#otho is burning (soon)

[4h13min]

BEETLEJUICE GOES HAWAIIAN

now take it kinda slow, with a whole lot of soul

[omgkatsudonplease]

[ficlet, bagginshield] feeling exceptional (bridgerton au)

The Great Smials Assembly is in Tuckborough, which means for Bilbo that it’s little more than a glorified family reunion. All of his various aunts and uncles push and pull at him when he arrives, wishing him good luck in his courtship with the King of Erebor. Gandalf, staying at the Great Smials on an invitation from Thain Fortinbras II, looks especially insufferable every time someone hopes to be invited to the Royal wedding. 

“He hasn’t proposed yet,” Bilbo grumbles whenever it does.

“But surely he’s on the very verge of it!” gasps Aunt Donnamira, clutching at her chest. “Gandalf says he’s never seen two creatures on Eru’s green Arda look at each other with such devotion. If he doesn’t marry you, he’s a fool!”

Well, then, we are both fools, Bilbo does not say. King Thorin is a fool for letting such a fanciful Hobbit pretend to be his, and he is a fool for squandering this opportunity not to look for his true love.

Still, something strange burns at him, deep inside. He’s felt it all this while, over all of these weeks of lies and pretences slowly becoming wishes and truths. Thorin is nothing like the brusque Dwarf-king he had first met at the Party Field Dance, nothing like the cold statue barely making conversation with him at Gandalf’s surprise dinner. Bilbo has seen through the outermost layers of him —rather literally at one point, during the Brandywine River Promenade — and he has to admit, he likes what he sees.

And liking what he sees is the last thing he needs, because they had agreed to avoid just that. They had agreed not to fall in love. 

“Bilbo!” He is jerked out of his thoughts by a familiar cheerful voice. His cousin Primula comes barreling at him with ungraceful fervour, pulling up short just as he braces himself for impact. He finds himself curtsied to first before being squished into one of her overenthusiastic hugs. Clearly the etiquette lessons were not taking root with her at all. “Bilbo, Bilbo, you’re here! And I’m here! I had to go to Fornost earlier in the month so I missed the Promenade but I’m here! And I got permission to attend this ball! And Mama is going to lower my hems soon so I can debut in a year or two!”

“Prim! Calm down!” exclaims Bilbo. The young Hobbit-lass bounces in reply, the ribbons in her hair shining with each toss of her thick, dark curls. “What was that about a trip to Fornost?” 

“Mama and Papa took us to Fornost for the spas,” says Primula happily, holding him out at arm’s length to examine him more closely. “Now I’ve missed all the excitement. I heard you’re going to be a Dwarf Consort!”

“I’m not going to be a Dwarf Consort,” scoffs Bilbo, before quickly catching himself and tacking on a hasty, “yet. He hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

“Oh, but I hope he does,” gushes Primula. “It would be so romantic!”

“You’re taking cues from Auntie Donnamira, I see,” says Bilbo, spinning her around in circles. “Are you sure you can behave yourself tonight?”

“It’s just dancing,” scoffs Primula. “I promise not to tread on Cousin Sigismond’s feet again. I promise.”

Bilbo snorts. “All right, Prim. And what’s this about your mother letting you debut soon? Aren’t you still in your tweens?”

“Yeah, but all of my sisters are gone and married,” replies Primula, pouting. “And if I enter society, I get to go to all the parties with you! It’s been no fun being cooped up in Brandy Hall being told to go to bed just before the party guests arrive, you know.”

Bilbo remembers a ball at Brandy Hall during one of his earlier seasons, catching Primula in her nightgown by the doorway into the ballroom. He’d taken her out into the gardens and told her stories until she got drowsy. She’s grown up faster than his beansprouts since then, her childhood roundness briefly interrupted by tweenhood gangliness. And now here she is in a lengthened evening-gown, her eyes bright and ribbons woven into her cloud of dark hair. 

Bilbo feels immeasurably old beside her. With any luck, she’ll be declared the rose of the season the year she is presented to the Queen of Arnor, and, just like her sisters, she’ll be swept off her feet by some strapping Hobbit-lad and sent off to her happily ever after. 

And Bilbo will remain here, forever picky, forever searching. Possibly even lamenting the events of this year, and what could have been.

The refreshments are laid out, the band is arrayed to the side, and the first couples begin to form a line for the first dance of the night. Bilbo looks at Primula fiddling excitedly with her dance card, and gestures to it with a grin.

“Do you mind so terribly if your favourite cousin had your first dance?” he asks.

“Bold of you to assume you’re my favourite cousin,” replies Primula, but she’s smiling nonetheless, extending her wrist out to him. He signs for the first dance, before taking her out to join the other dancers lining up on the floor. 

The first dance is a reel in which the leading couple weaves their way through groups of three couples at a time. This means that Bilbo and Primula have a great deal of time standing still, waiting for their turn, and so Primula breaks the silence again with a devious grin. 

“I heard Mr Gladden has finally left town,” she says. “Something about his grandmother’s failing health. He’s gone back to the Greenwood.”

Bilbo exhales. “Good for him,” he says. “I feel terrible for saying that, but I don’t think I will miss him one bit.”

“I’ve never met him, but lots of people said it was about time,” agrees Primula. “He must have been quite the stinker.”

“I would be the last person in Arda to judge someone for being odd,” muses Bilbo, “but besides being odd he was rude. No sense of boundaries.”

“If only other people would get the hint.” Primula tosses her head towards Miss Bracegirdle, who had just joined the line with Otho Sackville-Baggins. Bilbo scoffs.

“For someone who isn’t in society yet, you certainly know a lot about the people hounding me,” he remarks. 

“Just because I’m not in society doesn’t mean I can’t read Lord Stormcrow,” replies Primula with a sly grin. “He’s had a lot to say about you two. Because of him, there’s now a betting pool between the Master, the Thain, and the Mayor for when King Thorin will propose!”

Bilbo feels like he’s been doused in cold water. “What a bunch of nosy busybodies,” he declares, just as the lead couple gets to them and they start to link arms and circle with them. 

“Well, of all the Dwarves of Arda, I suppose a Dwarf-king isn’t a bad choice for the head of the Baggins family,” muses Primula once they meet up again and the lead couple has moved on down the line. “I never liked the Bracegirdle option, if you cared to know my thoughts on it. I mean, it is the respectable choice, but she’s clearly more interested in being Mistress of Bag End than your wife.”

Bilbo chuckles. “Whatever happened to little Prim?” he wonders. “The one who crashed the Brandybuck Ball in her nightgown and listened to my stories of butterflies and dumbledoors in the garden until she fell asleep?”

“Well, it’s because of your stories that I know you wouldn’t marry someone unless they made you perfectly and incandescently happy,” Primula points out. 

“You make me perfectly and incandescently happy, too, and I have no plans to marry you,” Bilbo replies.

“That’s because you’re ancient Cousin Bilbo,” says Primula matter-of-factly, “and all I want for ancient Cousin Bilbo is someone who will make him smile his happy smile, not his brave one.” 

Bilbo wants to chalk everything she’s saying up to simple tweenhood twitterpated nonsense, but the words fly out of his head the moment he catches a glimpse of familiar blue. The music hushes into an awed murmur, as dancers and other guests alike stop and turn to see Thorin’s arrival at the Assembly. Bilbo dimly feels Primula dropping his hands as she turns to see the Dwarf-king, her small gasp of delight echoing deep in his heart. 

