#process church of the final judgement

[eyesofveronicamars]

[tilde44]

https://www.theajnaoffensive.com/

[myers-meadow]

Wheat fields: Tommy x reader

Title: Wheat fields, or: Picnic date ✨🌻🌱 Part one here.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x f! reader

Summary: After running into Tommy and sharing a kiss or two, he finally asks you out. He takes you outside the city for a wonderful picnic, where you share more than those chaste kisses from before.

Word count: 2201

Warnings: none. fluff. They have a few glasses of wine. Soft Tommy.

This is a continuation of Chance Meetings, but I'm sure it's good as a standalone one-shot too. Thank you so much to @moxleyhorror for beta reading and giving me the encouragment I needed to get this done! <3 Dividers by @saradika-graphics. I'd love to hear what you think! Enjoy! <3

After those first few meetings, you couldn't stop thinking about him. 'It was just a kiss', you had to remind yourself, 'nothing more. And it certainly doesn't mean anything.' Yet, when you ran into him again when purchasing a newspaper, your heart surged, and you knew he'd break your heart if you let him.

"Fancy seeing you here," Tommy said, voice so soft only you could hear, leaning in as you went up to the counter to pay. "I'd almost suspect you were following me, with how often this keeps happening."

"You'd think so," you hummed, trying not to go weak in the knees as you remember the kiss and hushed words that were your last meeting. "It's coincidental for sure."

Before you could find a the right amount of pennies in your purse, Tommy already pressed two coins on the counter, and led you out of the small store with a firm hand on the small of your back. You looked back hesistantly but his voice drew your attention back to him.

"You don't believe in fate?"

"No. Do you?"

He shook his head. Even outside, he didn't let go of your waist. He glanced around from under his cap, letting the shadow fall over his eyes, as he surveyed the street. "Listen. This weekend, are you free on Sunday? Be it after church, if you need." His piercing blue eyes looked at you from under the rim of his cap. Seeing your confusion, he cleared his throat and said; "I'd like to take you out."

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat, as the full weight of what he was asking slowly processed. He'd break your heart, for sure, it felt like. There's no other way for this to end. Another private moment with Tommy... He'd have it beat so fast, that just a look from him, a soft smile, soft spoken priase, would send your heart in a frenzy and there's nothing you could even think of to stop him from doing so. Yet, as your mind flared with worry, insecurity, better judgement - it was your heart that answered.

"Yes, after church, I'm free. What for?"

He smiled. The sight alone made you melt. "Good. I'll pick you up, then. Dress practical. For now, I have some business to take care of. See you Sunday, love."

With a final, lingering look at you, he left, crossing the street and disappearing into the crowd. Leaving you, standing there, to stare after him, feeling the heat in your cheeks slowly fade, replaying the way his deliciously gruff voice called you 'love'.

When Sunday came around, you didn't know what to expect, what he had planned. Was he really taking you out? Where to? 'Dress practical', alright, so what did that mean?

Regardless, you kept on what you wore to church, it was maybe a little formal, so you changed your shoes to your most comfortable pair. Your checked yourself once again, just to be sure. As for most of your kin, there wasn't a lot of money going around, but you still liked to dress nice.

The doorbell rang, and you ran down the stairs before steadying yourself for a second, before swining open the door. It was Tommy, perfectly on time. He smiled as he saw you. His car was parked behind him.

"You ready?" he asked, before gesturing to the car. You follow him, and he opens the door for you, before sliding in himself. What a shiny black thing, you thought, as you looked at the interior. It looked well taken care of. On the backseat was a basket, the contents covered by cloth.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," Tommy mused, and started the car. Once out of the street, you reached for the cigarette case in your purse and gave him one too. He leant in so you could light his cigarette for him, and you smoke in silence. The road he took, lead you out of the city, past the industrial side of Birmingham, past the open country, following a bumpy dirt road.

Aside from some small talk, the ride was quiet, and after leaving the city, it barely took half an hour before Tommy stopped the car at the side of the road. A green landscape stretched before you. The air smelt clean, once the car engine was shut off. Some farms were visible in the distance, surrounded with yellow wheat fields swaying in the wind. You open the car door and step out, glad you wore something practical. Tommy followed you, grabbing the basked from the back seat.

"Where is this place?" you asked, as you step through the high grass next to the dirt road. There were some oak trees up ahead, and Tommy lead you there.

"It's peaceful, isn't it," he responded, "but it's no place in particular. Here, help me with the blanket."

He handed you one side of it and together, you spread it on the ground, landing softly in the grass. Nearby a bee buzzed from a dandelion to a small daisy that hides in the grass. Tommy set down the basket on the blanket and kneels down on it. You followed, kicking off your shoes to be more comfortable. 

"Are you hungry?" Reaching into the basket, he took out half a loaf of bread and a big knife to cut it with. "Or thirsty, rather?" A bottle of rosé wine followed, with two glasses.

"I didn't take you as someone fond of wine," you took the bottle from him and undid the cap. He continued unpacking the basket, some fruit followed; cherries, an apple for you each, and a few plums. 

"The exception is due to the occasion," was all he said, and took the glass you poured for him as you hold it out to him.

You smiled softly, leaning back on your hands, enjoying the sun on your face. "I didn't think you'd ask me out," you mused, without any accusation in your voice.

Tommy took off his cap, messing with his hair, before setting it aside. He takes in your content expression and tries a sip of wine. "Well, you're hard to forget."

You glanced at him, his confession was more than you'd expected in the first place. "It's lovely out here. So nice to be out of the city. I remember growing up, how all we did was travel, and we didn't deal with city folk as much as we do now."

He shifted his position to a more comfortable one, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. "Are you alright staying in Birmingham? You stay with the Lees, right?"

You nodded. "It's all good. Just glad to be away for now. Did you prepare all of this yourself?"

He chuckled, studying you some more. "Polly helped," he admitted. He pushed the bread and cheese towards you and you helped yourself. It was good, a nice, flavourful soft goat cheese. Luxury for you. You wondered if he got it just for the occasion, to show off, or whether it was a household staple for the Shelbys. You sipped the wine to wash it down. Instead of eating, Tommy went for a cigarette. As he took it out of the case, your hand instinctively found your matchbox and before he could reach for his own, you struck a match. With the mildest surprise in his expression, he leaned in and let you light it for him.

"I hope you don't expect me to eat by myself, Tommy."

He chuckled softly, taking the cigarette between two fingers. "I'll have some in a moment, I'm just... taking in the atmosphere."

So you sat together, and you shifted too, knees brushing together, and you looked around. Nothing. For miles. Just quiet. No machinery, nothing but birds chirping and wind rustling through leaves. With a deep sigh, you slowly relaxed. Soon, both your glasses were empty, and you poured them full again. The wine was warming up, and even though it didn't help the taste, it was vaguely romantic to share a bottle with him. Did he think you'd be the type for rosé, and is that why he brought it? No use in asking, you supposed, and instead you took the knife and cut a plum in half. It was so ripe that the juice dripped down your palm. The pit came away with ease. You offered half to Tommy, before taking your first bite.

"Ah, it's so ripe," you said, "I love plums."

With another look at you, he ate his half in two bites, chewing slowly. As you finished eating, you looked around for a handkerchief to wipe your sticky fingers with, but instead, Tommy took your hand in his. 

"Here, let me," he said, and brought your fingers to his lips. Astonished, you let him suck the juices off, his mouth warm and soft, a heated blush creeping up your neck. His sky blue eyes watched your every reaction as you shifted to accomodate the distance. His free hand cupped the back of your head, and you were more than eager to taste the plum on his lips. This kiss was nothing like the caste ones you shared before; openmouthed and hungry. Only a moment of connection passed, before you were in his lap, straddling his hips. You tried to steady yourself by gripping onto his lapels, pressing your body to his. His lips were warm and firm, tasting of tangy sweet plum and cigarettes. With the way his fingers treaded into the hair at the nape of your neck, there was no breaking the kiss. He took his time exploring your mouth, your lips, his tongue dancing with yours, before his lips moved to your ear, teeth tugging at the lobe.

"I rather like plums too," he chuckled sotfly, breath tickling your ear. His hands needed their way up your sides, feeling your body in ways that heated you all over. You kissed his neck, or; the small bit of it that his collar left exposed, and pushed his head back to follow the line of the jugular. He shivered and let you push him down into the grass. 

