#i think he even says ‘better the Beholding than the people’s church’

[autoneurotic]

i love how much of a cunt series 1 and some of 2 Jon is. Lensik’s statement on Hilltop Rd, at the end Jon’s like latent schizophrenia and head trauma! what a SHOCK! the one with peter lukas’ dead kid or nephew or whoever, he goes to leave so she can make her statement privately and says as much with THE shittiest little tone in the world. one of the spider ones, the first one w Annabelle i think, he straight up mocks the guy for CRYING when martin interviews him later. almost makes him getting burnt and deribbed and vertigoed and almost skinned and buried etc etc so on and so forth feel warranted

[dearlymrme]

Hi! For the prompts list, could you do 131 with Papa Secondo? I love the idea of him being really soft with his partner when he’s in private (or when he’s high because let’s be real he steals primos stash after a long day of papa-ing), and I think it’s a great prompt for some fun and funky Papa Pitbull content

Thank you for the ask! It was absolutely fun to write. We need more soft Secondo. I have only been high and felt serious effects twice. The first time, it made me feel so comfortable, and the sensation that my whole skin was wrapping me in a warm hug. The second time was from vaping and gave me uncontrollable laughter to the point my stomach was cramping, and I got five minute abs.

Cherry Poppers (Secondo x Reader)

Secondo x Reader || Recreational Drug Use || Age Difference || Daddy Kink || Innocence Kink || WC: 3031

His brothers call him a cradle robber, but neither of them are much better. Primo's wife is thirty years younger than him, and Terzo's current lover is twenty below. Your age doesn't matter much to him, but it does play a part. It's also about the fact that you are very inexperienced. Your friends had called you a prude, you didn't drink, you didn't party, you didn't even jaywalk, brought up by your mother to be afraid of damn near everything that was fun, that was wild and 'outrageous'.

You had realized that you lived your life under a gaslighter and got away. You needed a place to stay to get your life in order, support from people that would encourage you to live. You made new friends, and while you may not have made satanic vows yet, you certainly threw away your old ones. Then you met him. Your innocent but charismatic and eager sense to behold everything labeled 'evil' is what attracted him. Despite being the most inexperienced little swimmer of the church, you toed the water, liked how it felt, and wanted to swim.

You just needed someone to catch you when you jumped into the deep end.

And he was more than eager to be those arms.

He popped your cherry in more ways than one. Alcohol, dancing, sex, and now drugs.

The bed was comfortable, apparently one of the comfiest you had ever been on. He can only imagine the look of confusion of his brothers' faces when they enter their rooms to see all their pillows missing. Said foisted pillows were stacked as a mountain behind him, supporting you both nearly upright but conforming enough to let you relax and sink in them.

He had told you to get comfortable. You had quickly toed off your shoes, removed your borrowed hoodie, which practically ate you, and all but fell on your face into the nest, sighing in bliss. He then brought out the entertainment of the day. A small bong, marble in pattern with rich brown and cream colors, and already loaded.

You stared at the piece with wide but eager eyes. Sat up and then leaned against his side. He chuckled as you made grabby hands and then gently took the glass from him. He then waved the lighter in your face, snatching it out of reach when you tried to take it.

"Never used one before?" He asked, knowing full well you haven't.

"No. But you're gonna help me, right?" He nods and then lets you take the green Bic lighter before tapping his finger gently at the loaded dish.

"Press the lighter to it and let the smoke gather until I say when." He instructs. You swallow your excitement and try not to grin like an over eager kid before doing as he told you.

Now, you watch as a cloud forms inside the glass bowel. He gauges carefully, taking in your fascinated and excited expression as you watch the glass fog.

"That's enough." He taps your knee. "Now, seal your mouth over the top and breathe it in." You do as he instructs and lock your lips around the smooth glass opening and breathe. He bites his lip, picturing your lips wrapped around something else.

The smoke is hard on your lungs, causing a strain that you can't help but cough through it. A cloud of smoke leaves your mouth as you hack.

"Sorry." You choke, embarrassed. Secondo gives a chuckle from beside you, taking the glass from your hands.

"That's alright, ciliegia. Cough it out." He guides, and you try to breathe through it, but it's more a wheeze before it catches in the back of your throat again and you cough again.

He loads it up again. Letting the smoke gather much longer than you did before inhaling deeply. He doesn't cough, though, and you're impressed because it feels like there's something scratching the inside of your lungs.

He blows out a steady stream, and you settle into his side as he leans back against the pillows and lets his head loll. He hums, already a little high, and he feels his body practically turn into liquid as he enjoys the warmth.

"Now, we wait." One of his arms slings over your shoulder. He's casually dressed down, one of his off days, and of course, he spends it with you. He's not wearing his gloves again, and you shudder at the memory of his soft hands trailing down between your thighs, not but a week ago.

You're not the only one thinking about it. Being able to feel your skin against his has his dick quickly stirring against his slacks, and he takes a deep breath through his mouth. Ah, it was that kind of trip.

"Damn brother. I see how it is. Give us the commercial and keep the good shit for yourself."

"You nicked from Primo?" You ask and he huffed.

"He's not going to miss it. Old fart probably won't even notice until it's too late. Besides, who do you think he's growing it for in the first place? Us."

"Us specifically or like, the royal us?" He waves a hand.

"Doesn't matter. It's serving its purpose." He snickers. "For the good of the church." You laugh at his little cheer and lay your head against him. Content and very comfortable all of a sudden.

You run your hand over the bedsheets, and it kind of tickles. The duvet is embroidered with a very ugly gaudy but fancy pattern, clashes yet matches the room so well. Tracing it and catching on the fancy stitching causes your hands to tingle, and you lift one to look over it, and then you slowly begin to rub your fingers together.

It's almost as if you could feel your fingerprints. But your fingertips are just a part of your skin. You're just feeling your skin. The realization that, no, it's not your fingerprints. You just have skin. It seems to be the funniest thing in the world to you because you start to giggle and can't seem to stop.

"I think it might be kicking in." He chuckles and leans over to place a kiss on your forehead. You hum, further sinking into his side as it feels like his whole body has just opened up and enveloped you in a hug, or is that just your skin?

You're high. That's funny. You giggle again. It's funny just knowing you're high and that that's what is responsible for the giggles. Why is this so funny? It's funny that it's funny. You snicker and start to laugh again.

Secondo is now laughing with you and turns your head to place another kiss on your forehead and then leans down to kiss you on your mouth.

What an interesting feeling, his lips gliding against yours. You ruin it by breaking into another fit of giggles.

"It's good, right?" He smiles, earning a very enthusiastic nod. Then he simply stares at you, smiling joyously. It's a good look on him. You're so used to the hard glare and strong lines on his face, but he looks so young when he smiles. He's still staring. You're in the midst of breathing between bouts of girly laughter and looking him deep into his mismatched eyes.

"What?" You ask him, and his smile grows.

He breaks apart loudly and leads kisses behind your ear before nipping on your lobe gently. It sends a spark down below to your naval and has you huffing in quickly building arousal.

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just enjoying the view." He takes advantage of your pause between fits of tittering to capture your mouth again, and this time, you moan into the kiss. His tongue his hot and heavy in your mouth as you attempt to slowly explore it. His kisses are always passionate, always letting you feel your way into what's comfortable and then gracefully leads you into something amazing.

Then you snort as his words finally hit you, and you push him lightly on the shoulder. He playfully attempts to bite your hand, snatching it up as you try to get away and laying kisses on your fingers. They tickle, too.

"Wanna try something?" He asks

"Always if it's with you." Now you're laughing at your own cheesiness.

He reached for bong again and took a deep hit. The water gurgling breaks through the room. It's starting to stink, a combination between the weed and his natural spicy smell. It's not a bad scent, but it'll definitely be stuck to you and your clothes for the rest of the day.

Then Secondo grabs you by your jaw and leans in close. You've seen this in movies. As he blows the smoke in your face, you breathe it in, eyes shining as your lungs complain. You turn away to cough again and hum as it serves to make your head feel heavier and your body hotter.

Secondo drags you back again by your chin and captures you're lips once more. This time you're taking change and he happily allows it. It's still a little clumsy and he knows that's because of the weed, you're a fast learner, you went from 'never kissed a man' to professional in a matter of weeks with his practice.

You hand skims his inner thigh, bumping right up against his cock and he's quickly reminded of just how damn hot this is. Getting you high and taking advantage of you had been the plan of the day but he hadn't accounted on it having this much effect on him.

He mentally grumbles another 'fuck you' to his older brother and breaks the kiss with a loud smack. He hisses against your chin, baring his teeth and grabs your hand as it skirts his knee.

"I'm so hard right now." He admits and then presses your hand directly against his aching dick, straining against the inner seam of his pants.

You murmur his words back to him in a daze and dare to look down at the indent of his cock in his jeans. At the sight, your core tightens and you press your thighs together.

"Can I sit on it?" You ask him because if it feels this good from just him touching you, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like if he was fucking you. You're already wet, the drug has you practically leaking, you can feel the slickness between your folds just from shifting your legs. The action sending spark of arousal further through you and your stroke Secondo's cock through his pants, wrapping your hand around the indention and giving a firm squeeze.

He groans, not expecting you to take charge, and his cock jumps against your palm.

You suddenly feel achingly empty.

"Yeah? You wanna sit on Daddy's cock?" He rephrases the question in a way that has your breath hitch and butterflies fluttering in your chest from his use of the word. Yeah, you want that. Absolutely. The longer you go empty the more desperate you suddenly feel for it. Your pussy clenches on nothing in desire for something. You nod dumbly as your hands go from gripping his dick to fumbling with his button and zipper.

He happily helps you, and together, you pull out your prize. Released from tight constraint of his pants, Secondo gives a grunt of relief and wraps a hand around his member, giving it a firm squeeze. It's flushed an angry red and already dribbling with precum.

He snickers as you thumb at the head for a moment, fascinated by the feeling of wet against your finger. Then you're distracted by the heat of his dick, hot, smooth, and soft the skin is. You trace your hands down to tangle with his thick pubic hair before throwing your leg over his and hovering in his lap. He lifts your skirt, watching as you part your underwear to the side and carefully line his cock up with your entrance.

You sink low enough to pop the head inside of you and have to bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying out how good it feels. Just that small amount has your legs quivering and cunt spasming. You can feel every bit of the bridge between his head and his shaft. It's hot, fascinating at how it feels hotter outside your cunt as your combined heats just melt into one, kinda like what you're doing now.

Secondo hisses between his teeth, hands grabbing at your thighs, but he makes no move to lower you. He has no intention of rushing you. He wants you to experience every bit of this at your own comfortable pace. He needs something to hold, though. If he doesn't have something to at least dig his nails into, he's going to lose his mind.

He blows out steadily through his mouth, nearly whistling before he takes in your appearance. You're flushed, your eyes are puffy and red from the smoke, and transfixed on where your bodies are joined, even though a small amount. You look so cute like this. Trusting him to take care of you, to hold back while you adjust, to help you through the dark water as you figure out how to swim amongst the sharks.

It makes his head spin, the amount of control he has over you. He pushed the first drink into your hand and then more as he helped you figure out what you had a taste for. He helped you let loose, weave and grind your hips against his as he taught you how to dance to that naughty stripper's music, and the again slowly move to something more casual in his office later that night. He's the one that pulled your cute little panties down around your ankles and ate you out for thirty minutes, stretched you out for ten, and then fucked you slow and carefully for what felt like an eternity.

He's getting high from more than just the weed. You were as good as a drug.

"Come on. I thought you wanted to sit on it."

Oh yeah. You did say that.

In one fluid and smooth drop, you take him fully . You croak a low gasp because it's tight with no prior preparation, but you're slick enough and wanton enough that it goes in easy. Your body all but welcomes the sudden fullness, the way your cunt starts to envelope around his prick, smooth skin that feels molten hot against the wet walls of your pussy.

"Fuuuuck. You're so tight." Secondo grunts as you force him to immediately bottom out. His balls, already tight, pressed against the slopes of your ass.

"So full." You describe, almost caught in a dream and press your hand to your lower stomach. You must be imagining it, but you could swear you feel a bump from his cock inside of you.

You reach up and wrap your arms around him, resting your head on his shoulder and just feeling for a moment. Secondo seems to understand this and returns your hug, running his hands up and down your back in soothing motions. It tickles, bursts goosebumps all over your body, and makes you take in tranquil breath.

"Can I move, ciliegia?" He asks you, and you nod before he rolls back against the pillows, bringing you with him as he props his knees up and starts to move.

He gyrates his hips with a meticulous rhythm, a slow ride, he's in no hurry.

You feel absolutely wrecked from the inside out and it was good he was taking charge at the moment because you can barely function properly right now, lost in the sensations of his cock dragging back and forth against your walls. Then he rubs his cockhead direction into your g-spot and you sob in pleasure.

"Shh, it's alright, piccola. Just hold onto me. Hold onto Daddy." Secondo licks his lips and takes in deep breaths, trying as hard as he can to make this last. "I'm gonna take good care of you."

The weed enhances everything. You feel as hot as an oven. He palms your ass and snickers. A literal cake fresh out of the oven. Shit, now he's the one laughing at his own joke.

You want to weep by how stimulated you feel. And when he suddenly starts to laugh, it resonates deep inside your chest while you par him with soft mumbles and whines of pleasure. He dares to thrust, just once, and your body immediately locks up on him as he plucks an intense and long-lived orgasm from you.

It crashes, tearing softly through your stomach and spreading from your limbs and curling your toes. You've never felt one like it before. It's like a movie in slow motion. Secondo grunts, as though pained, and for a moment, you thought you had tightened hard enough around him to injure him.

"Hurt you?" You mumble, brained. Secondo spits another laugh and shakes his head. He sucks in a breath, tenses, and lets out a rattled groan. He hugs you close, so close. Then he arches, tugging you as firmly to his chest as he can. His lips press gentle but firm kisses to your shoulders, nosing your shirt out of the way so he can touch skin.

He stops, and you feel it. You feel his dick jumping inside of you, hard throbs in uneven time as he shoots rope after rope of cum into your soppy wet cunt, directly into your womb. You sigh in bliss and rub your hand over your lower stomach, imaging what it must look like, having his load burning white into the pinks of your cunt.