The first time Bilbo had read the Lay of Leithian, he had been struck by the verses depicting the meeting of Beren Erchamion and Lúthien Tinúviel. Deep within the woods of Doriath, the fateful meeting of those two had been a dance, a chase, a cry, a capitulation. As Bilbo read, he had wondered, dimly, if one day he would ever experience a captivation so thorough as what Beren had felt when he first watched Lúthien dancing in the forest grove.

Now, as he sees Thorin enter in his dark-blue tailcoat and white cravat, with the beads of the line of Durin shining starlike in his hair, Bilbo understands. 

The reel quickly finishes after that, allowing Bilbo to turn to Primula. “I could make an introduction,” he offers.

Primula opens her mouth to accept, before catching sight of someone else in the crowd. “Oh, your cousin Drogo wants to see me,” she says, winking mischievously at him. “Some other time? Maybe when you two have come to an understanding?” 

And with that, she scampers off into the crowd, leaving Bilbo alone in confronting the Dwarf-king he’s not actually supposed to be courting. Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, Bilbo steps forward and pushes through the crowd of girls clamouring for Thorin to sign their dance cards. 

“There you are.” Thorin’s wintry expression thaws the moment he sees Bilbo. “Have you come to rescue me?” 

“Am I your excuse not to dance?” wonders Bilbo drily as he reaches Thorin’s side, forcibly squashing down the fluttering in his stomach. “I thought the goal of this was to improve your manners, not give you an out.”

“No, it was to improve my image,” replies Thorin, “and as you can see  —” He gestures to the gaggle of Hobbit-lasses arguing with one another nearby, “it worked.”

Bilbo huffs in amusement. “Apparently it worked too well. There are wagers set up about when you’ll propose.” 

Thorin raises an eyebrow at that, but does not say anything one way or the other. “Which two dances shall we have tonight?” he asks. 

Every dance, Bilbo wants to say, but even a third dance might as well be a proposal in and of itself as far as the Shire is concerned. Instead, when the next Hobbit-lass comes up to the two of them for a dance, he merely checks her card and politely declines a spot, before turning to watch Thorin do the same. 

“The Petty-skirt,” he suggests, “and the Springle-ring.” 

Thorin’s eyes crinkle amusedly at him. “Promise you will not run from the Springle-ring?” he teases.

Bilbo chuckles. “I would never,” he replies, just as the music for the first figure of the Petty-skirt begins to play. “Come on,” he says, offering his hand to Thorin. “Let’s dance.”

And for the rest of that night, he takes no other partner. Lord Stormcrow will note upon it, of course, crowing in his next pamphlet that surely an understanding is on the horizon for the two of them. 

In the meantime, Bilbo dances the night away in Thorin’s arms, and his mind is full of nothing but nightingales and the exquisite pain of being perfectly, incandescently happy. 

[anastpaul]

Saint of the Day – 4 July – Saint Ulric of Augsburg (c 890–973) Bishop of Augsburg, Germany – born in 893 at Kyburg, Zurich, Switzerland and died on 4 July 973 at Augsburg, Germany of natural causes.   His remains are interred in the Church of Saint Afra and Ulrich in Augsburg.   Earth from his grave is reported to repel rodents and over the centuries, much has been carried away for that purpose,   Patronages – against birth complications, against faintness, against fever, against mice and moles, diocese of Augsburg, Germany; happy death, weavers, San Dorligo della Valle, Creazzo, Italy.

St Ulric, renowned for his virtues and the miracles he wrought, was born towards the close of the ninth century.   His parents were Kupald, Count of Kueburg and Thielburga, daughter of Burkard, Duke of Suabia.   When he was only seven years old, his education was entrusted to the religious of the Abbey of Saint Gall, where he progressed in virtue and learning much more than could be expected at his tender age.   When he became older, he entertained the fervent desire to enter the religious state and in order to learn the will of the Almighty, he passed some time in prayer and penance.   He also asked the advice of Wigerade, a virgin renowned for her holiness, who, after having, by a three days’ prayer, called on God for light, said to Ulric that he was not destined by heaven to be a monk, but to become a secular priest.   Hence he left the monastery and returned to his parents, who sent him to Augsburg to the virtuous bishop Adalberon, who soon recognising the virtues and talents that were in Ulric, employed him in all the manifold affairs of his sacred functions and ordained him priest.

After some years, with the permission of the bishop, he made a pilgrimage to Rome, during which time Adalberon died.   The Pope desired to nominate Ulric to the vacant See but when the latter heard of it, he was frightened and secretly left.   The Holy Father, being informed of this, said – “If Ulric is not pleased to take the See of Augsburg, while it is in a peaceful condition, he will be forced to accept it when it will be in a state of great disturbance and anarchy.”   This really happened, for, after the death of Hiltin, who had succeeded Adalberon, Ulric was obliged to yield to the unanimous voice of the clergy and laity.   It was a most sad period, for the enemy had devastated the land with fire and sword, the churches were either reduced to ashes or robbed of all their valuables and the inhabitants were greatly suffering from poverty.   The holy bishop was unwearied in his endeavours to restore the churches, to assist the poor and afflicted, and, when he had nothing else to give, he brought consolation and hope to them.   For fifty years he governed the See of Augsburg and words fail to describe the work he performed, the suffering he endured during this time for the glory of the Almighty and the temporal and spiritual welfare of his flock.

The Roman Martyrology praises him especially for these virtues: temperance, liberality, and vigilance.   His temperance in eating, drinking and sleeping was so great that more could not have been required of one belonging to an austere religious order.   He never partook of meat, although he had it served to strangers and to the poor.   In short, he was so frugal that his whole life may be called one continued fast.   His bed was straw and his sleep but a short rest, as he passed the greater portion of the night in devout exercises. He wore no linen but a garment of wool and beneath it a rough hair-cloth.   His liberality to the poor could not be surpassed, some of them ate daily at his own table.   He sometimes waited on them, sometimes shared the meal with them, during which a devout book was read aloud.   All that remained of his revenues after he had restored the Church, was devoted to the needy, for whom he procured corn, clothing and houses.   He spent nothing to ornament or furnish his own dwelling, in order to be the better able to assist the poor  . The best evidence of this is that he ate off wooden dishes, one of which is still shown.   Before his death he had all that the house contained brought to him and divided it among the poor.

His vigilance over his fold was indefatigable and truly apostolic.   He preached, administered the Sacraments, visited the sick, comforted the dying and yearly visited every parish in his whole diocese on foot, accompanied by only one chaplain.    He several times assembled the clergy and consulted with them about abolishing abuses, or about some plan that he had devised for the benefit of the people.   In a word, he evinced a father’s solicitude, not only for the spiritual but also for the temporal prosperity of those entrusted to his care and regarded neither care nor danger when their welfare was concerned.

In 955, the Hungarians pillaged Bavaria, and coming to Augsburg, besieged the city. Ulric exhorted the men to be brave and the women, children and sick to pray.   The whole night he was with them in the church, strengthening the soldiers with the blessed Sacrament.   When the morning broke, he mounted a horse, shielded, not in armour but in a stole and accompanied the soldiers out of the city to fight against the barbarians. During this time he received from an angel, who visibly appeared to him, a small cross, which he kept in his hand, not fearing the darts or sword-strokes of the enemy and the sight of which inflamed the courage of his people, who, before long, won a most brilliant victory over the enemy.   All this took place on the feast of Saint Lawrence and the happy result was, under God, ascribed justly to the bishop, as the emperor Otho himself declared when he came to assist the distressed people.