"You're a very good kisser," you mused, between nips, making your way back up to his ear. "Would you like something sweeter?" Seperating yourself from him with another kiss to his lips, you leant back up, enjoying the sight of him underneath you. As much as you tried to ignore the way your core pressed over his bulge, or what could be a revolver in his trousers - with Tommy there was no way to really tell - leaning back to grab another plum and the knife had you grind against it deliciously. He noticed your small whimper, and propped up his knees to have you move forward again, making you laugh sweetly at his teasing.

"Be careful, I'm holding a knife." Yet you both were still laughing. The second plum was just as ripe as the first. You threw the pit away in the grass, getting a small vision of a fully grown plum tree, branches heavy with fruit, all thanks to you and Tommy's little tryst outside the city many years prior. You took the first bite, not chewing yet, instead, leaning down to feed it to him, letting him take it from between your teeth.

"It's certainly sweeter this way," Tommy said, swallowing. "But perhaps there's something I'd rather have, instead..."

As he pulled you down to him again, you gladly joined him and let him roll you over, so you were on your back in the prickly grass. The knife left discarded on the blanket; the sounds of birds, crickets and a cow mooing in the distance soon overshadowed by the wet sounds of your kisses, soft moans and sweet nothings whispered in your ear. 

When he dropped you off at your home, he let you keep the basket with some leftover bread and fruits, and he kissed you by the door, his hand pressing you into his chest in a way that had you craving more. You mulled the question over, whether to invite him in or not. After all, you two hadn't slept together out there in the fields - you were too much a romantic at heart, but now that the moment was over, you still wanted him desperately. It would be devastating if this day was over, and you'd lie in bed to regret everything you didn't get to do, feel, experience... 

"Are you free on Tuesday evening?" he asked, voice still a bit hoarse from all the kissing. The way he looked at you from under his cap could only be described as hopeful, and it made your heart surge.

"For you, I'm free any time," you said with a playful smile. "Will you take me out again?"

He gave a curt nod, glancing over you briefly. Hopefully there weren't any noticable grass stains, this was your nicest dress. "But it's a surprise, all right?"

You looped your arm around his neck and kissed him again. "I can't wait." And from the way he returned your kiss, you knew he couldn't either.

[namira]

I really do feel insane whenever I think about how the Best Friends Animal Society started as the Process Church of the Final Judgement, a group that splintered off the Church of Scientology. Like it really does feel like some fringe social media conspiracy theory but it's true.

[welcome-to-fernweh]

Siblings of Life and Death Preview/WIP

Goddess of Life Preview/WIP

One characteristic I want to do is the Life Goddess to be a bit of an asshole and the Death God to be more practical/understanding. Don't get me wrong, neither of them are good nor bad, but I want Life to be like how life is around us: Beautiful and abundant, but uncaring to those who fail to survive and thrive. The phrases, "Survival of the fittest" and "Mother Nature is a cruel mistress" would definitely describe Her, as well as this badass quote that described the honey badger's attitude, "There is no church in the wild and Hell is not a consequence."

She wants Her domain to continue forever, so if one part of it fails (ex: niche species goes extinct), she will make something to replace it (ex: new species arises to fill that open niche). She balances plants and animals alike so they live in harmony, but absolutely despises outside influence towards them not from Her, which is why She doesn't like hetrans and their agricultural ways. Yes, She can be reasoned and convinced to help you and your people, but you have to make sure it doesn't negatively affect Her domain.

God of Death Preview/WIP

Now, with Death, I want Him to be based on comfort and sympathy for the lives that once have lived, yet judicious and uncaring to those who have squandered their lives. Yes, his domain is all about judging the dead, torturing those who have done wicked acts, but also reward those who have done good. Unlike His Sister, the Goddess of Life, who hates hetrans, Death loves them and wants them to be the best they can be. So, what is it He judges people on? Well, it's complicated yet simple; It's along the lines of who they were, how they lived, and what they did in their community (any group of people they felt to belong in). His "guidelines" of judgment are more of that, just guidelines, which a lot of His underling Judges (lesser Judges of Hell) are not happy with. The Death God just wants people to be kind when they can, live the life they want to live, and be a part of their environment.

I really want Him to be like Death the Wolf from Puss in Boots, the greatest supporter of life by hating and targeting those that squander it XD

Technically He is the, like, "Grand Judge of Spirits" or something because His main job is to pass the final judgement of spirits and send them on their way to be reincarnated, which He does so by slapping certain "stamps" on them, make them lose their memories, and send them down this underworld river like one of those luggage transporter things at airports. I want Him to be a Silly Guy that likes to tell jokes and says things like "Welcome back!" when a favorite spirit of His comes back, and yet He revels in the horrific torture that wicked spirits go through and laughs at them. The Life Goddess does not share His sense of humor even though She doesn't like people overall. Torture just doesn't tickle Her Funny Bone.

I also really really really want to make a Judgement Boy (Gregory Horror Show) reference somewhere in His domain because I really think He'd like that silly, judgmental lawyer dude.

He will tell a joke when a meeting is going on and a bunch of the other Judges would just groan or keep a straight face. When you live for as long as He has, you'll try to make the horrible working life something to be entertaining even if you force it. Hell in this world is very dark and gloomy, so the Death God tries to "liven" it up a bit with comedy, little joke parties, and enjoying little out-of-the-ordinary things that may come into His domain. Like, technically He doesn't like the living to enter Hell (mostly because you have to go through a special process that does not involve dying to do so because literally nothing alive can actually get there), but would like to ask questions and is generally curious as to why the individual wanted to get here so badly. The "sin" isn't from entering Hell while being alive, but as to why you did it. Your memory of the underworld would be erased, but whatever you came down there for, if it was with good reason, would stay, but that "memory loss" thing is someone else's job, not His.

Also, yeah, Hell in this world is heavily based on the Chinese one, so the "desk job" would be the obvious similarity.

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Weekend/Whenever | Tagged by @cassietrn <3 | Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @strangefable @nightbloodbix @nightwingshero @aceghosts @madparadoxum @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @euryalex @sstewyhosseini @detectivelokis @purplehairsecretlair @jinfromyarikawa @shegetsburned @clicheantagonist @locustandwildhoney @fourlittleseedlings @poisonedtruth @vampireninjabunnies-blog and anyone with something to share <3

Checking in with another snippet from Chapter 9. Hudson finally makes an appearance, while John continues with his struggle when it comes to Sabrina and resorts to more snooping investigating. "Who the fuck is Leslie?" -> find out below. &lt;3 After the snippet I'm also leaving an edit I finished recently, I'm still not over how cute it turned out.

(have to say we go into a Confession for bit, so heads up for that, I tried to keep it as non-descriptive as I could because I know people's limits vary. And as someone that gets squirmish on occasion I wanted to keep the story as accessible as possible.)

final note: I wanted to have an actual name for John's favorite room, anything different from Confession room, etc. I ended up going for *Reconciliation room, because it sounded quite fitting.

*In most churches there is a reconciliation room in which the person's sins are forgiven. This room allows individuals to speak to a priest freely and privately, to recite prayers of contrition and to hear and receive God's forgiveness.

Hours later, John finally felt back to his old self as he stood in his Reconciliation room, revelling in the feeling of having successfully performed his duty as a Herald. What started with "I'm not telling you anything, you asshole!", followed by plethora of other predictable curse words and insults thrown his way, eventually turned into Hudson giving him a confession. It always unfolded like this: first, he was met with resistance of different magnitudes, then John would eventually find a way to break through, make the Sinner in his chair see the light. Make them realize the end goal justified all the temporary pain.

It was his favorite part and when that happened, their secrets poured out freely as the blood from their wounds. They'd heal eventually, it was part of the process, the price of the Absolution pain provided. It was the key to Salvation, to Eden. There was a profound beauty in exposing your sins and receiving forgiveness and understanding without the fear of judgement. It's what he offered to all of the Sinners put into his care. He was doing the same thing Joseph had done and kept doing for him. Carrying the burder of their secrets.

