing circumcision to the Gentiles who were not the seed of Isaac. Angel Stephen warned your Syanhedrin not to make Fake sons of Abraham, the super bastard fanatic devils and be noble like our forefather Abraham but your elders killed him. Today, they are your staunch enemies and they will kill you. So, you cannot blame a third person but yourself.Much more about the moral lessons delivered by you in my Youtube videos; channel nijjhar1.For teaching us the moral laws, we should salute the Chosen People. Rajinder Nijjhar If you want to be on my mailing list for articles, please send me your email. My ebook has been published by Kindle. ASIN: B01AVLC9WO In Jesus, we are to be solitary Royal Priests. Test for twice-born:- https://youtu.be/__X89iAI_cE http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/antichrist.htm Flesh + soul = Once-born natural Disciple of the Rabbis Flesh + soul + spirit = Twice-born sensible Labouring son of God Fanatics are super bastard Devils – John 8v44:- http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/seedterr.htm http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/fanbastards.htm Much confused Trinity is explained:- Playlist:- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0C8AFaJhsWyU_oUMJodHvSZGoNDPk5bu John's baptism:- http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/johnsig.docx Please print these pages to understand Baani as well:- Punjabi Book:- http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/pbook.htm http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/trinitynew.jpg

[nijjhar]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_IDn2Mdkk4) Summary of the Chosen People written for the Worthy Ministry Forum.Hi Brethren, The Hebrew name of Jesus is Yashua or Yahshiva. This is made up of two words; Ya or Yah = Yahweh and Shua = Shiva = the Primal Adam. So, Jesus was the First born of Yahweh, the Second Adam and Mary was his Surrogate Mother and Joseph in the line of King David of Judah tribe, a Foster father. I have written a detailed article on the Virgin Birth of Jesus and I attach it. Now, Yahweh is made up of two words; Yah in our Punjabi language stands for to Sire and Weh = Woh = of Him. In short, Yahweh is the creator and Lord of Nature over which the Primal Adam has the authority. If you remain faithful to the Primal Adam or build your covenant with your tribal forefathers, then only you have the protection of Adam and the Creator Yahweh will provide you food to eat through rain. Now, Jacob had 12 sons. Out of the 12, Joseph was the Salt of Abraham in righteousness whilst the other 11 were liars. Jacob loved Joseph for being truthful. The other 11 led by Judah developed jealousy against Joseph and they wanted to get rid of him. So, they sold him as a slave to Egyptians, the Salt of Abraham. As soon as Joseph left the Promised Land, the remaining 11 being not faithful to Abraham and their god Yahweh who planted them in the Promised Land as Adam = Abraham and Eve = Sarah. So, Yahweh stopped rain and made the Promised Land Barren forcing them to leave the Promised Land meant for the faithful sons of Abraham. So, they had to leave the Promised Land or their forefather Abraham kicked them out of his property. This Jesus described in the Parable of the Prodigal son where the younger one is the generation of Isaac and the elder one is of Ishmael, the Egyptians. Father = Abraham. Moses made them faithful to Abraham and so father Abraham, "Father of the faithful" welcomed them with open heart and so, Yahweh gave them the lush green land of honey and milk called killing of the fattened calf. But their nature didn't disappear and by the time of Jesus, they again had become unfaithful to Abraham especially the people of Judah tribe who started Judaism and then became Jews outwardly and by doing so, they again became unfaithful to Abraham and Yahweh, the Farmer, the Tares - Matt. 13v24-30. Jesus was the Greatest Spiritual Doctor sent by Elohim, our Super Natural Father of our super natural self-soul to cure these Saltless people of Judah tribe, the One Lost Sheep out of the perfect 100 and that is why both Angel John, the Baptist, Prophet Elijah (my god is Yahweh), the Last Prophet - Luke 16v16  and Christ Jesus worked hard in the Judea region to redeem them but they killed both of them. The people of Judah tribe were all-in-all in the Temple and in John 8v44, Jesus told them that your forefathers are super bastard fanatic Devils and they took stones to kill him for saying that and they retorted to him by saying that we are not bastards but we are born of the legitimate parents. Jesus said, what you say is true but when you become Jews outwardly, then you cannot build your covenant to Abraham who was of the Semitic race and in races we have tribes and not Jew, Hindu, Sikh, Muslim, etc., the ways of life or the spiritual selves that are never born and they never die. That is during the Holocausts or the sectarian riots worldwide, not a single, Jew, Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Sikh, etc. died but the tribal people of Judah, Levi, Benjamin, Jatt, Khatri, Arorras, etc. that were born and they died. Today these Anti-Semitic Saltless Tares are getting bundled up in Israel with all their Blood money that made them rich for the Final Burning expected on 14 May, 2023; Israel established in 1948 + 70 years of total protection as Temple was destroyed in 70 A.D. and then FIVE years of hard Tribulations matching those of 4 years from 66 to 70 A.D. Israel is a Nation of Priests and through practical demonstrations, they have taught us the Moral Laws. For this we should SALUTE them. Our Super Natural Father Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc. knows better. I will make a Youtube Video on this topic explaining in details and you can watch it on my channel nijjhar1. https://www.worthychristianforums.com/topic/204782-what-yahweh-stands-for/#comment-2511295 My ebook has been published by Kindle. ASIN: B01AVLC9WO In Jesus, we are to be solitary Royal Priests. Test for twice-born:- https://youtu.be/__X89iAI_cE http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/antichrist.htm Flesh + soul = Once-born natural Disciple of the Rabbis Flesh + soul + spirit = Twice-born sensible Labouring son of God Fanatics are super bastard Devils – John 8v44:- http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/seedterr.htm http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/fanbastards.htm Playlist:- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0C8AFaJhsWyU_oUMJodHvSZGoNDPk5bu John's baptism:- http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/johnsig.docx http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/trinitynew.jpg