He erected, as well in the city as out of it, many churches and rebuilt those which had been burned or injured by the enemy.   Among the latter was the church of Saint Afra, who was greatly honoured by the holy bishop.   She appeared to him several times, informed him where her holy body was concealed and foretold to him several events, among which was the happy result of the above-mentioned battle.   On account of these and many other admirable qualities, the people called him only the holy bishop, while God proclaimed the sanctity of His servant by many miracles which were known over the whole Christian world.   The oil, which he had consecrated on holy Thursday, healed many sick and restored the limbs of the lame.   He was seen to walk over the river without even wetting his feet.

Once, at Easter, when, in presence of a large multitude of people, he celebrated High Mass, a hand, coming from heaven, was seen, which, jointly with Ulric’s hand, blessed the chalice before the consecration.

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Having thus faithfully laboured for many years in the service of the Most High, the Saint felt that his end was approaching and prepared himself for his Master’s call.   On the festival of Saint John, he said Holy Mass for the last time, after which he was brought home and occupied the remainder of his life in devotional exercises.   He humbly requested all those around him to pardon any offence of which he might have been guilty towards them and gave them many wholesome instructions.   When his end was near, he had ashes strewn on the floor in the form of a cross, and sprinkled with holy water, then, requesting to be laid on them, he remained in prayer until, at the dawn of day, while he was chanting the Litany, death closed his eyes in the eighty-third year of his life, 973.

St Ulric was the first saint to be Canonised by a pope, Pope John XV on 3 February 993, which led to the canonical process which the church uses today to determine sainthood.

Lives of the Saints, by Father Francis Xavier Weninger

Saint of the Day – 4 July – Saint Ulric of Augsburg (c 890–973) Saint of the Day - 4 July - Saint Ulric of Augsburg (c 890–973) Bishop of Augsburg, Germany - born in 893 at Kyburg, Zurich, Switzerland and died on 4 July 973 at Augsburg, Germany of natural causes.   

[blossem12]

Vampire Deetz Part 10!

Lydia was up at the break of dawn to head back to the Maitlands house. Clad in all black and a hat to cover her face and she was on her way, contemplating if she should've told her father. She shrugged off the thought and continued.

The sun was still rising, meaning it had little to no effect on Lydia, and it wasn't long before she was at their doorstep and knocking. A sleepy Adam answered the door.

"Hey Lydia!" He said with a yawn, "why are you here so early?" The teenager let out a small shrug.

"I just couldn't wait to tell you the story i guess"

"Who is it Adam?" Barbara's tired voice rang from behind him.

"It’s Lydia!" He called back, Barbara responding quickly.

"Tell her she can come in. I'll get up and make tea"

Lydia smiled as Adam opened the way to the house. Lydia stepped inside and was immediately hit by more floral scents then she could handle.

They really dont want people to know they're vampires She thought, Barbara was in the kitchen with the sound of boiling water echoing from it. As Lydia made her way to the table she looked around spotting vials that looked close to her father, but they held crystals instead of blood. She kept looking until she sat down.

Adam sat across from her, yawning as he waited for his wife to join him.

"You can start, I'll be just a second!" Barbara said over her shoulder to the two at the table. Lydia smiled and began her story,

"So back when I was four my mom decided to have a picnic in the forest. Awful Idea but it was awesome! But the forest at night is kinds dangerous-"

"At night?" Adam asked, confused on why her mother would take the risk. Barbara joined the tabled as he asked. Placing a cup of lavender tea infront of Lydia and Adam, taking a seat soon after.

"Yeah. Duh. No sun"

"Oh" Adam nodded and motioned for her to continue.

For once Lydia felt truly happy. As she told her story, jumping and reenacting every moment she could, the Maitlands watched intently, making comments and laughing at the appropriate moments.

They actually listen.

That was the thought in Lydias mind that made her smile. Soon after she finished, she was in a fit of laughter. The Maitlands themselves also letting out small laughs. After the laughter slowed Lydia looked around at the flower covered house, her brain reacted without thinking,

"You know. For Vampires, you guys really like being cheery." She looked back at them to see two confused faces.

"Vampires?" Adam asked,

"Why in the world do you think we're vampires?" Barbara inquired immediately after.

"The masking of smell? The weird vials? Not leaving ‘til sundown?" Lydia answered, becoming slightly nervous. Maybe her instincts had been wrong, and they were out to hurt her. She heard her dads voice echo in her head.

You don’t know anything yet.

"Oh jeez. We didn’t know those are vampire things!" Adam laughed,

"We're witches. » Barbara said calmly, noticing that Lydia was increasingly growing nervous, "don’t worry, we're basically the same without the sunlight and blood thing. We aren’t going to hurt you."

"Everyone in your family is a vampire?" Adam asked quietly,

"Just me and my dad. Delia isn’t one"

Lydia slowed her now quickened breathing, she noticed her hands were beginning to glow from the panic. Adam quietly alerted Barbara of the glowing.

Barbara smiled at Lydia,

"See? You guys have powers too. I’m assuming you can't control them perfectly just yet." She explained, motioning towards her hands, "Maybe we can help?"

"You know how to control it?" Lydia asked wide eyed as the glowing began to fade. Barbara nodded and went to grab a book from her shelf.

"We had an incident back in the day where both of lost control of our powers. It’s terrifying but an easy fix."

Lydia listened as she flipped the pages, stopped at one, read it and then grabbed a vial filled with a crystal that Lydia didn't recognize.

"That is amethyst. Cleanses the air." Adam said confidently before pausing and speaking directly to Barbara, "I don't think she had an encounter with Onyx, she doesn't need the crystal."

Barbara shrugged and placed the vial in Lydia's hand,

"Can never be too careful!" She winked and sat next to her husband.

"It’s probably emotion based. Which means it’s more difficult to control but it is do-able." Adam explained; Lydia nodded once more.

"You guys will help me?"

"Absolutely!" They said in unison, Lydia let out another smile as the glowing from her hands completely disappeared.

Lydia soon returned home, as she snuck through the door, she attempted to look around for her father’s whereabouts. To no surprise for Lydia he was right in front of her.

"Where were you?" Charles demanded in his most fatherly voice.

"The Maitlands." Lydia snapped trying to hold her ground. Charles's look slowly turned from anger to sadness.

"Lydia. We can't trust them yet. I don’t want you wandering to their house when they might kill us!"

"Actually…they are" Lydia began before a thought went through her head,

Nothing would anger him more than you breaking the rules.

Lydia smiled, as she thought of a lie

"They are incredibly nice people. Better than you or Delia."

Charles face became red at the comment. After all of his work trying to fix his family, Lydia was still being stubborn.

"If I see you over at their house without my permission, you'll be forbidden from leaving the house. " He demanded

"Forbidden? What are we in.. a fairy tale?" Lydia argued, her father opening his mouth to yell again but all that came out were dull words.

"Go to your room."

----

Delia had gone to store after hearing the commotion in the front of the house. She felt as a cross road with who she sided with. She wanted to trust Lydia and her instincts, show her that someone was willing to listen, but she had no reason. Charles on the other hand had a very good reason, he didn’t want to put their newfound life in danger.

