#purity and smallness and flight?

[brown-little-robin]

🕊️⚡

[drconstellation]

Judgement Day

Aziraphale's Edinburgh Journey: Part 4

Aziraphale's trip to Edinburgh - and most of S2 - is filled with hints and references to the Second Coming. Once you are clued into this, they are everywhere, with some clues more obvious than others. Gabriel's statue is one of them, but it has another role as well (and it's not for hiding anything under, sorry.)

We also have a lot of references to the Freemasons in S2, particularly in Edinburgh, but you can see related symbolism elsewhere - they use some of the same symbolism used around Memento mori, and they also believe in working towards upholding values in life to be rewarded in the afterlife. Judgement Day looms large for all, not matter what their belief.

Judgment in the Tarot

Judgement is the penultimate card of the Major Arcana in the Tarot - the final card is The World, where the journey ends and everything comes together in harmony. But first, one must be summoned to their reckoning, and the past weighed up. It marks the completion of a karmic cycle; its time for renewal.

Three naked figures, a man, a woman and a child, rise out of the darkness of the underworld. Their nakedness denotes their spirituality, they have thrown off the clothes and material things of a physical life. An angel in the sky with a trumpet summons them to be reborn.

But which angel is it on the card? The book I'm favoring to do these card interpretations says its Michael. The information I have about cemetery angels (below) would indicate it to be Gabriel, who is sometimes depicted on headstones blowing a horn. Yet other lore says it's Raphael/Israfel that will blow the horn to start the Day of Judgement. And reading further, on some texts it just says it will be an archangel, they don't specify which one.

Cemetery Angels

The statue of Gabriel in the Edinburgh cemetery is an example of a cemetery angel. The type and pose of the angel is supposed to give some indication of the life that was lived. Small cherubs for children, a lily held for purity, a circular wreath for everlasting life, for example.

Gabriel's statue is doing several things at once: its wings are open, indicating its ready to take flight upwards for the resurrection, and its holding a cross. This is because this statue is a replica of one of the angels on the Ponte Sant'Angelo in Rome and they all hold something relating to the Passion. A cross is probably the most recognizable symbol of all, and instantly connected with Jesus. Everything here is pointing us to the Second Coming.

The Missing Cross

But the cross isn't there in every scene. It's been pointed out that its missing when Gabriel shows his statue to Beelzebub in the present.

This only appears to be the case when we view this scene from a distance. When we see the statue from between their shoulders, the cross is still there.

This is an inconsistent message, and casts some doubt on what its trying to tell us. Can Beelzebub see the cross or not? It can't be a demon thing, as Crowley has no problem seeing the cross in 1827. Is it instead a comment about Gabriel and Beelzebub as a pair?

There are a multitude of meanings that could be applied here around that missing cross: is it do with death and resurrection or is to do with having your sins forgiven and achieving eternal life? If its the latter, then the demons have always been excluded from that, right from the start.

Gazing in Parallel

Then there's this parallel in acts of admiration of the statue:

The very first time I watched S2 and I heard Crowley say "he probably comes here to stare at it," I knew yep, he sure does, and so he did.

Parallel pairs like this usually give us a nugget of information about the characters or story, and this one seems to be another thing pointing us to Gabriel being the peacock mentioned in the Job minisode (i.e. "Did you give wings to peacocks, Job...") An old slang definition of a peacock is "a person, especially a man, who is arrogant or likes dressing or behaving in a way that draws attention to themselves" and "a man who is very proud of his appearance and gives a lot of attention to his clothes and the way he dresses."

Let us not forget at this point that Crowley is linked to Gabriel in S2 as both a parallel and foil, and he, too, takes some pride in his appearance. But while Gabriel admires the creation that is himself, Crowley tends more to admire creations that he has had a hand in working on himself.

But there is a curious moment here that links us up with a scene from the beginning of S2, in Before the Beginning. Notice how Aziraphale looks back at Crowley as he he says Gabriel "Probably comes here to stare at it. Marveling at his own beauty."

Aziraphale has the same jealous look on his face as angel!Crowley marvels at the beauty of his newly created nebula and stars.

We have to remember that Before The Beginning was one of the last parts of S2 to be written, even though its at the start, but it includes a repeated parallel to the dates at the statue - angel!Crowley admires his creation, and Aziraphale looks a little jealous that he's not getting that same attention from Crowley.

Demons in the Mist

There is another, larger, parallel sequence that the statue plays a part in as well, and this connects us to S1, and I suspect to S3 as well. This is one of the mobius strip parallels that I sometimes talk about, where the story history repeats itself ad infinitum. Notice the misty nature of the present day scene below; this is an indication we are seeing more than two times and places at once.

It starts here, as we switch suddenly from 1827 back to present, just after Crowley is sucked down into Hell, leaving Aziraphale gazing up at the statue.

The parallel scene to this is the sushi restaurant in S1E1.

In that scene Crowley has been summoned to the cemetery to receive the antichrist and start Armageddon. He was supposed to be on a date with Aziraphale at the sushi restaurant, but Gabriel turns up instead, on the other side of Aziraphale - the same side the statue is on in S2.

Next, there are two demons. The first time, Crowley was summoned to meet with Hastur and Ligur to start Armageddon. Only this time, in S2, its Aziraphale talking to the demons, not Crowley.

We have an indication that the Scottish pair are demon-related with the taller one having a misspelled tattoo on his forehead (and aren't there many stories of badly spelled tattoos?)

I think they also roughly match the height and size of Hastur and Ligur, too. And it's the Ligur-parallel that offers his phone - just like its Ligur that chats to Michael on the back channels that don't exist in S1.

Free phone call? Not a problem. It's been pointed out that when Crowley hangs up the phone handset in S1 after calling Aziraphale you can hear a coin falling into the coin return box - apparently there was a thing done in the old days of leaving some change in the coin return for people who didn't have any money and needed to make a call; a kindness for strangers, if you will. So it's not a worry that there is no credit on the phone when Aziraphale needs to make the call.

Lastly, we have some S3 foreshadowing, because this an Aziraphale scene and he connects us with the future. The old phone is looking worn and tatty, with the Union Jack on it, a sign of the Empire that is slowly fading, and is well past its peak. After he hands it back with a blessing, it looks renewed, with the St Andrews Cross of Scotland on it. I might live on the other side of the world from the UK but even I'm aware of the political debate around Scottish independence that has been ongoing for, well, many years now.

I can't help thinking we are going to see a parallel to this scene in S3 as well, with Aziraphale demanding some form communication from Hell or some demons for which he does "ask nicely" about. This is all working towards a change in the way the authoritative structure works for the angels and demons (the death and rebirth theme.)

Masonic Symbols

We are alerted to the presence of the Masons when Aziraphale does his detective cosplay and speaks to the barman in the Resurrectionist pub. If you are quick, you can also notice the square and compass symbol on the windows next to the pub as Aziraphale approaches, although most of us are looking at Jesus on the sign (and a reminder that we are looking out of a deliberate copy of the Eastern Gate of Eden here on the sign, too, into the deserted distance.)

