#lord and the heavens above help these children

[boba-beom]

minors who are writing smut, why are you rushing to grow up so much? literally chill out and take your time with your childhood. nsfws is obviously content you shouldn’t indulge in until you’re of age. take your time with being a minor and find hobbies and what not. I just don’t get it lmao why do minors write nsfws?

[deservedgrace]

one of the cult scholars i listen to said "most children are not being raised to die" months ago and i still think "being raised to die" sums up growing up in fundamentalist christianity so well.

my friends and i didn't know if we would grow up to be adults. we would have conversations about wanting the chance to be an adult and knew we were """selfish""" for wanting to live if it wasn't in god's plan. we were raised to believe that we would either be killed for being a christian (in the us no less) or that jesus was coming soon (rapture/end times theology). we knew it was "sinful" to want something outside of god's plan but we couldn't help ourselves.

we were members of the lord's army. we were to obey orders and lay down our life if necessary. "this life is just a test" they'd say. "our real life is our eternal life with the lord." none of this is real, it's just a test. if you pass, you get into heaven. if you fail, you're sent to eternal damnation and hellfire. this is an open book test, we've been given all the answers already. if you fail, it's your own fault.

being raised to die means that your future doesn't matter. jesus is coming soon. jesus is what matters. "set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth. for you died, and your life is hidden with christ in god."

i've been out for years. i'm in my late 20's. i still don't know how to set my mind on earthly things. i still struggle to believe i have a future.

[lady-ashfade]

Day 2 Of Fictober

Poison

Yandere! Rhaenrya Targaryen x Daughter!Reader.

Ask: Can you write a platonic yandere mother Rhaenyra fic where she secretly gives her daughter non fatal doses of poison so that she is to sick to leave Dragonstone when its time for her to marry her betrothed.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Over protective, over bearing parent, being poisoned. Poison, family full of yanderes, daemon being included because it fits.

The day you were born Rhaenrya swore she could hear the gods sing in harmony together. Your cries sounded like heaven to her ears, the little girl who belong to her. Y/n, the first daughter of Rhaenrya Targaryen. “Beautiful,” she brushed the hair and blood off of your forehead and placed a kiss.

“My sweet girl.”

You had stoped crying when you came into contact with her skin and warmth, she was safe and familiar. Rhaenrya had blessed with a boy and she was grateful to have two beautiful children. But her first born had dark hair and fair light skin, you had her features of paler skin and silver hair. Your mother knew she needed to protect you from the darkness of the world and keep you innocent.

Each day you were at the queens side or in your own room. She would take her younger son to see you and get you both comfortable with one another. Jace couldn’t stop smiling and clapping when he saw you, he’s such a good older brother. As the years passed by you grew to need your mother or your brothers, being dependent on her. Where the princess went you weren’t far behind in a small dress and coping her.

But now it was the day she had dreaded for your whole life. You being betrothed to a lord far away and not with her.

“But mother, I need silver.” You huffed as you pressed the dress to your body. A smile on your cheeks as you swing yourself from side to side in the mirror. “Silver will match his clothes.” She cringed at your giggling and delighted to be married off, to leave her behind. A daughter should want to stay with her mother as long as she could, even cry when leaving her mother.

“You are stressing dearest,” her hands stopped your hands and looked at you through the mirror and smiled. “No need not to change for a man, not when you’re already perfection.” Her lips met your cheeks and you laugh at her sweetness and affection. You turned around and took her back into your arms and hugged her close.

“Only because you’re my mother and taught me every I know. I will make you proud, mother. This marriage will help our family with the whispers,” a hushed tone of the mention of rumors spreading around the realm of you and your brothers birth. “Promise.” Her chest loved how you smiled and wanted to help her, her sweet girl.

But it was foolish to think she’d let you go. And that’s why she needed to keep you by her side since you were so naive.

She watched as you laughed with your brothers at the table and ate your favorite meal. How could she let this go? As soon as you lifted your cup to your mouth she was ready for the moment to happen. Daemon by her side keeping a eye on you too as he help with the poison, a maester waiting outside the door. A few seconds later you began to cough and play it off for a few seconds until it became hard for you to breathe.

“Someone help her!” Rhaenrya acted the part of a scared mother and it wasn’t all a lie. Seeing you so panicked and scared, grabbing ahold of her as if it was the last time. Of course she hated it but this was for the best. No one would ever expected the woman who loved her children above all else to poison them. Daemon had a “search” for the person who did it, and a servant was kill for the crime. A innocent life was worthless to them when it came to you.

A few days later you awaken from your rest and saw your mother beside your bed as she hummed. “Mother?” You called out with a horse voice and she jumped up to take you in her arms. The relief spread on her face as she kissed your head repeatedly and whisper prayers to the gods. “I was so worried.” You held onto her but she got a cup and lifts it to your lips. The first thing was to clear your throat and get it back.

Sipping the drink you smile and lean back down, looking at her loving. “Please tell me I wasn’t out to long, Sir Roderick will be saddened at my lack of letters.” It went unnoticed that she gripped the sheets and a quick smirk that she turned into a smile. He will have to find another bride to have because you’re never leaving the castle.

“I’m sure you will recover soon.” The cup was set back down as she smiled at the bottom where a powder was seen. Rhaenrya kept you on a small amount of poison every week to keep you from getting around on your own or to long. Something to make your body weak without her help.

“Now rest up, my sweet girl.”

[talonabraxas]

Anu 𒀭 “Skyfather and Lord of Firmament, or the Great Above.” Talon Abraxas

Anu (also known as An) is an early Mesopotamian sky god who was later viewed as the Father of the Gods and ruler of the heavens, a position which then passed to his son Enlil. He is the son of the couple Anshar and Kishar (heaven and earth, respectively), the second-born of the primordial couple Apsu and Tiamat.

He was originally a Sumerian sky deity known as An (meaning 'sky') first referenced in writing during the Early Dynastic Period (2900-2334 BCE) who was adopted by the Akkadians c. 2375 BCE as Anu ('heaven') the all-powerful. Sargon the Great of Akkad (r. 2334-2279 BCE) mentions Anu and Inanna in his inscriptions as legitimizing his rule or helping him in his conquests as he established the Akkadian Empire and maintained order.

Anu is most often represented in iconography simply by a crown or crown on a throne symbolizing his status as King of the Gods, an honor and responsibility later conferred upon Enlil, Marduk (son of Enki/Ea, the god of wisdom), and Assur of the Assyrians, all of whom were believed to have been elevated by Anu and blessed by him. His consort is Antu (also known as Uras, goddess of the earth), and among their many children are the Annunaki, the gods of the earth and judges of the dead, and Nisaba, the Sumerian goddess of writing and accounts. He is also given as the husband of his sister Ki (earth) by whom his son Enlil is born.

Although Anu is not featured prominently in many myths, he is often mentioned as a background figure. This is because, as veneration of the god progressed, he became more and more remote. Initially a sky god and one of the many younger gods born of Apsu and Tiamat, Anu gradually became the lord of the heavens above the sky and the god who ordered and maintained all aspects of existence.

Along with Enlil and Enki, Anu formed a triad which governed the heavens, earth, and underworld (in one version) or, in another, heaven, the sky, and the earth. He was also listed among the oldest gods of the Seven Divine Powers: Anu, Enki, Enlil, Inanna, Nanna, Ninhursag, and Utu-Shamash.

Even though he is rarely a main character in a myth, when he does appear, he plays an important role, even when that role might seem minor. He is referenced in some of the best-known myths from Mesopotamia including Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld, The Epic of Gilgamesh, the Myth of Adapa, and the Enuma Elish.

[katerinaaqu]

Pomegranate Spell (Patrochilles and Achillochus story)

"Achilles!"

The young man looked down from the tree where he had sought shelter on. He liked being up there; making others worry a bit. The whole deal of constant training in arms and letters often tired him as his free heart longed for the breath of fresh air and the thrill of the heavens. It was as if his godly ancestor was calling at him from his heavenly kingdom and he had to follow the sounds; like a sailor following the mystical song of Sirens, his master Chiron had warned him about. Eyes sapphire blue and hair pale blonde like sunlight, Achilles of Phthia looked down from the branch he had taken a seat on, swinging his bare feet over nothingness. He spotted the olive complexion and the curly brown hair of his companion even from far above.

"Hey!" Achilles called back waving his arm over his head

"Sheesh!" Patroclus complained, "For someone destined to die young you sure act like you have a death wish!"

Patroclus was often trying to make a lighter joke out of the tragic fate he had heard about himself. Truth to be told, he had no idea what it even meant. In one essence him going in some hypothetical war years from now and die there for glory seemed so distant to his young ears! He laughed

"Now don't be such a baby!" He yelled back to his companion, "you should come here it's amazing!"

"Brought some food!" Patroclus pouted, "seems a pity to leave it to be eaten by the ants of the forest! Come down! I'm starving!"