Delia tried to analyze the situation more as she made her way to the store. The sun was exceptionally bright that day, people waltzed around the square from store to store as they took in the heat. For once Delia felt how actually hot the sun was.

I guess vampires can rub off on you. She thought to herself with a laugh as she looked for the grocery store. As she looked, she spotted Adam and Barbara walking up to the entrance. She got excited for a moment before noticing that they were standing in direct sunlight.

Delia didn’t have time to think, she began to panic as she ran over and pulled them inside the store. Barbara letting out a small yell as she grabbed onto Adam.

"Delia?!' Adam exclaimed as he steadied his heart beat and got a look at the incidentees. Delia sighed and wiped her forehead, taking a moment to examine the couple. They had no burn marks, no signs of pain (aside from the fear from Delia grabbing them)

"Wait why aren’t you guys covered in burns?" She whispered to them.

"I don't know what you mean." Barbara said concerned, Adam placed an arm around her waist in defense.

"Because you're vampires?" Delia said, then once again realizing her mistake, she cursed her brain, "because… the sun can cause severe burns without sunscreen!"

Nice save Delia. She thought with a nod.

Barbara however cocked an eyebrow, "We told Lydia that we weren't vampires. We're witches" she gestured to both her and Adam at the statement. Delia was utterly confused, if Lydia knew they weren't a danger then why would she refuse to tell Charles?

"I hate to do this without permission. But I’m inviting you to another dinner tomorrow night. We, have somethings to discuss with you and Lydia." Delia’s request was filled with slight pauses as she tried to think of a way to sound formal.

The Maitlands gave a slight nod, "okay." They spoke in unison.

"Perfect see you then!" Delia said as she quickly walked and grabbed a shopping cart. Both parties still shaken by the encounter. Barbara and Adam looked at each other with a nod and promptly left the store, while Delia tried to put more pieces of her puzzle of life together.

**************

If there was one thing Otho hated more than anything, it was a road trip. The conman sighed. The trip was necessary for his next scam. The “life coach” thing was slowing down signifyingly and he needed the money.

He quickly put his bags in the trunk and started the car. With the radio a full volume Otho sped away from New York City. At least Connecticut wasn’t that far away.

[impy-d]

(A collaborative work with @chibibiscuit in celebration of @bongoskillz‘s birthday! Happy Birthday, my friend!)

    Nathan peeked around the bend of the tunnel, finding the way opened into a large alcove with a vaulted ceiling. The end of the quest was in sight. Huge, wood and iron doors gave the imposing authority of a fortress impenetrable. They made it this far, they would reach their prize on the other side. A smattering guards were gathered before the gate. Some were playing cards, raucous laughter mixed with cries of anguish, as one of the orcs drew the pile of winnings across the top of the crate that was their makeshift table. The others milled about, their laxity made Nathan’s battle senses itch.

    “What do you see?” a woman’s voice said from behind him.

    “Six. Four orcs, two human.” Nathan ducked back behind the curve of the bend, thankful he trimmed his normal armor to a breastplate, leaving scale armor to cover the rest of his limbs.

    “Do they know we’re coming?”

    “I don’t think so. They’re playing cards. This isn’t what I expected.”

Changing his bastard sword from one hand to the other, he turned to his assembled company.

    “That few?” said Minerva, her hand fidgeting with her mace in thought. She also opted for a breastplate, but leather armor otherwise. This was all covered by her white tabard, spattered in blood, but still held the icon of her deity. Clerics were always a necessity, even if you couldn’t pronounce the name of their patron.

    “Seems well and right to me.” said Otho, the rogue. He was leaning back against the wall of the tunnel, checking his crossbow as casually as if he were asking for another bottle of port. He was the best they could do. He was hired easily enough, he was the only of his kind to take up the advertisement on the tavern job board. He looked bored, despite the trouble they all went through just to get to this point.

    “Oh! Then that’ll make the job so much easier!” Jelenneth said.

    Jel was a strange sort. She was tiefling, a race that Nathan never normally associated himself with, and he had a feeling that Minerva felt much the same. Her horns seemingly swept back as they poked through her long, unbound hair. A long, thick tail emerging from the small of her back. She was very unique, though. She smiled, a lot actually. Her attitude far more carefree than what he had seen of others of her kind. She wore clothes that gave her more of an appearance of an entertainer than a druid as she claimed to be. She was the most eager of the responses to their call for heroes. Despite all that he had known of her race, Nathan felt like having someone like her might actually turn out to be a good thing in the end, and that was when his eyes turned to the man behind her.

    Jorin, their hireling wizard, their true power against the master of this underworld, simply stood. Staff in hand, he leaned upon it with a nonchalance of someone simply shifting his weight. He was old, Nathan knew this by the beard, and wore no armor whatsoever, other than what protection his long robes and pointed hat could defend against. He simply smiled, as if happy to be along for the ride. Maybe it was whatever secrets or powers that men like him kept the world blissfully unaware of, or perhaps it was that Jel was with him. They must have had some kind of past together, for when Jel had brought him to their table at the inn, she spoke wonders of the wizard. To all of this, Jorin simply watched her, and smiled warmly.

    Nathan and Minerva accepted his terms swiftly, finding it far more advantageous and less of a hassle trying to interview whatever wizard schools were nearby and find a suitable candidate that didn’t require a laundry list of strange requests.

    “Ok, so what’s the plan?” Minerva said.

    “Right,” Nathan said, clearing his head. “ So from what I see, word hasn’t traveled down this far of our arrival. We still have the element of surprise.”

    “Unless it’s a trap.” Otho added.

    “I don’t think they’d be that relaxed, even if it was a trap.” Jel said “ Why would there only be six of them if this is the big door the big prize is behind?”

    “You think a dragon needs an army to guard it’s hoard?” Otho’s eyes looked to Jel’s

    “ Listen,” Nathan said, trying to maintain order. “ We can still surprise them, they wouldn’t know how far along we were anyway, so maybe they thought it was safe now. Doesn’t matter. We need to get past.”

    “You and I can provide cover.” Minerva said, raising her shield on her left arm.

    “Right. So from there, we advance. Otho, you and Jel fire at them until we can close the gap. Jorin?”

    The old wizard looked from the bend in the tunnel and to meet Nathan’s gaze.

    “Oh, excuse me a moment.” Jorin said as he casually made his way through the group and toward the bend.

    Nathan was about to stop him, but one glance out of the corner of the wizard’s eye caused him to stall. They all watched, dumbfounded as the wizard simply kept walking, and turned the corner. Correction, everyone but Jel. She clapped her hands with glee and ran up to the bend after the old man.

    “Wha- … “ Nathan said, looking to Minerva, who looked right back at him.

    As one, they all ran to the bend now, watching as Jorin and Jel walked casually toward the guards. They were noticed shortly after, as they all grabbed for weapons, and started walking to them. Jorin stopped, apparently waiting for them. The shouts and taunts of their approaching enemies did little to peterb him. Nathan felt something beneath the sounds of approaching combat, a small, whispering sound. He watched as Jorin reached out with one hand, palm upward, and slowly raised it in the air.

    All six guards began to rise into the air in concert with his hand, looking to each other in stupefaction, then soon began to flail at the air fruitlessly. Upward they rose, shouting curses as closer to the vaulted ceiling they came. With a nod of satisfaction, Jorin turned to Jel, then to the others.

    “This way if you please. Stay close, though. Wouldn’t want you going up there to join them.”