The square and compass are a reminder of balance - the square at the bottom is about honesty and integrity, and the compass at the top represents wisdom and keeping one's desires within reach.

But why are we looking at Masons? I think this is because they represent a similar but different alternative to the Abrahamic religions the Good Omens AU is built around - they believe in a Supreme Being (God) and they believe in upholding certain virtues and doing good deeds in life so that they will be rewarded in the afterlife, and that there is an eternal afterlife; they just don't believe in going about it in the same way the church does.* The Catholic church doesn't allow one to be a Mason and a member of the church at the same time because of this clash in ideologies.

The other thing to note about Masons, is that Masons wear black tie evening dress to their Lodge meetings, like the corpse in the next image below. The barman in the present even says to Aziraphale "It's the first time I've seen one in a fancy grey suit, though." This is a big Clue - but you all missed it, because you latched on to the fancy grey suit part of the sentence that screamed "GABRIEL WAS HERE!!" at you and didn't hear the silent part that the barman was saying - that the other person that was with Gabriel was wearing a black suit.

Hello? Anyone paying attention here? No? Just me shouting into the void...right, well, carry on then.

We see three dead bodies in the Resurrectionists minisode, much like the three bodies on the Tarot card for Judgement. The first is this Mason, clearly identified by the apron he is wearing (the other two bodies are a priest and wee Morag.) The decoration on it would indicate what rank or degree of mastery he held within his lodge. The background was always white, for purity.

Coffins were a reminder that one day every one would die and return to dust. They were also a sign of leaving their previous life behind from before they joined the Masons and taking on their Masonic duties.

Skulls and cross bones were part of Memento mori - reminders that life was short. They also appeared on Mason tracer boards.

The hourglass was a particularly special symbol. While it, too, was a reminder that life was finite, it was also a reminder that life and death was a cycle. By turning the hourglass over, one started the cycle again. This also demonstrated the need at times for one to turn one's thoughts and actions around on their journey through life.

It was also a reminder that time was the great equalizer - it didn't matter your station in life, time always moved forward, and death would come for us all.

Onward to Part 5, dear readers! Time to see if we really know where we're going with all this!

Thanks once again to @vidavalor for pointing out the parallel between the statue of Gabriel and the sushi restaurant in S1, where Crowley is pulled away by Hell both times and Gabriel appears on Aziraphale's right.

@kimberleyjean has also put together a collection of all the infinity loops and mobius strip references in GO here.

*I'm not sure what it was like in other countries, but I know in Australia during the mid 20th century to get anywhere in certain jobs and industries you either had to be a Catholic or a Mason. Without the backing of one of those organizations you wouldn't get far. My grandfather was a Mason, but not religious, and consequently rose quite high in the government dept he worked for - took me a long time to put all those pieces together, because it was never talked about in my family. I just knew he went to Lodge. It was only listening to some podcasts about history that I was able to work it out.

The other posts in this series can be found here:

Part 1: Detective Aziraphale Part 2: Aziraphale-Beelzebub Parallels Part 3: Stocktaking in the Basement Part 5: I Know Where I'm Going

[scarletwritesshit]

⚰️ Luocha x Sunday ⚰️ Tangled in a Devil's Deal

An ashen-blue dove was entangled in thorned vines, pinned firmly against the wall. His hands and legs were tightly bound, eliminating any chance of a successful struggle. The vines wrapped around the entirety of his body, piercing every inch of his flesh with the slightest twitch of a nerve. He could not allow himself to move, not to struggle, not to readjust, lest he wanted his flesh to be sliced further.

His wings were rendered as worthless as the rest of his limbs, regardless of his movement ability. They had long since been clipped, and the feathers of his that were spared were ruffled beyond useless.

The dove was left to bleed out and die nailed to the wall by the thorns of his sin. His brief time of flight had concluded, and his heart was torn open dripping blood onto the stone floor. Robes that were once white with purity were now stained red as an eternal reminder of his fall.

His head slumped, sides of his face being scraped and cut open as it dangled. The bleeding heart dove could no longer muster the strength to keep his head up.

After his fall from grace, the only path left for him to traverse was the slow and bloody journey towards death.

In a miraculous twist of events, the attention of a wandering merchant was piqued when his white boots were stained with the splashes from the blood puddles. Luocha, this man claimed to be called, possessed the most interesting traits of long blond hair and a dastardly smug demeanor, something perhaps too familiar to an angel such as him. The healer’s garbs were nothing more than a deception, for the devil walked amongst him clad in holy white. And on a Sunday, nonetheless.

Luocha spun his golden cross necklace around his fingers and looked up at the Halovian nailed onto death’s door.

"Little birdie, you’ve found yourself in an awfully compromising position," Luocha said.

"What? Come to laugh at an angel’s fall from grace?" Sunday spat, blood rolling from the corner of his mouth.

"Laugh? I find no humor in your situation. Rather, I see this as an opportunity."

"An opportunity for what? Defiling what’s left of me with your devilish hands?"

Luocha caught the cross charm in the palm of his hand. "Quite the opposite, actually. I’m here to help you take flight once again and heal the wounds that taint your body"

"...Heal?"

"Indeed. For nothing more than a small price, of course."

"You would ask a man with a value of zero to repay you?" Sunday asked, baffled.

"Don’t let such lies escape your lips," Luocha said, reaching out the tip of his rapier to prod up Sunday’s chin. "I’m not here for what you have, but rather, what you are."

Sunday drearily looked at Luocha with what little strength he could muster.

"You’re the closest anyone has come to true Aeonhood," Luocha said, gently stroking the lid of his coffin with his free hand, "and I have a task suited to only someone of such caliber."

"You see an Aeon in this dead dove?"

"I see a dove that has yet to take flight… one that still hasn’t realized his potential."

Luocha swung his rapier aside, scraping Sunday’s throat as he allowed his head to droop once more.

"All I ask is for you to strike a deal with me to amend your wounds.”

"So I was right. You want to defile me and what my existence once stood for."

"Don’t be hasty, darling. I haven’t even had a moment to explain myself. My intentions are the exact opposite of what you presume, as I only desire to allow you to rise once again."

Sunday’s head perked up a little and he looked at Luocha with wide eyes.

"Alas, to make my sacrifice worthwhile, I need you to do my bidding for a short time," Luocha said, running his fingers along the coffin lid. "I have a… friend here, and I need an Aeon’s power to bring her back."

Sunday scoffed and fell completely silent.

"What happened to wanting to make everyone happy? Allowing yourself to die here when I am offering up my hand is the most selfish course of action you could possibly take.”

"That dream is dead, you devil," Sunday snapped with the last of his energy.

`"Little dove, why do you close your eyes to the sensible truth in front of you? Think of those who still depend on you. Think of Robin."

Right. Her. If Sunday had any reason to desperately free himself of those thorns, it would be for his beloved sister Robin. If he allowed himself to fall here, he had no other way to guarantee that this bastard wouldn’t say something to Robin that she was better off not hearing.

At the mention of her name, his wings began to flutter, and Luocha took great delight in seeing this.

"Ah. I knew that had to be enticing to you," Luocha said.