Achilles chuckled nonchalant as he began his descent from the tall branch. He slowly slid down to the next branch and the next after it on occasion holding with his capable hands to assist his slow down the trunk. His infamously fast and capable feet, landed with the ease of a cat upon the soft grass.

"Ouch!" He complained

"What is it?"

His companion, Patroclus, was a few years older than him. He had already began changing from boyhood to man as his muscles were getting tight from training and his voice shift by age. Apparently that made his demeanor even more protective over him as he would on occasion worry way too much for him.

"Nothing" the Noblest of all Greeks laughed, "it's just a scratch on my foot"

Apparently he had scratched the back of his heel to the tree. It wasn't enough to draw blood but it did seem enough to be irritated red.

"Sheesh" Patroclus repeated once more, "Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with you, my lord!"

"Because you love me, that's why!" Achilles laughed wrapping his arms around the youth's neck giving him a peck on the cheek, "you can't go on without me!"

"And yet you put it to the test! You seem to try very hard to make people worry about you"

"Now you sound like my father! Relax!"

The two children sat upon the grass as Patroclus passed him a piece of bread and cheese. They sat and said nothing. They didn't need to. It seemed enough for them to just sit together and listen to nature around them. It was enough that Achilles would lean his blonde head upon his shoulder as he continued to stare at the game of the light with the leaves of the canopy above them.

"Achilles!" Patroclus protested when Achilles grabbed with his mouth a piece of egg he was holding at that moment, "you nearly bit my finger off!"

The other half of his soul chuckled as he rose in a sitting position.

"I couldn't help it! Took you a while to eat that!"

"Why are you like that!"

Achilles recognized the playful complaint to his voice. A challenge and a game; that was all.

"Because I am unique and divine! Deal with it, dear to my heart, you are stuck with me!"

You make it sound like bad...Patroclus thought in his soul. Truth to be told, the days they passed together so far under the training of Chiron, despite the fact he was a strict and yet gentle teacher who pushed them to their limits, it felt nice to escape the city and the responsibilities, the endless conspiracies and politics. Here in nature, Achilles seemed to bloom like a wild flower. His cheeks were flushed red by the gentle rays of the sun, his feet, always swift and tireless, were getting a green sheen by grass, getting tougher. He could smell the essence of the forest in his hair. Somehow this careless simplicity suited him. Patroclus would feel his soul tear apart thinking that this young boy, lean like a sardine of the sea and swift like a bird of prey, would be used for a deadly war. Achilles seemed to be made for it. He was a natural talent as he was rushing forward to his opponent (on occasion being himself) and yet only in moments of peace he seemed to bloom; when he was sitting put by the forest. When he was humming a melody or playing some tune in his lyre.

He never met a person more fitted for war that peace suited him best than Achilles...never.

He took his knife and cut the cup off a pomegranate and then traced along the lines to make sure each section was separated. He opened it with his hands soon after.

"Want some pomegranate?" He suggested

"Hm? Sure"

He saw Achilles accepting the fruit and suck the excess juice from it before taking a bite at the crunchy seeds that were both sour and sweet; a combination that he liked and Patroclus knew that.

"Hey do you remember Persephone?" He heard his most beloved say cheerfully, "she ate the fruit and she was bount to the underworld forever if it weren't for her mother to bargain her way out of it"

Patroclus felt his heart flatter. It was one thing he himself bringing the subject up as a joke but when Achilles said anything associated to the underworld, it made him worried. Almost as if Achilles was greeting the idea of death and glory. That thought scared him. Quite frankly he was mentally prepared on the possibility that he would fail as a companion to him; that he would have to bury him. And yet he just could accept it so easily!

"Silly!" He chuckled, that's different!"

Achilles eyed him in a curious manner.

"Different how?"

"That fruit was from the underworld! THIS pomegranate is from our world. This is a spell! If you eat this you will be bount to our world and you shall never be able to leave! Never!"

Achilles laughed airily in response.

"Sounds childish and silly!"

But then he leaned forward, touching his forehead against the one of his companion.

"But I like the sound of that!"

**

Coming back to reality Achilles felt his eyes tear up. How long has that been! How silly and unnecessary of a notion that seemed! He buried his face to his knees and sobbed as he remembered that discussion that seemed almost an eternity prior. Back then when they had dreams and plans for the future! Back then when their destiny seemed brighter despite the shadow of death over their heads!

"Why didn't you share that fruit with me too?" The son of Peleus cried, "Why didn't you eat it with me? Why did you leave me? Why did it have to come to this?"

He knew it was not only childish and stupid but it was also completely useless and yet he wondered; did The One He Loved The Most Of All actually mean his words or had he tried to somehow put his mind at ease? Had that stupid dream root itself so far into his heart that he had come to believe it for a little while? He no longer knew. All he knew was that he was alone now; a scenario that never came to his mind before. The harsh reality that had come to awaken him from his dreams. He mopped his eyes and took hold of a fruit that was on the floor next to him. The round shape of the pomegranate seemed to haunt him now. He sniffed some more remembering how Patroclus had shared that fruit that day.

"Achilles"

That voice! It nearly gave him a heart attack. For one moment he would have sworn-...

"Is that you my belo-..."

He stopped upon perceiving the figure of Antilochus; the young son of Nestor. He stood there at the door. Achilles realized more and more how much he had grown, how much he was changing but above all, how could he confuse him with him...? They were two different people! His beloved was unique. But so was this one!

"Oh..." he said in a mix of regret and sadness, "welcome...my dear. I am sorry I thought... I thought you were...oh, I don't know anymore!"

"Achilles...for the love of gods please! I beg of you..."

"You are right of course..." the Best of Greeks sighed, "I shouldn't have..."

"Forget about that!" Antilochus sat by the heath beside him, "if you suffer so much, why didn't you send for me? Don't carry the burden on your own!"

"I..."

He didn't know what to say. He was indeed at the loss of words. Just like that day he was feeling like checking and he needed to escape but he was not a kid anymore. He was not in the forest and there was no tree around for him to climb and feel the wind and the cries of the eagles at the sky.

"You are too selfless sometimes!" Antilochus commented

His hands touched his cheeks, massaging the cheekbones softly.

"Your burden is mine to bear as well!"

Achilles once more said nothing. The same familiar silence engulfed him as he leaned his head to the knees of the youth allowing him to caress his blonde hair with his hands. The softness and closure was exactly what he needed. And silence. That silence seemed redemptory to him. Antilochus understood! As always he understood! He snuggled his head taking in the softness of his embrace and the essence of his body. He couldn't bare the thought of losing him! Not him too! As if mechanically he straightened himself and took the pomegranate. He smashed it against the rock by the heath and cut it open. The juice ran like blood.

"Here..." he said to the younger man offering him half of the smashed fruit, "have some.."

"Pomergranate?" Antilochus felt confused at the half-demand but he accepted it anyways, "thank you my dear. It looks delicious"

"It's a spell!" Achilles smiled playfully or rather he forced that smile to his lips, "a pomegranate of this world...will bound you to this world like Persephone was bound to Hades! So you will not depart! Ever!"

He saw those brown eyes shine with hope. Antilochus, dear to his noble heart, cut a piece of the thing he held and gave it to him.

"Then, eat too, my dear" he urged, "stay with me to this world! Stay and live!"

Achilles felt his eyes watered. That was the move he never did for Patroclus! The move he regretted not making within his childish hope just because he never thought it to be necessary! Struggling back the tears he accepted it. He kissed the cheek of the youth tenderly and deeply, feeling the soft flesh upon his lips. He sucked upon the ruby like blood juice and bit down the seeds.

Promise...

The juice stained his chiton painting it red. The fleece beneath him was stained too by the crushed fruit.