    Jorin began to walk along a circular pathway around a perimeter that only he seemed able to see. Everyone else stuck close behind, adding a little comedy as they seemed to be so close as to resemble a multi legged insect than a hardy band of adventurers.

    They stood before the massive door now, the angry shouts of the guards now far up and beyond their worries. The gate was impressive, massive wooden timbers reinforced by sturdy iron bracing. A large lock sat at their height.

    Otho cracked his knuckles and grinned wolfishly before taking out a set of lock picks, only to be sorely disappointed as Minerva walked forward, braced herself, and pushed at the door open with her shoulder. The metal hinges creaked loudly, echoing in the hall they stood and the space beyond, the smell of ozone and mildew assaulting their noses. Minerva turned to Otho, shrugged, and stepped in.

    Weapons at the ready, the party entered the final chamber. Minerva and Nathan at the lead, with Otho right behind them with his crossbow, and Jel with her scimitar. Jorin casually walked behind them, his staff clicking slightly louder than their boots, ringing out around the vast, cavernous lair. Their way was clear, a long, stone floor with the ruins of columns lining either side. Beyond that the floor dropped out on either side, disappearing into the gloom of the darkness below. This may have been a place of some note in a prior time, but it’s true purpose would never be known. What was known was that at the end of this room, where an altar of worship would be, a very different idol laid.

    The dragon was massive. Far larger than any the company had ever seen. It slept peacefully upon the hoard of treasure beneath it. At the back edges of the hoard stood crystals of great size, lending a glow to the room as well as the treasure with its refracted light from places no one could pinpoint. It was a long walk toward the other end of the great hall, and the party came close to one another, their voices shifted to careful whispers.

    “Ok, we made it… now what?” Minerva said.

    “We slay the dragon.” Nathan said matter of factly.

    “Slay it? You know there’s only five of us, right?” Otho said.

    “What did you think we were going to do?”

    “Rob it! Not try and slay it!”

    “That’s why we brought the wizard. He’ll be doing the heavy lifting, we just have to protect him so he can do what he does, right?”

    They all looked to where they thought the wizard was, only realizing that he was gone. Jel, too, was taken by surprise, and looked up to see Jorin walking just as calmly toward the slumbering dragon as he was with the guards earlier.

    “He’s almost at the dragon!” Jel said, trying to keep her voice down.

    “We have to put a leash on that man…” Minerva said with a grunt of disapproval.

    Jorin ascended the steps approaching the hoard, his gaze first upon the dragon, then the treasure. His eyes darted among the various trinkets and gold scattered beneath and around the beast, a frown hidden beneath his beard. Now dangerously close to the dragon, he raised his staff as it to prod the nose of the beast.

    “No!” Nathan yelled from across the hall, seeing the madness unfold before him.

    With that outburst, the dragon’s eyes groggily opened, grunting as if woken up from a particularly pleasant dream about burning villages or kidnapping princessesses, or whatever it is dragons dream of. Seeing an old wizard near his head was one thing he did not expect, and he rose up to better take in the scene unfolding around him. He was not happy with what he saw. Snarling, flames licked from its mouth and he glared down at Jorin.

    He would have gobbled the man up in one bite if it weren’t for the crossbow bolt that lodged itself near his eye.

    Roaring in pain, his attention shifted to where the attack came from, seeing a very nervous rogue, but was drawn to the three other figures quickly running at him. They all bellowed a loud warcry as they charged, which amused the dragon. The dragon drew in a deep breath, preparing to roast the intruders with its breath, but this time a large explosion ignited near his other eye, causing the breath to get caught and cough out the deadly gouts of flame skyward.

    “I’m still here!” Jorin called from the ground once again, only now he held a jewel within his hand. His face twisted into a wicked grin.

    “Now for a little fun.” the wizard said as he pointed the stone toward his allies.

    The trio of charging heroes continued to run to the wizard’s aid, all plans by now having been cast to the wind. Nathan noticed that Jorin was pointing at them, having distracted the dragon’s attention back toward him. He doubled his efforts. They all heard the wizard’s voice now, chanting, the stone in his hand glowing dangerously bright. So bright, in fact, that Nathan failed to notice the fungus he had just slipped on and rather unheroically fell on his face. Jel, the closest to him,  down to help him up. By then, the chanting had reached its crescendo.

    A beam of purple light fired toward the pair, Miranda whipping around to watch the beam pass her by. Jorin, having only now turned to watch his work, realized his miscalculation.

    “Oh dear.”

    Jel looked up in time to receive the full blast of the spell, bathing the cavern in its fluorescence. She watched as the floor, and her comrades began to get smaller and smaller before her eyes, until her horns connected hard with the roof of the cavern. Shouting in pain, she knelt forward, but still felt the room get smaller and smaller around her. The others disappearing beneath her, and Jorin, the hoard, and the dragon himself were now quite small compared to her. She felt her back and sides penned in, and could even feel her tail touching near the entrance.

    Her tail!

    Thinking quickly, she felt that her tail had enough room to move, and soon she had it wrapped around the now very surprised dragon, hefting him into the air, restrained and dumbfounded.

    “Well that wasn’t what I had planned… but this worked out marvelously!” Jorin said from the daius, examining the stone in his hand with excitement.

    “What happened to me?!” Jel said, looking to the wizard no bigger than her thumb.

    “I was going to cast an ‘Enlarge Person’ spell on our dear Nathan. The power of this stone would magnify the spell and make him large enough to take on the dragon, but I didn’t know it would have an even more effective use on you!”

    “Nathan… where is..” she blinked, her face changed to a mask of shock as she peered down to the floor, scanning the ground. Minerva and Nathan stood, gawking at her, from between her knees. Otho came running up, having narrowly avoided a giant boot coming his way, and joined them, unable to believe what just happened.

    “Well, now that’s in order, all we need to do now is simply put the treasure into your pockets and get out of here.” Jorin said with a grin.

    “That’s fine and all,” Jel said, looking back to Jorin, but raised a finger to prod the tiny man. “ but how am I going to get out like this?”

    “One thing at a time, my dear Jel. Let’s get to work on this treasure before our dragon friend finds a way to escape.”

    Jorin pocketed the stone and gestured to the three other adventurers.

    “Come along, we can’t be all day.”

    With their help, Jel was able to scoop large handfuls of the treasure into her hands, placing it into her pockets, while the others gathered the smaller amounts and made sure nothing was left. The gate opened behind Jel, and the guards entered, but seeing that all they saw was the backside and bootsoles of a very large tiefling, they carefully closed the door and sought more gainful employment elsewhere, far elsewhere. Jel turned her attention back to Jorin, her eyes expectant.

    “Well?”

    “At this point, all you need to do is stand up.”

    “What?!”

    “Your strength increased as your size increased. Given your size, I am quite sure we could punch through the ceiling and be out of this in no time. Though I think that we may need someplace to travel with you, in case the cave collapses…”   

    “Wait, did you say ‘collapses’?!” Othrim said

    “Not at all!”

    “Here,” Jel said, lowering her hand to the ground. “I’ll put you all in another pocket, I promise I’ll be gentle.”

    The smile she gave wasn’t much of a comfort, but it was far better odds than standing at her feet. After tucking them carefully into an empty pocket, she pressed her shoulders against the roof of the cavern. She took a deep breath and pressed upward. Feeling the ceiling give some under her strength. She pressed again, harder, trying to move her way to a kneel, nothing was coming. Her concentration elsewhere, the dragon felt the giant tiefling’s tail slacken and he was able to slither out. Given the situation, he decided that it would be better to collect a new hoard. He opened his wings and flew into the darkness over the side of the floor.