If only they were quicker to realize the necessity of it all. A frustrated growl pulled him away from his thoughts. Hudson was tied up to a chair behind him, her eyes were full of hatred in the dim red-hued light, tears running down her mascara stained cheeks, as he put down the knife that was stained with her blood back in its place on his table. Now the Confession was over, thoughts of Sabrina threatened to emerge again. "You're sick. SICK.", she gritted out the word. John forced a smile, "No. I'm helping you, Deputy. You're caught up in the moment, but you will realize that eventually." Hudson shook her head, "There's something seriously wrong with you, if you think you're helping." When he didn't offer anything in response, she continued, "You doing the same to the others? Do you feel more like a man? Thinking your brother would value you more for punishing the people that arrested him? How dare we do our jobs!" On instinct, he gripped the knife again and pointed in her direction with it, "You don't understand, Deputy. You've been offered an opportunity. You're one step closer to Atonement now. Stop being ungrateful." "Fuck you. And your brother. AND YOUR PROJECT.", her voice turned hoarse as she screamed out the last part. "Now, that's enough." He put duct tape back over her mouth, done listening to her baseless arguments for the time being. He suspected she would only keep running in circles otherwise, try to convince him he's wrong, when he knew the truth. He'd gotten what he needed out of her anyway. He walked back to the table and picked up his tattoo gun, focused on moving onto the next part of the Confession. He refused to let her misguided words get to him. The second he approached with it, Hudson winced and tried to back away, but he took hold of her chair as he sat down on a stool across from her. She shook her head in desperation, her eyes filled with fear as they pleaded with him, a part of her still believing she could change his mind after hours of him listening tirelessly as she listed off her sins. "It's part of the process, the only way to be free of sin. You said "Yes", Deputy. Confessed. This is the next step.", John explained and grabbed onto her shoulder for levarage as his other hand that held the tattoo gun lowered to her chest. She began to struggle as most that found themselves in his chair usually did. It made his task harder, took away his precision, the words coming out uneven, imperfect, as the Sinners refused to embrace the beauty in the release he was offering them. The pleading look quickly transformed back to one of loathing as soon as the first letter was etched into her skin. Blood dripped down her chest as her sin materialized in angry red lacerations.

As his hands worked on the Deputy in front of him, his mind wandered back to Sabrina. He tried to imagine her in his chair at her inevitable Confession. Before meeting her face to face, he had done it many times with ease. Yet to his horror, at that moment he… couldn't. The second he pictured her in Hudson's place, the part of him that had grown so attached to her presence warned him what the consequences would be.

It threatened that her view of him would change irreversibly, that he wouldn't be someone she believed would protect her or Savannah anymore. That genuine smile would never appear for him freely again. The light in her expessive eyes would dim when they'd shift in his direction. She would see him as a monster. Won't understand why he's doing it. It would be as good as Joseph taking her away from him.

He believed Hudson would come around, understand it was the Will of the Father, that it's the only way to be free of sin. Just like John had accepted it, like Mathias and all of his people had, too. And Charlie… he was an outlier, had made the foolish choice to give up the gift bestowed upon him. He had turned his back on Eden and faced the consequences. But Sabrina… he feared what it meant for her, that without reaching her Atonement, she would be denied a place in the New world. He had no doubt she would never willingly sit in his chair, especially not after the things she had said before he left the ranch.

Another Catch-22, Deputy. Everywhere I look. Why did you have to be such a non-believer? Hudson kept trying to talk, he wasn't sure if she had more curses prepared for him or was giving another shot at convincing him of his "mistakes", but all it came out were muffled noises of protest as John finally wrapped up his work and opened the door to the outside, calling out for one of his men that stood on duty outside the room. "The Deputy's Confession is finished. Bring her back to her cell and prepare the next in line for me." "Yes, brother." Wyatt wheeled out Hudson and John followed close behind, headed for his office, set on making his daily radio call to Deputy Hartley. On his way over he definitely wasn't thinking about Sabrina or what she was making for dinner. The second he stepped a foot inside and the emptiness of the room greeted him, memories of her short stay there teased his brain. Her presence lurked at the corners. On his couch neatly folded lay her destroyed uniform and no matter how many times he told himself he has to, he coudn't bring himself to get rid of it. He came to another pesky realization. He was missing her.

With a scoff at the idea, he went into the bathroom to finally wash off Hudson's drying blood off his hands, the whole time trying to dodge the thoughts of Sabrina changing out of her uniform in the small space few days back. Why did I have to watch her? His quest of avoding picturing the wretched scene became such a tremendous effort to a point he found himself viciously scrubbing at his skin in desperation to keep his focus on something else and stop his mind from wandering. The sink and the water in it was quickly turning red, yet they failed to keep him preoccupied and his eyes inevitably wandered up to the mirror in front of him. The expression on his face wasn't one he was keen on seeing. The impassive mask of poise and certainty he had carefully crafted over the years was slipping as doubt creeped in. He struggled with how Sabrina would look at him in that moment if she was there, if she'd be as calm as she was when she had helped him wash off the Resistance members' blood off his hands after the ambush that same morning. No. She valued Hudson too much, considered her a friend, there was a reason why he couldn't admit to her he had the Deputy in his Gate, why he was rushing to get to the Confession before she finds out and sets on changing his mind. If the last few days he had spend with her and the success rate at cases noted down in her personnel file were any indication, she wasn't the type to give up when something had become her mission, stubbornly chipping away at people's defenses until she got the desired results. As John sat down at his desk, he didn't pick up the radio receiver to call Hartley, instead he unlocked one of the drawers that housed all of Sabrina's seized personal belongings. He stared at her handcuffs for longer than he liked, wondering if they end up around his wrists if she was to get her hands back on them. What if I leave those for you to find somewhere, Deputy… He remembered her bold response about arresting him as he challenged her in her backyard, it made him pocked the handcuffs in anticipation of putting a game in motion.

He pulled out her phone next. For a second, he considered if he should be doing this, imagining how she'd react if she saw what he was about to do. He had no doubt she would tell him he's crossing a line yet again. He shook off the thought as he turned the device back on and it didn't take him long to figure out her password. "Savannah's birthday. Of course.", he muttered outloud. Her texts were unremarkable aside from the ones between her and someone named Leslie, most dating months back before her arrival in the County. Any hope he harbored of the person being a female vanished the moment his eyes took in the small icon next to the contact information. The man's last message to her gave John a pause, the only thing that soothed him was the fact she hadn't responded. Leslie: My offer still stands, Rina. One word and I can join you there, you don't have to do this on your own. Let me in. Leslie was another thing he had no idea about, and he tried to tell himself he wasn't feeling any jealousy at the sudden discovery of the man's existence. He noted the irony in the fact the Project frowned upon technology, yet at that moment, her phone was providing him another insight into her life. Her pictures were neatly ordered just like her house, categorized in folders, Sabrina unknowingly providing him easy viewing.

Her cooking endeavors. An album dedicated to Portland. Pictures with a dark-haired man that matched Leslie's icon piqued his interest.

Who is he, Deputy? Someone else I need to worry about coming to your rescue? And why when I look at the guy, do I see a resemblance to … me?

He tried to distract himself from overthinking Leslie's role in her life as he checked another album. Years worth of memories involving Savannah from when she was a baby to recent moments from their move. Buried within that album was a picture of a redhaired woman that mirrored her little sister in appearance and John couldn't help but wonder why she looked so familiar to him. Why he could almost hear what her voice would sound like. He ignored the strange feeling as he moved onto another folder dedicated to her new start in Holland Valley: landscapes she had captured, fishing trips with Hartley, selfies with her fellow Deputies. Sabrina's face was filled with happiness in every single shot. Something else made him quirk up an eyebrow: Pictures of that Sinner Calahan smiling proudly as he held- A racoon?!I've seen everything. The last thing he came across were videos, the thumbnails showing her with her guitar. It was a chance at finally hearing her sing properly, but he skipped those, chasing away the temptation without a second thought, suspecting nothing would compare to experiencing her performing in person.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his intent search for clues, then Wyatt's voice came through. "Brother, the next Sinner is ready for you." He turned off the phone with a sigh, slightly disappointed at the fact he had given in and fed his longing for Sabrina, lost precious time on a phone for no good reason.

I'm looking out for the Project. Investigating. Yes. That's my reason. "I will be right over, Wyatt.", he called out. It was time he returned to his duties. No more distractions.

Look at them taking a break at the ranch <3. Also posted here.

[campaignskyjacks]

May I ask, when did you decide to make the Rusalka so significant to the plot, being the first fallen angel and also Margaret's mother? I was just wondering the thought process behind Rusalka and how she became the river milf we meet in Deuxmignon

Okay! This is an interesting road based on player choices.

First Rusalka was always a fallen as soon as fallen were a thing in the setting essentially. This comes directly from my efforts to honor as much of the Decemberists discography as completely as possible. In Rusalka, Rusalka one of the lies is literally

And all that you are is a star on the water

So I knew because angels are fallen stars she had to be be one of them because of this line. This explained her personality and motivations, she is both a creature of wrath and mercy. She punishes the ill deeds of humans and loves the loneliest souls. That is angel shit.