He put his palm on the coffin and it began to emit a strange green light. The vines entangled around Sunday mimicked this effect, and their hold on him gradually loosened. The thorns withdrew from his flesh, leaving now-dried bloody lacerations open across his body. With his body weak from the hefty blood loss, Sunday was rendered unable to brace himself for a fall, and so he accepted his fate of crashing into the ground once the last of the vines holding him up slithered back.

His fall was unexpectedly gentle, as Luocha held out his arm and caught the pale angel. Luocha’s grace was short lived, as he tossed Sunday down onto the ground with his back slumped against the wall.

"But before I can trust your loyalty to the deal, come forth and bow before me."

Sunday could not muster the strength to push himself forward onto his hands.

"I said bow."

Luocha grabbed his rapier once more and nudged Sunday down by the back of his head. Unable to reach out his hands to steady himself, Sunday bowed down supporting his body with his arms while Luocha kept him firmly in place with his rapier pointed at his throat.

"A soul for a soul is a fair exchange, wouldn’t you agree, little dove?" Luocha said, prodding his throat.

"Ngh…I have just...one request before I can agree to being in your service," Sunday coughed.

"I gave you life, what more could you possibly ask for?"

"...I beg of you, do not allow my sister to see how far I have fallen."

"Perhaps...if I am feeling a bit generous, I’ll spare her the pathetic sight of her brother kneeling to me in submission."

[giantkillerjack]

the average person doesn't expect you to be a perfect ethical consumer, that's not possible for the vast majority of us. but what youre saying is it's better to do nothing at all and choose the worst possible options (sweat shops, overseas shipping waste, idea/product theft, all wrapped up in SHEIN) than to put even the tiniest effort in where you can.

[they are referring to this post]

What I said was "some people are doing literally everything they can to survive and have no extra bandwidth to spend extra time and money on their purchases, and it is cruel and therefore un-punk to gatekeep punkness and add additional shame to these people's lives based on that fact."

I think it's still a good thing to try to ethically consume; I literally never said it wasn't. I had never even heard of SHEIN before. Rather, I am much more concerned about what I saw as arbitrary gatekeeping based on ability and income.

And frankly how dare you claim that I am supporting sweatshops and abuse by saying that this additional work you are demanding (in this case, presumably, vetting every clothing company you buy from) is not always possible for people. It is not a light accusation to accuse me of supporting abuse.

"How dare you say we piss on the poor", Etc. 🙄 this isn't Twitter. You are determined to enforce moral purity, but you are failing to see the nuance.

Because when I say "no extra bandwidth," I mean no extra bandwidth. This is not the "car shows it's on E but actually secretly it has a lot of gas left" situation that abled people constantly assume disabled people mean when they say they are at their limit.

This is "the car has stopped moving, and to move it I'd have to break my body pushing it." This is "at a certain point, people will hit a wall in terms of money and time and energy, and any energy spent after that comes directly out of their life force."

So the argument "okay but just spend a little more time money and energy actually" is not a valid one.

And the argument "if you are not able to do this specific task, then it means you're not doing anything else to make the world a better place" doesn't exactly impress me either. You said yourself that it is impossible to be a perfectly ethical consumer for most people.

How do you know what else people are doing to resist oppression? How many hours per week until your standards are met?What if someone works 3 jobs? Does that mean it's harder to be a good person if you're poor?? Why do you get to decide what specific avenue of bettering the world is the most morally repugnant or acceptable? What kind of proof of goodness and effort would make you satisfied enough to lay off on the shame?? Who are you helping??

Clothing is a fundamental human need, and some of us have to buy cheap fucking clothes quickly. Billionaires are buying their seventh yacht this month. The people who own fast fashion companies are abusing their workers and putting local affordable clothing stores out of business - and this applies for basically every company with price points that low because governments are failing to regulate corporations to enforce basic human rights.

I have $300 to spend on a new wardrobe as my old clothes have fallen apart or become too small. Do you have a way for me to get a new winter coat, 3 flannels, 10 shirts, 3 dress shirts, new sandals, 10 pairs of pants, 5 bras, 12 pairs of socks, and 10 pairs of underwear within that budget and also definitely 100% ethically sourced, with free returns in case it doesn't fit? Or will I simply have to use the cheap stores?

I have about an hour to spend on this per week. Many mainstream stores doesn't make clothes in my size, and I am now in *year 5* of needing an electric wheelchair and being unable to get one; plus I live up a flight of stairs, so I can't even bring my walker out with me - so thrift shopping is not gonna cover this. Should I continue to wear small and tattered clothing until I have the time, money, and energy to meet your standards?

Did you know there are more empty homes in this country than homeless people? If I decide to splurge on only 100% ethically-produced products, and I can't make rent, and I become homeless, are YOU going to be there for me?? Or are you too busy litigating the endless tiny shames of poverty in your own community?

So I ask you again, are you SURE this is where you want to direct your punk energy?

Because there are a whole lot of rich people relying on people like us punching down and to the side instead of looking up to see where the money is going.

Because energy and time, as it turns out, are limited resources. And I would never expect you to secretly have more than you claim to have.

[prismaticpichu]

Pichu, can I ask ZackSeph? xD

23. Introducing Sephiroth to the family for the first time.

Thank you!☆☆☆☆ 💕

Dhdhhd YES YOU SURE CAN!!! 😂💙💚 My beans!!’

(Gonna rewrite a scene from one of my very first fics!!)

~

Gongaga was no Midgar.

That was the first thought to enter Sephiroth's mind, anyway, as his heavy leather boots chomped into the fresh bed of snow carpeting the hillside. Unlike Midgar's winter, an eyesore with mounds of shoveled snow greased with tar and Mako, Gongaga's was fresh, untainted. The sky was an endless stretch of ivory, not a single cloud of smog fouling the air or shielding the filter of dusk that was draping over the landscape. He could breathe without his chest feeling smothered, could hear his own thoughts without the chaotic battles of traffic.

Yes, it was quite nice.

"Oh man… it's great to be back!" Zack bounced past the warrior, stretched his arms wide as he embraced the purity for himself. He loosened the muscles that had grown taut during the flight, inhaling a deep and passionate breath before continuing his caper down the slippery slope. "C'mon, Seph!" he called over his shoulder, already halfway down before Sephiroth could even blink

Amusement tugging at his lips—and perhaps a bit of anticipation stirring in his chest—the warrior trailed behind.

Although hidden under the ice, it appeared that the trail leading to the backwater village was forked: one path led to civilization while the other snaked around a cluster of naked trees and into the jaws of a...—wait, was that a Mako Reactor in the distance? Sephiroth quirked an eyebrow as they reached the branch.

"I wasn't aware there was a Mako Reactor here," he remarked, surprised considering how uncontaminated the air seemed.

Zack spun around to follow the older man's gaze. "Oh, right! Forgot about that. Yeah, years back, the thing nearly exploded. It's been inactive ever since."

"…I see." Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, once again finding himself questioning the president's principles. Surely if a Reactor was to detonate (may it be due to ecoterrorists or overuse), it would take hundreds of innocent lives down with it. Was it really ethical to plant ticking time bombs near the homes of civilians? And why had he never found a report on such matters…? Was the town simply too isolated, too small to be considered relevant? Was that how the president viewed it as, when it held the origins of his closest friend’s—?