The spell was made.

~~~~~

Sooo here is a random thingy I wrote on the go so I am sorry if it is a bit messy.

Inspired a lot by conversations with @deadbaguette like in here or with notions we talked about with @ellilyre and @smokey07

Now pomegranate probably was not cultivated in Greece that far back (if it existed it was imported) but hey if Homer can use anachronism so can I hahahaha 😜 (also a small thing we discussed with @captnbunnie )

The story involves many references to death and underworld such as a tall cypress tree (cyparissus) which grows over cemeteries, Achilles scratching his heel (how Paris shoots him), pomegranate (myth of the underworld) and promises with ill-fated people. Also elements of blood are mentioned to indicate the ill fate for instance blood on one's shirt indicates both a wound but also someone carrying a wounded or dead person.

Most of all the pomegranate shared in the final scene was probably from Troy so in a twist of fate it was binding the two of them to Troy since neither of the youths would come back.

Yeah I named the couple between Achilles and Antilochus Achillochus hahahaha 😆 bear with me! My latest collage with Patroclus and Antilochus that also includes the link to the image of Achilles is here:

[na-t0]

𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x reader (fem)

nsfw . male masturbation . multiple mentions of religious themes . minors please do not interact

"I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth...shit, what's next?"

Despite of what others think, Nicholas D. Wolfwood has come to the conclusion that he is indeed, the perfect example to belie the thought commonly held by people that him, and all the other children of the Lord who is high in the heavens, are made in his image and likeness. He is just a man, a mere mortal, vulnerable and weak in the face of temptation, son of original sin. Trying to atone for, and amend, the errors that life has brought within his path, and from which he cannot seem to escape.

Same life that unfortunately has also placed him in the way of your so intoxicating self. As if it were an unforgivable and cruel test to endure the strength of his already cracked spirit, a test to prove how much he is capable of resisting when the sharp claws of lust slowly scratch his back when he tries to sleep and the image of your beautiful face invades his mind. He also claims being able to feel them scratching once again when, after what seems like an eternal week of waiting, he manages to spot you sitting among the 47 people that fit in the orphanage’s chapel at the time of the religious ceremony he presents on Sundays at 10 in the morning.

Nicholas talks to himself all the time. He talks about a whole bunch of different things to stay busy and distant from the loneliness that his profession entails. He also writes, on a small black notebook that shamelessly reads Holy Bible on its cover, which he keeps in the inside pocket of his suit all day. It is possible to find random thoughts scrambled between its pages, occasional unfinished sketches of the kids who visit him frequently, prayers and attempts at poetry that, despite the ease he possesses to release a speech towards an audience made up of people full of faith in the word he preaches every weekend, the simple idea that one day you might inadvertently read what lies on those yellowish paper sheets terrifies him to the point where he can feel each and every one of his nerve endings on the surface of his skin, pulsing with the same intensity as the wings of a flying hummingbird.

He writes for you, more specifically. Even though in life, there are weaknesses that sometimes, do not allow the deepest feelings of the heart to flourish freely.

"I am just an object waiting to be ashes, and it is precisely for that reason that I would like my body to burn until it is consumed as one with yours. So at the end, dust will be the only thing that remains of our spirits, mixed together, to be later carried away by the wind of this unforgiving desert we call home."

“I have reached such a degree of insanity that, not even with the help of a thousand divine healing rites, my composure will return. I have even considered exchanging the blood of as many sinners as necessary to the Devil in order to melt into the blazing but purifying fire that surely arises with the single touch of your lips, and if you allow me, to endulge in the perfect contradiction that lies between your legs. A place both sacred and infernal, a place where good and evil converge and is powerful enough to drive even the most righteous and ruthless of religionists to an infinite madness. A place that I can only imagine feels like heaven and hell at the same time, capable to burn but also soothe the wounds in the soul of a disgraceful believer, one such as myself, your humble servant.”

“And I am not ashamed to affirm in front of the cross in which the son of God was punished because of filth like me, that, your mere presence encourages me to violate every order imposed by the invisible power of my belief, all that for what he, the same guy I mentioned earlier, sacrificed himself for in the first place. He sacrificed himself for you and especially for me, and above all, for the atrocities that come with the human race to disappear from the world. Such as the kind of things that flood my mind when my gaze manages to distinguish a little glimpse of your underwear when you put on that pretty dress of yours and you take a seat in the front row. A dress I like to imagine you only use for me.”

When Sunday comes, the ceremony starts and it's your turn at the moment of communion. It all happens in a matter of minutes every single time, a fleeting contact that is difficult to remove from his system. The host is delicately held by Wolfwood's hands as he stares at you, the abyss of his obsidian orbs capturing your attention to ask for your permission. You nod and look back at him too, subtly batting your eyelashes and slowly sticking out your tongue in an inviting way, that more than innocent, seemed diabolical, as if you knew which cards to move to obtain an absolute victory. And he feels it, he feels something struck his chest. Like a pair of magnets who can't fight the silent attraction that tries to unite them. You glance at the thick fingers infront of you for an instant, and then once again, you lift your stare towards him to take the host. His breathing stopped the moment he felt the back of his fingers get in contact with the wetness of your tongue while accommodating the wafer on it, and he almost, just almost, stutters in his words, but he doesn't, it takes all of his will not to. He blinks and his hand moves away from your lips to continue with the the other presents. You turn around and go back to your place without looking back. Luckily for him, the robe that covers his body does not allow to reveal any trace of what could give away his growing hunger for you.

Reminiscing something that he himself already wrote once in his notebook.

“It’s a disgusting sight, truly. How you take the sacramental bread from the hands of a sinful bastard, how you try to be purified by the same hands that are permanently stained with the obscene thought of consuming your body, your entire being. But you don’t have an idea of how much I love it, how much I want you to be mine.”

The lecture finished at 10:57 a.m. Nicholas remembers glancing at the watch on his wrist to regain the track of time he lost when you got close to his body. Seeing that people were starting to get up, he decided to clean his instruments to leave everything in order, and at the same time, bring some peace to his mind. He didn't have long arranging his space when Wolfwood felt a sudden and intense urge to look back, and when he did, you were the first thing that he focused on, stumbling upon the surprise of your eyes already searching for his while walking to the exit, wearing the most precious smile he’s ever seen on your face. A smile just for him.

By 11:23 a.m. the chapel was completely empty and Wolfwood walked with an unbearable weight on his feet towards the confined space of the confessional, along with a box of matches in hand that he took from an old cabinet. He closed the door, took a seat and leaned his head against the wall, which protested with a slight screech, as if it knew what was going through the troubled man's mind. Of course you appeared immediately, the images of every time you two have exchanged greetings in the streets, in the market, or even at the events to raise funds for the orphanage.

First came the color of your eyes, which seemed to dominate and illuminate the darkness of the small space he was in, then your eyebrows and the expressions that characterize your words while speaking. Thirdly, your mouth, the Eden he dreams of so much, reflected in the shine that your lips acquire when you bite and wet them with saliva. Imagining how they move to the compass of your voice, if they are rounded, if you smile or if you stay quiet. Nicholas raised his right hand and gently touched his own mouth to try to calm the urgency of joining it with yours. He closed his eyes and remembered the slight meeting he had with it an hour ago. The warmth of your breath on his knuckles and the softness he touched with the pads of his mistreated fingers. How easy would it be to draw a whimper out of you, the sweetest sound he can think of. His pants began to feel more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute, the pressure exerted by the growing erection in his groin started to become unbearable. Will he be able to obtain salvation if he confesses everything, here and now?

"God...please" And just as he often does, he began to talk. "I want her more than...a-anything in this world...can't I have her either?" The hand that previously touched your lips, traveled up to his crotch and gave a first cautious squeeze, allowing himself to be carried away by the venom of the serpent that condemned us all as sinners centuries ago, which little by little contaminated his veins and blinded his sight. Now not only did he imagine the Eden in your beauty, he was about to enter that precious place, only to break the rules. "I haven't been...a g-good man, but..." His breathing began to falter, with great gulps of air, his chest rose and fell, trying to oxygenate his racing heart. "I swear I...I can treat her right." The restraint of the stiff bottoms was starting to be painful for Nicholas, so he reached for the button, hastily undoing it to reach into his underwear. The burning heat of desire greeting him. And as he could, he pulled out his member from the base without removing his pants. The cold edge of the zipper brushed against the prominent veins of his rigid sex while his hand tried to conciliate the relief he so desperately needed. He kept traveling with his mind through your neck, your chest, your waist and your navel, the unknown nudity that he longes for unfolding before him in an imaginary scenario within the four small walls of the confessional. His breathing became more and more disturbed and growls began to sprout from the depths of his being.