She became the first fallen and former angel of judgement after Gable wanted to explore the story of the skin on the bell. I originally just wanted to show the church was using the fallen they rounded up in creepy magic rituals, but in the interest of supporting Liz as hard as possible I made connections to important stuff to make that moment a bigger deal.

Being Margaret's surrogate mother in rebirth was a thing I wavered on– to the detriment of the overall story I think. I was initially toying with the idea of The Forest Queen calling the Mariner up through the river to drown Margaret and Travis. Again this was all in the spirit of making connections between significant things to make the PC's stories as significant as possible. However it became clear after the Nordia arc that it should definitely have been Rusalka.

I was hesitant to make it her at first because the killing of Margaret and Travis would clearly be an unjust thing and therefore outside of her character. However, with the forest queen making deals and my very real belief that immortal beings would pass through different phases in their personalities I feel like it makes sense. And whether it was Rusalka doing the initial drowning or not her stepping in to save Margaret and give her a new body to be reborn into makes perfect sense to me.

This evolved further when JPC came back for Dref's seance scene. He called death "the river" which was terminology I was initially avoiding because the river already means shit in Skyjacks. It's also very Greek and Roman and I frankly have not been drawing too much from those mythologies. Finally I read The Locked Tomb series and I wanted a bit of distance between my stuff and that stuff. But JPC said it and Dref is the authority on Death so I am not going to argue. This made The River even more important to death and gave Rusalka new narrative weight at a monster who lives in The River and drowns people.

She has an interesting contrast to The Cutting Stone who I think of as misguided mercy that boarders on cruelty and her as an avatar of sad and dark but earnest mercy.

Anyway, whether she drowned Margaret or not she saved Margaret and allowed her to be reborn. It is that connection to Rusalka and the river that allows Margaret to control water with magic. It is also that connection that allows Margaret to communicate and interact with the dead so easily. This is why she could teach Sweet but it was so dangerous for him to approach the river himself.

I hope this gives you a little more insight into the creative process and my timeline for that creative process!

[viksalos]

realizing i will probably never be normal about religion. every era of my life adds another layer of weirdness in this regard and i’ve been ruminating about it a lot lately, so i tried to list all my weirdnesses chronologically in the hope that it will help somehow. i gloss over a fair amount of related abuse and medical trauma so it’s ideally not *too* much of a bummer, but nonetheless it is still very long so don’t feel obligated to read. would appreciate a like if you do read all the way through though, if for no other reason than it seems like a lot of the time this history makes me feel i don’t quite belong anywhere other than in a random assortment of friends and mutuals lol

maternal family is Pennsylvania Dutch & Lutheran, grandma flees central PA to escape judgement surrounding her shotgun wedding to my grandpa/birth of my mom

mom has me, baptizes me Lutheran, then later has a change of heart and converts to Judaism, completes the process when I am 4 (thus by halacha my Jewish status is sometimes a matter of theological debate--I was born and raised by a Jewish mother, but she wasn’t Jewish *when* I was born)

dad suddenly gets really weird about mom “disrespecting our Christian heritage” despite not really practicing Christianity before, divorces her shortly after her conversion, they get joint custody so 1 week with dad 1 week with mom

antics ensue. on Mom Week we get taken to synagogue, on Dad Week we get taken to random churches including a black church one time (?? we’re white) and Xenos Christian Fellowship for a few months

tangent: look up Xenos Christian Fellowship if you want to head down an awful rabbithole sometime. tl;dr it operated as a megachurch while we were there but its true strength/horror lies in its home church & small group activities. it’s 100% a cult

we weren’t there long enough to get the worst of it but one of my clearest childhood memories is being taken away from the adults’ service in the megachurch to a side room for the kids’ service, where we were told that if every one of us converted 2 people tomorrow, and every one of our converts converted 2 people the next day and so on, the entire world would be Christian in a month. it is/was a factory for turning kids into little missionaries designed to spread the religion like a virus

both parents get mad or upset when I express any amount of belief in the “opposing” religion or nonbelief in theirs. another clear childhood memory of being *really* little in synagogue and deciding not to say aloud the words to a prayer--mom asks why and I said something like “well Daddy said we shouldn’t because we’re not *really* Jewish.” I thought I was doing the right thing and following my parent’s rules, now mom’s crying. felt really bad for that one

especially: no bat mitzvah for either myself or my sister bc it would make my dad mad. this is another theological wrinkle in my Jewish status also I think, especially because mom’s Reform so there’s no debate about whether girls should do bat mitzvot

teenage atheist phase. easier to just believe nothing at all, right? this neatly absolves me of having to deal with any of that previous war-of-the-religions nonsense, and the burgeoning New Atheist movement at the time allows me to have an online escape from my home life as well as encouragement as an aspiring scientist that science will replace religion as humanity’s candle in the dark. unfortunately the New Atheists prove to be dogmatic in their own ways, and bigoted in ways that people in the movement didn’t really seem to have the words to describe until the oncoming social justice movement finally splits them apart.

another memory: confessing to my mom that I didn’t believe in God, saying that all religions are harmful, when what I probably meant was that so far religions have been harmful to *me.* mom’s crying again, felt bad for that one again. but it was part of the unravelling of New Atheism for me and as a whole I think: their critiques of religion were mainly with Christianity, and they posited religion as the sole source of so many complicated sociopolitical ills, such that all other religions were thrown under the bus and rampant antisemitism and islamophobia was the result

(dad starts randomly saying he’s a Buddhist. doesn’t really change how he acts or try to teach us any Buddhist concepts or whatever, it’s just a thing he says. weird)

eventually (late college/early master’s degree?) (re)discover secular Judaism, and Jewish concepts of wrestling with God. decide to tell my mom and sister I want to start participating in some of the holidays and rituals with them again. joke that struggling with Jewish faith under adverse conditions (dad custody weeks) might actually be pretty Jewish. bitter laughter all around, understanding

move to Pittsburgh for my PhD, no longer have access to my home synagogue, don’t have time to join a new one, eventually the pandemic hits so I couldn’t even if I wanted to

get engaged to my now-husband. in-laws are Catholic; his grandpa was a deacon. mother-in-law is upset that we won’t get married in a church. mother-in-law is upset about a lot of things with me, in general. we are now estranged

get into dnd with my new friends in Pittsburgh. all of my characters are heretics or syncretists or outright zealots. surely there’s no reason for this

get into heavy metal because the blastbeats and mostly unintelligible lyrics help me focus on my work. metal really loves its Satanic imagery as an ostensible “fuck you” to Christianity, which I find compelling but moreso just campy & fun. don’t really think about it too hard for a while

have a really hard winter mental health-wise from late 2020-early 2021. get recommended Lingua Ignota around this time, probably due to the heavy metal and the mental health. here though I think, is someone who struggles with God in a way I can relate to. later in 2021 she releases Sinner Get Ready which uses central Pennsylvanian Christianity as a backdrop, in which my whole family story started, and which seems present even as it creeps into the outskirts of Pittsburgh. for these reasons among others it’s just really unfortunate for my brain worms

get vaccine, get married by my hometown synagogue’s rabbi as he’s the only clergyman myself or my husband are comfortable with. my dad does his part, walks me down the aisle, then sends me a letter during our honeymoon about how being Jewish is disrespecting my husband and it’s why my in-laws don’t like me. one week later on the night of Sinner Get Ready’s release, during my first listen, i burn the letter and mix its ashes with black dye for my first battle jacket

make more Jewish friends and metalhead friends, be mostly accepted by them. get one of my Jewish metalhead friends to take me to a lingy show in his city in exchange for me taking him to an Epica show in mine. joke that headbanging is kinda like bowing in prayer

make friends with a couple local shape note singers, and most recently--inadvertently end up being invited into both a secular Sacred Harp choir and a witch coven by one of them. (that this is the same person is so funny to me. she is also my labmate’s wife and was one of my bridesmaids. she is very dear to me.)

the witches let me light my hanukkiah at their solstice gathering. they think my impromptu battle jacket fire ritual is very cool; they do a lot of fire rituals themselves. (this is relieving because I was sure that telling anybody i’d done it would get me sent to the psych ward.) they lend me a book on Pennsylvanian folk magic.

so that’s where i’m at right now--haven’t even read the book yet.

[eldritchgray]

Okay, about Midnight Mass and why I love it so much.