You sit together like this for a moment, Secondo's eyes half shut as he enjoys your heat for as long as comfortable. Eventually, he's going to have to pull out, but for right now, this is paradise. You then press your lips to his ear and tell him something that's only so damn funny because of how much he considers it.

"We should fuck high as often as possible."

[albertfinch]

Daily Meditations and Affirmations - July 18, 2024

John 15:16  -  Jesus said, "You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit -  fruit that will last.

Ask the Lord to come into your vineyard. Let Him prophetically reveal to you the fruit you are going to bring forth in the future. Enter into His PURPOSE for your life.   We must desire to fully finish the course--in such a manner as to hear the Lord say, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

Our greatest occasion of all time is to walk with God and be His messengers as you bear fruit that remains for His advancing Kingdom in the earth.

Do you understand your Christ identity?

Do you have a revelation of your Christ calling?

Are you beholding the glory of the Lord?

Can others behold His glory on you?

                   Affirmation:

GOD HAS CALLED ME, AND HE HAS AN APPOINTED PLACE FOR ME (MY CALLING IN CHRIST).  GOD WANTS ME IN A PLACE OF DIVINE APPOINTMENTS.  HE WANTS ME IN A PLACE WHERE I CAN DISCIPLE OTHERS IN THEIR SPIRITUAL DEVELOPMENT.

HE WANTS ME IN THE PLACE OF DIVINE MIRACLES, DIVINE PROVISION, AND DIVINE PROTECTION.

"NOW, AFTER this,......Ezra went up from Babylon, and the king granted him all he requested because the hand of the Lord his God was upon him." - Ezra 1:7,6

When does this happen? NOW! This verse says, "Now after this...".  The time is now. God is a now God and this is a now word! It's a now time and a now season.

The Church needs to arise because we are now in a new time!

Do you understand your Christ identity?

Do you have a revelation of your Christ calling?

Do you have a vision?

If not, you better get one! Habakkuk 2:2 says, "Write the vision..." Proverbs 29:18 says, "Without a vision, the people perish." How can God give you provision for the vision if you don't have a vision? Write the vision so you can operate in the PROVISION!

Once you have this godly game plan—a strategy—you can trust God to fulfill it. He will give you more than you ask for, over and above anything you can ask, think or imagine (Ephesians 3:20). There will be so much, in fact, that God has a contingency plan! This is for you to do what you know to be in alignment with God's will with the extra that He gives you—above and beyond your budget—even exceeding your vision!

God trusts you to do what is right. Because He has trusted you with the little, He can trust you with the big! He knows He can trust you with the PROVISION!  He will give you what you NEED to SUCCEED in the "after"!

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY

[aricat7]

🐍Ineffable Intimacy🪽

Chapter one of my Aziracrow fanfiction. Y'all I love this show so much and this is the result of me being utterly destroyed by the season two ending 😁👍🏻

Summary: Crowley tests the waters of reaching new conversational heights.