Zack folded his arms, recognizing almost immediately that Seph had entered Analytical Mode. “Hey!" he scolded. "You said you'd be taking a break from work!”

“Yes, but this seems like a rather—“

“Now let's go!!!”

By the time Sephiroth turned around, Zack was blazing through the left path, his dash so fiery and zestful that the warrior briefly wondered if the snow would melt in his wake.

Shaking his head, his bangs swishing in the amused rhythm, Sephiroth left the Mako Reactor behind.

He found Zack waiting for him by an old signpost that bordered the entrance to his hometown. Catlike emeralds traced the engraved message, just barely legible under a sheet of fresh powder. Welcome to Gongaga! it read. Quaint yet charming.

"There you are, ya sea slug. Took you long enough!" Zack quipped, drumming his gloved fingers against the post.

"Simply admiring the view," Sephiroth grunted, defended. “This isn't what one would call a concrete jungle."

"That's for sure." Zack peeled off the sign with a grin, pointing to the village just beyond. Modest, snow-shingled homes were neatly tucked beside one another, each illuminating their own prism of colors from the eels of lights strung from window to window. Some yards bore oversized inflatable reindeer while others were barren of any decoration at all, their warmth and gaiety more than clear through the sheen of golden panes.

"See that house?" Zack pointed towards one of the first homes lining the village. "That's where I grew up! That one right there…!”

Sephiroth followed the other’s finger, and that’s when he saw it: Zack’s home. His childhood. His roots. Just a little snow-sugared dwelling with a few golden windows and a large, wood-gridded balcony perched on the upper floor. It looked like a perfect place to sit at night, to watch the stars. To trace them. Count them. Admire them. It looked a wholesome place, a safe place. Like a haven. So much small than the towering alpha wolf that loomed above Midgar, yet so much homier and cozier in exchange.

His heart throbbed as he took it all in.

Just as the man was about to speak, though, the front door opened, and out came a tall, middle-aged woman with a shovel in hand and purple scarf wrapped around her neck. She wore a thick winter coat, puffy snow boots, and a peaceful grin that Sephiroth somehow knew without ever having met this woman before in his life.

It was a Fair grin, no doubt about it.

Returning his gaze to Zack, Sephiroth offered his friend a small, honest smile. "Well…” he said, almost chuckled. “What are you waiting for?"

And Zack didn’t have a good answer.

Instead, he bolted down the hill faster than what the man believed to be humanly possible, leaving Sephiroth to—once finished brushing the stirred-up ice from his locks—watch fondly as Zack tore across the snow and through the open gate.

"Mom! Mom! MOM…!”

The woman, currently kneeling as she tended to the yard, stiffened. Bristled. Was she dreaming? The voice she hadn't heard in over three years, unsure if she would even hear it again; the black cloud that always lingered in the back of her mind, awaiting for the incomprehensible phone call that would confirm her terrors.

But no.

As Mary Fair looked up from a generous mound of snow, there was her son, rushing her way with his arms flailing and shining the familiar, exhilarated smile that she had come to know and love so well.

"Zack...!"

She straightened, opened her arms wide and letting the black and blue tornado nearly bowl her over, the woman’s eyes awash with glistening tears. “Oh, Zack..." Mary brought her arms around her son, rocking as her hand traveled up and down his back.

"Hey, Mom." Zack wholeheartedly squeezed, letting his features melt into dough, brought back into the warm embrace of his childhood: back to the time when things were so much easier, when there was no blood, no nightmares, no monsters...

"Hey, what's all this—“ A tall man in the doorway froze as he caught sight the teen standing in his wife's arms. Chocolate eyes widened.

"Champ?!"

Zack shifted at the call, sapphires eyes meeting the incredulous gape. "Dad!" he practically squeaked with juvenile glee.

Using all the willpower in Gaia, Mary released her son, allowed Zack to dash up the porch and fly into his father's embrace.

"Oh man... I missed you." Zack could hardly contain himself, laughing from the sheer joy of it all.

"You too, buddy." Charles Fair patted his back. "You too."

"Did… Did you mention bringing a friend?" Mary sniveled, climbing the porch to squeeze her son's shoulder.

In an instant, Zack’s features sparked with anticipation. "Yep, I sure did! Right over there!" he exclaimed, gesturing grandly towards the yard's entrance. "Ma, Pa… I present to you: the one and only Sephiroth."

Sephiroth, meanwhile, had made sure to give them some room, feeling quite out of place among their reunion. He hadn’t known to what to do, how to approach them, what in Ifrit’s name he was supposed to say. Greetings… Salutations… Hello? Or was that too casual? Too inappropriate? Even if Zack had assuaged some of his qualms back in Midgar, he was still not entirely convinced that Zack’s family would even want a giant killing machine in their home—especially when their village was home to a dangerous Reactor, and who was more connected to the lifeblood of ShinRa than he was? Zack may have come to love him, yes… but perhaps his family felt differently. Perhaps he wasn’t wanted after all. Perhaps… perhaps he should go, call a chopper to come retrieve him. Perhaps he should…—

Meanwhile, back in reality, the poor warrior couldn’t have been more mistaken.

Mary gazed at the silver-haired SOLDER, something untraceable coursing through the hazel eyes, flickered through them like velvet lightning. She carefully stepped down the porch, crossing the yard with the same unreadable expression.

All the letters, all the notes...

Sephiroth swallowed as she approached him, stiffening, but he willed himself to relax. This was Zack's family… There could be no danger. The only threat here was himself.

He waited, stood patiently for the other to speak, watched as Mrs. Fair scanned him up and down, batting away a boil of mist. Eventually, Sephiroth shifted. Was his discomfort showing? Was he radiating a harmful aura? Should he say something, or—

But the other beat him to it.

It all happened so fast, so suddenly: the arms, the sniffle, the being pulled into an embrace… Sephiroth could hardly fathom the pace in which the world was spinning. His arms went rigid at his sides, standing awkwardly still—shifting, squirming—and then settled into something of a twitching equilibrium, enveloped by the strong, warm… loving arms of his best friend’s Mother.

His heart throbbed in his ears.

It took eons, perhaps even longer, but reality eventually sank in around him, the world returning to a comfortable speed. And once it was clear that Zack—his beam brighter than Ifrit’s flaming heart—had no intention of rescuing him, he let himself be hugged, urged his thundering heart to steady.

“Thank you for taking care of my son..." Mary whispered then, a grateful raindrop plunking onto his shoulder. “Thank you…”

Incredulous, Sephiroth brought a single shaking glove to rest against her shoulder, hoping he was doing the right thing. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to such a… sentimental statement, but there seemed to be only one correct answer… one truth. One correct response:

"Your son took care of me."

[innicerulli]

HOLY WATER - NICHOLAS ALEXANDER CHAVEZ FANFIC

Full prologue:

Check out the Wattpad link to read more.

Note I: English is not my mother language. So, for sure, the fanfic will have some grammar mistakes. Sorry for that.

The repetition of some words is intentional to emphasize the conflicting feelings of the character Charlie.