This show is such a beautifully done piece of media, and Idk if I'm fully equipped to express just how impactful it is for me, but I wanna give it an effort. Specifically about the ending, because the ending is my favorite part.

Warning: This got long (also spoilers)

The beginning of the final episode is chaotic. It shows the worst aspects of religion, blind faith, and the church. The blatant hypocrisy of those who see themselves as righteous. The dangers of cherry-picking isolated pieces of scripture to justify every action, even the ones that cause others harm. Especially the ones that cause others harm. It's full of violence, gore, and fear.

The protagonists are the people who have been ostracized by the church for one reason or another. The gay woman, the Muslim man, the adulteress. They're the ones who saw how fucked up the actions of their church were first. They're the ones who realize the goal is to spread vampirism (it's never actually called that in the show, but that's what it is) from their isolated island community to the mainland, and they're the ones who choose to stay and stop this instead of fleeing to safety.

All three of them die in the process. But they win. They win against the rest of the town that was against them.

On the other side, is the culmination of every Christian self-righteous, judgemental asshole. She's the one who has justified every terrible decision with scripture. She's the one who looks down on everyone else in the whole goddamn town. I know several people like her from the church I used to attend.

In one scene she reprimands a man for saving someone who had never set foot in church, and says there's no room in the rec center (one of the two buildings left standing at this point) for him. The man who saved him says, "But I saved him. He was always nice to me." She doesn't care. In here eyes, since he'd never gone to mass, he wasn't redeemable.

It's around this time we see the people starting to realize just how horrible all this is. How terrible their actions have been. That they never should have started down this path, but they have and now they have to recon with the aftermath.

When the main three burn down the last two remaining buildings, the town's reaction compared to the self-righteous woman's is very telling. They remain calmly resigned, while she panics. They've already come to terms with the horror of their actions and their upcoming fate, and she is still firmly clinging to the belief that this was all God's will.

We get to see everyone in their final moments, and specifically we get to hear the inner thoughts the woman the town condemned as promiscuous. The whole monologue is beautifully written and acted, but it's this one line that really gets to me,

"There is no time. There is no death. Life is a dream. It's a wish. Made again and again and again and again and again and again and on into eternity. And I am all of it. I am everything. I am all. I am that I am."

When I tell you this made me sob it is not an exaggeration.

Everyone in the town spends their final moments coming together and singing or praying facing the sunrise. Everyone except the self-righteous woman. She spends her final moments scrambling for survival. The one person who could never come to terms with the fact that she was in the wrong.

The final episode begins with chaos, but it ends with an almost haunting quiet, as everyone looks into the sunrise.

This show does such a good job of criticizing the hypocrisy in the church and in having blind faith. It shows that going to church every week does not make you a good person. But it balances this with showing that having faith and having religion can bring people peace and joy, and that is beautiful and lovely. With showing that not going to church does not make you a bad person. In the end, we are all just people.

[rantsofamadam]

TW: mentions of depression/SH/suicide and mental health

Depression sucks.

Last night my list was a full page long of everything I wanted to get done today.

Now it’s 9:18 and all I’ve done from that list is do my laundry.

I should shower tonight. I don’t even want to do that. Nearly at all.

Depression ig?

But why? Wrong meds? Off meds? Hormones? Trip depression? Life?

Augh I don’t know.

I just know there’s too much wrong with me and I’m too tired to care.

Death and sex, my two main thoughts.

Oh to be a teenager.

What else is new.

God I’m a fucking mess.

I barely feel like a person enough as it is- and here I am.

2:23 am on Easter Sunday.

Crying.

Because I fell asleep too early like an idiot.

Too apathetic to do much else than sleep. So that’s all I did.

I didn’t really mean to, it was just supposed to be rest.

But now it’s 2 am and everything feels wrong.

My phone is still here. My door was still half closed.

I pray my mother came to check on me even if she knew I was asleep.

My meds are un-taken,

My teeth are un-brushed,

I didn’t shower

My clothes aren’t in the dryer

My hair is matted

My body has new scars,

And my back is aching so badly because I fell asleep on the wrong side.

I woke up with a bloody nose,

There’s an empty suitcase talking up space in my room,

My pillows are flat,

My sheets are coming undone,

Now there is fermenting apple juice in the bottom of a plastic bag on my floor.

I’ve grown so familiar with the smell,

I leave everything how it is.

Because it’s 2:26 am and I’m crying.

None of that will be solved now.

My charger is dead.

My headphones are dying.

My phone is at 18%.

I don’t care anymore.

At least I found my once lost headphones. Even that I barely got right.

I didn’t do any of my homework or clean my room nearly at all.

Can’t even take care of my basic self.

My face is fat and ugly.

I can’t stop being tired.

And now I’m expected to see family and go to church tomorrow?

I hope we don’t.

I hope my brothers sickness lets us just stay home. Not worry about judgement from family. Not worry about Easter. Just be. Please. Just be.

Lord, I think you would forgive us if we just- were. For a day. I know it’s Easter Sunday.

But isn’t this what you died for?

For us to- forgive each other. Lift each other up. Give each other time, space, love, moments to cherish, be together and breathe.

Please.

I need that from my family more than going to church.

My hairs getting long but I’m kind of a fan.

I dream of painful tattoos decorating and scarring my body.

The lines I create are therapeutic in that way.

I stare at my red scars in the mirror.

My shoulder and thighs.

I admire them. I want more but don’t want to ruin their symmetrical, abstract perfection.

Hitting myself is easier than taking action.

Hitting myself is easier than processing.

Hitting myself is easier than receiving love.

Slap. Punch. Slam. Slam. Slam.

I wish I could knock myself unconscious instead of just creating bruises.

I can’t do this.

The anxiety grows to an unbearable point.

Please leave.

Please stay.

Please let me beat myself to a pulp until the cops finally find out.

And rip me from myself.

[productofmyancestors]

Posting into the Tumblr cyberspace this week as a final practice of letting go. I don’t know anyone here, I’m free:

God, girlhood, family and community are the sole reasons that I’ve stayed alive these past few months. The weight of heartbreak and taking responsibility for your mistakes can be incredibly heavy.

But I have built such a beautiful and sacred community in a short period of time. I live in a very underrated city that is so vibrant, communal and fun. I go out and meet some of the kindest, most genuine people. It’s nothing like the city I moved from. People legit want to be friends and invite you places. There’s a huge house community, too, and it’s been so fun getting to know people and building The Black Girl House. I’ve made friends with djs in NYC, too.

I’ve connected and rebuilt relationships with old friends from middle school. I’ve gone to church consistently and made friends who remind me of God’s presence every single day.

I’ve gotten to know myself as a fully independent woman and she’s so lovely. I’ve gone to concerts alone, eaten alone, seen movies alone. And I’ve always planned to do these things alone. I actually love spending time alone. But doing them in the midst of heartache puts a new meaning on it. Bursting into tears in the middle of the cafe and talking to a random old man about how much my life has changed was cathartic.

I am so proud of myself because just at the beginning of the year this reality seemed so far away. I had faith but it felt so distant. Now I’m living in my prayers and the prayers of those who loved me enough to send some up in my name. And all it took was changing my environment, releasing the negativity, doubt and judgement that surrounded me, and figuring out how my brain works. Changing my environment really was the catalyst, though. I was able to let go of so much of the stress that came with my toxic living situation. That free’d up space in my brain to process a lot more of my life.

This week is my sister, father and best friends birthdays. Three very special people who I am blessed to share another year with on this physical plane.

My sister and best friend (whose birthday is today) have made space for me to cry, scream, vent and vent and vent until I couldn’t any more. I am thankful for the love I have.

My birthday is in 10 days and I turn 28. Where did the time go? I’ve stopped placing specific societal pressures on my age. I don’t have to be in a certain space by 28 (unless I genuinely want to be ) I just need to be happy, healthy and in a better place than I was the year before. “How can I better myself this year? “ Is the question I will ask on my bday. In my eyes, turning a year older marks the start of a new year.

[saturneers]

Process Church of the Final Judgement involvement in the Son of Sam murders

[solardick]

G is the Grail, the Void from which all things are given and into which all things eventually go. It is the Ground from which we mysteriously grow, the invisible Source. It is the Letter of the Throat. Its bottom is too deep to be seen. Its light is reflected. Its glances sidelong. B begins the process; D checks it; and G is the process itself ongoing. More often than not, English experiences imbalance with respect to Giving and Getting in the face of this vast and invisible place. It either gets greedy, filling itself with gunk and goo and gaudy garbage. A third of G reflects too much of something where it doesn't really belong. And another third reflects not enough where it's desperately needed: it is gaunt, gloomy, grumbling, the grave, the gallows. But there remains a set of words which reflect a very specific sense of balance and a grandeur which is not to be found anywhere else in the English language: Goodness, Gladness, the Grace of God.