    She felt the ceiling giving way, but she felt no closer to her goal than she was before. The thought of being buried alive briefly frightened her, but it also increased her resolve to get her comrades -her new friends- to safety. Gritting her teeth, she dug deeply into her reserves of strength, and gave a loud yell as she felt the ceiling part above her, and her head surging upwards through the earth.

    A lone farmer was tending to his field. Summer had already come, and he was tending to the crops, checking for crows or any other parasite looking for a free meal. The ground began to shake. A low rumble at first, but growing in intensity. Part of the ground began to shift before him, and he fell backward, witnessing the sight of a massive, horned, purple-blue head sprouting from the ground, taking in a large gasp of air. He was speechless as he watched the head look around, then down at him, a slight blush on its cheeks.

    “Uh… hello…” Jel said.

[axie-axolotl]

Roman emperors in a post apocalyptic era? My opinions.

Bit first but still helps: Augustus

Tried to kill him: Caesar

Commits crime whenever there is a locked gate: Nero and Caligula

Can’t keep up: Tiberius

Rarely needs to reload: Claudius

Gets the good weapons: Galba and Otho

Accidentally died to get away from every zombie: Titus

“BE GAY DO CRIME” kind of person: Vitellius

Burns the zombie corpses: Vespasian and Domitian

————————————

I will write this soon.

Me and my friends will be in this.

Enjoy this while it lasts.

I might even draw them in the AU, might not.

[the-little-fox-in-the-box]

- death during childbirth was so rampant it was the top cause of death in women. It's highly suspected that the rumour was actually started by Otho who was Nero's drinking buddy with whom he liked starting bar fights and vandalising Nero's own statues (I highly encourage anyone to read Nero's poetry about with how much love he viewed Poppea). There is a part in one of his poems where he admits that they had a fight, but he'd never purposely kick her to death. Otho was supposed to marry Poppea, but she chose Nero which lead Otho to overthrowing government with an army of 2000 gladiators.

- With the descriptions we have of him (with skinny legs, but prominent belly) it is suspected that he might have not actually been fat, but had in fact a sick liver, because of his rampant drinking since very young age. When people are shaming and making fun of Nero they're literally laughing at a disabled man with a swollen liver. Which makes him even more badass for accepting himself.

- Nero did not burn down Rome. Practically all historians agree on that. The earliest mentions of the great fire was an accident in a small store with lots of flammable goods which lead to the fire spreading onto nearby buildings. It's even said that the firefighters would steal from buildings as the people fled and burn down the house to cover the evidence, spreading the fire even further. Nero was actually in a different city while it was happening, but rushed back to the city as soon as the news came to him. He rebuild the city and let people live in his palace until they were built back and used different fire prevention methods to prevent it from ever happening again.

And here's a wholesome anecdote about Nero in his childhood!

When he was a little boy he used to watch chariot racing with his friends from school and was a great fan of the green team. While he was talking with his buddies about the last race where the green charioteer was dragged across the field by his hoses, his teacher Seneca caught them talking in class and little Nero lied that they were actually talking about Iliad where Achilles drags Hector's body around with his chariot and Seneca believed him without punishing them.

Wholesome historical fact about Nero?

i know it says fact but im gonna share some more. sorry for any mistakes im tired <3

- hes the reason why polish students celebrate juvenalia. the current-day event is much different from the ancient one of course [some info about the first juvenalia that happened in the year 59 AD here]. this fact is especially cool to me since im polish lol

- despite his daughter [claudia] being only a few months old when she passed away, nero was really attached to her. he issued a special coin in her memory. before her death, nero gave her the title "augusta" which was usually reserved for really important women in the julio-claudian dynasty. he cared about her a lot. its sad he couldnt see her grow up and be there for her. also later poppea was pregnant again but she died before she gave birth. some ancient historians claim that it was nero who killed her but there is legit no real proof for that and its more likely she died due to a miscarriage. pregnant women in ancient rome died all the time so i wouldnt be surprised if that was the case here. so yeah the story about nero killing poppea is PROBABLY not true. but since its ancient history we can never be sure about situations like this. i honestly cant see him attacking his pregnant wife if he wanted to become a father so much. yeah.

- despite what many people might think, he didnt enjoy violence [gladiator battles and executions]. during one of the "neronias" [events hosted every 5 years named after the current emperor] he wouldnt let any of the fighers die. he also hosted art and sport competitions instead of some of the fights that were meant to happen later in the event because he liked them better. many romans werent happy with this. they wanted blood kill kill bite slaughter

- as you all probably know, later in life nero was fat. he was portrayed as such on the coins. since he had to approve their designs, he had to be happy with the way they looked. the emperor had the power to change his appearence on the coins if he didnt like it. this shows that despite many ancient romans not finding fat people attractive, he still felt comfortable in his body enough to appear the way he really was on his coins. same with his long hair and a beard which wasnt "normal" for an emperor to have. nero looked pretty much nothing like what an "ideal" emperor should look like. good for him for feeling nice in his own body. good for him.

- greeks LOVED this guy because he also loved them and their culture <3 nero became interested in greece back when he was a child and the fact that he became an artist only made it better. he performed in greece and competed in contests [which he had all won. since he was the emperor. heh.]

- during the great fire of rome [which PROBABLY wasnt caused by him. i stand with the idea that nero didnt burn rome, you can find more information on why this is probably the case here online] he helped many citizens. he donated a lot of his personal money to the people and requested more food to be delivered to rome during the time the city was burning. he cared for the lower/middle class more than he did for the upper class. yeah. there were more [mostly natural] disasters that had happened during his reign and he always tried his best to help the people who needed monetary support.

[ltworld]

Revelation, Coronavirus, and the Mark of the Beast: How Should Christians Read the Bible’s Most Fascinating Book? Part 3

Kevin DeYoung

I started this series when the whole world was talking about COVID-19, and some people were wondering if the signs of Revelation were unfolding—or would soon unfold—before our eyes. That’s what prompted these three posts on how to read the book of Revelation. Let me bring this short series to a close by trying to explain what may be the most famous sign in Revelation: the mark of the beast.

In order to understand the mark of the beast in Revelation 13:18, we need to see what is happening in the rest of the chapter. In the first half of chapter 13, we’re introduced to a beast from the sea. This beast is broadly representative of the political sphere. In the second half of chapter 13, we are introduced to a beast from the earth. This beast is broadly representative of the religious sphere. If the first beast is the perversion of the state, the second beast is the perversion of true worship.

With that as a basic outline, let’s go verse by verse through the second half of the chapter. Then I saw another beast rising out of the earth. It had two horns like a lamb and it spoke like a dragon (v. 11).

This imagery comes from Daniel 8 where Daniel sees a vision of a ram with two horns. That’s where the picture comes from, but what it points to is a counterfeit Christ. This beast looks like Christ, the lamb, but speaks the lies of the dragon, that is, the Devil.

Remember, the first beast is the perversion of the state, and the second beast is the perversion of Christianity. We shouldn’t expect false religion to appear immediately and obviously false. We should expect other religions to talk about love and morality. We should expect there to be many similarities, some real and some perceived, between true Christianity and false Christianity. We should expect false Christian cults and perversions to speak highly of Jesus. We should expect them to talk about the cross. We should expect similar religious language and themes, which is why we must be wise. The beast may look a lamb, but if you are discerning, you will hear that the voice is the voice of a dragon.