"I'm sorry, God...I'm so s-sorry" He started to apologize because he knows exactly what is next. He enjoys being rough with his wicked self, he is violent. Pulling his own hair with one hand while the other strokes himself harshly. He spits on the tip, and watches how saliva slowly rolls to the base. He grunts, an animalistic type of sound that reveals the wildest part of his existence, his human predatory instinct, the part that he tries to repress with calling himself a preacher of the Lord’s word. He likes to tighten the grip in his member to the point where the veins on his forehead begin to become visible and the color of his shaft changes entirely with the accelerated flow of blood. Suffocating in his own body, a prisoner of his dark desires.

"Our Father, who...a-art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is...i-in heaven." It was in that moment when he began to pray. And the drops of fluid that came out of his slit with anticipation gave his hand more access to stroke with a quicker pace. From outside the confessional, it was possible to hear the faint slippery sound of friction from skin to skin and the murmured pleas of a man sunk in perdition.

"Give us this day our daily bread, a-and forgive us our trespasses...as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temp-temptation...but deliver us from...evil."

Would God be able to truly forgive such an act?

"A-Amen."

And it's just when he finishes his pleas that he finds himself betrayed by his own mind, letting your name slip from his lips, over and over again, like a renovated prayer, but profane and corrupted. The peculiar burning sensation in the lower part of his abdomen starts to approach. He bites the collar of his white camisole and drool escapes from the sides of his mouth in the delirium of a near orgasm. Squeezing his eyes shut he imagined your breasts swaying in front of his face as you grind on top, your angelic face contorted with the ecstasy of a fictional encounter, and your core eagerly receiving each of his thrust. The sweet aroma that your sweat must have and all the possible ways you could moan his name.

"Ni..cholas, ah...Nicholas...Nic..."

The entirety of his skin crawls to the thought. And his hips begin to move with an unbridled, involuntary frenzy, consequence of the carnal instinct that species keep hidden in their bodies.

"Oh...God..please, please...ple-please." He calls uselessly for the only one who could redeem him, the only one who could accept a sin like this. Finally, he rapidly drags his hand a couple of last times and the orgasm begins to hit his senses. A last growl comes out of his chest before his teeth unconsciously loosen the fabric of the shirt to let out a deafened cry. With some last thrusts, his hips rise in a lost rhythm from the bench on which he is sitting as his seed spills violently into his right hand, staining some of the fabric of his black pants along the way.

The warm sensation of contact with his own release brings him back to himself, and he can only at this point, contemplate more clearly the mistake he has made.

“Divine forgiveness, what a bunch of shit.”

He drops the other hand that was tugging at his brunette locks in the heat of the momentum inside his pocket, pulls out a cigarette, places it in his mouth and proceeds to wipe the remains of cum on his right palm with a handkerchief, so he can pick up the matches he had brought with him, light the stick, and take a hit, trying to quell with smoke the latent nectar of lonely intimacy impregnated in the air. He takes a few moments to let the haze of the moment pass completely as he watches the mess in his lap and his now softened member.

The cigarette is half finished, he is a fast smoker.

He inhales and exhales once more, and then, there’s a subtle, almost silent, knock on the door, followed by what he recognizes is your voice coming from the rusty confession room's grate.

“F-Father Nicholas...?”

[feyhunter78]

Trials of Tributes (15/?)

Description: You fulfilled your promise now it's time for Aemond to start fulfilling his.

You held Viserys tightly to you, Aemond’s chest pressed to your back, Vhagar’s wings cutting through the air as she swooped down towards the water, causing Viserys to let out a delighted squeal. Dreamfyre followed, keeping above the ship that housed her rider, and other members of the court.

You were unsure of how Aemond so easily convinced his mother to allow two of her remaining children to depart for Dragonstone, but had a feeling Aemond had not given her much of a choice. Viserys and Jaeheara were seven years of age, both without dragons. You worried for Jaeheara, her own dragon had been killed, many dragons had been killed with only Dreamfyre able to escape. The girl seemed shy around them, preferring to ride in a wheelhouse or ship over her mother or uncle’s dragons.

“Helaena has been too sick with grief to ride her dragon, Jahaera does not know of the connection that can be forged, but in time she will.” Aemond had told you, when you voiced your worries to him, as you packed Viserys’ belongings into a trunk.

Viserys himself, bright, and brimming with excitement seemed to have forgotten the damage dragons can cause, enamored by the tales of glory and the connection between Aemond and Vhagar.

No Targaryen or Velaryon blood ran through your veins, you would never have a dragon, and at times felt along the vein as the Dowager Queen did. It was foolish to attempt to rule the skies, the heavens were for the gods, not man.

“When we arrive, will I get to choose a dragon then?” Viserys asked, craning his neck to look at Aemond.

Aemond gave him a fond smile. He had made Viserys wait to claim a dragon, a mere few months, to ensure that he and Jaehaera trusted one another enough to stand together in the face of a dragon. “We must greet our host, your uncle, first. He has been quite anxious to meet my bride and her child.”

Daeron the Daring, they had called him during the war. He had broken formation and come to his mother and Grandsire’s rescue, preventing King’s Landing from falling into the hands of The Blacks. It had been a barbarous battle, Tessarion and Vhagar fighting Syrax and Caraxes with a ferocity unseen since the Conqueror’s reign. Despite the relentless bloodlust that was said to enter the eyes of the prince at the sight of his mother’s peril, all praised him as a kind man. Aemond spoke fondly of him, citing him and Helaena among his favorites of his family. Now he ruled Dragonstone, a gift from Aemond when he ascended to the throne.

“We will greet him, then Jaeharea and I will run, and run, and run, until we find our dragons.” Viserys said happily, his eyes drifting down to the ship, a small speck of silver you assumed to be Jaeharea on the deck.

“Why would you need to run? Does that help hasten the bond?” You asked, a comical image of ten-year-old Aemond running alongside a flying Vhagar filled your mind, and you bit back a giggle.

“Lord Hightower said that was what my kind does. He said the Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon ran when they danced with Kepa and Kepus Daeron’s dragons.” The words were said so lightly, as if he did not speak of the gruesome death of her parents.

Truly you felt you should correct him, tell him to call them by their familial titles and not by their formal names, out of respect for the dead, but a stronger feeling surged forward.

“Lord Hightower told you that it was what your kind does, runs when around dragons?” You felt the slow trickle of rage, a protectiveness that you had been nurturing since you first laid eyes upon the boy.

Otto had never been fond of you, never deemed you an intelligent or suitable match for his grandson, and his hatred of the Rouge Prince seemed not to have died with the man but lived on, finding purchase in Viserys.

“Yes, and he laughed, but I did not understand the joke. Jaehaera seemed to, though, but she would not explain it to me.” He said, his brows furrowed but soon smoothed as he smiled up at you.

He was a darling child, sweet and forgiving, seeking goodness in others as a flower seeks the sun.

“Otto is old, his mind must be going, pay him no mind.” You said sharply, sharper than you intended, a flash of hurt across Viserys’ face.

You leaned down and brushed a kiss to his temple. “You will not need to run, kepa will guide you.”

“I will speak with my grandsire when we arrive, I swear to you.” Aemond whispered, his lips to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

This was not the only promise Aemond had made regarding your arrival at Dragonstone. As soon as Vhagar had touched down, and Viserys was following the guards out towards the incoming ship, Aemond beckoned you into an alcove, away from the eyes of others.

“Aemond you cannot allow your grandsire to say such cruel things to our son. Viserys is your son in all but blood—he is your blood, though you are not his father, he sees you as such, and it is callous to stand by while your grandsire torments him.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest. You had grown bolder in your time as queen, more willing to go against Aemond’s desires when you truly believed the battle worth fighting.

“I will speak with him, tell him not to speak with Viserys unless his words are kind.” He reassured you, a smile tugging at his lips, as he admired the fire in your eyes.

You smiled back, softening under his devoted gaze. “I thank you, husband. For your words, and for all this.” You motioned to the courtyard, to the gateway he provided for your son.

Aemond nodded, cupping your face, his thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks possessively. “There is a great, painted table, a map of the realm, in a room with soaring windows, I wish to take you upon it, claim my wife over and over atop the physical representation of my realm. If she would be obliged to thank me in such a way.”

You had long since made the connection between Aemond’s lust for you and power, between his desire to be loved and affirmed in his role. Not only as husband, but king.

You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering as his hypnotic voice swept over you, each word spoken softly and coated in desire.

“If she would allow her husband to do such a thing, to take her upon the realm, he would burn for her.” He purred, one hand sliding down, down, down, beneath your skirts as he pressed your back to the wall.

“My husband knows quite well; I would allow him to do all he wished.” You gasped, pitch rising when he hiked your leg up and pressed your core to his, his cock half hard against you.

“So very obedient, my sweet wife, perhaps we shall conceive a child upon the painted table, a child of the realm.” He groaned quietly, his forehead resting against yours. “You would take me so well as I seeded you, beg me to spill within you, keep me within you until you drain me of all seed and thought.”

You moaned quietly at his words, Aemond’s hips beginning to move, a slow grinding motion that makes your breath hitch.

“And what a perfect mother you would be, so beautifully swelled and flushed with health, the blood of my child within you, the flames of a Targaryen sheltered within such a divine form.”

“Aem—” He cuts you off with a hand over your mouth.