Note II: I always use dashes, but Wattpad can change them to hyphens. Don't worry, I'll always be keeping an eye on this and updating the chapters so that they "accept" the dash.

Note III: Save the story in your library to receive notifications of new chapters, as I haven't chosen the posting days yet.

Enjoy the reading!

...

I looked at the horizon. The autumn leaves glided over my little feet. If I had just given up at that moment, my life wouldn't be the way it was. 

Beneath the oak tree, witnessing the flight of a dozen birds that I could not distinguish names from, I became "the holy child." Blame my damned mouth, which opened — innocent as any child's — and prophesied its own death sentence.

I saw — as clearly as I could — a woman's vision. I don't know if she had the name of a saint or if she was Mary, Fatima or Clare... But she was there, as pure as my heart. I stretched out my arms and walked towards her vaporous.

"Mom, look! Look!" 

Damn time my mother heard me and looked at me! 

Not that she had seen the same thing I did. No! She saw only her seven-year-old son, with tears in his eyes, hands stretched out, hoping to hold the wind and a voice charged with a feeling that perhaps faith could explain better than logic or mathematics. 

"What do you see?" She asked, as I walked towards the steamer, but the mist poured out and, with it, the saint I don't know the name of was gone.

Her black eyes and flowing hair in the same colour, I have never forgotten. Her fair skin, like an angelic image on the ceiling of some Italian church, was etched in my mind as the ideal of purity and holiness. I longed to touch her hand, to feel her fingers in mine and the glow of peace invade my pupils and march hurriedly to my heart.

But my mother knelt before me, shouted the names of almost all the neighbours who could come to her aid. 

It didn't take two days for processions to flow through the hills and invade the house of the "holy child". 

Flowers were left at the foot of my bed. Flower essences sprinkled my straw mattress, because at the dawn of the '70s, Mom lived in a small hovel, far from God and everyone else, with a handful of gossipy neighbours. The ones talked faster than they blinked.

I was a boy. Just a boy! 

I wanted to play soccer and walk with the wooden wheels — of a car made by my grandfather —, the soft grass in front of the house. I just wanted to watch the sun go down before I ran home and had the potato soup and a skinny piece of chicken. 

I didn't want candles lit in my name, nor flowers that smelled of death, not life. It was suffocating to see those strange, kneeling faces asking me to advocate for their souls, and to do miracles on their behalf. 

Cripples were laid before my feet, asking for mercy. Blind people touched my little shoulders and asked for the light. The poor demanded wealth and the hungry begged for food. 

Everyone said that I was there, on a mission to complete what Jesus had been forced to leave.

Damn time I saw that saint!

My mother charged a generous amount to allow a desperate individual to enter and ask for divine interference, in charge of my indigestible insignificance. 

However, the processions were dwindling. People did not receive their miracles. No one walked or saw the light again. The poor remained poor. The hungry starved to death. But, I had my fate sealed by my mother. She didn't let anything — or anyone — obstruct her dreams.

I would be a holy man, even if I had no vocation. I would be a servant of God, even if I never wished to pray in His name.

When I turned thirteen, my mother came out of that hovel, holding a small suitcase with two pieces of clothes, mine, of course! We rode in a cart to the nearest station. There was a gentleman — older than the tombs of the church in our village — with shoulders bent forward, sunken eyes, white hair and skin burned by the sun. He asked my name twice, because the first time it was said in a low voice, and he didn't seem to hear well.

My mother gave me the blessing that every woman pours out on a child, when the one leaves her home and proposes to see the world. But I wasn't going to see the world. It was not an adventure. It was a sacrifice. I was leaving my home and the little freedom I had, to be locked up in a monastery, to get out of there, when I was the "holy man" that my mother wanted me to be.

Damn time I saw that saint!

I got on the train, not knowing what really awaited me. The old man, almost deaf, spoke less than I wished, and explained almost nothing, to my stress.

When I arrived at the "boys' convent" — that was the name I gave to that disastrous place — I found children as desperate as I was, as insensitive to the faith as I was, as disbelieving in a good future as I was.

We prayed day and night. We woke up before the sun rose and we slept before it died on the opaque horizon. The day passed in an unhealthy, sleepy, flavourless monotony. The colours of life outside the windows have been lost, like photos aged over time. 

In the beginning, my mother visited me once every fifteen days. Later, this changed to a mere visit per month. Over the years, she only visited me at Easter and Christmas. 

After I turned eighteen, she sent letters every six months and visited me at Christmas. 

It was a short visit, thirty minutes, without any sign of maternal love. She spoke two dozen beautiful words as: 

"You've grown up!"

"You're strong and you look like your father when he was young."

Thus, she amended the worst words that a person like me could hear:

"You will be a good priest, a pure and honest servant of God. I am proud of the path you have chosen, my son."

I wanted to say — and it wasn't once or twice, but several times — that her choice wasn't my choice, that I wanted to be away from those mouldy stone walls and dusty books and scrolls. I didn't want to learn Latin, nor to walk around wrapped in an ecclesiastical robe. I wanted to walk like the young people my age, who attended the convent church. They seemed happy. Some had rings on their fingers, proof that they would marry the one they loved and not with God.

I never wanted to be a servant of God, nor married — as my mother used to say — to him. 

Well, my family experience was not the best. My father died of a massive heart attack, when he threw a chair on the back of my mother, who — in turn — crouched down to pick up the glass shards of the beer bottle, thrown by him on the floor, two minutes earlier. 

I never had a father present. That wasn't a problem. My problem has always been that my mother was very present in the moments when I wanted to be alone. That afternoon, when I saw the saint, was one of those moments when I wanted her far away from me.

My mother didn't realize that behind the tunic, there was Charlie, a man. This man had wills that God would not forgive — whether he saw or heard — the voice of the "holy child" uttering them loud and clear, between one groan and another.

At twenty-two, I finally began my work in the church. It was not every day that I preached, but I helped daily in the liturgy and final rites. It was up to me to clean the church and collect the liturgical leaflets, left in the wooden pews. Two old nuns joined me on the mission. Silent as death, as much as I was, they would break up and hurry away. There were no words, no nod or smile, no matter how discreet. 

I longed to see a woman's smile, no matter how tiny the movement of her lips. That would be enough to imagine many things later.

Time passed, like a leak in the ceiling, dripping slowly while rain still dripped down the gutters. 

Then the day came to leave. To feel the handcuffs of that place fall from my wrists. 

Because I was a good, respectful, honest and dedicated man, I was transferred to a small church in the interior of the state. 

You would ask me, the real reason for not being sent to a great apostolate, since my talents have always been a highlight before other men with the same mission to serve God. 

The intention to send me far away came from another old man — as deaf as the one who picked me up at the train station — who saw me in "impure acts." Those were his words. 

That impure act consisted of seeing me touching my genitals and feeling a slight pleasure from it.

After catching me in full obscene action, I was forced to get on my knees — still naked — and to infer twenty lashes on my back, in front of him, of course! The punishment was that my dishonour might be seen and heard by God.

So, that's how the "holy child" stopped being so holy, couldn't be transferred to a larger church and left for one that, if it had a firm cross on the bell tower, would be a lot.