It exercises all the authority of the first beast in its presence, and makes the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast, whose mortal wound was healed (v. 12).

The second beast is an accomplice to the first. He acts on his behalf and leads people to worship him. In the first century there was a large imperial cult. There were priests and sacred rituals and officials insisting on the deity of the emperor. They encouraged, and sometimes made mandatory, the worship of the state. Religion is at its worst when it does nothing but lends credence to and encourages support of the corrupt and blasphemous state.

We all feel the need to experience something bigger than ourselves. We all want to touch transcendence. We were created to worship God. There is something hard-wired in all humans that compels us to search after the divine or find something spiritual. That’s the good news. God made us for God.

The bad news is the human heart is an idol factory. We find God in all the wrong places. The Devil is perfectly happy to have everyone searching for God. He is entirely content to have all of us on a spiritual journey looking for transcendence. There’s a reason hardly anyone is an atheist. The Devil doesn’t care if people believe in God. He just doesn’t want people to believe in and be satisfied in Jesus Christ. So if we can find a religious-like feeling in political activism or spirituality in the entertainment industry or experience transcendence in art or make a god out of the family, then the Devil has won. The second beast lives wherever the Devil entices people to worship something man-made, to make an idolatrous image out of anything other than Jesus Christ, who alone is the image of the invisible God.

It performs great signs, even making fire come down from heaven to earth in front of people, and by the signs that it is allowed to work in the presence of the beast it deceives those who dwell on earth, telling them to make an image for the beast that was wounded by the sword and yet lived (vv. 13-14).

The second beast is a false prophet. Three times, Revelation makes reference to the beast and the false prophet (16:13; 19:20; 20:10). The second beast is the Minister of Propaganda, deceiving people to follow after the first beast. In verse 11, we saw the second beast as a false Christ. Now we see him as a false Elijah. Elijah, you recall, called down fire from heaven to burn up the sacrifices in full view of the prophets of Baal. The beast can do impressive feats just like Elijah. Don’t think false religion will appear worthless. Idolatry will boast of great accomplishments, even miracles. The priests of Egypt had their secret arts too. Don’t be impressed with mere signs unless they point to the Son that you might be impressed with him.

And it was allowed to give breath to the image of the beast, so that the image of the beast might even speak and might cause those who would not worship the image of the beast to be slain (v. 15).

“He was given power to give breath to the image of the first beast.” In other words, the second beast persuades the world that the image of the first beast is truly God. In the first century, this meant that the religious establishment convinced people that they should worship statues and images of Caesar. In our day, the beast may not directly instruct us to worship the state or the president, but he still functions as the mouthpiece for the Devil. He entices us to make money the desire of our hearts. He convinces us that sex will be most fulfilling when it is most free of commitment and ethical norms. He lies to us about the lasting value of fame and power and professional success and academic prestige. The beast gives breath to these things so that they seem god-like in our eyes. We must have them. We will not be happy or fulfilled or valuable without them.

Also it causes all, both small and great, both rich and poor, both free and slave, to be marked on the right hand or the forehead, so that no one can buy or sell unless he has the mark, that is, the name of the beast or the number of its name (vv. 16-17).

No one knows exactly where this imagery comes from or if it even has allusion to anything in the first century. It cold be an allusion to slave’s branding, or soldier’s tattoo, or some practice of compulsory idol worship developing in the first century. Any or all of these may serve as background imagery for these verses, but the mark in reality is not a visible mark. It is an invisible spiritual mark. The righteous and believing have the Father’s name written on their foreheads, and the wicked and unbelieving have the name of the beast. In both case we are talking about a spiritual mark, an invisible stamp of approval. This verse has nothing to do with bar codes or UPC labels or credit card numbers or Social Security numbers. The point of these verses is much simpler: if you don’t compromise with the worldly system, you will suffer. In the first century, this meant that your refusal to worship Caesar (to be spiritually identified with the beast) could mean persecution or discrimination or alienation. The world has a way of operating and when we choose a different way, we must be prepared for setbacks, strange looks, and often shame and suffering.

This calls for wisdom: let the one who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man, and his number is 666 (v. 18).

This is probably the most debated verse in Revelation. It certainly is the verse that has produced the most fruitless debate. All sorts of numerical schemes have been concocted in various languages to try to decode 666. Here’s a list of referents I’ve seen for 666: Caligula, Domitian, Caesar God, Lateinos (the Roman Empire), “beast,” Antemus, Phoebus, Gensericus, Balaam, Mohammed, Martin Luther, Oliver Cromwell, Kaiser (Wilhelm), Hitler, the Nicolaitans, Euanthas, Teitan (Titans), the initials of the Roman emperors from Julius Caesar to Vespasian (minus Otho and Vitellius), the triangular number of 36 which is the triangular number of 8 which is significant because 8 is associated with Gnosticism or because the Antichrist in Revelation 17 is called the eighth king, the Latin Kingdom, the Italian Church, various Popes, all the Popes, the phrase “Vicar of the Son of God” and phrases like it, Ronald Reagan, and William Jefferson Clinton. I’m sure there are more.

All of these solutions are calculated by a process known as gematria. In the ancient world every letter corresponded to a number, just like A might equal 1, and B equal 2, C equal 3, and so on. The numbering scheme was often more complicated, but that’s the idea. Every letter could also be a number, so names could be translated into numbers. Kevin, for example, in our simplified scheme would be 11+5+22+9+14, which equals 61. That’s gematria. And people did use it in the ancient world, more than we think. There’s a text that identifies Jesus’s gematria name as 888, which is supposed to be significant because 8 is the number of re-creation. So through all sorts of complicated gematria calculations in different languages, people have come up with all the names in the list above.

Some of the names in the list are absurd. Most of the interpretations are not widely followed. The only name that has really gotten a strong following is Nero. If you take the Greek Neron Kaisar and transliterate it into Hebrew you get 50+200+6+50 and then 100+60+200, all of which together equals 666.

A possible corroboration for this view can be found in the Latin version of his name. Neron Kaiser transliterated in Latin gives you 616, which is the number of the beast in some alternative manuscripts (also the area code for Grand Rapids, Michigan). Nero fits with the story line of Revelation better than the other alternatives. Nero killed himself in AD 68, but it was rumored that he would come back to life or was still living, just like the beast received a fatal wound that was healed. So, according to many scholars, 666 is most logically a reference to Nero. And by putting Nero in the form of a riddle like this, it protected the Christians from charges of sedition and further persecution.

So the number of the beast could refer to Nero. That’s the most plausible person to be connected with 666. But there are also problems with the calculation.

First, it is far from certain that most of John’s audience would have known Hebrew. Some were probably Jewish Christians who understood Hebrew, but most certainly, many were not. So relying on your readers to not only know gematria but also transliterate a name into another language they may not have known seems like a poor way to communicate, unless John wasn’t interested in his audience knowing the answer to the puzzle.

Second, to come up with 666, you have to spell Neron Kaisar incorrectly in Hebrew. You have to leave out a yodh, which some claim was an acceptable spelling, but it was certainly not the normal usage.

Third, none of the early church fathers calculated Neron Kaisar from 666. There is a fifth-century document that calculates Nero, but it uses the word antichristus to get 616.