The sound of footsteps rapidly approaching has him stepping back in a hurry, attempting to straighten himself out.

“Brother, I was wondering where you were hiding.”

Taglist: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305

[aspenthetwin]

Aspen and Cynthia Lore

TW: Heavily Implied CA (Child Ab*se)

Their mother was a very religious woman in life. She spent her days attending church and spent her nights on her floor praying. Her heavy bearing beliefs caused her to see everyone in the world not like her as demonspawn sent from the firey pits of Hell. She changed from being a sweet kind soul to a self appointed vigilante against those she deemed as evil, however, the true evil was manifesting itself in her heart. This change in character and her heaven seeking ways became a horrible equation for an afterlife.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

She couldn’t believe it. That demon who seemed to be the only one willing to help her down here…the only friend she had..the one she thought she could trust and love. He left her. He left her when she needed him most. He left her brokenhearted and lost. He left her alone. How was she to go on now?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

She was already 5 months along into her pregnancy with his child when she saw him again. The problem with this was that she saw him on the television; last in line with the supposed other demon lords. He was a demon lord, embodiment of a deadly sin, avatar of sloth. He must have manipulated her. He tempted her away from her purity and seduced her into his sugar coated poisonous grip. Once he’d had his way with her, he threw her out as trash.

‘Of course he did.’ she thought to herself, ‘He never truly loved or cared for you. He is a demon lord. He is not worthy of your love’

Her mind was made up from that moment. That monster would no longer occupy any of her time or energy.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

What the fuck was this?! Not only had she been left alone to raise this child, but she now has to raise two children?! This must be a punishment sent from the Holy Father above for giving in to temptation. Looking down at her two newborns, she felt all the pain and grief begin to come to life once more. Then all she felt was rage. 

Rage

Rage

Rage

Rage

Cries were ringing throughout the room when she came to. She looked down once more to see the bruises already forming on their necks. She thought she would feel upset over them being hurt, but she feels nothing. These are not her children. No child of hers would ever be born from such blasphemy. She could fix this however. She will cleanse them of their shame and filth. Then, and only then, will they become her children.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Mama had another bad day today. I hate it when she has bad days. She blames us for it. Today might have been the only day I believe that though. One moment I was sitting with Cynthia, playing and the next I was being dragged to the bathroom by my hair. I only had a few seconds to process what was going on after I had been shoved against the counter. Mama locked the door behind us, likely so Cynthia couldn’t get in and help me again, and then the worst part began. 

I could hear the water flowing from the sink, but it sounded distant. I felt my hair being yanked, forcing me downwards. It was cold. Why did it always have to be cold? I hate being cold. Eventually the cold wasn’t so cold anymore. I felt dizzy for a moment before I realized I could see in front of me again. There was coughing. I was coughing. Why is she yelling at me? I didn’t fight this time. What did I do wrong now? Another shove to the counter. Then I finally saw myself in the mirror. 

Mama was gripping my wet hair, still shouting insults at me. My eyes were red and my face covered in droplets. I looked pathetic just like she said. I just wanted it to stop. I wanted to go play with Cynthia again. Then she said it again; that phrase she says every time she brings me here:

“You look just like that filth. No matter what, you will always look like that lowlife, worthless, nobody.”

I never knew who she always said I looked like. I watched her in the mirror. I looked away after she opened the door. I didn’t like that sound. I��ve never liked the sound that rang out after Cynthia looks at our mother. I waited until she walked out before I helped Cynthia off the floor and led her back to our small room. I was tired. I could tell Cynthia was tired too. We laid down on our mattress and fell asleep.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Noise. There was noise. The noise was the sound of footsteps approaching our room. “Oh no, mother is coming.” I quickly opened my eyes and turned to Aspen, who was still sleeping. I tried to wake her up but she wouldn’t budge. I could feel my heart pounding as continued to shake Aspen, desperate for her to wake up. Fearing for what was to come, I smacked her arm just hard enough to wake her up. I grabbed her hand and squeezed as tight as I could right as the creaking of the old door fell upon my ears. 

Mother stood there like an angry god, ready to burn everything in her wake. Preparing myself, I looked over to Aspen to find her staring numbly at our mother. I waited for the screams, the pain, the tears, but they never came. She just stood there staring at us and then she walked back towards the door before turning to us. Her only words were the ones to seal my sister and I’s fate:

“I can’t cleanse you two of your shame, so instead, I will contain it and make sure you two never infect anyone else.”

She left. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding until I heard the lock on the door. She locked the door..and now my sister and I would die in here.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Diavolo called us all to the castle for some reason that he won’t tell us. Couldn’t it have waited? I was enjoying my dream. We finally reached the castle and were ushered inside by Barbatos. Usually the guards let us in. If Barbatos is here to greet us at the door then it must actually be something important. We entered the throne room when I heard that stupid boisterous voice from that stupid man. 

“There you all are. I’m glad you all could come on such short notice.”

Then Lucifer responded, “Of course. It seemed quite urgent. What is it that you have called us all here for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ah yes. We have found and taken in one of the rebels that have been terrorizing our denizens.”

Is that why he wanted us here so fast? To tell us they caught one of the many people in this group? This could have waited.

To my surprise, he continued “We searched her house for any other possible rebels there, but we found something else instead.”

He then looked behind him and whispered something before two children stepped out from him. As I studied them, I realized two things: these children looked scared, and they looked like me. “They look like me.” I could barely complete my thought before someone spoke up.

“Who are these kids and why do they look so much like..Belphie?”

“We have concluded that these two are, in fact, Belphie’s daughters.” Diavolo’s response went in one ear and out the other, his voice distant. All I could focus on were the two pairs of eyes staring back at me; one set a golden honey color, and the other a mirror of my own. I didn’t know what anyone else was doing after that. Was there even anyone else here with us? It doesn’t matter. All that matters are the two people standing before me.

I kneeled before them both, asking for their names. “I’m Aspen, this is my sister, Cynthia.”

“Aspen and Cynthia, such unique names.” I found myself thinking. 

“My name is Belphegor. But you two can call me dad, or papa, or whatever you want. Would you like that?” They nodded, finally lifting their heads all the way to look at me. I held my hands out for them to take, but they flinched back instead. “What happened to them to make them so scared?” I couldn’t help but wonder. “Don’t worry,” I began, “I won’t hurt you guys. I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you again.” That seemed to do the trick as they both reached out for my hands respectively. I gently pulled them in and held them in a tight embrace. 

When we all returned home, I made sure they were comfortable and taken care of properly. As the day ended, I climbed into bed and helped them both onto the bed with me. After I had said goodnight to each one, I wrapped my arms around them both and waited until I heard their soft snores before I fell asleep as well. It was the best sleep I’ve ever had, knowing I had my daughters tucked safely right next to me.

Just in case you might not be able to tell, double dotted lines mean POV switch. The first part is following the mother of the twins. The second part is Aspen’s pov, the next is Cynthia, and the last bit is Belphegor

Hope you all enjoyed

[dem1verse]

﹏ ❛ all you gotta do is call me.⠀⠀⠀äs nodt.

˖⁺ ⊹୨ ★ the one where you form a friendship with the malevolent enity.

content disclaimers ╱╱ gn!reader. young!reader. HEAVY religious trauma and themes. angst to comfort. vollstandig!äs nodt. mild body horror. wc: 830.

YOU HAVE (1) MESSAGE UNREAD !⠀��—⠀⠀“the 2nd halloween short of the month! this one may have been inspired by czs horror history analysis of the man who can't breath from insidious and i might have used my own religious trauma as a base for this. i wrote this with christianity in mind (mainly nigerian christianity). anyways, enjoy 💃🏾”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀YOU DON'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME YOU PRAYED TO HIM.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With the number of times you've been called an abomination before the eyes of the Almighty God, it's no surprise you'd see yourself as an unclean mix of flesh and blood who did nothing but wallow around. Sinner. Sodomite. Witch. Those were a few of many names that followed you around, hanging over you like a haunting veil of shame. Your relationship with your mother had always shown signs of strain, but you couldn't hate her. If anything, it was your fault for not being the ideal child, rebelling against the heavens. She was trying to guide you. Children of God don't act like this. Good children of God don't say that.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀God must hate me, you affirmed. The Lord God above would never approve of you. You swear he's looking down on you this moment, shaking his head in disappointment. Years and years of Christian sermons crept around in your mind, festering in your conscience. You'd be happy, they said. He's the only way, they said. You can depend on him. He'd be there when you called for him. Surely he'd comfort you in your darkest times. Where was he now? You silently cried out to the sky, tears already spilt and stained your cheeks, questioning your faith. That was the first time he showed up.