[divinationsanctuary19]

Tarot cheat sheet: the Fool

🔮General Information🔮

0️⃣ Card Number: 0 (or XXII, as it's both the beginning and end of the journey).

💠 Element: Air

🌌 Planet: Uranus

🅾️ Keywords: New beginnings, adventure, spontaneity, naivety, freedom, trust.

Upright Meaning🃏

General: the Fool represents fresh starts, limitless potential, and a leap of faith. It encourages embracing the unknown with trust and optimism. You are stepping into a new phase of life, guided by curiosity and intuition rather than logic or experience.

❤️ Love & Relationships

Single: A new and exciting romantic opportunity may be on the horizon. Be open to meeting someone who challenges or surprises you.

In a Relationship: Approach love with openness and spontaneity. It could mean starting a new chapter together, such as moving in, marriage, or an adventure.

💸 Career and Finances:

A new job, project, or career path is calling. While the opportunity may feel risky or unconventional, it promises growth and fulfillment. Financially, take calculated risks and trust your instincts.

📿 Health and spirituality:

The Fool encourages you to release stress and embrace positivity. Spiritually, it signals the beginning of a transformative journey where you’ll discover untapped inner wisdom.

Reversed Meaning

General: the reversed Fool warns of recklessness, impulsiveness, or a fear of the unknown. It suggests being cautious before jumping into new ventures or commitments, as things may not be what they seem.

❤️ Love and Relationships:

Single: You might be too hesitant or naive in love, leading to missed opportunities or poor choices.

In a Relationship: There could be a lack of commitment, immaturity, or impulsive decisions that harm the partnership.

💸 Career and Finances:

Avoid risky ventures or impulsive career moves without proper planning. Financially, be wary of impulsive spending or shady opportunities that promise quick rewards.

📿 Health and Spirituality:

The reversed Fool suggests carelessness in health matters or reluctance to explore spiritual growth. Pause and evaluate your current habits and mindset.

Symbolism🃏

Cliff: Risk, the unknown, and the potential for failure or flight.

Dog: Loyalty, intuition, and guidance (or warning of potential danger).

White Rose: Purity and innocence of intentions.

Bundle on Staff: Life experiences and past lessons carried lightly.

Sun: Optimism, clarity, and divine guidance.

Key Advice🃏

Upright:

Take a leap of faith! Trust that the universe has your back as you venture into the unknown.

Embrace curiosity, even if it feels scary. Growth often comes from stepping outside your comfort zone.

Be open to opportunities that ignite your passions, even if they seem unconventional or risky.

Balance your spontaneity with a touch of mindfulness to ensure you're making aligned decisions.

Reversed

Reflect on whether you’re avoiding a new opportunity out of fear or rushing into something without proper preparation.

Avoid being overly naive or careless in matters of love, work, or money. Seek clarity and advice if unsure.

If you're feeling stagnant or afraid of change, ask yourself what small step you can take to regain your sense of adventure and trust.

For more content, check my services 🔮

[merv606]

Puritan AU inspired thought 🤔

Sweet omega Daniel is in the forest with other devout omegas, finding himself in nature and praying. But, oh no! He gets lost. The night is drawing in and the little darling is scared, desperate to find his congregation. He finally stumbled upon a beautiful cabin, hidden deep in the woods, and goes to beg for mercy.

Terry opens the door, and oh, look at that pretty shivering, doe eyed omega. Daniel, too innocent, begs for help and of course Terry will "help." He invites the little one inside, runs a warm bath, finds some (far too big) warm clothes, heats soup, and Daniel is beyond grateful. He falls asleep, purring and content. Terry knows to be patient with one of these godly kittens. Sure enough, just as Terry thought, the little one awakens and he's overcome with emotions he can't name. Daniel is desperate for something, his head clouded thanks to Terry's dominating scent, and there's a throbbing between his legs.

And yes, Terry feasts on that juicy little pussy all night.

When Terry finally takes him back to town and to church the Priest(s) have no option but to grant their blessing as it's clear Daniel is no longer pure. Perhaps by smell, or maybe there's a swelling to his belly.

“Are you alright little one?”

Terry had been following the scent of distressed omega, although it only took him a few feet from his cabin.

The omega freezes, looking at the alpha with impossibly wide brown eyes.

“Lost? Do you need help?”

Terry steps closer and he can see fear licking the edges of those eyes as he looks up at the towering alpha.

He must be part of the church, Terry thinks. They’re the only ones who come out here, although it’s usually not this deep in the woods. He must gotten separated and now lost; already fearful as night is falling.

As such, the scent of an alpha would be new to him; the churches are rarely comprised of anything but betas and a handful of omegas. It’s clearly adding to his distress.

A low whine comes from the small trembling omega.

“I mean you no harm. I only wish to help.” He gentles his voice, folding in on himself as much as he can in an effort to appear smaller and less threatening.

For good measure, he emits pheromones to help calm the clearly skittish omega. The last thing he needs - the last thing they both need right now - is for the boy to try and run.

Terry’s senses are on high, his alpha pacing, and he would give into instinct and chase, which would only terrify the little one.

This one got away from me. It is long, way too long for an answer so very, very NSFW, and is very, very heavy on the purity/virginity aspect and breeding even for the purity verse / by purity verse standards.

He sees the omega, frozen, poised like he’s not sure what urge to give into, fight or flight, neither which he would win, not against Terry so he is lowly warned, “don’t run.”

The alpha within is only getting more and more on edge, the low whining of the distressed omega adding to the acrid scent of fear which hangs in the air.

The little omega is a beauty, pure and simple, and his scent, once Terry gets past the fear, which is thankfully abetting, that smell is beyond delicious.

He has a feeling of what is affecting his alpha so.

It wants the boy.

Badly.

And he will have him.

Terry takes a few steps forward, carefully and slowly, so as to not spook the omega, and he is able to tell that the omega is coming into season.

It must be adding to his distress. He doesn’t look old enough to have had many heats, if any. Terry wouldn’t be surprised if this upcoming one would be his first. The poor thing, Terry thinks. No wonder he’s acting the way he is, all things considered.

He is probably untouched as well, and Terry can feel his fangs come down in response to such a little temptation, which has wondered into his woods, although he’s careful not to show his little lamb. He’ll find out once Terry sinks inside him; teeth in his neck and cock in his body.

“It will be dark soon, and staying out here won’t be safe.”

It’s not safe inside either, although the little omega doesn’t know that, but he will be well taken care of, of that Terry has no doubt.

He will breed well.

The pious ones always do.

A dark purpose wrapped in the guise of Good intentions; a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Blood will stain pure white soon enough - in so many ways - changing him forever - marked in a permanent way for all to see.

No, he has no plans of letting the little omega go free.

“It’s already too cold for you,” Terry says. The boy looks likes a small gust of wind would blow him over.

As if on cue, he starts shivering now, and it takes everything in Terry not to go over, pick him up and throw him over his shoulder. Take him back to the cabin and ravish the delectable little morsel until he’s ruined for anyone else.

These godly kittens spook easily and do not know the ways of alphas and omegas, especially when it comes to physical love.