🔞Eventual smut in future chapters🔞

~~~

Aziraphale flipped through the worn, tattered pages of an ancient book within the downtime of the bookshop. It had been a pleasant and regular Sunday morning, him and Crowley having just returned from a casual breakfast at the Ritz. The first couple hours of seemingly every Sunday here at the bookshop tends to be achingly slow, Aziraphale's assumption being that their customers must be attending church, while Crowley blamed the wasteland start on hangovers.

Earlier at the Ritz, Crowley relaxed with a glass of champagne in hand and claimed to Aziraphale, “One hearty omelet here is enough to revive even the most degenerative alcoholic. Why do you think so many people dine here on Sunday mornings?”

"Crowley, that's absurd!" Aziraphale had protested. "People who dine here have class!"

"Then how the fuck did I get in here?"

Aziraphale shot him an expression that clearly and politely stated 'behave yourself' while he enjoyed his crepe.

"Just look around at some of the faces here, angel. Look closely."

Aziraphale dabs his mouth with his napkin. “Crowley, I did not come here with you to people watch! I sure wouldn't like it if someone from across the room was casting silent judgment onto me! Would you?"

Crowley gives a subtle nod toward a stranger seated at the table behind Aziraphale.

Curiosity nudges Aziraphale and, thanks to his fluid morals, he carefully looks over his shoulder. Lo and behold, a man cradles his head in his hands. His face grimaces from what could only be perceived as a gruesome hangover, shielding his eyes from the rays of light that shot through a nearby window as a waitress opened its curtain.

"Well, you've made a point, I guess."

Crowley snickers and finishes the last drops of his drink. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure a decent amount of your customers are being 'good' souls and attending church or going about their morning in peaceful sobriety. Maybe we can call it a draw and say they're all hungover in church?”

Aziraphale stifles a chuckle from recalling the earlier situation, not wanting to interrupt Crowley's current ramblings about theories of the Almighty. Since the day the two of them met, Crowley's mind had been filled with existential questions and assumptions about God, some of which he had vocally directed at God, resulting in his fall from Heaven.

Even while reading, Aziraphale lends an attentive ear to Crowley, which both bewilders and amazes the demon. Quite the multitasker.

Aziraphale flips to the next page of his book and breaks his eyes away from the fine-printed text, resting on a sight much easier: his best friend. Crowley laid sprawled on the chair across from him, continuing on about what the point of every component of this life could be. Every bit of angst the topic cultivated in his soul poured from his mouth; his slitted pupils trained on the window beside him, as if daring God to make their appearance within the growing bustle of the cross streets outside. The warm light of a near midday sun washing him in a delightful glow.

Amongst the ogling, Aziraphale was blissfully unaware that Crowley had changed the topic. Catching wind of what he sort of heard, Aziraphale nearly chokes on his sip of tea. "I’m sorry, what did you say?"

"Ah, so a book has finally been able to drown me out, eh?"

Aziraphale clears his throat and sets his cup on its dainty saucer. He closes the book. "A-a bit, yes. I apologize. What were you saying?" is what he responds with, though his mind proclaimed ‘oh no, nothing could be more interesting than you, Crowley. You sitting there and gazing out the window while you pour out the deepest depths of your heart is all the interest I need, just excuse the moments like these where the affects of your presence cause my mind to short-circuit.

"That a few months back I was a part of this crazed threesome with a couple I met at the pub...some diabolical kinks those two had. Guaranteed they're not at church this morning."

It was times like this where Aziraphale had to remind himself that Crowley is a demon and with that comes rash, blasphemous decisions.

So, why was it bothering him so much? He wondered as he idly traced his finger along an edge of the book’s hardcover. "Oh..."

"You ever had anything like that, angel?"

"Can't...say that I have. Hope it was still fun for you though, right?" Aziraphale asks with full compassion masked over something else.

"Eh. I've had better rendezvous."

"Oh! So you've had other...others?" Aziraphale prayed for a customer to walk in, anything to snatch him away from sinking further into this well of undisclosed emotions.

Crowley remains straight-faced as ever, a face that'd win at a game of poker. “You know-” he drops the leg that hangs over the arm of the chair and rests his elbows on his knees- “You and I have talked about many things over the millennia, but I can’t recall a single moment where we’ve had this type of discussion.”

"Oh we’re...going to continue discussing this one, are we?"

"I'd like to. So, angel, what have your filthy endeavors been like?"

"I haven't had any, Crowley."

"Oh come onnn-" Crowley rises from his seat and approaches Aziraphale- "None? None at all? It's not as if you're a complete saint, Aziraphale! You’ve got to have at least experienced something!"

Aziraphale drops his book on the end table and rises as well, a burning brew of something he's locked up melting the bars of its enclosure. "No, Crowley, I haven't, and I’m offended that you think I'd just waltz around like some sleaze!- N-no offense."

"Aziraphale-"

"You know, did you not think that maybe I'm just waiting for the right person or...or the right moment?"

Crowley shakes his head slowly. "Is it gonna take another six thousand years for you to know when I'm lying?"

A splash of relief melts the fire in Aziraphale. "You haven't…done it?"

Crowley shrugs. "Only to mahself."

It’s as if all the windows of the bookshop opened at once, granting Aziraphale the ability to breathe again. "I see. Well, I can say that I relate in that aspect then. Oh but uh-" Aziraphale waves his hand dismissively and can't cool the spreading heat of his face- "T-that was quite some time ago- a very long time ago, actually! Why, I can barely remember-"

"You're not a good liar."

"Curses, I know. It's the saint in me."

Crowley slides his hands in his pants pockets and tilts his head. "When was the last time, angel?"

It feels as if those opened windows have slammed shut and Aziraphale can’t compose himself in front of Crowley's suaveness, especially with a question like that; a discussion like this.

Aziraphale answers in a strained voice, "This...this morning."

A smile tugs at the corner of Crowley’s lips. "This morning? You mean as soon as you woke up or...oh- oh my-" he bursts out laughing- "don't tell me it was at the Ritz when you suddenly excused yourself to use the loo?"

Crowley was only joking, but Aziraphale’s fair skin turning beet-red makes Crowley suspect that scenario to be true.

"W-what's the reason for bringing this topic up in the first place, Crowley? And why start it off with a lie?"

"To gauge your reaction. It's always endearing seeing you get all-” he wiggles his fingers in front of Aziraphale- “fussy. Now, what kind of sinful thoughts initiated this sudden urge earlier?”

Aziraphale picks his book up and walks over to the shelf of its home, avoiding Crowley's determined and amused stare. "You had proposed the idea of us getting out of the city and having a beach day..."

"To which you agreed." Crowley sits back down in a laid-back position.

"To which I did." Aziraphale aimlessly skims a row of book spines.

"I don’t see how that proposition elicited a wank in the bathroom stall of the Ritz."

"I was getting there!"

Crowley grins. "Fussy."

“You know, maybe I’m just not ready to talk about this stuff,” Aziraphale admits with a sigh.

Crowley crosses a leg over the other. "Sooo, what, I'll check back in in another six thousand years? Would that be a Tuesday, you think?"

No, Aziraphale thought, I don't believe I can keep my feelings dormant for that long. But to express them? Me? And to a demon for that matter?

But it's not just any demon, it's Crowley - a being Aziraphale plans on adoring and caring about for all of eternity. If only God would offer their approval, then there wouldn't be any sort of hesitation on Aziraphale's part.

"Nonsense! Look, why don't you...tell me what you fancy?" Aziraphale picks up his reading glasses from his work desk and wipes them off with his vest, shyly peeking at Crowley. "What...spurs your motives of...self pleasure? Do you have a type that you...think about?"

"A type? A type of being?"

Aziraphale gives a quick nod, anxiously finding anything on his desk to fiddle with.

Crowley rests his chin on his palm, leaning into the arm of the chair. He watches Aziraphale, entertained by how nervous his close friend is about the subject. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Although Crowley displays nonchalance, he figures a helping of liquid courage is a plausible boost for this conversation. He reaches into the inner pocket of his blazer and retrieves a flask of whiskey.

“Put that down," Aziraphale demands as soon as the flask meets Crowley's lips, his unexpected adamancy causing Crowley to freeze mid-swig.

Aziraphale adds sweetly, "Please."

Crowley twists the cap back on. "What? Afraid I might say or do something stupid?"

"Like what?"

"You tell me, angel."

This conversation might as well be the equivalent of a boomerang, Aziraphale thought.

"What's your type, Crowley?"

"What's yours?"

"I asked first."

"We could keep this up all day, couldn't we?" Crowley chuckles, putting his feet up on the foot rest.

"I suppose so," Aziraphale says, cracking a small smile. "Maybe we ought to not have this conversation, afterall. Maybe reserve it for a later date."

"My type..." Crowley starts, toying with his tie tassels.

"Yes?" Aziraphale browses through the documents on his desk, pretending to act calm and collected as his nerves spike.

"Is a being that's...well, the complete opposite of me, I guess you'd put it. Someone who sees the good in others. Forgiving. Maybe even a bit gullible at times."

"Sounds like you may be referring to someone in particular," Aziraphale says in a low voice, the words of the documents blurring.

"I could be, yeah. You think that's...okay?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, to think of someone like that while I rub one off?"

Aziraphale’s breath catches in his throat. It takes him a beat too long to remember how to speak. "You're a demon, aren't you? Something like that is probably shamelessly commendable amongst your folk, is it not?"

Crowley thinks it over before giving a shrug-nod. "Fair point. But I didn't ask what they would think of it."

"You don't need my permission, Crowley."

"I wasn't asking for that either, angel."

"I think it's a bit um…scandalous, really. But I fear that's what this conversation is anyways, so."

"I'm gonna take that as you think it's okay, then. Dare I say, you're quite fond of that thought of me maybe?”

Before Aziraphale can conjure up a measly rebuttal, a customer enters the shop and the embarrassed angel makes an immediate beeline over to them to assist them.

"Yeah, you're not ready," Crowley mumbles in defeat. He mulls over what was discussed, a fierce grip tugging at a heartstring. A fine line stretched across his mind, between hanging onto the branch of patience that swayed, and the urge to pull Aziraphale into his arms and expel his undying love for him.

With a huff, he dons his shades and leaves the bookshop without so much as a wave to Aziraphale, making way to his Bentley.

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Do you have any headcanons for the canon alts like Preacher,Facade,Cesar,Thatcher?

Oh, yeah I do. I’ll attempt to be brief but. No promises-

(Under the cut)

N: out of the Alts, I have the least amount of headcanons for N. I think he’s actually kinda jumpy for an alt, and unless someone’s completely alone, he won’t attack or instigate with them. He doesn’t know English, only speaking an alternate language, which sounds like gibberish and distorted radio frequencies. He’s also very curious, and finds human things interesting. Out of the Alts, he’s not especially dangerous due to his elusive nature.

Gabriel: They. Are almost never seen out in the open, rather staying in the shadows, observing from a distance. They are of course the most dangerous alternate to exist, due to their ability to manifest Alts, kill people without even touching them, and the fact that they are scarily good at manipulating people. They can change their face into anything they want, from being a fear of the beholder, to or someone’s close friend or family member. They can wait for a long time, building trust with people before fucking them over. Fuck you gabriel for killing dave.

Preacher: she is Gabriel’s servant, being the primary inflictor of MAD, and the one to spy for Gabriel and give them news of things going on around Mandela. She only shows up around night time, though she’s also seen at churches, more specifically the one mark used to go to. She breaks into peoples homes and gives them MAD while they sleep, being completely silent and almost never alerting anyone. However, she isn’t especially malicious compared to Gabriel, being a more neutral force, only doing what she’s told.

Cesar: he’s pretty emotionless, not feeling empathy or sadness or anything like that. However, he’s a scarily good actor. He can cry on command, act genuinely happy, and do anything to make him seem harmless. He also acts scared and sad to get sympathy from people, so he can gain their trust to eventually attack. He’s a perfectionist, wanting his outer appearance to be absolutely perfect at all times. He needs to look exactly like the real Cesar, and never give a hint that he’s anything else. Though he’s also a germaphobe and spends too much time working on his appearance. He thinks of himself as better than the rest of the Alts, and especially dislikes six and N.

Six: stinky. Gross man. He’s a Tulpa alternate that was manifested a while before the events of vol 1. He doesn’t care about acting human, or even looking human for that matter. He really just stole clothes and wore them forever. Despite his. Not great appearance, he’s actually very smart, and has very good reflexes. Despite not knowing much about human culture, he knows enough. He’s also impossibly flexible and agile, able to hide in cabinets and other small spaces, and also being able to escape if need be. He also tends to break up his sentences due to not fully understanding English, and always sounds out of breath. He smells like shit

Alt Thatcher: actually I take back what I said about N, thatcher is the one that has the least headcanons. He’s definitely very sadistic, and loves to mentally torment people. However, he tries his best to keep up the facade of being like thatcher, to. Mixed success. He’s overly giggly, and tends to say some very weird and disturbing stuff. Just an asshole really

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat it, Too: Chapter Fourteen: Lonely

In which Jon gets closer to monsterdom, destroys the dark sun, and is nearly poached by Peter Lukas....

>>> NOW ON AO3!

Lonely-typical content. LOADS of psychological torment in this one.

The Lonely always felt like depression to me, and Jon lands in it head-first.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Of course, if no one is here at this time of year, it’s unlikely he’ll find a working phone.

There is a sort of docking area. Maybe he can find a ship. Or flag one, or… something.

“So many other avatars get some sort of flight, or... fast travel ability, but do I get some?” he grouses to Book Michael. “No. I get to talk to people.” He pats the book in his shirt. “Still think I’m powerful?”

The book does not answer.

There are no lights in the research facility, unsurprisingly; Jon doubts they even left any of the bulbs intact—

Though he can hear generators, creating power. Even the People's Church of the Divine Host need heat.

But that means they’re here.

He pauses.

And hears the cock of a gun. “Nice and easy, there, pal. Raise your hands.”

American. Jon doesn’t know this voice, but knows this is Christopher Lorne’s younger brother, Ennis.

Jon raises his hands. The Beholding thrums through him, because Ennis has a story to tell.

Ennis also has a gun. Jon isn’t eager to be shot.

His captor speaks into a walkie-talkie. “You were right. He’s here.”

Manuela’s voice comes through, all static and bitterness. “Bring him. If he tries to talk to you, knock him out.”Jon preemptively winces. He’s not sure how long he can avoid asking questions.

Especially since he’s still feeling weirdly giddy, which definitely makes him unwise.

What the hell are you doing to me? He thinks at the Eye, and gets no answer.

And then they’re marching, faster than Jon likes, through landscape he can sense more than see, while Lorne is clearly utterly comfortable in the dark, and seems relieved when they step inside, away from the aurora, and into complete and artificial night.

#

But it’s not the Dark. Jon doesn’t give a fuck, after what he’s been through today.

He knows where they are, like heat vision, in the room—four utterly miserable humans, laced through with the Dark’s power, but ragged—not as ragged as he, but not that far off, either.

He wants to ask what happened so badly.

Needs to.

Isn’t going to be able to hold it back much longer.

Manuela is the one to approach him; he feels her, knows she is in a bad, bad place—a place beyond hope, which makes her completely without boundaries or reason. “So you’re the one who replaced Gertrude.”

“How did you—” He stops himself, and it hurts, like all his insides just jammed themselves in his throat.

“I was visited,” Manuela whispers with a sort of sour desperation. “We waited here, for so long, waiting for his word that never came… and finally, he speaks to us… just because of you.” Her bitterness is terrible, as if she blames Jon for her god’s apparent silence. “Mister Pitch wants you back, Jonathan Sims, and we’re going to give you to him.”

He should be afraid of that.

For some reason, he’s not.

“Maybe it’ll be enough,” someone whispers (Arnold McKirby, Jon’s brain supplies, English, a member of the Church for seven years, father to—)

“It won’t,” says Manuela. “It’ll be three hundred years until we can pull that much power again—but it’ll make me feel better.”

Lorne handcuffs Jon’s wrists behind his back—which seems very silly; his hands don’t do much—and, patting him down, finds the book.

“Don’t touch it,” says Manuela. “There’s weird power.”

“Then shouldn’t we… take it?” says another (John Ascot, English, formerly nightwatch at the museum of—)

“No,” says Manuela. “Could be a trap.”

They know better than to mess with potential Leitners, too.

She grabs his arm, presses her gun to his side, and begins walking him down the hall.

He wonders at his own calm. It wouldn’t be the first time he thought he’d run out of fear, but that isn’t it.

The stories here. The Eye wants what they know, through Jon’s eyes.

That need, that hunger, is eclipsing (see what he did there) everything else.

He tries, he struggles, he really doesn’t want to do this, but the question slips through, pops out, no more his choice than the beating of his heart. “Where are you taking me?”

Oh.

It came out… different.

He’s never compelled like this—smooth and natural, like exhaling, easy and gentle like a stream, power but so sweet and clear that for the very first time ever, no one in the room seems to realize what he’s done.