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The second time he showed himself, you'd been jolted awake by a nightmare. You'd gone downstairs to grab a glass of cold water, leaving the sticky heat of your bed. As you opened the cabinet, you couldn't help but notice how cold it'd gotten, the frigid atmosphere making you shiver. That's when you saw it. The man in white. His long, brittle hair shone in the moonlight. His eyes were rolled at the back of his head, drawing tears of blood from his sockets. Your eyes widened in silent fear, shuddering at his appearance. He bore a long white cloak, a prominent and bloody stitch running from the middle of his throat to the bottom of the robe, revealing gory muscle and bone. And his mouth. His teeth were left in the open, lacking the protective soft appendages. His blue star halo hung on the top of his crown, shining brightly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Your goblet had long hit the floor, bits of sharp glass scratching your feet and the floor. Your mother had caught wind of the incident, screaming at you for having broken such a fragile object. She ranted on, but you were too focused on the man standing behind her. Were your eyes deceiving you? Could she not see him? You silently went to your room, ignoring your mother's verbal vomiting and eager to forget the past event.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀By the time you saw him again, he spoke. You were alone, your mother leaving you home in favour of church service. You lay on your bed, feeling drained and sleepy. As you turned over on your back, you opened your eyes, only to be met with those same eerie scleras. You screamed, the apparition looming over you menacingly. Slowly, the man raised a pale, bony arm, and caressed your cheek, paying no attention to your crying and erratic movements. Being raised in a heavily prayerful home stuck with you, no matter who you grew up to be. You've always been taught to condemn the devil, resist temptation and you'd be blessed with favour and prosperity. Yet here you were, finding solace in a demonic entity. You soon stopped crying, the man's nurturing touch gradually lulling you to sleep.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A fight with your mother was never pretty. Silence and dissociation were your sword and shield during those times. Heartbroken at her cruel words, you slammed your bedroom door, heaving and sobbing. The reason for my stagnation, she called you. Nothing could've prepared you for that moment, her mocking shattering your heart and breaking your resolve. Curling yourself up in a ball, you tried your best to give yourself the scarce bit of consolation you had left. Then you heard him. His heavy, raspy breathing. The only sound in your room besides your wailing. He extended his sickly white limb towards you. He took hold of you, his body no longer radiating the icy temperature. You felt like a baby in its mother's arms, the entity stroking your hair. He gave you the nurture and care you've been looking for this entire time. You were no longer going to look above for alleviation. God wasn't there for you when you needed him, so why call him again? On the other hand, the spirit held you in his grasp, emitting a sense of security.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And in that moment, you came to an epiphany. You didn't whether you'd be thrown in hell or not, you could always count on the man in white to be there for you. Even when you were dead, and long gone, you could always count on him. You just had to call him.

DEMI'S POST-IT⠀❞⠀ok im actually kinda proud of myself for writing all of this in like, one night. i also may or may have not nearly started crying in the middle of writing this. i hope this helps somebody with some sort of trauma stemming from religion. kinda based this on my experiences in my life, the ending is kind of how im feeling currently.

template by @tinytowns! taglist: @ue-projectz

[alwaysrememberjesus]

Luke 1:5-17

In this section of Luke, we meet a married couple, Zechariah and Elizabeth. God deemed them righteous in His eyes, yet they were unable to conceive a child because Elizabeth was barren, and they were both advanced in years (a nice way of saying “old”). Notice there’s no correlation noted between those two facts; they were considered “righteous”, yet they were unable to conceive. Needless to say, they needed an act of God to bring a child into the world. The good news is, God had a plan for their delay. He waited for the perfect time in history to bless them with this gift. Zechariah was approached by the angel Gabriel and told that his prayers and petitions had been answered - they would conceive a child. But there’s even greater news: this baby, named John, would play a key role in foretelling and preparing the way for the coming Messiah. Gabriel said: “And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous - to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” (Luke 1:17)

As you read this, you’re probably thinking, “what great news!”, but Zechariah’s initial response was doubt and fear. He had questions, and in his mind, there was no way this plan would work!

The John we read about here is famously known as John the Baptist. He is introduced in Matthew 3 by quoting the prophet Isaiah, “A voice of one calling: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way for the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’” (Isaiah 40:3) John was sent to prepare the way of the Lord and to preach a message of repentance because the kingdom of Heaven was coming near. 

Heaven and earth collided when Jesus came to earth in the form of a helpless babe and John’s sole purpose in life was to prepare the people for His coming. As we know, many rejected Christ to the point of death on the cross, but many did repent and recognize him for who He truly was: the Savior of the world. 

So when you consider this story and the doubt that began with Zechariah, who do you see yourself in? Are you full of prayers and petitions for the Lord, but when the prayer is answered, you’re doubtful because it isn’t playing out the way you imagined? Or are you, like John the Baptist, standing firm on truth and speaking it even to those who may not want to hear it? Simply put: it comes down to fear versus faith. Which controls your life more these days? 

If you find yourself sitting in the fear camp today, pray and ask God to remind you of His faithfulness in your life. One of the best ways to combat fear is to remind our souls who reigns above all. When we realize we never had any control to begin with, we can rest easy knowing the Lord holds us in the palm of His hand. The Word says that God is the author and perfecter of our faith. If we’re lacking any, we can ask Him to help us and to give us faith! He is faithful to give it to us when we ask. 

[shadowqueenjude]

I just don't understand how anyone can hate Chaol after reading this:

Burned alive burned alive burned alive The void showed him fire. A woman with golden-brown hair and matching skin screaming in agony toward the heavens. It showed him a broken body on a bloody bed. A head rolling across a marble floor. You did this you did this you did this It showed a woman with eyes of blue flame and hair of pure gold poised above him, dagger raised and angling to plunge into his heart. He wished. He sometimes wished that she hadn’t been stopped. The scar on his face—from the nails she’d gouged into it when she first struck him … It was that hateful wish he thought of when he looked in the mirror. The body on the bed and that cold room and that scream. The collar on a tan throat and a smile that did not belong to a beloved face. The heart he’d offered and had been left to drop on the wooden planks of the river docks. An assassin who had sailed away and a queen who had returned. A row of fine men hanging from the castle gates. All held within that slim scar. What he could not forgive or forget. The void showed it to him, again and again. It lashed his body with red-hot, pronged whips. And showed him those things, over and over. It showed him his mother. And his brother. And his father. Everything he had left. What he’d failed. What he’d hated and what he’d become. The lines between the last two had blurred. And he had tried. He had tried these weeks, these months. The void did not want to hear of that. Black fire raced down his blood, his veins, trying to drown out those thoughts. The burning rose left on a nightstand. The final embrace of his king. He had tried. Tried to hope, and yet— Women little more than children hauling him off a horse. Poking and prodding at him. Pain struck, low and deep in his spine, and he couldn’t breathe around it, couldn’t out-scream it— White light flared. A flutter. Far in the distance. Not the gold or red or blue of flame. But white like sunlight, clear and clean. A flicker through the dark, arcing like lightning riding through the night … And then the pain converged again. His father’s eyes—his father’s raging eyes when he announced he was leaving to join the guard. The fists. His mother’s pleading. The anguish on her face the last time he’d seen her, as he’d ridden away from Anielle. The last time he’d seen his city, his home. His brother, small and cowering in their father’s long shadow. A brother he had traded for another. A brother he had left behind. The darkness squeezed, crushing his bones to dust. It would kill him. It would kill him, this pain, this … this endless, churning pit of nothing. Perhaps it would be a mercy. He wasn’t entirely certain his presence—his presence beyond made any sort of difference. Not enough to warrant trying. Coming back at all. The darkness liked that. Seemed to thrive on that. Even as it tightened the vise around his bones. Even as it boiled the blood in his veins and he bellowed and bellowed— He's barely old enough to be a college graduate. He grew up in a lord's house, grew up being taught to despise magic (was kicked out of his own home too but that's a whole other story). And yet he tried so hard to support his friends, to help Dorian and Celaena/Aelin (even after Aelin tried to kill him) and try to depose the King of Adarlan. He has withstood so much and lost everything dear to him...and you think he deserves it? He has tried so hard, arguably harder than any character in ToG. None of what happened to him was his fault, and yet he views all of it as his failures, as something he should be ashamed of, should DIE for even. Y'all hate him because he's one of the most complex and best developed characters SJM has ever written. I honestly feel like he and Nesta would be able to relate to each other so much in the way that they view their miserable circumstances as products of their own failures. Y'all hate Chaol and Nesta because they had difficulty accepting magic/Fae like NORMAL PEOPLE would. Y'all hate them because they didn't immediately kiss the MC's ass and beg for forgiveness for nothing.

But you'll obsess over Rowan Whitethorn, who is 300+ years old and should know better than to punch a teen in the face (absolutely uncalled for) and tell her she should've died 10 years ago.