For now though, the alpha only wants to wrap the omega into his arms, hide him away, covet him as one does priceless treasure, for that is what he is.

Terry is a selfish man and wishes to have it all to himself, and he will, if he can hold onto his patience.

The omega scents the air, finally drawing the scent Terry is projecting, and he gulps in big breaths.

It does the trick.

“You wish to help, alpha sir?”

Terry has to keep from groaning.

“Of course, little one. It’s what alphas do.”

The omega slowly comes to him, and they walk the short distance to Terry’s cabin, the omega a few feet behind. The pheromones he’s projecting lulling the little omega to a feeling of safety and by the time they reach the cabin, he’s perfectly in step with Terry.

Terry welcomes the omega in, the pheromones having completely calmed the little omega.

“You need to warm up. Please, sit by the fire.” A hand at the small of his back leads him to a small fire which Terry quickly has roaring.

An equally warm cup of tea is placed in his hands, and a blanket around thin shoulders, which he thanks Terry profusely for.

“I’ve run you a bath,” Terry explains. There are leaves stuck in the dark mop of hair, and smudges of dirt on sun kissed olive skin.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“It’s Daniel, sir,” he answers obediently, before hesitantly asking. “May I enquire about yours?”

“It’s Terry,” he answers as he extends an arm out to indicate to Daniel where to go. The little omega stands, clutching the blanket, walking ahead of him. Terry leads him with a hand on the small of his back, although it is dangerously close to the small but still delectable swell of his ass.

“You can change into some of my old clothes when you finish,” he explains. “They’re too small for me, and they’ll be too big on you but it will do until we can get these washed for you.”

He passes the blanket to Terry, but their hands touch, and Terry knows, in that instant.

What his alpha did.

Mate.

Wide brown eyes turn to the alpha, “what …” he mutters, unaware of that feeling was that just shot through him like lightning, but they quickly turn white as they roll up into his head, overwhelmed by the sudden bond that shot through him as soon as skin touched skin.

His legs give out, but he doesn’t hit the floor, Terry moving forward, catching him easily, scooping the now unconscious omega into his arms.

He inhales him - his mate. HIS!

The sweet scent of fertile omega and the smell of home - the best thing Terry has ever scented.

Something that the more he smells, the more intoxicated he becomes.

He knows he will never grow tired of that smell.

Will never get enough of that smell.

Will never give up that smell.

Daniel moans slightly and Terry brushes back sweaty hair plastered or his forehead.

Mate, mate, mate, roaring in his head.

————-

Daniel wakes on a large bed.

His hair is damp and his skin scrubbed clean.

The smell of the alpha is on the sheets, and he can smell the faint scent of the alpha on his skin because of it.

It is unlike anything he has even smelled.

Looking around he doesn’t see said alpha, and he tries to get off the bed, but his head is still fuzzy.

“Oh no,” a large hand, gentle but firm on his chest has him laying back down. “I want you to stay on that bed for me.”

He obeys, and although he would acquiesce to an older alpha’s orders regardless, this feels different; deep down, he feels like he wouldn’t be able to not obey. He needs to obey. He wants to obey.

“I was just heating some soup when I felt you wake,” Terry explains. “Are you hungry? You must be.”

Daniel nods, not picking up on what he said, about feeling him, and he whines the second Terry tries to step away, not even sure where it’s coming from, but when Terry cups a large hand against his cheek, he quiets.

“I’ll be back in a few moments little one. I promise.”

He doesn’t know why but a part of him feels better, and the scent coming off the too large shirt calms him as he waits for the man’s return.

“What happened?” Daniel asks as Terry takes a position next to him on the bed, helping him sit up and then to eat the soup.

“I think the excitement of the day caught up to you,” he lies.

The boy has no clue what it really was, and telling him now would not change the inevitable, and would only serve to spook him.

Even if Terry is sure his little mate has no clue either, in the physical aspects of love between alphas and their omegas.

“Were you separated from your church group?” Terry asks, not surprised when Daniel nods.

“How old are you?” Terry asks. Regardless of the answer, the omega is his but, if he isn’t able to take his husbandly rights yet, because make no mistake, they will be married and mated once Terry returns them both to town, sleeping in another room might be a necessity, if need be, until such a time when Terry can take said rights.

“I have recently celebrated my 18th year, alpha.”

“You have anyone special that might be missing you?”

Not that it matters - the boy belongs to him now.

He blushes, stuttering out that no, his life is devoted to his Lord.

Well, that will change soon enough Terry thinks.

Soon it will be me and our pups you are utterly devoured to.

“A noble cause,” he remarks. “I admire such conviction.”

It will translate over well to his new life.

They finish, and Terry makes sure he wants no more. The little omega is too thin, but, that will change soon enough as well.

He doesn’t allow the little omega out of bed for the rest of the day, the bond usually takes more of a toll on them then alphas. Once formed an alpha must be ready to defend and protect their mate after all.

He does check in every 15 minutes or so or his little one starts to fret, Terry sensing it through the bond which is more akin to imprinting at this stage.

It will solidify once Terry takes him.

Still, he forgot how needy omegas were after imprinting. His impending heat, which Terry suspects will be in a few days as his scent would indicate he’s in preheat, isn’t helping.

Not that Terry minds.

The little omega will take to being mated beautifully.

He will take to being bred as well. Of that Terry is certain.

That night they sleep in separate rooms, so that Terry does not take liberties. Liberties that would be within his rights, but he knows it will be easier on Daniel if Terry has him for the first time during the heat.

His body will be more accepting. He doubts the omega is anything but completely pure, in all ways, and Terry is well endowed, even by Alpha standards.

Daniel will have plenty practise, becoming accustomed to receiving his alpha in that manner, but this will be best, for his first time.

Daniel though, has other ideas, seeking the alpha out, quietly telling him that, “I can’t sleep,” and Terry holds open the blankets so that he can crawl in. Daniel quickly takes the invitation, even if he doesn’t realize what it will mean, come soon enough.

Terry can smell how close he is to being in season; how ripe he is.

For now he waits.

This becomes a routine.

During the day he helps Terry around the cabin, taking over cooking and cleaning duties, things associated to typical omega duties, while Terry makes sure the firewood is well stocked and they have what they need.

His little mate will never want for anything ever again. Him or their pups.

He smirks when he catches the faint smell of arousal wafting off the omega as he sits outside watching Terry work, blushing and looking away when Terry stops to wipe sweat from his brow, looking directly at Daniel as he does so.

At night, he seeks the innocent comfort of curling up in the alpha’s strong arms, feeling truly safe and at peace for the first time in his life. A sense of belonging that, he is ashamed to admit to himself, even the church could not provide.

Terry, for his part, holds the omega tight, a sense of wholeness, like finding a piece he didn’t realize was missing.

Still, he must be careful.

It only takes a couple days for Daniel to stop asking about when Terry plans to return to town, and can Daniel go with him to return to the church.

Terry does have to return to town, eventually. His sojourn away from his company is an annual thing, a way to escape it all for a little bit, but he has no plans to return with Daniel in tow until he is with Terry’s child.