Manuela has gone still.

No one moves.

“I’m throwing you into the pits,” she says. “Into the brackish water, blessed with Its stillness.”

And now that it’s happening, he has to keep going, like he has to keep breathing (does he?). “What happened when your ritual failed?”

And suddenly, they’re all talking at once.

“We had hundreds of sacrifices prepared and ready, plunged into darkness and terror for days on end—”

“Maxwell was here, ready for our moment of triumph, to begin our seven-day feast—”

“Plunged its claws into his chest, freeing the darkness within him—”

Jon sways and gasps, inundated, trembling, drinking their memories like wine from their minds, and their words are clear and even and almost unfeeling, and their fear is new and old and laced with pain.

He drinks it, drinks it in, the tiny part of him that is horrified at himself unable to make a fuss.

And that’s how he learns how the ritual failed, about Hither Green’s congregation blowing up, about their arrogance in believing that Darkness is the only real thing, about their heartless sacrifices of innocents they’d gathered to fuel this rite.

He grows angry as he hears what McKirby did to his children, because the ritual was failing and they didn’t know why, because they’d tasted the incarnation of their god (and all admitted to the deep, draining fear that gripped them, even as they celebrated) and then panicked as Mister Pitch pulled away.

He is riveted to learn the dark sun is definitely still here, in another room. Waiting.

He needs to see it.

That’s mad. It is dangerous. It is something that should not exist. It could do such damage to him.

He has to see it.

And then they’re done, all four of them are done, and panting, and realizing what he did to them.

Jon feels dizzy with power, buzzing, strong. “Take me to your dark sun.” That tiny, horrified part of him demands, What are you DOING?

Manuela laughs, still gasping. “It’ll destroy you. Only Maxwell and I could ever even come near it.”

“What happened?” whispers McKirby. “How did he—”

“Fuck this guy,” says Lorne, and moves.

“No! He’s for the Dark!” snaps Manuela, and there is a tussle.

Jon can’t look. He feels the dark sun. He begins walking.

McKirby gets in his way.

It is a bad idea to get in Jon’s way.

“You fuck,” says McKirby. “How dare you bring that back to me, how dare you make me feel our worst failure—”

“That wasn’t your worst failure, though, was it?” says Jon in a voice he hardly knows, smooth and low and without a single imperfection. “Your children. You heard them scream, and you threw them in anyway. Maybe you should feel what they felt instead, staring at your face, believing to the last second that you would save them, and then you… did… not.”

And McKirby is screaming, McKirby is on the floor, and Jon sways on his feet, that little voice telling him he is doing something monstrous, that he needs to stop, that there’s no going back on this path.

“Stop it!” Ascot shouts. “We have to do this! Mister Pitch will feed!”

“I’m not going through that again!” shouts Lorne, and the gun goes off.

Jon is walking.

Vaguely, he’s aware he shattered what little stability they had left, aware he dragged them through the worst night of their lives and turned them on each other, but he doesn’t know how he did it, and it doesn’t matter.

He has to see the dark sun.

It is eager for him.

He arrives at the door he knows it’s behind, and pauses, because it’s sealed with a wheel lock like something on a submarine, and his hands are cuffed.

A childlike frustration rises in him; he needs to get in there. He needs to see.

So very verbal, he whines at the door.

Another gunshot goes off behind his back, then silence, and he feels Manuela approaching.

She is gasping. Laughing softly at nothing, dragging her foot. “Destroy everything, don’t you?” she breathes, shoving him aside and turning the lock. “Gertrude, now you. You’re worse than the Desolation.”

Jon isn’t in control of his tongue right now. “How does Mister Pitch talk to you?”

“Dreams. There’s no other way now, with Maxwell gone.”

The door is opening, creaky and terrible as if not opened for years. Something… pushes through, like radiation, warping the air, ringing in his ears.

“Have fun,” she says. “I hope it hurts.” And she limps away, and Jon knows she is thinking terrible things.

He needs to care about this. He needs to stop her. He—

Needs to see the dark sun.

His steps are unsteady as he walks inside, fighting himself, twitching with a war of desires, but then he sees it, and nothing else matters.

It’s like harmonics in the wind, mournful like old metal left to rust on a hill, and static is building, a frying in the air, and it is piercing and terrible and strong.

“It’s beautiful,” Jon whispers, nearly crying with it, overwhelmed, seeing a thing that cannot be seen and would not be seen if he were not who he was.

He feels it trying to unmake him, reaching for his eyes, his power.

Yet he sees.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, and the impossible sun of darkness and void begins to flake away.

Somewhere behind him, Manuela screams. He cannot turn.

Faster, it’s dying, this connection to darkness and fear turning to ash, and still, it tries to unmake him, and still, it fails, weakening power sliding along his skin and falling away.

Too soon, it is gone. Too soon, it is not there to see any more.

And suddenly, Jon is released.

He staggers, horror filling the emptiness in his gut, and feels she’s going to—

Jon turns and runs down the hall as fast as he can, trying to find that place inside him with power, trying to find that smooth and beautiful pull. “Stop! Stop!” It won’t be enough. Frantic, he tries something else. “Tell me about your parents!”

And Manuela, her gun pointed at one who was once her friend, stops—shaking with grief and resignation, she has to start talking.

She’s still talking as Jon slams into her, trying to knock her down, to stop her doing this, to do… something of any good at all.

His hands are bound, and he doesn’t land well.

Someone tries to stomp on his head, and he rolls.

There is another gunshot.

Jon curls around himself, crying out, suddenly aware how loud it is, how painful, unsure how the hell he didn’t even notice before—

Something punches into his side so hard that it winds him, and then whoever did that gets pulled away, and he tries to roll under a table for cover.

Half of him knows what’s happening (Lorne kicked him) and the other is in confusion, half-blind and dazed with overstimulation.

There is a horrible thump, a whistling exhale, and silence.

Only one person is still alive now—Manuela herself. She pants, holding the knife, and Jon knows she is not surprised that she had to murder her former catechists, her fellow failures of the Dark. It had to be. He isn’t sure why she put it off. She isn’t, either—but she is not surprised.

Manuela sinks to the floor, hands over her face, and sobs.

Jon tries to sit up. Without one’s hands, it’s quite difficult. “Are you… right, no, of course you’re not okay.” He hesitates. “After all the lives you ruined, you shouldn’t be, either. But I… I know it’s not that simple.”

The horror of what he’s done here today is still growing, and he has nowhere to put it, no boxes large enough. He tries to pretend it is not there. “Manuela?”

“Just go. I don’t care anymore. I don’t think it’d even… matter if I fed you to him. He’s abandoned us. He’s abandoned us. He’s abandoned us.” And she sobs.

Compassion wars with disgust.

Common sense raises a point. “Please let me go, Manuela.”

And he didn’t compel her, didn’t do anything but ask—yet she does, fishing out the key and undoing his handcuffs.

He rubs his wrists. Memory of that smooth and perfect power has already faded; he has no idea how he accessed it, where it is, what it cost. The Beholding, giving him a little treat because it wanted to see the sun. “What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know.” She is small, seated, holding her legs.

“You don’t… you could turn it around. You don’t… have to stay here, to—”

“Don’t.” She’s disgusted. “Why would I want to do that? You think I have regrets about anything I’ve done?”

Well, there goes Jon’s empathy.

“No,” she says. “My only regret is we failed. Get out of here. Go. Before I change my mind and just shoot you in those stupid glowing eyes.”

Glowing eyes?

Jon blinks, looks down, tries to see if they’re lighting his cheeks, or something.

Not as far as he can tell. Maybe she’s seeing something that isn’t… literal.

Is it safe to leave her here? (He has no idea what he’d do if it isn’t.)

What he sees when he tries to know is a frightening thing: her faith in the Dark is shattered, and it doesn’t want her anymore.

He can see it, see the tendrils of lightless fear coming from nowhere and reaching in her direction but stopping just short—as if they find her distasteful.

She may cause some trouble down the road, but it won’t be through apocalypse.

Jon tries to think of something to say, anything—some wise thing, or comfort, or condemnation.

“Good luck,” is all he can think to do, and—feeling like an idiot—he makes his way back out.

#

He’s not sure where he’s going. The People's Church of the Divine Host took over this island, cut it off from communication. He’s not even sure how Manuela is going to leave.

If she leaves.

The docks make sense. There might be a way to communicate, or at least somewhere he can wait to be rescued.

Though it would be far too late to stop the Stranger.

The docks, he tells himself, trying to ignore the rising certainty that he just doomed the world to save a monster.

A monster he can’t even be sure is there.

“I’m an idiot,” he tells Book Michael.

There is no reply.

It is cold. He isn’t as protected as he was an hour ago, and he doesn’t know why.

Every step takes effort, breaking through the icy crust, into increasingly uncomfortable snow. His shoes and socks are soaked.

He swallows, fearing blackened frostbite, fearing scarred, healed feet without any toes left, because that’s how the damned Beholding would do it.

Things don’t grow back. They just scar.

He tries to hurry.

What’s the point? he thinks, and stops. There isn’t a ship there. There may not even be a way to call home.

And even if there were, what of it? Elias can’t travel instantly, like Michael. Salesa could have another toy, but he’s also in hiding.

Jon could try the book—but if he messes it up, he could destroy Michael, or doubly trap himself.

“And I don’t even know if you’d help me, do I?” he says, trying to be fair, trying to be honest with himself, because they had not parted on good terms and Michael is a monster.

The Distortion still wants revenge. Jon knows that. Well, leaving Jon here would do that, wouldn’t it?

Of course he’d leave you here. Everyone leaves.

Jon is puffing, trying to breathe around the enormous fist of pain in his chest.

Nobody NEEDS you.

No, they… they don’t, do they? They have the explosives, and…

All Jon does is show up on fire and expect everyone to put him out.

He wipes at his face, is a little frightened to discover his tears are freezing.

A very tiny, reasonable part of him points out that he just got out of the Dark, and he’s fragile, and his emotions are not trustworthy right now.

The rest of him grieves.

I bet they’d be relieved if you don’t show up again. If you just quietly went away—not even a body to dispose of.

He tries to take a step. Goes to his knees instead.

Safer without you there. All of them. Couldn’t even properly help Basira and Melanie and Daisy, and they asked.

Jon looks up. The dock is barely visible through the blinding snow, the wind having picked up—he hadn’t noticed.

He shakes his head. Something isn’t right.

The something not right is YOU.

No, he’s… not arguing that.

He thinks there might be a ship there. Possibly. There is a dark shape, and—

Mist, fog, something, is obscuring his vision. It’s wrapping the world, wrapping him in cotton, keeping him away from all the things he might break.

And what if there is a ship? You’ll go on board, make everyone there relive their worst trauma, then dream it all night long?

Oh.

That hurts.

His chest is heavy, physically heavy, despair winding its way through his fingers and into his mouth with sour realization.

Let them go.

Let them move on.

You can give them that much, can’t you?

“The Unknowing,” he breathes, and takes out the book to stare at it. “Don’t they need me for… for… something?”

The book doesn’t answer.

Why would they? They have Elias. Anything you can do, he can do far better.

That isn’t… is that right?

No one needs you.

Oh…

No one wants you.

Oh.

Let them all go and do the first unselfish thing in your whole waste of a life.

Jon curls down around himself, dropping the book, too heavy to rise.

He’s gripped. Cannot think. Ringing with this broad, empty pain.

It’s true. Even his grandmother—after his parents died, she… did her best, but… even as a child, he knew he was a burden.

It’s true.

“I should give you to Elias, but I don’t think I will,” says a familiar voice, and Jon remembers the man in Elias’ office (Peter Lukas, he’s a Lukas, that means the Lonely, that means…)

Means what? What does it matter? You can’t hurt anyone here.

That’s true.

Jon stays down.

“The way I see it,” murmurs Peter Lukas, who has not bothered to come closer because he does not hit with fists, “it doesn’t matter who you do the ritual for, if you’re marked deeply enough. You see what I mean?”

Tears, falling and freezing. Every beat of his heart hits him with pain, like some crazy gong. Alone is better for everyone.

“True enough. Don’t worry, Archivist… I’ll keep you plenty fed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some preparations to make.”

And suddenly the prospect of being truly alone and isolated shocks Jon, and he gasps, and barely manages a whisper: “Don’t go.”

Lukas is gone.

Jon makes a high, drawn-out sound—

And then a man comes stumbling out of the fog as if he’s been thrown, and he has trauma, he has a story, and Jon is reaching for him without any plan to do so, and without any way to stop.

#

He is sick, afterward.

There is a pinch of clarity, granted by this thievery of fear from this poor man, Brian, who went to the Institute to talk about spiders and ended up being swallowed by the Lonely.

Which is where Jon is now. He knows.

Peter Lukas had been tracking him, though he does not know why, nor does he understand what the man was talking about.

Preparations? What ritual? Marked deeply enough? What?

It’s hidden from him, hidden by some massive, unassailable thing, blocking him from knowing what the hell is going on.

He feels awful for eating Brian’s fear. He didn’t try to. He was wounded, and it just happened.

And now Brian will be in his dreams every night, trapped in the Lonely when awake and stared at in silence when asleep.

I’m dangerous, he thinks, not fighting it now, because it’s true and he should say it. I can’t be trusted around anyone. No one is safe near me.

If he goes back, what will he take next? Whom will he assault?

Tim?

Daisy?

Martin?

So it’s better to be alone.

Jon cries, wishing he’d never gotten close to them at all.

The cold penetrates him gently, almost tenderly; it isn’t like the Dark, isn’t cruel and punishing, but it is deeper, a weight of numb sorrow that threatens to drag him down.

If he goes down, he won’t feel things anymore.

He knows this. That’s what it wants—a dubious blessing, but maybe the only one he deserves for what he’s done and will do.

How am I any better than any of them? he thinks, and knows he’s not.

The Lonely feels like depression, comes next. And it’s related to the Dark, after that.

And that is important, because… because…

Something. Just out of reach.

His mind goes silent for a while.

Breeze picks up, cold and stone-scented; this is a place that feels like it’s never known warm blood apart from his.

Vaguely, he is aware that there is no snow beneath him now. It’s dead grass, old soil, and nothing. Nothing. This is the Lonely—its own separate reality. No one can find him now.

And that’s good.

Isn’t it?

Jon exhales, rubs his face. Tries to think.

Fog fills the world, inside and out. Everything is vague, but he understands one thing. All those… horrible, hurtful things… maybe they are true. They landed because on some level, Jon believes them. And it hurts.

But if he stays here, Lukas is going to do some sort of ritual with him.

Jon can’t imagine what; Lukas’ last one failed.

Spectacularly.

Thanks to Gertrude.

Really, who could’ve imagined a well-placed tip to a newspaper would undo Lukas’ incredible, stuffed-full apartment block of lonely, isolated people, unwillingly worshiping Lukas’s god?

And then Gertrude’s tip engendered all kinds of attention, and community outreach, and Lukas’ ritual died in newsprint and pity.

It’s funny, if Jon lets himself feel it.

So Lukas wants to do some new ritual, and Jon is part of it.

He frowns.

It is true that no one may miss him; it is true that he may have been nothing but a burden to everyone, all his life. (His grandmother’s weary face slides past, but he tries not to think about that. Tries.)

That doesn’t mean he actually wants to hurt anyone.

Jon feels alone, unworthy of love, isolated for the best, horrifyingly unhappy.

But he still cares.

“So I’m selfish,” Jon says, agreeing with the wicked little thoughts. “At least I know I am.”

It’s so odd, how just… facing these thoughts takes away some of their power. He still feels awful, numb, but no longer paralyzed.

He will not stay here and be used. If he’s going to become a weird Eye Hermit, he’s going to do it on his own damn terms.

He exhales slowly, and looks.

The Lonely is powerful; small, creepy shapes from the graves the Lukases have dug here for generations are visible, and not much else.

Jon looks harder.

And sees a way out.

Jon takes the book and walks, clinging to it like a teddy bear.

Every step costs him. Every single one is a new choice to push against the desire to just lie down, stay here, be forever alone.

“It’s funny,” Jon tells Book Michael. “If he hadn’t said something about a ritual, he’d have had me. He mostly still does, to be honest. But I… wouldn’t see any reason to fight. Funny, right?”

Book Michael does not reply.

And suddenly, Jon is in snow again, and he’s free.

It’s so anticlimactic. He’s just out.

And… exhausted.

Even with all the statements he’s taken today (literally taken and that feels so horrid), it took all his strength to walk out of the Lonely’s domain.

Jon is gasping. He falls to his knees.

Soaked.

And very, very, cold.

Breathing hurts. How much power does it take to disintegrate a fake sun and then walk out of the Lonely? he thinks, hysterical. More than I have!

He tries to rise, cannot. Falls onto his knees in the snow.

Too cold.

Too… stiff.

Weak.

He’s not going to make it to the dock or anywhere else.

Panic makes him try, scramble, stumble—

And somehow, he trips on Michael’s book.

He’d dropped it, somehow, and now he’s torn it, the cover half off, pages ripped, and he falls beside it onto his knees and sobs, because it’s for sure over now, because he’s destroyed Michael now, because he damns everything and everyone he touches, and if he had gone to Wales with a cat and some cows, they’d all be dead because of him—

“Oh, Archivist,” comes softly in his ear, and long arms lift him from the snow, fingers sharp and irritating, and long, spiraling hair falls into his face, ticklish and annoying, and Michael holds him close, real and living, and Jon cannot parse this fact in his current mental state.