Fourth, verse 18 does not call us to solve a riddle. When it says, “let him calculate the number,” the solution is given in the next line. The number is 666. We are not told to solve the question of 666. We are told that 666 is the answer to the question. More on that in a moment.

Fifth, finding hidden, precise meanings in numbers is not the way numbers work in Revelation. The imagery in Revelation is broader and less exact. The church is symbolized with pictures (the 24 elders, the two witnesses, the woman) and a number (144,000). The church age is symbolized by pictures (the measured temple, the trampled witnesses, the woman protected in the wilderness) and numbers (42 months, 1260 days, 3 ½ years). Likewise, false religion is symbolized by a picture (the beast) and a number (666). In each case, the pictures and numbers mean something, but they refer to general truths, not to specific people or referents.

Sixth, if dozens of names can be calculated from 666, how effective is this means of communication? As one author puts it, it doesn’t tell us much that a certain key fits the lock, if it’s a lock that works with almost any key. I once came across these three tongue-in-cheek “rules” for calculating the number of the beast: if the proper name doesn’t work, add a title; if Greek doesn’t work try Hebrew or Latin; if that doesn’t work try a different spelling. That’s more or less the approach most people take, and it yields a hundred different answers.

So if 666 isn’t code for Nero or anyone else, what does it mean? Here’s my humble opinion (he said humbly!): 666 is not meant to be a riddle hiding the name of the beast; 666 is simply the name and number of the beast. The number 666 is man’s number (cf. 21:17). You could understand this to mean “666 is a number of a man” or “666 is the number of man.” I think it’s the latter.

What have we seen with this second beast? He is a counterfeit. He leads people into false religion. So how do you express numerically counterfeit religion? 7 is the number of perfection and holy completion in the book of Revelation (7 churches, 7 lampstands, 7 eyes, 7 seals, 7 trumpets, and so on). The number 6, then, would be the number of imperfection and unholy incompletion. If 7 is the number for God, then 6 is the number of that most resembles, but is not, God—namely, man.

In other words, 666 is man’s counterfeit to the holy Trinity of 777. The Africa Bible Commentary puts it well:

The beast seems to be near perfection and almost messianic; it is, after all, a caricature of the Lamb who was slain (13:3, 11, 13). But it is not perfect, and that makes all the difference. It is actually diabolically and utterly opposed to God (13:4). The number 666 represents a threefold falling short of perfection (dragon: 6, beast: 6, false prophet: 6). But it is close to perfection, and has most of the hallmarks of truth, and so can easily deceive. No wonder wisdom is required!

All of which is to say, whatever you think of the way the medical establishment and the media and our politicians have handled this global pandemic, the mark of the beast is not going to be found in an implanted microchip. If, however, doctors or politicians or members of the media or anyone else, for that matter, elevates himself to a position of Godlike authority and knowledge, then that is what Revelation warns Christians against. Whatever or whomever appears as true Christianity in order to draw us away to some human counterfeit, that is the work of the beast, and his number is 666.

Note: This post was first published through The Gospel Coalition website.

[blossem12]

Vampire!Deetz

This is for the BJ discord who wanted a story about a vampire Charles and Lydia.

THIS AMAZING AMAZING IDEA is from the wonderful @nimara-portmac who is also an amazing writer. Go check out her Charles and Delia blurb because its amazing and wonderful.

Warning before the Read more- I've never written Charles or Delia before so this is a new experience so I apologize for any incorrectness. 

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After Emily’s death, Charles felt himself descend more into his vampire ways. Within the Darkness of his house, he gained a resentment to humans for they had killed his wife and threatened his future. His soul became dark and shadowed, infecting his daughter with his sadness and rage. Yet, things changed for Charles quicker than he could've imagined. 

Lydia had felt the effect of her father's vampiric depression more than anymore, no more would he teach her of the crazy differences between Humans and Vampires, or draw on the mirrors in marker what they presumably looked like to the outside world. But mostly she missed the late night flying and pulling pranks on the unlucky humans next door. She herself, had fallen into a deep sadness like her father. 

On a seemingly random day, Charles found himself outside, umbrella outstretching over his head to block any chance of the sun reaching him and his clothes were draped in black coloring and a cross around his neck to deflect any questions on his strange nature. 

He wandered around the streets, on a mission to go to the store and get home without any injury, to him or any human. 

“Good mourn-ing Mr. Deetz!” A neighbor laughed on the streets, “What's with the all black? Hoping the grim reaper will mistake you for his twin and let you go?”

Charles felt anger rise within him and felt an urge to attack him, bite his neck and send his soul to the grim reaper, but felt himself walking away before doing anything. 

The whole walk was filled that way, constant questions from mortal neighbors including comments on his clothes and sad demeanor. Charles felt himself reminding his brain to go to the story and not attack anyone, for his and Lydia's sake.

He was three steps away from the store when he collided with a colorful figure. His umbrella flew from his hands and the sun burned on his face. He let out a cry and quickly scrambled to the shadow of the store's entrance sign. He held the burn on his face as his vision slowly regained. A woman with bright red hair slowly formed, 

“I’m so sorry sir!” She said as she picked up the umbrella that had fallen to the ground, “I was setting up my life coach booth and went to go inside and totally miss yo-” Her words slowly died as she saw the mans face, and the burn on it, “Oh gosh. That burn is simply awful! I’ll run in and get something for it.”

Charles held his hand out fast, “It’ll go away soon. Don't worry...” Her clothes were bright and a stark contrast to Charles’s, He retrieved his umbrella from her hands and began to enter the store. 

“It was very nice meeting you, sir!” The woman yelled and stopped Charles in his tracks, Charles felt his heart begin to pound as he turned back around. 

“Nice meeting me?” He asked confused, she let out a smile.

“Well it's like my guru Otho always says, meeting people is like opening gifts on Christmas,” She used a slight accent on the word Christmas that warranted a small chuckle from Charles, “You only really like one!”

Charles felt honored, “If you don't mind me asking. What is your name?”

“Delia, the worlds new and upcoming ex-model now life coach! I help with all sorts of things, marriage drama, divorce drama, death drama”

“Death, you say?”

“My Cat died last year and I can teach people how to get over it and live anew! Death.. that is. Not my cat.” 

Charles opened his umbrella, which has a significant amount of holes and walked over to the booth and picked up a card. Her eyes brightened in shock and joy. 

“I’ll give you a call sometime Delia.” He said placing the card in his pocket gently and then walking back into the store. With his umbrella now down and packed behind him he took the card back out of his pocket. A picture of Delia was on the front with a bubble that said ‘As my guru Otho says’ with a thumbs up. Charles felt warm and content thinking about the cheery and colorful Delia.

His thoughts took no time in bombarding him with questions about how his morals would be skewed. 

She's a human, mortal woman.

 People like her killed your wife! 

Will Lydia approve of a wife killer in your house?

Charles subconscious went quick to work trying to convince himself otherwise as he grabbed food off of the shelves

What if she’s different?

You can always turn her into a vampire

Lydia will get over her mother soon enough, she just needs time and someone to talk to. 

That’s when the perfect idea finally hit Charles, He finished his shopping trip fast and ran outside to the Booth where Delia was chewing gum to keep her from getting too bored. She looked up and noticed the deathly looking man and let out a genuine quiet cheer of excitement. 

“Delia, you're hired!”