But you'll obsess over Rhysand (I prefer the name Reece's Piece of shit) after he sexually assaulted Feyre and locked Lucien and Nesta up in houses. But you'll obsess over Cassian who physically abused Nesta by making her climb a mountain and you could even make an argument for sexual manipulation/abuse (but I'm not going to get into that because I don't know enough on the topic). But you'll obsess over Azriel, who almost choked Eris to death for insulting Mor back after she'd already insulted him, who has known anger issues and scares even Feyre with his utter lack of feeling. Not to mention the bonus chapter with the creepy way he spoke of Elain and Lucien. Wow, Chaol is so evil! Nesta is so evil!

[katakankollector]

MARKETA LAZAROVA SENTENCE STARTERS Sentences were taken from a book "Marketa Lazarova" ( 1931 ) by Vladislav Vanсura and depict hatred, love, mercy, loyalty, death, battle in a medieval setting. Translated from Czech, with slight changes for rp needs. Feel free to change tenses / pronouns as you see fitting. [ art credit: Marketa Lazarova, a collage by @museissick ]

“Is it even allowed to accept mercy and kindness?”

“Will I grow more rich, if I destroy him?”

“Leave him be, let him crawl away and die.”

“So much blood and strong bones were given to me not in vain.”

“Why didn’t you fight better, with more luck on your side?”

“An ill beginning doesn’t inspire the spirit.”

“The frost and the strategic error - the realization of the error - drive [me] mad.”

“God decided to spring the brigands’ minds with a drop of mercy.”

“Say goodbye to your gold.”

“The bright, elevating, reckless feeling that brings one close to heaven - love.”

“Maybe these howling beauties are destined for heaven, instead of us, with souls of ink.”

“[She] can’t be helped in any way; it’s a sure sign of love.”

“Servants should share the hatred of their masters.”

“I want it - and that’s it!”

“Let [him] ride with us!”

“In [their] shared suffering, [they] begin to love each other as passionately as [they] have hated each other once.”

“Longing doesn’t leave [me] even in the hour of death.”

“Here comes the death [I] myself have called for.”

“Bad examples are contagious.”

“How I wish the night to return, how I wish us to be chained together, how I wish this captivity to last eternally!”

“[Her] gaze is like a hunter’s snare.”

“Have you got infected by [his] fervor and [his] rage?”

“I deserve the ruination and I weep.”

“I was allowed to see the stars, dancing like little pendulums, up above.”

“I am ready to bear any tribulations to escape.”

“[His] lips, curved like the wings of a dove.”

“[These] lips are the only bit of beauty on the face of a predator.”

“Just a little bit more, and I shall shake off the burden of time.”

“The king is our lord and master, yet war is the lord even over kings.”

“Everything that is mortal and created by human hands is destined to destruction.”

“War sows death, because it is begotten by the prince of death.”

“The one who holds the sword, dies by the sword.”

“Everything shall be as the winner wills it.”

“Don’t be more arrogant than befits a hostage.”

“I may be defeated and killed, but I know what lies ahead.”

“Despair and bliss tremble inside [my] soul, like two children in a dark dungeon.”

“[Her] love has the scowl of the ruler of the underworld.”

“Between [her] sweet lips flashes the fangs of a beast.”

“This story was composed without rhyme or reason.”

[saras-devotionals]

Quiet Time 4/15

What am I feeling today?

My stress is trying to get the best of me. I’m thinking about the rest of the month and everything that needs to get done in that time. I can be tempted to slack in my spiritual life to make time but that’s the worst possible thing to do. I just need to lock in and pray to perform the best way I can.

**my quiet times for the next month will be coming from a book called: “the prideful soul’s guide to humility🙏🏼

He receives us on the basis of heart, and no quality of heart is more important to Him than humility

Matthew 18:1-5 NIV

“At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.”

Jesus often said things that were designed to get his disciples' attention-to break through their dullness. This was likely one of those times. Jesus' pointed words make it clear that humility is not something to work on someday. It is not a second- ary quality that is nice to have and one that makes a person a bit easier to get along with. It is the fundamental of all fundamentals. It is the soul of discipleship. It is the one attitude of heart and mind that we must be most concerned about. It is the one quality, above all else, for which to pray

While doubt is sometimes rebuked in the Scriptures, it is not always viewed as a horrible problem. Doubters are not automatically condemned, but are often given help and shown mercy (see Matthew 28:16-20, John 20:21-28 Jude 22). What you have to be most concerned about is pride. If you stay humble as you face your doubts, remaining teach. able and open to counsel, you will work them through, and you will be fine.

Matthew 28:16-20 NIV

“Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.””

John 20:21-28 NIV

“Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” And with that he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.” Now Thomas (also known as Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.” Thomas said to him, “My Lord and my God!””

Jude 1:22 NIV

“Be merciful to those who doubt;”

The problem comes when people doubt and become prideful in their doubts. That is a deadly combination. The truth is that you can add pride to any number of challenges and you get the same result. Failure plus humility will lead to eventual victory-example: Peter.

Failure plus pride leads to more failure-example: Judas. Add humility to weaknesses, disappointments and the like, and you will eventually get a good outcome. We have all heard that what happens to us is not nearly as important as the attitude that we have when it happens. This is true, and humility is the most crucial attitude we can ever have

The reward for pursuing humility is found in the fact that it draws us ever closer to the heart of God-the very place for which we were made

[the-chronicle-of-holy-days]

Day 20

(It’s here, on the day of the eclipse omg 😭😭)

Chapter I

Had! The manifestation of Nuit.

The unveiling of the company of heaven.

Every man and every woman is a star.

Every number is infinite; there is no difference.

Help me, o warrior lord of Thebes, in my unveiling before the Children of men!

Be thou Hadit, my secret centre, my heart & my tongue!

Behold! it is revealed by Aiwass the minister of Hoor-paar-kraat.

The Khabs is in the Khu, not the Khu in the Khabs.

Worship then the Khabs, and behold my light shed over you!

Let my servants be few & secret: they shall rule the many & the known.

These are fools that men adore; both their Gods & their men are fools.

Come forth, o children, under the stars, & take your fill of love!

I am above you and in you. My ecstasy is in yours. My joy is to see your joy.

Above, the gemmed azure is

The naked splendour of Nuit;

She bends in ecstasy to kiss

The secret ardours of Hadit.

The winged globe, the starry blue,

Are mine, O Ankh-af-na-khonsu!

Now ye shall know that the chosen priest & apostle of infinite space is the prince-priest the Beast; and in his woman called the Scarlet Woman is all power given. They shall gather my children into their fold: they shall bring the glory of the stars into the hearts of men.

For he is ever a sun, and she a moon. But to him is the winged secret flame, and to her the stooping starlight.

But ye are not so chosen.

Burn upon their brows, o splendrous serpent!

O azure-lidded woman, bend upon them!

The key of the rituals is in the secret word which I have given unto him.

With the God & the Adorer I am nothing: they do not see me. They are as upon the earth; I am Heaven, and there is no other God than me, and my lord Hadit.

Now, therefore, I am known to ye by my name Nuit, and to him by a secret name which I will give him when at last he knoweth me. Since I am Infinite Space, and the Infinite Stars thereof, do ye also thus. Bind nothing! Let there be no difference made among you between any one thing & any other thing; for thereby there cometh hurt.

But whoso availeth in this, let him be the chief of all!

I am Nuit, and my word is six and fifty.

Divide, add, multiply, and understand.

Then saith the prophet and slave of the beauteous one: Who am I, and what shall be the sign? So she answered him, bending down, a lambent flame of blue, all-touching, all penetrant, her lovely hands upon the black earth, & her lithe body arched for love, and her soft feet not hurting the little flowers: Thou knowest! And the sign shall be my ecstasy, the consciousness of the continuity of existence, the omnipresence of my body.

Then the priest answered & said unto the Queen of Space, kissing her lovely brows, and the dew of her light bathing his whole body in a sweet-smelling perfume of sweat: O Nuit, continuous one of Heaven, let it be ever thus; that men speak not of Thee as One but as None; and let them speak not of thee at all, since thou art continuous!

None, breathed the light, faint & faery, of the stars, and two.

For I am divided for love's sake, for the chance of union.

This is the creation of the world, that the pain of division is as nothing, and the joy of dissolution all.

For these fools of men and their woes care not thou at all! They feel little; what is, is balanced by weak joys; but ye are my chosen ones.

Obey my prophet! follow out the ordeals of my knowledge! seek me only! Then the joys of my love will redeem ye from all pain. This is so: I swear it by the vault of my body; by my sacred heart and tongue; by all I can give, by all I desire of ye all.

Then the priest fell into a deep trance or swoon, & said unto the Queen of Heaven; Write unto us the ordeals; write unto us the rituals; write unto us the law!

But she said: the ordeals I write not: the rituals shall be half known and half concealed: the Law is for all.

This that thou writest is the threefold book of Law.

My scribe Ankh-af-na-khonsu, the priest of the princes, shall not in one letter change this book; but lest there be folly, he shall comment thereupon by the wisdom of Ra-Hoor-Khuit.

Also the mantras and spells; the obeah and the wanga; the work of the wand and the work of the sword; these he shall learn and teach.

He must teach; but he may make severe the ordeals.

The word of the Law is Θελημα.

Who calls us Thelemites will do no wrong, if he look but close into the word. For there are therein Three Grades, the Hermit, and the Lover, and the man of Earth. Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

The word of Sin is Restriction. O man! refuse not thy wife, if she will! O lover, if thou wilt, depart! There is no bond that can unite the divided but love: all else is a curse. Accursed! Accursed be it to the aeons! Hell.

Let it be that state of manyhood bound and loathing. So with thy all; thou hast no right but to do thy will.

Do that, and no other shall say nay.

For pure will, unassuaged of purpose, delivered from the lust of result, is every way perfect.

The Perfect and the Perfect are one Perfect and not two; nay, are none!

Nothing is a secret key of this law. Sixty-one the Jews call it; I call it eight, eighty, four hundred & eighteen.

But they have the half: unite by thine art so that all disappear.