The Distortion shudders, because it would, because whatever is happening in Jon’s head, true or false, it is twisted. “Delicious,” it whispers, “but I think that will do. You need a door—even if you don’t think you deserve it.”

And it carries him through, and the rush of reality and warmth and people so many people in the WORLD and the wildness of the Corridors and surreality of up and down is too much, and Jon gratefully, eagerly, passes right the fuck out.

part fifteen

[silver-wield]

I wanna laugh at the cleriths on twitter who ask for tifa to tell the truth so cloud wouldn't get to a mental breakdown THEN they will accept her??? How is it so difficult for them to get that its an important part for him to get to that vegetable stage for the narrative???? If nojima really wanted to, he wouldn't even put him in that state if he so pitied cloud.

My brain cells, I just wanna hug Tifa, these people don't get empathy and EQ....also IQ considering she can't say it all because she didn't even know he was there!!!!! What good would that do??? Plus if they think it's dead future aerith in the resolution? Shouldn't they be more angry at her since she said little to no information to actually help him and said just vague shit??? She could have helped him more than tifa at that point because she knows more right but didn't??? Oh good lord and they think they know the devs better??? Yet they stilll consider tifa a bully even after ToTP???? Sorry for the rant, pretty new to the fandom (after 1 year catching up at most) but were they always this stupid and crazy???? Rejoicing on KH, a single forced date, relying mostly only on devs interviews instead of game content, optional dress, etc???? There's so much out of content it's like asking for bread crumbs when he couldn't even visit her church even as a friend when it's so close to the HW area, both vers low and high he chose tifa and cleriths here thinking its true love??? jesus christ. In low, he stayed despite probably feeling he doesn't deserve the happiness because he failed to prioritize her (like in AC, so he was cold and self-absorbed), in high, he slept with her period. I just want to see they're mental breakdown once she dies and tifa and cloud get a kissing scene on rendered cgi, one they couldn't edit (hopefully).

Btw saw an idiot who say " that people are more concerned with who cloud kisses instead of the new graphics etc" law and behold its a fucking clerith. Why are they acting all high and mighty??? When they're the first one to be so abnormaly obsessed with the "kiss part" of their statement if they get a content even so desperately little??? Did they forget they're shitty take on hollow???? Lol now they're saying we shouldn't be so sure with the trailer but they're so sure about hollow??? Wtf? Do they think that's making them look smart??? Why do they mostly all act this way????

Also, before they think they get the devs, they better ask if they actually get the characters and especially the one they think they're a fan of. I'm neutral on aerith but it's sad that there are a lot of people who don't really get the real workings of her heart. It's even more sad that due to their shipping glasses they fail to get one of the most important theme/moment in the game, her death!!!! Smfh they really think she's gonna live?? Sephiroth, devs nor cloti aren't their biggest enemy on that but new players who don't care to play OG or part 1!!! FF7 has a brand and they're gonna keep it.

Thank you for listening to my rant, hope you have a good day. Im really sorry about this burst of rant but I just hate it since it ruins what the game wants to really say. It actually has a good message if only they're capable of actually seeing that. I personally don't ship cloti , im neutral but I consider them because you don't question how Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are in love right?? It's right there in the fcking story on it's own unless your eyes were closed the whole time.

So I shared this same clip on twitter the other day. You can literally hear Tifa say "as far as I know" meaning she isn't sure.

Nojima is slapping lying Tifa haters with every bit of this game and companion works and they're still desperately trying to claim they're in the right.

It's funny af watching them meltdown rn over Sephiroth saying Tifa's name in the trailer. They've claimed he don't know her. They're dumb. They've claimed the devs are doing a fake out by having Sephiroth talk about Tifa but "they really mean Aerith". They're deluded af and they know time's up and the hoad is waiting to humiliate them 🤣

[shammah8]

RHAPSODY OF REALITIES DAILY DEVOTIONAL

Wednesday, 15th February 2023

BUILD ACCORDING TO HIS DESCRIPTION

Moses was warned when he was about to build the tabernacle: “See to it that you make everything according to the pattern shown you on the mountain (Hebrews 8:5 NIV).

PASTOR CHRIS OYAKHILOME PHD

When God told Moses to build a tabernacle, He gave him a clear description and instructed him to build according to the description: “According to all that I shew thee, after the pattern of the tabernacle, and the pattern of all the instruments thereof, even so shall ye make it” (Exodus 25:9).

In your walk with the Lord and work in His Kingdom, don’t just run off with every idea just because you think it’s nice. Be sure that you’re following God’s blueprint; the pattern and description that He’s given. It’s one of the reasons you must know the Word for yourself.

In His Word, you find samples, patterns and descriptions of how He wants us to live, the things He wants us to do and how to do them. The psalmist said in Psalm 127:1, “Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it…”; we must build according to His plan.

In these last days, the Lord Jesus is building His Church. He said, “…I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:18). There’s a description given to us in the Word of God that shows how He’s doing this. The Bible says He (Christ Himself), “…gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up” (Ephesians 4:11-12 NIV).

His plan is to build through these leaders, but everyone is involved; each one of us contributes to the building of this great body of Christ: “From whom the whole body fitly joined together and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love” (Ephesians 4:16).

Every time you lead someone to Christ, you’re adding to the building of the Body of Christ, and it's a magnificent building. Hallelujah! Keep playing your role by winning souls into the Kingdom. You’ll be contributing to the building of the magnificent structure according to the description given.

PRAYER

Dear Father, I thank you for the ability of your Word in my spirit. I’m a doer of the Word, not just a hearer. The results of living in and by the Word are evidently manifested in every area of my life today, in Jesus’ Name. Amen.

FURTHER STUDY:

Hebrews 8:5 AMPC [But these offer] service [merely] as a pattern and as a foreshadowing of [what has its true existence and reality in] the heavenly sanctuary. For when Moses was about to erect the tabernacle, he was warned by God, saying, See to it that you make it all [exactly] according to the copy (the model) which was shown to you on the mountain.

1 Samuel 15:22 And Samuel said, Hath the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams.

[god-whispers]

jul 26

period?

"seventy weeks are determined for your people and for your holy city, to finish the transgression, to make an end of sins, to make reconciliation for iniquity, to bring in everlasting righteousness, to seal up vision and prophecy, and to anoint the Most Holy." dan 9:27

how else can i say it?  with baited breath my anticipation has reached a crescendo.  i am worse than a little child at christmas.  could that be wrong?  "unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven." matt 18:3  will you fail to anticipate just so you won't suffer disappointment?  the anticipation is part of the joy.  when we look around at all the world happenings and refer to scripture being constantly fulfilled, i can only ask: how can anyone fail to be expectant?

sundown tonight will herald the arrival of the ninth of av; a time when many are in high anticipation of the rapture.  already i can hear everybody shouting their favorite scripture: "but of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, but My Father only." matt 24:36  but does that mean we aren't to watch, speculate and anticipate?  then why are we also told: "but you, brethren, are not in darkness, so that this day should overtake you as a thief." 1 thess 5:4  Jesus scolded those at His first coming because they weren't watching; weren't expecting for His coming.  (consider this also: jerusalem is 7-9 hours ahead of america - a completely different day and hour.  makes one go, uhm!)  speaking of which, is no one taking notice of the turmoil now happening in israel; on the brink of civil war?  again, uhm!

have we finally arrived?  could this possibly be it?  yes, i will be watching the 3 or 4 succeeding days as man's calendar and timing is imperfect.  and yes, the day may indeed come and go as all others before have.  the thing is, we just "anticipate" days.  we "expect" Jesus.  "i see Him, but not now; i behold Him, but not near." num 24:17

i know many believe in imminence, and yes, God can do whatever He wants.  but He has set the rules and He would be the last one to break them.  everything our Lord Jesus ever did was to fulfill scripture, and do we really think the retrieval of His bride would be any different, on some random day?  i can think of no better time for it than the true pentecost and the feast of new wine.  may the retrieval of the church be heralded on the self-same day it was birthed.  God likes to do things on the self-same day.

i believe He wants us to watch and anxiously await it, and yes, to "search" out possibilities.  that's exactly why we study the times and seasons, looking carefully at what scripture has foretold.  why else would He give us signs?  "declaring the end from the beginning, and from ancient times things that are not yet done." isa 46:10  yes, it's all in there.  "it is the glory of God to conceal a matter, but the glory of kings is to search out a matter." prov 25:2  are we not kings and priests to our God?

a period is usually placed at the end of something.  i think our God is fixing to put an exclamation point.  the end!  that's all folks!  you've had your way and see where's it's gotten you.  now we are going to do it MY way!  you have frolicked in your plans and pleasures; in your mocking and poking.  have you never heard of the law of sowing and reaping?  all those things you relish shall come upon you.  now learn how it should be done.

i read of how it was in the days of noah.  "for as in the days before the flood, they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah entered the ark." matt 24:38  of course, then it was too late for them.  then i look at today's world, surely just as much evil and lawlessness abounds as then.  and what are we doing?  monitoring our social media, gossiping, frolicking in sinful pleasures, wasting time in idle pursuits of "entertainment" and anything for the flesh.  all this as they seek now to groom the innocents who managed to survive the birthing process.

"he has blinded their eyes and hardened their hearts, lest they should see with their eyes, lest they should understand with their hearts and turn, so that I should heal them." john 12:40  that "he" is not God, but satan.  all the while the "evil elite" plan our demise as multitudes march blindly in step - even as the jews thought they were taking showers and were gassed instead.

i can speak for no one but myself, but my heart is grieved as lot's must have been in his day.  "assuredly, I say to you, all these things will come upon this generation." matt 23:36  yes, the culmination of all the sinful, evil, unrighteous deeds done here-to-fore is coming and it's coming quickly.  it's time to enter the ark and let God shut the door.

even as noah pulled the dove safely back into the ark for seven more days when there was no respite to be found, God will pull His elect safely back to Him for seven years while the tribulation plays out.  then, at the end, even as the dove returned with a fig leaf in it's mouth, we shall return with an israel fully redeemed and restored, shouting, "blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!" matt 23:39

God formed the world with a whisper, but He's getting ready to shout.  now He's going to show us all how it should be; how it will be in His eternal plan.

i don't know about anyone else, but my tent is getting old and wearing out.  it's crying out for the new one He promised those who believe; the new wineskin for the new wine it will hold.  "for this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality." 1 cor 15:53  such a beautiful transformation in the "twinkling of an eye."  my heart has already been raptured.  i'm just waiting on the rest of me to follow.  how about you?  do you still have ties to this world?  it's time to loosen them.

the Lord gave me a "visual" (not a vision) the other day as i was trying to transfer from my wheelchair.  i have to push down with one hand while i pull up with the other.  i think that's a perfect example of how we should live our lives.  we must push down on sin while we lift up by grace.  push down on sin and make sure there is nothing "sticky" holding us back.  things that might well hold us down as we are being pulled up.  things that might cause us to look back with longing, i.e., lot's wife.

"my beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag."  sos 2:9  if we are to be His bride, we must search for Him fervently as the shulamite did.  let us dress in our wedding gown - our righteous acts He gave us to perform.  let us sleep lightly in our gown, listening for His call.

i have been spending some time in fasting and prayer; time seeking His will that i might not miss it.  for those of you so inclined, health allowing, i believe it would be beneficial as well.  just whatever you might feel you can do, even a meal.  i believe God will honor it.

yes, we have the aforementioned scripture about the day and hour but we also have this warning.  "watch therefore, for you do not know when the master of the house is coming — in the evening, at midnight, at the crowing of the rooster, or in the morning - lest, coming suddenly, he find you sleeping.  and what I say to you, I say to all: watch!" mark 13:35-37  my precious Lord, please let today be "the day."  nevertheless, not my will but thine be done.

[stpaullutheranchurch]

2022 Christmas Eve

2022 Christmas Eve

Old Testament: Isaiah 9:2-7 Psalm: Psalm 96

Epistle: Titus 2:11-14

Gospel: Luke 2:1-20

Sermon Text: Luke 2 Sermon Title: “Christmas Spirit” Grace to you and peace, from God the Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given … and His name shall be called, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace”. (Isaiah 9:6) “The grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all men”. (Titus 2:11) “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy … For to you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord”. (Luke 2:10b-11)

This time of year, one frequently hears about what some call, “the Spirit of Christmas”. This saying usually refers to something like the good feelings one has at this time of year; hearing the familiar Christmas carols or spending time with family and friends. It may even include a little extra kindness shown to others, a little extra generosity, giving a few more dollars to the church or to some charity that goes to the poor. Of course, there is nothing inherently wrong with any of these things; if this Christmas season makes you happy; well and good. There is much good news from God in the birth of our Savior, Jesus.

Still, there are several things wrong with this way of thinking. For example, it is frequently assumed that something is wrong with those who do not outwardly show sufficient “Christmas spirit”. We expect people who are suffering loss or sickness, or depression this time of year to simply “get over it” and pretend to be happy. Instead of “bearing one another’s burdens” (Galatians 6:2a) as Christ calls us to do, we often look down on those without; what we call “Christmas spirit”. In addition, our gifts and good works are often done not for the sake of the person who is in need, but for ourselves; that we may “feel good” about or take pride in, what we have done or look good in the eyes of others.

As Luther wrote, and the Scriptures agree, even our best good works are tainted with sin. He said in a Christmas sermon that there were many in his day who liked to brag about how if they had been alive at the time of Christ, they would not have treated the “Holy Family” so shabbily. “If only I had been there, how quick I would have been to help the baby”, they say. To which Luther replies, No; “if you had been there, you would have done no better than the people of Bethlehem”.

Instead of thinking about a “Spirit of Christmas” that has little if anything to do with the real reason we are here, we would do well to think of the Holy Spirit; the true “Spirit of Christmas”. The Holy Spirit who “was hovering over the face of the waters” (Genesis 1:2b) at the creation of the world. The Holy Spirit who filled the unborn John the Baptist and his mother Elizabeth when they encountered the pregnant Virgin Mary.

“The same Holy Spirit has (also) come upon Mary and the power of the Most High has overshadowed her; therefore, the child to be born to her will be called holy, the Son of God”. (Luke 1:35b) It is the same Holy Spirit who empowered Joseph to believe and (repeatedly obey the voice of the angel. Thus, the Holy Spirit is the true “Spirit of Christmas.

The true “Spirit of Christmas” is not the good feelings you get when gathered with family and friends around the Christmas tree, looking at the lights and singing carols. The Holy Spirit of Christmas (the third person of the Holy Trinity) draws us to the Christ child in the manger at Bethlehem through the hearing, once again, of the familiar Christmas story. The Holy Spirit works faith, “when and where He wills, through the hearing of the Gospel” of Christ.

Isaiah prophesied about His birth 700 plus years ago saying, “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given … and His name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace”. (Isaiah 9:6) Jesus is all of these things to us as the angels declared; “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace”. (Luke 2:14a) Jesus, who is both true God and true man, will bring peace to the earth, but only thru the cross; His suffering and death; which earned for us the forgiveness of sins and the promise of eternal life. As Paul wrote; “He made peace, through the blood of His cross”. (Colossians 1:20b)

This is how “God and sinners” are reconciled”. (Hark the Herald Angels Sing). Or, as another Christmas hymn proclaims, “Nails, spears, shall pierce Him through, the cross be borne for me, for you”. (What Child is This) Or, as we will sing in a few moments; “Jesus my Savior, paid all I owed”. (God Loves Me Dearly”)

In the Epistle reading, Paul declared “the grace of God has appeared bringing salvation for all people; training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions and to live self-controlled and upright and godly lives in this present age”. (Titus 2:11-12) Whatever good works we may do this time of year, is not to earn some sort of favor with God, to prove our worth, to show how “good” we are; but rather it is in response to the “grace of God” shown to us in the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. As we will hear tomorrow, “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us … full of grace and truth”. (John 1:14)