V is smooth and vibratory energy which is channelled from within a container (vase) through a very narrow opening (veil, valve) outward (view, vista). Unlike the stopped labials B and P, there is no barrier implicit in V. It runs along a continuum, but it is very far toward one end. Its labial bias is felt in this way. It veers to one side. It avoids the impediments. As with all the fricatives, we are in the midst of an ongoing process in V which does not begin at any point as it does in B and P, nor is interrupted in midstream as with D, nor is directed anywhere specific as with T, nor is gathered or collected anywhere as in G and K. B stands still and supports from below. P stands still and props things up from the side. But V runs alongside in unending service, the vassal, the valet. And V is judgemental. It thinks in terms of virtue and vice. When P errs, it errs on the side of conservatism, for it is unvoiced. It is prudish, picky and preachy. V like B is voiced and errs from excess. Whereas B's transgressions are merely behavioral, V's are of the essence. B is bad. It breaks the societal boundaries and regulations, but V in its worst incarnation is inherently evil. It's not merely the baddie, the bully, the bitch. It is the villain, the vixen, the viper. B may be beautiful, but V is virtuous. It is the Virgin who does not give rise to the world once and for all in the Big Bang of B, but who gives it and lives it ongoing. Since V is voiced, the living is not yet frozen into life. It is not in the realm of form like its unvoiced counterpart F. It is the living verb.

-Margaret Magnus-

У Него - Oo NyeVo

У него - he has/had/will have

“Nevo” is a masculine subject.

A play on tarot cards bring these letters to the final judgement, strength/fortitude, lover(s), god/hierophant/church/conscience, and the star. The vowels are not counted here for they do not fall into the consonant category of letters. Though on, the personal vote of selected images which havent failed as of yet to meet satisfactory pictoral definition, equals out the the marseilles fool card, which may be equalled to the petulant fool, and the Oo death card from one of the version of the etteila decks. Bridging the distant non-existant to the material plain. As a sort of prophecy.

Numbers may be added, which i am still experimenting, with layerings, as number 4 and number 22. Which added equals the magical number 26, by the english standard alphabet, to completion. Subtracted equals out to 18. The howling tarot moon. And card letter R, as the tarot’s temperance. Which also is the reflected symbol of the russian letter Я, the last letter of the russian alphabet, holding the definition of I.-> One, self, me.

As with all things, the Japanese dragon/serpent is a mixture of animals, all blended together and isn’t necesarally a positive portent card. The dove may be replaced by a croh. Which would be this images “shadow” side, or reversed image. And all the structure beneath would be set ablaze. Place in the sky, the home of pure chaos.

The contrast with the letter Z being a female. And the letter Я would be a male. The counterpart of temperance. Representing the self owned “divine” masculine.

The other curiosity by contrast between the qwerty and jcuzen type sets is that death is the first key on the qwerty. The last of of physical being. An dthe Я as the first key on the jcuzen set. Is the last last imagr of the russian cyrilic alphabet. Which needs to be distuiguished as there are multiple cyrilic sets of alphabets. But none are as relavent as in russian in thr “american” culture.

I, went over a little bit about my proper spelling of the word Croh, without the letter W. for the notion is reversed in reality. As ones consistly insults thr croh by mispronouncing its name. As is shown by the lapse in logic in the spelling of bow and bow. Though both fallow thr same structure in form as a bow will bow when tightened. But a crow wont crow it kaws. If that makes any sense. When one says hello krahs one starts speaking its language. Since the howling moon card is the letter W. removing its power by detaching it from the croh. Changes a source of its power. No longer in the moon card as heavily influenced by bad tidings. And when a woman’s menstration cycles starts it wouldnt be so castrating to the male. “Oh, she’s bleeding again. Damn, but im horny.”

The “homo” erotic is embedded in the vary language one uses. Why is prostate so similar to prostrate and pro-state as is menstruation is to castration? When the only difference between all three is the letter R? Temperance. Shown performing something that shouldn’t be so by the very laws of nature? Can one guess which way the water is flowing? Is it up or is it down. And why is it related to sex and erotisicm in both cases?

And to fallow this notion is the russian letter О. Very much like in english it varies in its pronunciation. As there are seemingly missing letters. And the russian O isnt so far off from an A. It varies by word. These choices of card images reflect all of this. As the blind fool is connected to the etteila chosen Oo death card. Which is fitting and still giving room to the ltgbq community as a rather queer looking card image. At face value. But all of this os only so, for the hyper sexualism of modern day “america.” Where libertism over extends itself unchencked and unballanced as is supported by addiction and the pass me down inheritance by “spychic” or habitual associations.

To cooberate this is the rediculousness of Donald trump as american president. Playing the dumb fool while pressing for extremist conservatism in the northern liberal states. At the same time emmidiatly prior as Putin invade ukraine with the same conservatist attitude towards reclaiming lost land? And the media priming of years prior in associating russia as red flagged soviet communists.

Oh, and whats the differnece between putin have so many years in political office as is the trudo family in Canadian politics? Its nit so differnet from a monarchy passing the crown down as the family inherentance, considering they can hold office indefinatally.

One may continue on pressing associations. With relevance to the ГV card with number 26. The 26th letter of the russian Cyrillic alphabet is Ш -sh. And the 18th letter of the russian Cyrillic alphabet being P-r. Considering there is no equalivant form of the english letter W in russian, which helps explain their accent, Ш is the immediate association an english speaker will come to. Fallowed secondly by the letter E. and the russian P, the english/latin hanged man is pronounced as the letter R. Temperance. Which is a Sun card by literal association and not merely imaginal. Not much else needs to be spoken here to make a seamless association to the pictorial definition of card ГV. Based on a perfect balanve between the sun and the moon by heavenly, celestial bodies. Which is a major compliment to the feminine body fully reflecting a radiant sun. As is lunch time a break from the hassle and towards rejuvenation.

Though curious by history that the russian don’t have a W moon card. And the fact that they lost the “race” in reaching the moon and writting their name on it.

😮‍💨 hoax!

So.. what did one come to? RV? PR? W-sh? What is missing here? Don’t need the vowel i to decern a wish for union.

The word простите in russian (prostitye) means sorry. I am sorry.

Guess that’s it. Later. Y’all.

[luxenna]

Well, after 3 years, it's finally over.

I went to the sentencing last Saturday. During the whole legal proceedings, I didn't attend because

1. I was not called as a witness, but my parents were, oddly enough

2. My sister didn't want me to go because it would be harder for her to speak about what happened.

Of course, I understood - but it was difficult for me to not be there for her. Thankfully, her boyfriend was there with her and I'm just glad she had someone. But I can understand where she is coming from. If the roles were reversed, I would have a difficult time having my family there explaining everything and reliving those moments. For a while, I had to grapple with the feelings of being an inadequate older sister, especially since I felt like I failed to protect her back then.

The whole process was super frustrating and anxiety inducing, so I had to really suppress my feelings during the whole thing, mainly because I wanted to focus on my sister and my family. But now everything is over, I feel... very depressed.

That day went by really quick. We went to the courthouse - me, my sister and her boyfriend, and we were both full of anxiety the whole time. Once we entered the building, it still hadn't really hit me how real everything was. The entire time, I had no reason to be in the courthouse, so this was my first time being there for this case.

I was told by her advocate that we could say statements before the judgement handed down his sentence. It was 15 minutes before the sentencing. My sister reassured me I didn't have to, but I said, "Yes, I want to," immediately. I took out my phone and wrote this up:

"My name is ___ and I'm the older sister of ___. I am also a former student of ___. After I had heard the news from my sister, I was heartbroken and devastated. ___ taught me, my brother AND my sister. Growing up, I had full trust in him because he was my teacher, and when you're in a vulnerable and impressionable position, there's no other conclusion to make but to trust those who are supposed to guide and protect you. Not only has he failed and broken my sister's trust and dignity, but also mine. I trusted him fully to protect my siblings once I left middle school, and I am heartbroken that this is the outcome. [Addressing him], I looked up to you and respected you and I am so disgusted that you did this to one of the most beloved people in my life. As an older sister, I thought I had failed to protect her, but as time passed I realize it was YOUR responsibility to protect, guide and serve, and you took advantage of your position to hurt not only my sister, but our family."