My prophet is a fool with his one, one, one; are not they the Ox, and none by the Book?

Abrogate are all rituals, all ordeals, all words and signs. Ra-Hoor-Khuit hath taken his seat in the East at the Equinox of the Gods; and let Asar be with Isa, who also are one. But they are not of me. Let Asar be the adorant, Isa the sufferer; Hoor in his secret name and splendour is the Lord initiating.

There is a word to say about the Hierophantic task. Behold! there are three ordeals in one, and it may be given in three ways. The gross must pass through fire; let the fine be tried in intellect, and the lofty chosen ones in the highest. Thus ye have star & star, system & system; let not one know well the other!

There are four gates to one palace; the floor of that palace is of silver and gold; lapis lazuli & jasper are there; and all rare scents; jasmine & rose, and the emblems of death. Let him enter in turn or at once the four gates; let him stand on the floor of the palace. Will he not sink? Amn. Ho! warrior, if thy servant sink? But there are means and means. Be goodly therefore: dress ye all in fine apparel; eat rich foods and drink sweet wines and wines that foam! Also, take your fill and will of love as ye will, when, where and with whom ye will! But always unto me.

If this be not aright; if ye confound the space-marks, saying: They are one; or saying, They are many; if the ritual be not ever unto me: then expect the direful judgments of Ra Hoor Khuit!

This shall regenerate the world, the little world my sister, my heart & my tongue, unto whom I send this kiss. Also, o scribe and prophet, though thou be of the princes, it shall not assuage thee nor absolve thee. But ecstasy be thine and joy of earth: ever To me! To me!

Change not as much as the style of a letter; for behold! thou, o prophet, shalt not behold all these mysteries hidden therein.

The child of thy bowels, he shall behold them.

Expect him not from the East, nor from the West; for from no expected house cometh that child. Aum! All words are sacred and all prophets true; save only that they understand a little; solve the first half of the equation, leave the second unattacked. But thou hast all in the clear light, and some, though not all, in the dark.

Invoke me under my stars! Love is the law, love under will. Nor let the fools mistake love; for there are love and love. There is the dove, and there is the serpent. Choose ye well! He, my prophet, hath chosen, knowing the law of the fortress, and the great mystery of the House of God. All these old letters of my Book are aright; but צ is not the Star. This also is secret: my prophet shall reveal it to the wise.

I give unimaginable joys on earth: certainty, not faith, while in life, upon death; peace unutterable, rest, ecstasy; nor do I demand aught in sacrifice.

My incense is of resinous woods & gums; and there is no blood therein: because of my hair the trees of Eternity.

My number is 11, as all their numbers who are of us. The Five Pointed Star, with a Circle in the Middle, & the circle is Red. My colour is black to the blind, but the blue & gold are seen of the seeing. Also I have a secret glory for them that love me.

But to love me is better than all things: if under the night stars in the desert thou presently burnest mine incense before me, invoking me with a pure heart, and the Serpent flame therein, thou shalt come a little to lie in my bosom. For one kiss wilt thou then be willing to give all; but whoso gives one particle of dust shall lose all in that hour. Ye shall gather goods and store of women and spices; ye shall wear rich jewels; ye shall exceed the nations of the earth in splendour & pride; but always in the love of me, and so shall ye come to my joy. I charge you earnestly to come before me in a single robe, and covered with a rich headdress. I love you! I yearn to you! Pale or purple, veiled or voluptuous, I who am all pleasure and purple, and drunkenness of the innermost sense, desire you. Put on the wings, and arouse the coiled splendour within you: come unto me!

At all my meetings with you shall the priestess say — and her eyes shall burn with desire as she stands bare and rejoicing in my secret temple — To me! To me! calling forth the flame of the hearts of all in her love-chant.

Sing the rapturous love-song unto me! Burn to me perfumes! Wear to me jewels! Drink to me, for I love you! I love you!

I am the blue-lidded daughter of Sunset; I am the naked brilliance of the voluptuous night-sky.

To me! To me!

The Manifestation of Nuit is at an end

Source: https://www.deviantart.com/noctique-art/art/THE-HIGH-PRIESTESS-Dreamwalker-tarot-card-744956134

[talonabraxas]

“Those Who from Heaven came to Earth”

Anu 𒀭 In Sumerian Pantheon Of Gods Talon Abraxas

Anu (also known as An) is an early Mesopotamian sky god who was later viewed as the Father of the Gods and ruler of the heavens, a position which then passed to his son Enlil. He is the son of the couple Anshar and Kishar (heaven and earth, respectively), the second-born of the primordial couple Apsu and Tiamat.

He was originally a Sumerian sky deity known as An (meaning 'sky') first referenced in writing during the Early Dynastic Period (2900-2334 BCE) who was adopted by the Akkadians c. 2375 BCE as Anu ('heaven') the all-powerful. Sargon the Great of Akkad (r. 2334-2279 BCE) mentions Anu and Inanna in his inscriptions as legitimizing his rule or helping him in his conquests as he established the Akkadian Empire and maintained order.

Anu is most often represented in iconography simply by a crown or crown on a throne symbolizing his status as King of the Gods, an honor and responsibility later conferred upon Enlil, Marduk (son of Enki/Ea, the god of wisdom), and Assur of the Assyrians, all of whom were believed to have been elevated by Anu and blessed by him. His consort is Antu (also known as Uras, goddess of the earth), and among their many children are the Annunaki, the gods of the earth and judges of the dead, and Nisaba, the Sumerian goddess of writing and accounts. He is also given as the husband of his sister Ki (earth) by whom his son Enlil is born.

Although Anu is not featured prominently in many myths, he is often mentioned as a background figure. This is because, as veneration of the god progressed, he became more and more remote. Initially a sky god and one of the many younger gods born of Apsu and Tiamat, Anu gradually became the lord of the heavens above the sky and the god who ordered and maintained all aspects of existence.

Along with Enlil and Enki, Anu formed a triad which governed the heavens, earth, and underworld (in one version) or, in another, heaven, the sky, and the earth. He was also listed among the oldest gods of the Seven Divine Powers: Anu, Enki, Enlil, Inanna, Nanna, Ninhursag, and Utu-Shamash.

Even though he is rarely a main character in a myth, when he does appear, he plays an important role, even when that role might seem minor. He is referenced in some of the best-known myths from Mesopotamia including Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld, The Epic of Gilgamesh, the Myth of Adapa, and the Enuma Elish.

[jgabriel1920]

Johnnytober 16°: Opportunity

It was his office.

It was Blackwater office for minutes, hours, years and decades. He broke the shelfs, he shattered the windows, he burned the books and flipped the table. But it continued to be his office.

He been stuck there for so long, reliving the same day over and over again. And for what!? The vermins in hell never had one bit of suffering he went through. He was cut, burned, drowned and suffocated. He was gutted like a pig but still went back to go through it again.

He hated the dragon with all the fiber of his being. He hated her for all these years, all this centuries it felt him being trapped, he didn't know if humanity had succumbed because of her. He didn't deserve to punished not like this! He did what heaven wished for him to do, and this was his reward!?

He wish Alastor was dead, or that the demon had lost his powers forever and left as a former shell of himself. He wished he wouldn't be so kind not to lobotomize the maniac. He wished he could kill the bringer of the apocalypse, that she was aborted at birth and everything would go back to what once was normal.

But... He couldn't do nothing but wish.

Nothing but cry against the door as they called his name, his allies, his brothers in arms. The humanity left was all in here, except for that small girl.

He was too kind, she wouldn't have killed him if he grabbed the girl and used for leverage. He could have been so much worse than she said he was. It wasn't personal, he just wished that the world was a better place.

Now he just wished he could she her heaven burn.

A small fire began on his desk, that became huge, surrounding the entire table. The fire was blue, blue like the sky's he once saw with his own eyes. The flame... It reminded him of something from the holy book, but could it be?

A loud and deep voice came from the fire, words that shook him from the very core of his heart.

"Maher..."

It happen been so long someone used his first name. Oh, so long that he almost did remember himself. He went to his knees, removing his boots so quick he almost tripped. He bowed down to it.

"It's wonderful seeing one of my children being obedient. It's a rare sight."

He nodded, eyes to the ground as not to look at it. It was disrespectful, he read, to look god in it's eyes.

"You can speak to me my child..."

"It's a honor seeing you, father above." He tried remembering more words from the book, he hadn't read it as much as the history and strategic ones.

"And it's a honor seeing you too." The warm it brought to him was calming, refreshing. "To see the one wanted to clean the world."

"What the occasion for your visit?" He couldn't help to ask.

"... I see you have taken notice. It's understandable, your anxiety, given the situation..." The pause made his heart pound in his ears. "I wish to give you a second chance. A certainty for your sorrows. To vanquish the apocalyptic Dragon."

He went still, heart jumping to his mouth. He wished he could jump and laugh, but he needed to be patient. "Yes my Lord. I will follow your wishes."

"It's absolute. And I believe you not fail, I will not give you a chance to fail, contrary to Adam."

Maybe that information would have stick more on him if he wasn't so desperate. The venom on God words went over his head.

"You be given all you need with the promise you will make the earth bleed."

"I will."

"You will make the sinners plead my name for forgiveness."

"I will"

"And you will show them the power of the one above."

"I will"

A silence stuck for seconds, breath getting caught in his throat.

"Very well... I see you out of this prison." The fire went back to being red, but it started to spread more. It went to his body, clinged to him like a second skin. But it didn't hurt, in fact it made him feel better, stronger. He felt more alive then he had ever felt in his entire life.

He laughed in joy, in ecstasy, as his body burned, as his walls burned, as his mind burned...

...

Blackwater soul had disappeared from Lucifer manor.

@sparrowrye begging of demi-demon Halloween~