So, we rightly celebrate the birth of our Savior Jesus this evening. He who is true God became man (one of us) in the baby Jesus. He then “humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross”. (Philippians 2:8) So, let us once again hear of His humble birth on that first Christmas.

“And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth. And she (Mary) gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes and laid Him in a manger, for there was no room for them in the inn”. (Luke 2:6-7) The Savior of the world is born, and no one except the parents know.

But that would soon change, “for in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were filled with fear”. (Luke 2:8-9) The Savior of the world is born and the first to hear of it are the lowly shepherds in the fields.

“And the angel said to them, Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy, that shall be for all the people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you; you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger”. (Luke 2:10-12) The Savior of the world is born and the shepherds can hardly believe the good news just announced to them.

But the message they heard was confirmed when “suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace”. (Luke 2:13-14a) “When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another; Let us go over to Bethlehem to see this thing that has happened, that the Lord made known to us”. (Luke 2:15)

Once they saw the Christ child for themselves, “they made known the saying that had been told them (by the angel) concerning this child”. (Luke 2:17) Finally, Luke recorded that “the shepherds returned, (to their jobs/vocations) glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen” (Luke 2:20a) regarding the birth of their Savior; the world’s Savior. Like the shepherds, at the drawing of the Holy Spirit, we too come in humility (once again) to the manger, to worship our newborn King.

When all of our celebrations of our Savior’s birth are ended, (which hopefully will last thru the 12 days of the Christmas season) we too return to our everyday lives; our jobs  and vocations, filled with the Holy Spirit; filled with joy and gratitude at the Scriptural testimony of what our Lord has done for us in His incarnation.

(We) “the people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light, (we) those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on (us) them a light has shined”. (Isaiah 9:2) Amen.

The peace of God …

[itsyourchoicedevotionals]

Up Close And Personal

“Behold, I will wave My hand over them and they shall become plunder for their own slaves. Then you shall know (recognize, understand fully) that the LORD of hosts has sent Me.” Zechariah 2:9AMP

Who is enslaving us? Nobody—right? Are we duped into thinking we’re free? Like the Pharisees told Jesus, “…“We are Abraham’s descendants and have never been slaves of anyone. How can you say that we shall be set free?” John 8:33NIV. Did they merely forget for a moment they were under Roman occupation? This is ‘convenient memory.’

When it’s our generation conveniently forgetting— each day we’re losing another freedom to a godless, communist, government, one enacting powers not authorized by the constitution— we’re talking stupid and sad. Who’s going to set us free?

My heart has been breaking for this nation and our sister country of Lou’s birth. As I’ve petitioned heaven, the Lord keeps reminding me of the scriptures He gave me in 2020: Isaiah 33:10NLT “But the LORD says: “Now I will stand up. Now I will show My power and might.” Psalm 33:10-11NLT “The LORD frustrates the plans of the nations and thwarts all their schemes. But the LORD’s plans stand firm forever; his intentions can never be shaken.”

Prophets are calling for a greater move than the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt. They’re declaring God is going to save us out of the midst of the evil. As I pressed into to hear what Holy Spirit had to say, He took me to our text. Scratching my head, I had to look this text up in every translation to see what it actually says. The Amplified Bible is the clearest to understand. All of the corrupt government officials who live through what is coming will be our slaves, instead of the way they planned.

We need “two or three witnesses.” 2Corinthians 13:1NIV This week Holy Spirit opened to my understanding (rhema word)— Isaiah 33:20-24NLT “You will see Jerusalem…” [here God is speaking of the grafted in Jew, the church] “It will be like a tent whose ropes are taut and whose stakes are firmly fixed. [this is speaking of a secure place of safety.] “The LORD will be our Mighty One. He will be like a wide river of protection that no enemy can cross,” [back in the dark ages 1000 to 1300 AD lords made a moat of water around the lands for protection. Jesus will be wider, actually a river.] “that NO ENEMY SHIP can sail upon. For the LORD is our Judge, our Lawgiver, and our King. He WILL CARE for us and save us. [Can we ask for any better promise than what you just read?] “The enemies’ sails hang loose on broken masts with useless tackle. Their treasure will be divided by the people of God.” [At this point I want you to reread our text. The enemies of the church and our nations are rendered incapable of any actions.] “Even the lame will take their share!” [So many have been rendered weak in the church with illness, crippling diseases, etc. will be set free to take their share of healing. Pharma, and the corrupt have kept millions sickly, when they had the cures all along.] “The people of Israel will no longer say, “We are sick and helpless,” for the LORD will forgive their sins.” [Remember the crippled man let down through the roof on the mat, Luke 5:17-39? Sin and sickness often hold hands.] (All interjections and emphasis were mine.)

Those who become intimately connected with Jesus Christ will find themselves suddenly provided for, cared for in every way, healed and whole. Satan loses his total hold over the church. Nothing is as important as becoming up close and personal with Christ Jesus. Lukewarm doesn’t cut it. Are you there yet?\ It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: Holy God I desire to be as close to you as is possible. Help us all, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

by Debbie Veilleux Copyright 2023 You have my permission to reblog this devotional for others. Please keep my name with this devotional, as author. Thank you.

[slavghoul]

Tobias Forge on Satanism, religion, etc.

Recently one of the most common questions I get here concerns the topic of Satanism – “Is Tobias actually a Satanist?”, “Are Ghost really devil worshippers or is this just a funny shtick?” and so on, and so forth. I have therefore compiled a few quotes from the man himself speaking about his personal views on Satanism and religion, as well as how the satanic themes translate into the world of Ghost. Perhaps it will help you form your own judgement on the matter.

On his personal relationship with Satanism

Sacramento News & Review, 2018

Are you a Satanist?

TF: From a strictly Christian point of view, if that means believing in a physical, half man, half-ram living in the underground, no, I don’t believe there is such a thing. I’m not the opposite either. And you know, I’m sure in the eyes of the beholder, if I was put in front of true god-fearing bible thumpers, I would probably be regarded as a Satanist just because I’m not a god-fearing bible thumper. But the concept of Satanism has many, many forms. In the last 50 years now, ever since [Anton] LaVey and pop-cultural Satanism, when that rose in the latter of the part of ’60s with the Church of Satan, and Black Sabbath and Black Widow and Coven and that sort of hippie Satanism, which at the end of the day, heavy metal, black metal, all that is based upon that cultural Satanism. I grew up with that. So from that point of view, I would definitely say that culturally, I am definitely, for lack of better way of putting it, I’m a devil-liking kind of guy. But I wouldn’t sacrifice a baby to a half-ram that I believe to be living in the underground. And I would never ever encourage anyone to do that.

Aftonbladet, 2016

I became interested in Satanism when I was 10-11, so I find it very difficult to have a clear intellectual approach to it. In the end, I became interested in it because I thought it was cool. Aesthetically, I think it's amazing. An incredibly fun and, for me, a very homey world. As I tell our children, the devil is our friend. The monsters are our friends. But I was much more convinced back then, than I am now. As a grown man, it's hard to buy the idea that if we take a shovel and dig into the ground, eventually we'll come across a half-buck in a burning inferno. Although it would have been an incredibly festive thought. What I know is that I haven't got a fucking clue. That's the only thing I'm absolutely convinced of.

Banger TV, 2019

Even though I am very, very, very fascinated with religion in many ways, I'm sort of staying in the pop cultural world when it comes to referencing the devil, and especially when I'm talking about my relationship to him. He appeared in my life through rock music, through films. I've been dressing myself with pentagrams and upside down crosses ever since I was 11 years old and was watching horror films and listening to music about Satan way before that. That's the difference I think between a musician born in the 40s that added the devil as a "hip" thing in 1969 to their musical movement, it was more an addition that they could do as grown-ups, whereas for me and a lot of my friends who grew up with black metal, death metal bands - it's part of our blood basically.

Psychology Today, 2018

I think in 99.9 percent of every so-called Satanist in the last 50 years, you would find that the vast majority of them have been introduced to the Devil via music. And it usually happens at a certain age as well. It was also the early '90s—so that was the rise of the death metal and black metal movement in Europe and in the world I guess. Especially in Sweden and Norway, it was a big thing. It was just right up my alley and it became such a powerful way of expressing myself, and how to not only deviate and differentiate myself from the norm and normal people but just like hand in glove with my way of seeing the world.

On the pop-cultural devil vs the biblical devil

Areena, 2019

What does Satan mean to you?

TF: For me personally, he or it, she... She has been such a faithful companion for the majority of my life - as a guide, as a mentor, as a symbol. The idea of the devil representing ‘evil’ as opposed to 'good’ does not… it clashes with my idea of the devil. Because the devil for me represents rock and roll, film, freedom, humor - essentially, my life and my background because it’s so coloured with so many “blasphemous” expressions. I think that’s one of the most common misconceptions that makes it so hard for people to fathom - that there’s obviously the biblical devil, and then you have the pop-cultural devil. The pop-cultural devil being very much a representative of freedom, intellectualism and liberation from the chains of handicapping worship of the three Abrahamic religions - because that’s what [these religions] are about, they’re about control. Satan represents, in the pop cultural sense, the opposite of that. In the Bible it represents evil, but I know very, very few things in the history of the world that have been perpetrated in the name of the devil that have been to the non-benefit of mankind, whereas… I mean, just look at the amount of abuse and human despair that has been caused in the name of 'good.’

Billboard, 2019

On the Satanic leanings: For me, it is very personal and important, but I struggle to define the differences between the pop-cultural Satan and the actual one – if you want to say it that way – because that’s even harder to define. [Since the 1960s, Satanism] has become a fun little thing for 20-somethings to play with. It has very much been embraced as a symbol of liberation, rather than a symbol of actual tyranny and evil. The pop-cultural Satan has an amazing importance for me, and that’s because I’m a born rebel and a natural ‘opposer,’ in that I oppose shit.

On whether there would be Satan without God: The Satan that we are most commonly referring to in the Western world is obviously a product of Christianity. Within the confines and context of Christianity, no. They cannot exist without the other. That’s the problem with the entire concept of Satanism because, depending on who you’re talking to – if you’re talking to a Bible thumper, Satan exists within the bras of women, and Satan exists within the confines of rock ‘n’ roll music and drugs and everything that would be considered quote ‘bad’ and ‘dangerous’ and ‘harmful.’ And I think that in rock ‘n’ roll and in pop culture, that is the thing that most people cling to. Satan as a symbol or symbolic role model represents liberation and free thought and fun. Intellectualism as opposed to regression and stupidity. But if you’re talking about Satan as the main peddler and the prime motor for evil – if I look at the world and I see evil, I think of ISIS and I think that’s pure evil, and that has nothing to do with a pop-cultural horned-goat half-man called Satan. So you really, really, really have to understand that the ‘Satan’ that has been embraced by artists in film, music, poetry, and art going back centuries was made to scare people.

On not being against religion but rather organized religion, and on not being an atheist

Rolling Stone Deutschland, 2019

I’m not against religion. I’m not against being religious. But I am against organized religion, the scriptures, because we know perfectly well that they are basically manifests put together by other people in order to control the rest. That’s not even a secret.

New York Post, 2018

The problem with religious doctrine, as with politics, because of its ability to give people authority, it has a tendency to attract people that want authority for all the wrong reasons, and that is what it has done across all time. But, then again, in all fairness, I am not saying that there shouldn’t be faith. It’s completely different things. The belief in something bigger and supernatural is not the same thing as linear religion.

Loudwire, 2015

I'm definitely not an atheist. Intellectually, obviously my intellect tells me one thing, but I want there to be something so I choose not to completely follow my intellect when it comes to the idea of there being a bigger being or beings that I cannot explain.

Psychology Today, 2018

I am not against the idea of believing. I am not an atheist. The whole institution of Christianity being based on that book, being based on the premise that he was conceived out of nowhere—it’s kind of hard to believe. But on the other hand, I do believe in the idea of a historic person named Jesus that was a kind of chill dude who was just telling people to chill and be nice to each other. And he got penalized for that. So I’m not dismissing the whole thing as bullsh*t. But I definitely believe that tormenting other people because of the Bible and for that to be—for lack of a better word, Gospel. I think that is not very nice.

Amusio, 2013

Are you afraid of death?

TF: I am not very afraid of death, only of the question of how I will die. I don't know what will happen to us when it's all over, but I'm not an atheist and I certainly believe in a higher, inexplicable existence out there with which we humans are more or less in contact. That's why I don't think that death is the end of our existence.

Rolling Stone Deutschland, 2019

How religious was your upbringing?

TF: Not very. I'd say that in my main home, which was with my mother and my brother, there was always spiritualism I would say. We were definitely not atheists, but it was more infused by the idea of there being greater things than what we know. But that takes the tools that we use to trigger these feelings and that comes from pop cultural powers, rather than scripture - if that makes sense. The power of rock’n’roll. The power of film. The power of a good book. And that combined sort of gives us hint that there might be something that we cannot explain.

US Time Today, 2022

I’ve always had an intense relationship with organized, linear religion, let’s put it that way. I’m very fascinated by the art and its history, but maybe not so much by the rules and the guilt.

On Satanism in Ghost

Pitchfork, 2013

The theme of Satanism, tongue-in-cheek or not, has a long tradition in heavy metal. How important is it to what you guys are doing?

TF: Well thematically, obviously, it’s alpha to omega, that’s what we’re doing. The sort of Satanism, or devil-worship, that we want to portray in the confines of Ghost, a very biblical version of goat worship, the sort of things that you see in a Satanic Panic movie. And obviously in the theatre that is Ghost, everything is supposed to feel like it’s orthodox devil-worshipping. As an audience member, you can choose to believe whatever you want to. And you can choose to partake, or you can choose not to.

Hard Force, 2015

We are not necessarily singing about God or Satan, we're singing about what we think and how we treat each other because of what we believe is God and Satan. All of a sudden, that's a way bigger scope than most other cult-oriented rock bands do, because normally it's just odes to this, that and the other.

Telegraph, 2022

When we’re talking about darkness, death, despair, it’s to express our discontent at the world. It’s our way to explain how shit things are.

Loudwire, 2018

We’re trying to make people happy about life. We’re actually quite humanistic. If you take all of these things that we’re saying and what we’re doing completely literally, and you believe that this is equal to damnation, then there’s no way that we can meet intellectually. As a human, I grieve for tendencies like that because I think it reflects on something somber, limited and regressive. 

[ellitx]

Chapter 2: Altercates of Frivolous Dispute

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑎𝑦 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑉𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠  【 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 】

previous | next

artist: joshu_7

word count: 4.8k

           “Isn’t this…?” 

           “It’s now our shelter.”

           The woman happily exclaimed, clapping her hands together whilst [Name] stood frozen in utter dread and fear. Venti, who was catching his breath, settled his hands on his knees just as his body bent forward.

           All the running he did to catch up with them, did they just really leave him there in the forest?! 

           Wiping the trickling drops of sweat dripping on the side of his face, he glanced up at the familiar architecture before looking back at his friend.

           “Wait this is—“

           “No no no! W-we can’t stay here! What are you thinking, Miss Tall Lady?!”

           [Name] waved her hands frantically in denial, her face becoming paler than before. She pointed at the temple before walking in circles as she carefully meddled in Kairo's absurd choice of picking the holy sacred place in Mondstadt. 

           “This is the Temple of Time and Wind! If the Favonius Church caught us, we'd be dead! Moreso, the Anemo Archon and the God of Time won’t appreciate it if we’re to intrude on their abode…”