The court room was smaller than I expected, not the grand and large ones that you see on TV. There were a few folks on his side, no doubt from his church community or family. I couldn't help but wonder what they thought. Did they think he was innocent? Do they think he did a bad thing? Do they think he's worth God's forgiveness? Do they have any sympathy for our family and what he's done to my sister?

It doesn't matter. He's guilty and deserves to be punished.

It was just the three of us, and her advocate on our side. My sister's lawyer was very kind and down to earth. There were also a couple folks there too, I think one was in training and I'm not sure who the other person was, but they wanted to be there for the sentencing. I was glad she had all those people on her side. They treated her with respect and care at all times, and I could tell they 100000% believed her. Meeting them made me feel so relieved that she had people like them on her side.

I finally saw him come in handcuffs and prison clothing. I couldn't look at him. I only glanced at him and couldn't bring myself to fully look at him. I felt instantly sick. I felt like the world was falling on me. But I still held my sister's hand and looked straight, not allowing myself to cry - suppressing my emotions as I had done all these years.

The proceedings began. Each side presented their side - her lawyer introduced me, her bf, and my sister. On his side, the lawyer had everyone on his side introduce themselves. There was a good amount. I briefly wished we had more people on our side, but it didn't really matter. He had already plead guilty, and I wouldn't want my parents to go through any more pain and stress they already had by testifying.

We were given an opportunity to provide statements to the judge. My sister and her advocate walked up, and her lawyer read out my sister's statement. My sister stood behind her lawyer and her advocate, and I could see her visibly shaking. I had to take a deep breath. I couldn't cry yet. I didn't allow myself to.

After her statement ended, the judge asked if there was anyone else wanted to give a statement. I stood up and I instantly felt like I had tunnel vision. All I could see was the prosecutor's desk and the mic I had to speak into. Her lawyer whispered, "Here, you can use this mic so everyone can hear you."

I pulled up my note I wrote 15 minutes before the sentencing and took a deep breath, and it felt like that breath lasted forever. And I spoke.

I started out confidently, as if I had practiced, if I had been sure what I was going to say and how I was going to say it. I even was able to make eye contact with the judge as I read it. When I got to the part where I addressed the coward directly, tears instantly flowed out of my eyes. My voice broke, and my vision dimmed. All I could see was my phone, and my now shaking hand as I struggled to get through the rest of my statement.

"Thank you." I managed to look at the judge one last time. I turned around, and sat down.

Me and my sister hugged, we were both crying. "I love you," I said, through my tears. I couldn't stop crying. "I love you too," she said back. She was still shaking. I held her hand for the rest of the proceedings.

The judge asked if the defense had any statement to make. His side stayed silent. They had wrote letters in lieu of a verbal statement. Sometimes I wonder what was in those letters. Was it full of Christian sentiments? Talking about how good of a person he was? Did it really matter when he did such an egregious thing?

The proceedings continued after the statements were made. The judge asked him to stand up for his sentencing and honestly, I can't remember everything he talked about. I took this opportunity to actually look at him. I don't know if that was a good idea or not. He looked frail, old, and sick. Actually looking at him made me feel nauseous. It was hitting me hard. Yes, this was him. Yes, this is real. Yes, this is happening. At this point, my face was stone again and staring straight ahead.

The judge tried to sound impartial as possible, as I'm sure judges need to do. But at the end of his decision, he mentioned how horrible the crime was, and what he did to my sister. I felt disgusted listening to it, even though I knew. He was sentenced a little over a year in prison, plus multiple years probation. Not even close to enough to what he deserves, but because of how this trial has gone, I am glad he will be in jail for some time.

After the sentencing, there was some official business needed to be done. Getting signatures, getting fingerprints. We sat there awkwardly. I wanted to go home, I'm sure my sister did too. And after a while, it was finally over. We all got up, and I never looked back at that disgusting man.

We chatted her legal team a bit after the sentencing. We were all glad it was over, and I expressed my gratitude that they helped my family so much.

Once we got home, I fell asleep for hours. I had plans later in the evening, so I couldn't hermit the rest of the day, even though I wanted to.

The day after that, I had a breakdown. I cried so hard my chest hurt and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I felt like a failure. I felt guilty I couldn't protect my sister. I could feel my heart breaking. I felt angry, frustrated, and nauseated. After three years, I allowed myself to break down. It was over. I didn't feel like I needed to protect my sister or be strong for her as much as I have been.

I feel a little better these days, but I had to take the day off from work because I haven't processed things fully or properly. I was up last night replaying the sentencing in my head. Not because I thought I did anything wrong or I wished things went differently, but the sentencing made everything feel so surreal. I was so detached from the whole thing to protect my own feelings and sanity, and being there, seeing him - it hit me so much harder than I thought.

So I had to write this all up and really lay my feelings out. I feel like my own healing can really begin. I don't feel the heavy responsibility on my chest anymore. It's over, but it's also not. There's so much more work to be done for our family to heal, but I'm so glad we have each other.

After feeling incredibly guilty for being a bad sister, my sister was texting me the other day, obviously having a good night at a party with her boyfriend. She was saying I was the 'best sister 10000000000000000/10.' I laughed, but it made my night.

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 6: Execution

CN: burning alive, religious indoctrination, beheading

Priya was at the front of the procession, leading the prisoners into the great hall, where the Flame awaited them. The True Incarnation of the Cleansing Flame of Salvation looked over the group of shackled-together sinners, then her eyes wandered to her disciples, lingering for a moment on Priya, who she gifted the shortest of approving smiles, before her gaze went hard again.

“Today there are brought before me a wretched bunch of enemies of all that is good,” her voice boomed through the hall. “Awash in sin, they plotted heinous treason against the Cleansing Flame. A shame, considering most of them were brought up as disciples in my beloved temple.”

Most of the sinners kept a petulant silence, like young students who didn’t want to accept the clerics’ advice to do penitence. Only one of them, a Dwarf woman who seemed to be a cleric herself, raised her voice: “You accuse us of heresy, and yet you are the one claiming to be the Flame made flesh. You are no more Goddess than I am. Attempted usurper and murderess is what you are!”

“Hold your blasphemous tongue, sinner!” Priya yelled at her. “For all the good it will do you.”

The Dwarf cast a sideways glance her direction as she continued: “You might have your little cult convinced, but the rest of the church isn’t so easily led astray by a pretty face, and what I don’t doubt are promises of sharing more than prayers.”

Priya darted forward. She had her sword drawn before the Dwarf could even react, and with one powerful motion struck her over the head with the hilt. The heretic grunted in pain and went down on her knees, where she belonged.

“I warned you twice now, and next time, it will be the blade you feel,” Priya growled, hoping the Flame and the onlookers would think her reddened cheeks a sign of anger.

Nobody else dared to speak then, and the Flame picked up her words again: “Already you banned me from my rightful place, my temple. And now you come here to destroy me, fearing the wrath of the Flame. But doing so, you moved right into the reach of that wrath. I would have welcomed you as my servants and disciples, but you spit in my face, hoping to extinguish my brilliance.” She sounded so sad that Priya’s expression grew softer again. “And for that, you must pay. You, sinners before me, shall be given to the Flame.”

Priya’s entire body went cold at that. There were screams among the prisoners. Even some of the other followers murmured to each other anxiously, thinking they had misheard.

It was Priya who finally raised her voice: “My Flame, there hasn’t been a ritualistic execution since – “

“Over 100 years. I know.” Her voice was hard. The freckles on her light grey face smoldered like embers. “That was before my time. Things are changing.” Then she turned to her followers: “Acolytes, bring the oil and pour it over the heretics. Knights of the Flame, hold them in place.”

Holding them was barely necessary, as the prisoners in their panic yanked each other down with the chains. Only a few stood in dignity, as was expected of disciples awaiting their penitence. Their words, though, were less than pious: “The teachings of the Flame are humility and mercy just as they are judgement and penitence, preaching self-reflection above all,” a Tiefling man next to the Dwarf screamed. “Yet you declare yourself above sin and dole out punishment as you see fit!” He spit on the ground.

Acolytes and young clerics poured the oil over the writhing bodies of the sinners.

The Flame spoke in clear words over the ruckus: “Will you ask for penitence?”

The answer was nothing but foul words.

“Then, Ser Priyanshi, will you say the prayers?”