           She clutched on the sleeves of her dress, fingers digging through until the fabric was roughly grazing her skin. Venti and Kairos stood idly, silence taking over them amidst the quiet and dark midnight aura of time. Before Venti could speak, the latter walked towards the heiress and bent down slightly to face her.

           “My child,” she called as she gently grasped her shoulders and caressed her head like a mother comforting her daughter.  “If anything, the God of Time and the God of Wind would like you to stay here. It’s better they discover their beloved people safe than see them getting hurt and lost in the wilderness.”

           [Name]’s lips parted and her eyes flickered in slight hesitancy and doubt. “I promise you, Venti and I will protect you however we can to keep you from harm. If the Church of Favonius caught us lurking here, we shall take the responsibility.” Kairos turned her head to where Venti was standing, and without saying anything he already knew what she was trying to tell him.

           “As what she had said, Miss [Name], the deities wouldn’t forgive themselves if they saw you badly wounded and hurt. This temple is always welcome for anyone to come in and there’s no restriction on who and what is supposed to gain entrance in this holy sacred place.”

           Nodding in agreement, both of them gently pushed her inside, the coldness in their skin fading away as soon as the warmth of the place hugged them in a humble welcome. 

           The great Thousand Winds Temple was a beautiful sight to behold. The golden roofs of the many temples and palaces glittered in the moonlight, and the faint lively sounds of laughter and song [Name] could vaguely remember still rang in her ears. It has been a long time since she stepped foot in this place.

           It was at the time when she begged her father to take her here as her birthday present when she reached the age of nine. All those preachings she had heard from the priests and sisters, the books she had secretly read from one of the holy mages in her household, and of course the tales her father told her before she goes to sleep were something she had grown curious, craving to know more about these two gods who protect the City of Freedom.

           The people of the Undying Wind were kind and welcoming, and they always had time for a smile. The great temple of Barbatos was even more impressive than any other temples she had seen before. The edifice was made of shining gold and marble stones, and the sculptures and carvings on the walls were breathtaking.

           The priests of the Anemo Archon were highly respected and many people made a pilgrimage to visit their temple. Though it brought the heiress waves of nostalgia from visiting this sacred temple, the heavy dread pitting on her stomach was more disturbing than the statues displayed at the sides.

           “I’m fine sleeping outside… You two shall take rest here—“

           Right before she could turn around, a strong gust of wind pushed her back to where they were standing causing her to bump into Venti who quickly caught her by her shoulders before she got hurt.

           “See? It’s dangerous outside. If you plan to sleep with the animals in the forests, those little creatures won’t share their abode with you if it starts raining. We could go to that “safe house” of yours but you seem adamant about it.”

           “If I go to that safe house, it wouldn’t be safe anymore if the maids find me, would it?” 

           That was what the bard would expect from [Name]’s lips when he teasingly chided her. He would’ve thought she’d do her usual cynical rebuttals at him, yet he was simply greeted with a small nod— something he really was not expecting.

           “That settles it then. I shall go find some covers. In the meantime, why don’t you explore this temple with Venti? We might find something useful we could use for the night.”

           Kairos pushed [Name] and Venti to a random spot somewhere in the temple, leaving the latter bewildered while the girl remained by his side, looking from side to side anxiously.

           “If something happens, do not hesitate to call for my help. Venti, I trust you’ll keep the princess from any harm coming to her.”

           The vigilant eye he gave to him was something he made sure to never break her trust in him, a word to tell she was relying on him. Nodding, they watched the lady take her leave and let her explore the temple to herself leaving the two alone together.

           “I’ll just stay here. Don’t stray too far where I can’t see you, Miss [Name].” 

           His voice broke her out of her stupor and she looked back up at him. The mildly dazed look in her eyes from her own thoughts took him aback, lightly tinting his thoughts in a less than acceptable manner. Slightly, his mind wandered as his eyes gave [Name] a subtle once-over before turning his attention back to the statues and the paper hidden in his pocket. 

           It’s a rare sight for the mistress to be so distracted and lost. He barely knows her but given the fact she suddenly fled from the city, there must have been a reason why she had to do so. He can only speculate it must have been the heavy weight of duties and the news she’s the new head of the Imunlaukr Clan after her father passed away.

           But such a conclusion should not be placed on the table and agreed upon instantly onto it. It’s a bad habit that he’s jumping to conclusions, more so if he dares to invade her personal space. Venti wished they could end the day already and bring her back to the Knights of Favonius the next morning.

           Easier said than done.

           He scoffed at himself. The bard put out the folded scroll and flipped it to its back so he could continue writing his piece that was close to being accomplished.

           On the other side, [Name] was exploring the small space of the temple; touching the statues that were dusty and inspecting some of the locked caskets and chambers. If her memory serves correctly, there are some books here that were previously used by the royal mages, however, after the controversial incident of the Lawrence Clan, all scriptures and scrolls used by them were now locked by the Church of Favonius to cease the corruption of darkness from spreading any further.

           One item that had caught her eye was a lone book sitting in the center of the credence table. It seemed uninteresting at first but the fact that she’s inside of the Thousand Winds Temple, it’s practically hard to resist the urge to not not take a peek at the book. 

           As the daughter and descendant of the Imunlaukr, [Name] knew she rarely comes across the opportunity to stay in the temple of the God of Wind and Time as it is rather quite difficult to come by. 

           After all, there are relics here that were used by the god themselves so she never had the chance to visit this when the Church can only select a few people for each clan. It was only an exception when her father brought her here on her birthday and he also used that as a chance to tell her the history of the gods Mondstadt worship and must protect.

           Sneaking a peek at the bard, [Name] made sure Venti was still busy with his composition. She cautiously took a step, ensuring the heels of her shoes won’t echo or make a sound, or else she’s doomed.

           Taking one last look at the bard, she silently crept her way to where the small table was and glanced at the cerulean book. She was in awe of the intricate designs and the image engraved on the cover despite all the dust that had been compiled. 

           Who would leave this book here? I thought the Church always kept it somewhere inconspicuous.

           [Name]’s curiosity grew even further. She was tempted to read a small passage from one of the pages, her eyes often wandering back and forth to the bard and to the book. 

           As the scion carefully opened the cover, there were unknown symbols written on it— one she’s not so familiar with. In spite of that, she does however manage to spot a few of Teyvat’s language with the downside that it was written illegibly.

           It was mostly non-mundane scripture she could see among the books’ pages so perhaps it could be a script from the bordering nation or faraway lands like Fontaine. It’s a big disappointment she never got the chance to travel beyond Mondstadt’s borders. If she had the opportunity to do so, she would’ve taken it in a heartbeat.

           Before she could proceed to the next page, a hand slammed shut the book she was reading which in turn caused her heart to stop beating for a brief second, hairs on her arms and neck crawling up in fear that she may have been caught.

           [Name] was paralyzed to the spot, the menacing aura holding her in a tightening grip. She feared that if she stepped back a little, things would end for her. Her eyes never departed from that arm, their hand still on top of the cover before they took it off and dusted their palm on their cloth.

           “Ah, my apologies. The book was rather dusty and I saw a small spider almost crawling on your arms, dear.”

           Kairos held out her hand to show her the lifeless insect. Small dry blood can be seen on her pale, slim palms. Fear had still remained intact within the young scion, not because of the bloodied insect but rather the mysterious aura that had been surrounding her 

           [Name] steadied her breath and tried to calm the panic with a sheepish laugh. “No worries, Miss Tall Lady,” she continued to call her with that odd nickname, hoping it may lighten up the tense air around them for a bit. 

           “Did it bite you?”

           Kairos grabbed her hand as she carefully inspected both the back and front. 

           “No, I’m perfectly fine.”   

           [Name] managed to find her voice in the back of her throat, but the statement still came out far less assuring than she would’ve liked. 

           “That’s good to know,” The lady heaved a sigh of relief before putting back her bright smile like a child. “I have good news, I found three mattresses we can use so we don’t have to worry about sleeping on the dirty flooring.” She held out her arms to reveal the pillows and covers bundled up on her arms.

            “Come, let’s tell this to Venti.”

           Fear was an understatement of what the heiress is currently feeling, but there’s no doubt something was off of what just happened. Putting aside her mixed feelings of confusion and uneasiness, she followed Kairos’s steps from behind.

           Venti was pacing back and forth by the sidelines when the two girls reached there and when he saw them walking to where he was standing, he looked up at [Name] with relieved eyes. 

           “There you are. You scared me that you left off without saying a word. 

           “Sorry… I got distracted.”

           She sheepishly rubbed her arm before Kairos chiseled in and shoved all the items she had found to Venti’s. “Venti, would you be so kind as to make our makeshift mattress? I shall tend the maiden’s wounds before it becomes worse.” 

           The woman grabbed the young girl’s hand and hauled her where they could be alone. Out of nowhere she took out some herbs and kneeled down to carefully tend the bright, dry burning scratches that awfully damaged her knee. It’s a wonder how the girl managed to stay strong and it could be because she had the blood of Imunlaukr, one who is known for being warriors so this is but a scratch for the scion.  

           “My deepest apologies for all these troubles and inconveniences you and the bard had to go through.” [Name] apologized again as her eyes were cast down on her knees before she hissed at the burning sensation when Kairos applied some of the herbal saps.

           “You don’t have to be sorry, dear. One who has gone missing and an important figure to the nation should not be left unignored lest they’d be found bloodied.”

           She carefully wrapped a cloth around her knee and tied it carefully, not too tight but not too loose where the temporary dressing would fall off. 

           “May I ask a question, dear?”

           [Name]’s eyes met with Kairos’s bright ones and she felt cold when the woman sat next to her.

           “What is it?”

           Kairos paused for a brief moment before looking up at the temple’s ceiling where the light only came from the chandelier’s candles, watching the small details of the fine art that tells the history of Mondstadt’s previous events. 

           “Why did you run off all of a sudden?”

           It was shocking at first to hear that from her but the scion soon chuckled at her bluntness. “Miss Tall Lady, I do appreciate you for taking care of my wounds but asking a personal question for a status of myself, I must say I am impressed by how straightforward you and your friend are.”

           Her words were not out of mockery but genuine beguilement, a feeling she hadn’t felt for a long time since she was young— since she had been with her father.

           “You and Mister Bard really share a lot of similarities. Almost as if that boy is your child.” A chuckle abruptly left Kairos’s lips by her interesting point of claim.

           [Name] Imunlaukr, a child of Renate and Liesl Imunlaukr and the descendant of the namesake, was an amusing girl. Witty, enigmatic, and no doubt arrogant. How come this is the first she had heard of her name not eminent among the townsfolk when she held the last name of one of Mondstadt’s prominent clans?

           “I guess Venti and I do share a fair amount of traits here and there.”

           Kairos indulged [Name]’s comments, her eyes settled on the said boy who was struggling in spreading out the covers onto the tiled floor. 

           “But to answer your question, my lips are sealed for now.” Right before she could question the scion, she held out a finger as if to silence her which was surprisingly effective.

           “Not because I do not trust you both. It’s best if it remains unknown for your own good.”

           The crickets that [Name] could faintly hear from afar almost lulled her to sleep if it weren’t for Venti’s voice that echoed across the temple shouting their names.

           “Hey! It’s done.”

           “It’s getting late, you should take a rest, Miss [Name].”

           Kairos ushered her back to the corner areas and settled her down carefully on the mattress. The way her gestures were so familiar almost felt like she was back in her abode and together with Venti’s humming— who’s still focused on doing his composing— she’s almost close to falling asleep in a second. The bard’s velvety voice that brought hushed lyrics into life had fallen deaf to her ears as she drifted off to her dreamland.

           “Venti, watch her for me. I’ll just be outside to watch over the temple.”

           The male nodded before setting his gaze on the sleeping girl who covered herself thickly with the spare sheets Kairos had found. At this kind of time, he’d hit the sack as well after the exhausting day he has gotten himself into. 

           Slumping himself down onto the pillow, he placed his arms behind his back before closing his eyes and humming an improvised tune his head could think of. Venti tried several ways to force himself to sleep: walking around the grand temple, playing with his anemo powers and trying to cool the heiress when she felt hot, and even singing softly as a rehearsal for the new song he had composed.

           Sadly all methods had no effect and he’s bothered all night that Kairos still hasn’t come back yet.

           Where in the world did she go off to?

           Unbeknownst to him, the bard didn’t notice [Name] shifting in her sleep who slowly sat up and rubbed her eyes from her short nap.

           “What are you doing?”

           Her voice was close to his and even he didn’t take a second to glance at her, he was aware her sleep was disturbed because of him and wants a small distraction while they wait for his friend to come back.

           “Just composing some pieces for my upcoming performance. Don’t mind me and go back to sleep.”

           [Name] crawled next to him and took a peek over his shoulders. A wrinkled folded piece of paper was perched in his hands with some words scribbled down onto it. She eyed the legible writing, taking in the words into her head in silent reverence for his talent.

           “A poem?”

           She hummed mostly to herself. Venti’s attention was back on the item on his hand before raising it up to her and chuckling awkwardly. “It’s not a great masterpiece so it needs a little more improvement before I can perform this to my audience.”

           Folding the paper into a small size, he hid it in his pocket only to be halted by a hand settled on his wrist.

           “You can write…”

           His brows crinkled together, slightly confused by her odd behavior. 

           “Yes…?”

           He really wasn’t sure what to say to that which resulted in an unsure tone that resonated within his voice box.

           “Can you teach me?”

           At first, he would’ve thought he was simply mishearing her because of his fatigued state—

           “Pardon?”

           “Can you teach me?”

           [Name] paused for a good minute as her grip on his wrist began to falter, slowly sliding down back to her side and clutching her skirt tightly whilst looking at her lap with a flustered appearance.

           “I… I want to learn how to write…”

           — But it was clear as day that this Imunlaukr girl is seeking a tutor in writing. 

           “May I ask why?”

           Venti put his assumptions aside and focused on the concern that was sitting in front of him. It was silent, stiff, and perilous if he had picked the wrong words to utter. 

           What in the world is he saying to the heiress?

           His train of thoughts ceased when she shifted in her place and crossed her legs together. The bard quietly peered at her small movements from the minor rhythmic tapping of her fingers to her eyes constantly going back and forth to him and to her lap.

           “I want to write something without the maids, Miss Vennessa, and the rest of the Imunlaukr family knowing about it.”

           Venti’s lips parted a bit, his mind absently observing her behavior. It’s best to make sure his assumptions were right.

           “Do you want to write a letter?”

           “Yes,” She hummed and bent down with her arms wrapped over her knees and pulled it close to her chest.

           “Letters for everyone.”

           It would be an understatement if he said her stillness didn’t give him anxiety. Her sudden change of manner of conducting oneself, her shift of tone, and everything about her just… changed. Where was the [Name] Imunlaukr he had met this morning?

           “I want to give them letters after I’m…”

           [Name] turned her back at him and Venti yelped when a pillow was thrown at his face.

           “It’s nothing. We can start it tomorrow. Good night, Mister Bard.”

           Before he knows it, she was back on her mattress with the sheet covering her entire body. He glanced between the pillow that was thrown at him and at the heiress who was immediately back in her slumber. The furrow in the middle of his eyebrows seemed deeper than before as more questions and confusion overwhelmed him over the past ten minutes.

           What is with [Name] today…?

  ❈ || ❈ || ❈

           “From the winds, we have come, and the winds we shall go… Never ever grieve for me.”

           Moisted in the morning mist, a hushed voice brought Venti back from his dreamland. 

           “’Tis but my flesh and bones which rest in the soil…”

           As he struggled to open his sleepy eyes, he saw [Name] stroking a book’s page with incomprehensible mumbling. 

           “Morning, princess. Is this your morning routine to read out loud to your companions?”

           The scion promptly shut the book with a loud thud and hid the item behind her.

           “Y-you’re awake?”

           Venti paid no heed to her flustered state and sat up groggily with a small yawn threatening to slip out from him.

           “If you’re praying for wind, you could’ve told me so. I can cool you off with my vi—“

           “Nonsense! Who do you think I am to wake up a sleeping person for something so inconsequential?!” 

           “Inconsequential?” He chuckled whilst he braided his hair. His fingers were delicate and swift in moving from one strand to another creating a clean interwoven hairstyle then tied it to finish dressing his hair before putting on his beret. 

           [Name] sighed heavily and folded her arms over her chest with a mild frown etched on her front. 

           “You’re too carefree and I wonder how you are making a living as a bard when you’re focused on watching over me…”

           As she shook her head in disappointment, she took out her fan and folded it open, her eyes cast onto the entrance of the temple as if she was waiting for something.

           “Visions are a gift from the gods and Celestia. And for you to have that recognition and have been bestowed with a wonderful gift, you must have a great ambition to harness such powers.”

           Venti quirked his brow in interest and prodded his elbow on his knee, leaning forward to hear more of her knowledge about Visions. 

           “People like you who can use elements are a force to be reckoned with, regardless of whether you mean to do good or ill, hence someone should look out for.” She continued.

           “So is this why you were so wary of me yesterday?”

           [Name] glanced at him shortly before shifting back her gaze to the gates, watching the birds flock on the ground and grab twigs before flying off to their homes to create their nests. 

           “That was also the case. However,”

           She stood up and slapped her skirt as specks of dust could be seen with the help of the sun’s rays flying all over the air. With curious eyes, his green optics followed her movements and gradually moved his head up as the maiden hovered above him with her fan pointing at him and lifting his chin to face her.

           Silence occupied the entirety of the room they were situated in. It wasn’t awkward nor tense, but he can still feel the small sparks flashing through her eyes that were akin to provocation and skepticism.

           “It’s nefarious to peek beneath a woman’s skirt.”

           Venti took a big gulp of air, holding back his breath as both of his palms supported his entire body whilst he leaned backward. [Name]’s eyes bored into his and no matter how much his mind pestered him to say something or break off the eye contact, he remained still. 

           With parting lips, he gave a shot to defend himself.

           “If I’d be so bold to flirt, I must say your color of choice absolutely suits your mint-hued skirt.”

           It was then a shocking open palm of her hand had struck his cheek, the harsh and loud stinging sound reverberating across the whole temple as the birds flapped their wings and flew off in a panic.

  ❈ || ❈ || ❈ 

           “Are you going for a record of being Mondstadt’s worst ladies' man?”

           Kairos tended the bard’s cheek carefully with a wet cloth, holding his face between her dainty fingertips, stifling her laugh when [Name] was pouting and tapping her shoes on the tiles angrily. 

           “I was just being honest!”

           He defended with a pout with his arms crossed over his chest and his back slouching like a child. [Name] huffed at him whilst she rolled her eyes and pointed an accusing finger.

           “You always keep giving excuses and I won’t tolerate this!”

           Kairos intervened by placing herself between them and gently pushing them aside to cease their bickering. “Alright, can we please have a moment of silence? You two are acting like children constantly arguing over trivial matters.”

           [Name] gasped as if she was offended. “Are you going to let this pass, Miss Tall Lady?!” The woman sighed and patted her shoulder as she forced a smile onto her face to alleviate her fury state. 

           “I promise you, Lady [Name], Venti’s not a bad person. I’ll handle his perverse actions. In the meantime, why don’t you two prepare and get everything ready before we take our leave?”

           Venti yelped when Kairos pinched his arm as a warning while she stood up and tidied herself. A small bead of tears came up on the rim of his eyes as he rubbed and soothed his skin to alleviate the bright red marks that had been blemished. 

           As for the Imunlaukr mistress, she heaved a sigh for the umpteenth time and turned her heels. “I’ll wait outside.” The two deities watched her form disappear through the doorway in silence, her heels clicking on the tiled floor with a loud echo in the emptiness of the temple they have sheltered in. Venti shuddered once a drive of piercing gaze struck through the back of his head and he rapidly raised both of his hands, forfeiting his dignity knowing what would happen if he teleported and escaped right in front of her.

           “I have a good explanation! So before you throw me out and feed me to those wolves, I—“

           “What I seek is not your plea of mercy for me but for the mistress, Venti. Take your leave and beg your pardon to her.” 

           The bard quickly sealed his lips shut and glanced up at her with wide eyes, surprised and confounded at the same time. “Bring this fan to her,” Kairos handed him a familiar flowered pattern onto it with the Imunlaukr Clan’s crest engraved on the handle. “She left it on the podium so be sure to use this as a chance to strike up a conversation and say you’re sorry, okay?”

           She placed the fan onto his empty palm and closed it, her touch lingered on his before she stepped away and shifted her gaze to the window watching closely for any changes. “I won’t be joining in with you two. I have something else I need to attend to so this is my last request Venti,” 

           Time had slowed down for him. The nature outside had stopped moving, from the running water of the river to the fluttering of the birds’ wings soaring through the sky. By there in the ether of time came a gust of wind to whisper into his ears like the brush of a feather.

           “Escort her safely back to the city.”

           Opening his eyes, he was only greeted with the big empty space of the temple. His ears laid hold of the birds’ chirping outside and the rustle of the leaves that came from the ancient and monumental tree. The wind— eddied, swirled, and ambient— pushed him to rise up. 

           As he watched the remains of strings of the thousand winds she had left for him confluence of tether and vortex, a heaviness pit onto his stomach knowing what great responsibility had been turned over to him.

[nerdygaymormon]

2 Nephi 26:33 – All are alike unto God : When will the Church embrace all people?

he denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male and female; and he remembereth the heathen; and all are alike unto God, both Jew and Gentile

————————————————————

There’s no asterisks or qualifications to that statement, there’s no exceptions. “All” means all. 

A loving Heavenly Father would not cast someone out of His presence because of the way He created them. The Celestial Kingdom will be a place where the diversity of the Lord’s children can be on full display without judgement. 

It’s interesting to think this teaching was not added after 1978, it was in the 1830 version of the Book of Mormon. Despite how obvious these words seem, the LDS Church spent over a century treating Black members differently, denying them the opportunity to receive temple blessings, they couldn’t be sealed together, and Black men were not allowed to be part of the priesthood brotherhood, essentially they were denied exaltation.

Clearly the scriptures teach “all are alike unto God,” we’re all welcome to come to Him, and yet roadblocks are setup to keep certain groups out, to deny them blessings offered to others. When will the Church believe the words and embrace queer people? God cares more about the kind of people we are than the kind of people we’re attracted to.

————————————————————

It’s interesting the Nephi wrote this when he’s the one who earlier wrote:

Wherefore, the word of the Lord was fulfilled which he spake unto me, saying that: Inasmuch as they will not hearken unto thy words they shall be cut off from the presence of the Lord. And behold, they were cut off from his presence. And he had caused the cursing to come upon them, yea, even a sore cursing, because of their iniquity. For behold, they had hardened their hearts against him, that they had become like unto a flint; wherefore, as they were white, and exceedingly fair and delightsome, that they might not be enticing unto my people the Lord God did cause a skin of blackness to come upon them. (2 Nephi 5:20-21)

The LDS Church was founded at a time when slavery was part of America and Christians used the Bible to justify it. LDS Church leaders used these words in 2 Nephi 5 to further justify their racism. They missed the lesson that Nephi said this, but as he matures he changes so much that by chapter 26  he’s saying "all are alike unto God." They ignored verses where Nephites would discover they misunderstood the Lamanites and that they’re actually not the wicked people they had always been taught. Instead we had 100+ years of racism instituted in the LDS Church. 

Nowadays the LDS Church teaches that the curse was that the Lamanites were cut off from the Lord. And later when they embraced the gospel “the curse of God did no more follow them” (Alma 23:18). The “skin of blackness” wasn’t a curse but was a way to distinguish the Lamanites from the Nephites. As the book goes on, the mark becomes irrelevant as the Nephites go through periods of wickedness & righteousness and the populations intermingled.

The Book of Mormon claims to be for our day, and has lessons relevant to us. It teaches about racism and prejudice and how they are destructive and against God’s will. This book is the story of violently racist misogynists who thought they were better than everyone else. Their pride and wealth inequality doomed their civilization. Too many people who read the Book of Mormon view the Nephites as the heroes and the Lamanites as the enemy, but Doctrine & Covenants 38:39 warns that the Nephites are the cautionary tale, we shouldn’t be like them. And yet racism and misogyny are present in our church culture.

I can’t help to draw parallels between the homophobia & transphobia the church inherited from Christianity and hasn’t questioned. There’s no revelations by church leaders about the treatment of queer people nor their place in the gospel. Instead we’ve been taught that being queer is an abomination and the only place for us in God’s plan requires us to live like we are cisgender heterosexual people. Over the past few years, the basic understanding of church leaders about queer people has changed and continues to change. We aren’t queer because we choose to be or because of abuse or absent fathers or selfishness or whatever reasons they used to teach. This change in understanding is leading, albeit slowly, to changes in how the church talks about and treats queer people. I hope one day we finally get to the point where queer people are included in the belief that “all are alike unto God”

[olwrathie]

Favorite Details in Far Cry 5 Part 2: Introduction

It seems as though quite a few if you liked my post where I discussed my favorite details in fc5. Well I recently restarted the game and thought I would share some more of my favorite details, specifically focusing on the introduction of the game!

Warnings: Minor spoilers for the introduction of fc5, mentions of violence.

1.) Joseph’s Control

   I could write an entire post dedicated to Joseph’s character and Greg Bryk’s portrayal of him. But one of my favorite details is in the opening scene where we see the ‘traitor’ kneeling before Joseph. We’ve all seen violent bad guys, but it is rare to see the calm power Joseph wields. When he (what I’m assuming is) digging his fingers into the man's eyes, this calmness continues to radiate from Joseph, even as he commits this violent act. And it is something that seems to carry through the entire game. 

2.) Whitehorse vs. Burke

    The tension between these two is evident from the beginning. Whitehorse’s annoyance with Burke is understandable, and Burke almost seems oblivious. Hope County is nothing but another assignment to him, but Whitehorse has lived with Eden’s Gate, he’s seen people he cares about be taken, and perhaps even killed. And despite the fact that these two are technically on the same side, as they are both on the side of the law, these two couldn’t be further apart in the sense of their motivations. And Burke’s naivety to the situation the residents of Hope County are experiencing is obviously frustrating to Whitehorse. They even continue to bicker as they approach the church, while they are in the church, while they are leaving, and in the helicopter. Honestly, I am just a sucker for complex characters that don’t get along even when they are on the same side, and I think that these two characters portray that perfectly. 

3.) Pratt’s Flask

This is a detail my friend pointed out to me, and it is slightly more lighthearted than the rest. But during the helicopter ride to Joseph’s Compound, right after Burke says, “Why do you keep callin’ em peggies?” watch Pratt. He reaches down and grabs a flask (the same one that can be seen scattered across Hope County, but I can’t tell if it’s the exact same one as they normally have Eden’s Gate symbol on them) and takes a drink. He silently offers a drink to Hudson who shoves his arm away, to which he smirks at her before setting it back down. Obviously it is never revealed what is in the flask, but by his reaction, I’m assuming it isn’t something he should be drinking while operating a helicopter...

(This is the only gif I could find of the specific scene I am talking about, so just imagine John is Pratt)

4.) Jacob’s Disapproval

    This is yet another detail my friend pointed out to me during one of my playthroughs. But in the church during the arrest, pay attention to Jacob. After Joseph’s speech, specifically when he says “...and Hell followed with him,” and he raises his arms to allow the deputy to cuff him, Jacob shakes his head. It’s subtle, so it is easy to miss. But it is almost kind of amusing to see Jacob's disapproval of his younger brother's willingness, for lack of a better word, to be arrested. Even John, who is a lawyer, does not seem fazed by Joseph’s actions, he remains stoic, but instead Jacob is the one to react.   

5.) The Music 

    This entire game’s soundtrack is phenomenal. But the music in the church scene (as well as the lack thereof) is so incredibly powerful and chilling. The way the church congregation singing “Amazing Grace” fades as the officers enter the church. Followed by the lack of music as they slowly creep toward the front of the church where Joseph stands preaching. To the subtly intense music that plays as Burke holds up the warrant. The music truly reflects the tension of the scene. But personally my favorite part of the music in this scene is after Joseph says, “...and behold it was a white horse.” The four bells that ring as Joseph makes eye contact with the player is enough to send chills down my spine. The placement is perfect, in my opinion, and the music as a whole in this scene is fantastic and really adds another level to the game.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

WIP Wednesday: The Lamb

CW: Cults/religious imagery and talk, references to isolation and captivity, implied parental whumper/intimate whumper (platonic), dehumanization references

Sssshhhh, it’s a secret. you don’t know about this story.

The blade of the razor scraped, a subtle sssshhhhk down the man’s cheek and along his jaw, down his neck. The shaving cream smell wafted soap-fresh and with a hint of what the can insisted was cedar as it piled up. He rinsed, went back to work, again and again. Salt-and-pepper stubble disappeared, inch by inch, until he was smooth again.

Well, as smooth as a man with all his growing wrinkles could be, anyway. The care and keeping of a flock did age a man, after all, and his had a tendency to become occasionally unruly. 

He did not look at any part of him it wasn’t necessary to look at. Important to maintain purity, of course, to be careful of one’s appearance without being vain.

Pride goes before the fall, as they say.

As he said, three years ago, as he watched the unworthy shepherds of his little lamb tumble a very long way indeed. All the way down into the pit. They had loved the lamb more than their pastor, more than they loved God. If they could love the lamb that much, they were unworthy of his purification. 

The pastor, of course, knew this better than anyone. He had spent the past three years purifying the lamb himself. Just a little longer, now. The end times were upon them, every sign and omen he’d ever been promised had been shown to him. His people would be the few to survive, if only the lamb was ready. 

“Behold, the Lamb of God,” The man murmured to himself, “Who shall take the sin from the world. Soon. “I have done the work, I have seen the signs, and the boy is nearly purified...”

“Pastor?” The tremulous voice of his secretary was followed by an equally timid knock on the door.

“Yes, Kathy?” He frowned, buttoning up his soft gingham-print shirt over a pair of khaki slacks, the better to look like a member of his flock and not someone prideful who stood above them. He may have been the one called to lead, but he wasn’t the Messiah.

No, that would be the boy in the basement under his church. Nearly a man, but it was not too late, even then. He’d been locked down there to ensure he could not be corrupted before the day of reckoning, given all the scripture, both the Bible and the new books that God had placed in the man’s mind, to memorize. He was still pure, he would still suit the scripture, would still allow them all to heed the call.

He would be perfect, when he burned. 

He had to be.

“Pastor, I’m so sorry.” Kathy, who had been by his side for nearly thirty years, opened the door, and her eyes were already red-rimmed, tear tracks marked on her face. She looked like a woman who had seen a ghost, or a murder. “I’m so sorry, I have such bad news-”

“What is it?” He moved to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Caring, compassionate. A perfect leader for his congregation, the only ones who would survive the trials that lay ahead. “Speak freely. What’s wrong?”

“The lamb,” Kathy whispered, and her voice shook, a leaf ready to break free of the tree and drift dead to the ground. “The lamb, Pastor, it’s about th-the lamb-”

“What happened? What about him?” 

“He’s gone. His-... his chains are broken and he’s gone.”

The pastor’s first thought was not one of worry for his lost lamb, or of fear for him. 

Instead, he thought only, how dare he think he can run away from me again.