Priya, her hands still holding the Dwarf woman in place, needed a moment to find her voice: “I, humble servant of the Flame, ask for these poor sinners to receive penitence. Let their bodies be cleansed of wickedness and sin by the light of your grace.” And then she added what she had never done for sinners who were still alive: “And let their souls become one with the Flame, their sinful bodies crumble to ash.”

The Flame smiled. “I will it so. Step aside now, my Knights.”

As Priya and the other paladins stepped away from the prisoners, the Flame lifted her hands, letting white flames blossom from her palms. Priya gazed upon her in fresh-awakened awe. How anyone could doubt her to be a Goddess made flesh, she didn’t comprehend.

Then the Flame sent the fire forwards, and the sinners ignited in white hot flame. Deafening screams rang through the air, almost swallowed by the cackling of the fire and the scraping of chains. All of them had known the kiss of the fire before, had done penitence regularly, but this was different, no doubt about it. Some of the sinners begged for mercy, but most were too absorbed by the pain to form words, and then one after the other, they fell silent, as the oxygen was burned out of their lungs and they got lost in coughing and gasping for air while their bodies smoldered.

Priya looked on. She was used to the smell of burning flesh, but now it made her nauseous. She tried to see the beauty in the clean white fire, tried to tell herself it was mercy that her lady had shown these sinners, cleansing them of their blasphemous thoughts and letting them become one with the Flame. But if this was mercy, then why were they screaming?

And then the heat hit her, and those sinful questions were replaced by other equally sinful thoughts, as she felt the fire produced by the Flame, Bai herself, burn her. A shiver went through her despite the heat.

This wasn’t right. She was supposed to be praying, not get lost in heretic thoughts and doubts like this. So lost was she, that she almost didn’t notice one creature had escaped from the fire, shackles lockpicked or burst by the heat. They stumbled forward and then fell to the floor in exhaustion. Priya recognized the Dwarf. Her skin was red and covered in blisters filled with fluid, one eye was burst open and leaking ooze.  Her hair and beard and her melted left arm were still burning.

“Ser Priya!”

She looked up to the Flame.

“Please do the honors.”

Priya nodded and drew the sword Flaming Salvation once more. As in a trance, she walked towards the woman, who cowered blindly in fear. Priya’s mouth was dry as ash. Had the hands of the saints who had held this sword before her trembled like this? Probably not. They had been strong in their faith, after all. Stronger than her.

In the pyre of sinners, bodies melted and burst, blood boiled. Hot sizzling body fat shot through the air and hit Priya’s face, burning her badly. This, too, was mercy, as the pain distracted her from her task for a moment.

To hide the quivering of her lip, Priya started praying in a silent voice. She lifted the sword. In ages past, knights would pour oil over the blade of Flaming Salvation and set it ablaze, but Priya, touched by the Flame herself, could shroud it in a radiance of her own. Priya slashed down with the burning blade, and made the sword fulfill its name.

The Dwarf’s head rolled off the shoulders and back into the pyre, which was slowly burning down, revealing to the eyes of all the onlookers the bodies eaten by the flames. Priya went down on her knees, eyes downcast, and prayed.

She did not know how much time had passed when the Flame stood next to her, but the fire seemed to be long extinguished.

“You have done good,” the Flame said and smiled.

Any other time, Priya would have done anything to receive praise like this. Now she almost wanted to recoil. If this was good, why did it feel so bad?

She answered with the only words she could think of: “I, humble servant of the Flame, ask to receive penitence.”

The Flame’s smile became softer. “Sinful though all creatures are, there is nothing you have to repent for today, Priya.”

“And yet I ask for penitence, my Lady.” She stared down at the floor where her tears were falling. “For I am plagued by doubtful thoughts.”

She felt warmth at her cheek as the Flame held her hand closer to her without ever touching the skin. “Though it is sin to regard those heretics with pity, it is a sin born out of your inner goodness, and so I will forgive it. But if it is penitence you seek, you may come to my room later in the evening, my child.”

[hardynwa]

Kingmakers install Ghandi Laoye as new Soun of Ogbomoso

A former pastor at the Redeemed Christian Church of God, Prince Afolabi Ghandi Laoye, on Friday, was installed as the new Soun of Ogbomosoland in Oyo State. The had reported that Laoye, who was based in the United States of America, arrived in Ogbomoso early in the morning in a private chopper, which landed at Ogbomoso Grammar School, before moving to the palace. It will be also be recalled that the Soun of Ogbomoso stool became vacant after Oba Jimoh Oyewumi transited to the great beyond, on December 12, 2021. However, some members of the family opposed the approval, thereby heading to court, arguing that he was not part of the process right from the beginning and that he shouldn’t be crowned against their wish. The family members instituted the suit, marked HOG/27/2022, in July 2022, against the nomination of Ghandi Olaoye by the kingmakers, citing various irregularities in the procedures that produced him thereby praying the court to, among other reliefs, set aside the nomination and to order a fresh process. The judge, A.K. Adedokun, fixed the judgement day after Olaoye’s counsel, Oladapo Atanda, and Kolawole Fatoye, who represented Ghandi and the kingmakers adopted their processes and presented their arguments for and against the suit. The defendants in the case include the Oyo State Governor, Oyo State Attorney General, Oyo State Commissioner for Local Government and Chieftaincy Matters, Ogbomoso North Local Government, Ogbomoso North Traditional Council, and Prince Amos Olawole Olaoye (Mogaji Olaoye Ruling House) who are 1st to 6th defendants respectively. The 7th to 11th defendants are the kingmakers: Chief S.O. Otolorin (Areago of Ogbomoso and Chairman), Chief Salawu Ajadi (Jagun), Chief Tijani Abioye (Bara), Cheif David Adeniran Ojo (Ikolaba) and Chief Yusuf Oladipupo (Abese) while Prince Ghandi Olaoye, the Soun nominee, is the 12th defendant. The plaintiff, while claiming that the regulations guiding the nomination to fill the vacant stool of Soun Chieftaincy Ogbomoso which include the Soun Chieftaincy Declaration (1958), Ogbomoso District Native Authority Resolution (1953) and Oyo State Chiefs Law (2000) were grossly violated, sought relief that the procedure for Ghandi’s nomination was inconclusive in that a minority committee performed the task instead of the whole members of the family. “A declaration that the procedure adopted for the nomination of candidate or candidates to fill the vacant stool of Soun of Ogbomoso Chieftaincy by the members of Laoye Ruling House through the purported 11-member screening committee was inconclusive. “The member of the Olaoye ruling house as a family was denied their legal right of having a final say in voting and/or ratifying the aforesaid report at the time the kingmakers acted upon it, not strictly the method envisaged under the native law and custom, the Laoye ruling house as a body entitled to nominate a candidate for appointment to the stool of Soun and not by the minority of the members of the larger body.” He wanted the court to declare that the active participation of the 4th defendant (Ogbomoso North Local Government) in the process leading to the emergence of Ghandi Olaoye rather than being a mere observer invalidates the process. In addition, the 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, and 12th defendants represented by Kolawole Fatoye, Olalekan Oguntoye and O.E. Igene filed counter-claims to which the claimant also filed defence. The legal team of 7th to 10th defendants which also represented Ghandi, urged the court to “dismiss the claim and grant the counterclaim” noting that “all the procedure as itemized above clearly showed that the 12th defendant was duly nominated by the Laoye ruling house and selected by the kingmakers.” It asserted that the plaintiff filed “this action because the selection did not favour him having participated along with others in the nomination and selection exercise.” The judge, Adedokun, therefore, fixed October 3 for the judgement. On Saturday, September 2, however, the state Governor, Seyi Makinde, had in a statement by his Commissioner for Local Government and Chieftaincy Matters, Olusegun Olayiwola, approved the selection of Olaoye as the next Soun. Again, on Thursday, the state High Court in Ogbomoso restrained the governor, the Attorney General of the State and the Commissioner for Local Government and Chieftaincy Matters either by themselves, agents, or officials from presenting any instrument of office in any form of ceremony or issuance of the certificate of installation to Olaoye until the final determination of the mandatory injunction already filed before the court. However, the new monarch was at the palace, on Friday, for an official installation which was performed at Abata by the kingmakers led by the Areago High Chief Sobalaje Otolorin. The kingmakers said they did not receive any court injunction restraining them from installing Ghandi as the new Soun of Ogbomoso. He is billed to commence the traditional rites soon. The new Oba is proclaimed His Imperial Majesty, Oba Ghandi Afolabi Olaoye Orumogege III. Read the full article