Until there is no way the church could possible protest.

The bump proof of the boy’s ruin at Terry’s hand.

Not that they would.

Everyone knows the power and wealth of the Silver name. Everyone except his little mate, who seems to have no clue who’s web he has fallen into, but he will learn soon enough, what it means to be a Silver. The mate of one

Plus, Terry enjoys a good scandal and this will set tongues wagging, although he doesn’t know if he wants to stay out here until the boy starts to show to really set the rumor mill ablaze. They’ll be able to smell it on Daniel anyway, as a soon as it takes.

And that won’t take long, once Terry gets inside him. Not with how delicious he smells; how fertile.

Each night becomes harder and harder not to spread the boy open wide, bury his face and cock in his omega cunt; to claim him as is his very right.

As it were, a week in and Terry’s prediction comes to fruition. The boy climbs into his bed, snuggling in, and it doesn’t take long for Terry to wake, the scent of wet omega filling his senses.

Sweat gathers at his temples, the hair sticking there, and his face is already flushed, a most becoming shade of red, like he’s already been fucked.

Daniel wakes to Terry removing his night shirt, one of Terry’s old ones, and he realizes he is practically naked in front of the alpha.

“Terry,” he whimpers, not scared but wondering what the alpha is doing, but a wave of searing heat tears through him, and he doubles forward. He feels a gush, worrying he may have peed himself, his underwear uncomfortably wet. The soaked fabric presses against something down there, in a way that has his special omega place tingling.

The alpha places a hand on his arm and it helps.

“You’re in heat little one. The beginning anyway.” With how wet Terry can smell and hear he is, the full blown heat isn’t far off. “This will help.”

A hand rubs his arms and the tingling in his omega place becomes a steady throb, and he squeezes his thighs together, tight.

“Have you had one before or is this your first?”

“I don’t …” he whimpers, his face flushing further,before looking at Terry in a daze. “What’s a heat, alpha?” A sudden urge to call Terry by his designation.

Terry curses - he forgot how naive these pious ones were; Daniel even more so than most.

Oh to be given such a gift.

“Something an alpha needs to help you through.”

“Oh,” he whimpers. “Will … will you? Help me?”

“Of course, little one. I would be honoroed.”

It’s my right as your mate, soon to be husband he thinks, but the little omega will find that out sooner now rather than later.

Terry presses his lips to Daniel - the omega clumsy - his inexperience clearly on display. Terry would say it was his first kiss.

By the end of the night he’ll have many of the boy’s firsts.

In enough time, he’ll have all of them.

Licking into that sinful mouth now, he uses the distraction to test the heat between his legs, feeling how damp the fabric is when he teases his fingers over the mound.

They come back wet.

Daniel gasps into the kiss, which he thinks is the best thing he’s felt. That is until the alpha touches him between his legs, his omega place throbbing.

Still, as good as it feels, dangerously good - sinfully good - at the beginning like this, the heat haze just licking at the edges of his mind, setting throughout his body like poison in his veins, Terry’s touch is the antidote, soothing the burn.

Although the alpha’s hands feel good, and ease the slight burning starting from his core, he knows letting someone he isn’t married to touch him in such a manner is wrong.

“Alpha, Sir…” but small hands grip and cling to Terry’s arms as his hips try to follow the feel burning through him from the alpha’s touch.

Wanton little thing he’ll be - without even knowing or trying.

“This is what an alpha does to help, darling. This is what your body needs. That pretty little pussy played with. Touched. Tasted. Taken.”

Daniel blushes. Although he doesn’t understand the crude words, it’s the way the alpha says it.

“I need you to lay back for me?”

“This will help?” He asks.

“It will. Trust me. I know what you need.”

The thing is, Daniel does; implicitly.

The alpha’s hand trace his sensitive nipples, hard nubs from both the slight chill of the room and the featherlight touch of the alpha’s fingertips upon them.

Down his body, until ….

He gasps. The fingertips tracing the edge of his underwear dangerously; with intent. Although what that intent is, he knows not, but the feeling is causes in him, the accompanying gush of slick, must be a sin.

He tries to keep his legs clamped but a hand, firm but gentle, insistent, not to be denied, opens them.

The scent of arousal fills the air.

“This is helping,” Terry explains, bringing the fingers to his mouth to taste him.

Thighs splayed open, his covered omega cunt on display, the air damp with the scent of his arousal and sex.

Terry starts by rubbing at him through his underwear. The slick dampening the front further, watching as it the patch grows larger and larger, until it goes from damp to wet, the grey colour almost transparent from it.

He watches thin hips press against them, tweaking the hard nubs of small brown nipples that Terry cannot wait to get his mouth on.

There is no inch of his mate he will not have tasted; will not have consumed.

Positioning himself between Daniel’s legs, knowing he is ready for the next step, he rubs his cock through his slick folds - still outside his underwear.

Into his underwear next, running the length of his cock over the cute little omega rosebud, swollen with arousal, pushing them to the side to tease the head of his cock against the stiff bud; slippery skin on skin.

Then, his underwear is removed, and Terry is able to spread his mate’s legs wide, burying his face to taste it straight from the source and the omega wails, convulsing as he comes, the alpha lapping up every last drop.

He’s too dazed to even ask what that was.

Terry is still playing with his entrance, thighs twitching, omega cunt clenching - his little rosebud almost painful to the touch so Terry takes to circling around it but not directly on it.

Back to kissing now, eating the omega’s pretty little noises out of that pretty little mouth, his thumb, wet with the omega’s click, rubbing over his nipples, leaving them shiny with slick.

A finger slides in, to the knuckle, careful about the omega’s precious maidenhead. He won’t be making it through the night with it but Terry would prefer his cock have that honour.

His thumb rubs at the sensitive rosebud above, and Daniel comes again, slick squirting out, walls clamping down on the alpha’s finger and god, it’s going to feel good around his cock, Terry thinks.

The heat is full blown now, and he runs himself through the slick, catching on his hole, the head slipping inside just a bit.

He knows if he seeds the little omega it will result in a child, which would undoubtedly happen anyway, Terry getting his omega pregnant, just maybe not so soon.

He’ll pull out, he thinks, and if need be, give the omega four fingers, to try and simulate a knot.

He whimpers as Terry’s cock breeches his entrance, the first time anything has really been inside him, save Terry’s finger earlier.

“This is how you receive your husband,” he groans although it’s lost on the little omega whose tummy is trembling, and Terry swears he can see his cock through it.

Whimpering as the cock slides inside, slow and sure in its conquest; in its goal.

“Be calm … you can do it …. This is what you were made for - your body is made to take an alpha’s cock.”

His body yeilds, the soft walls giving into the pressure of the alpha’s claim. No other choice really.

His body giving it to do what it was designed for.

Watching now as the omega opens for him as he slowly presses inside, inch by inch, the searing heat of his hole, perfect and tight around him, his virgin body fits better than anything he’s felt.

This gift, Terry will cherish forever.

This gift Terry will spend a lifetime making himself worthy of.

Little whimpers and mewls, the omega squirming on his cock, thin hips shifting, body helping on instinct as it’s filled for the first time; yet still knowing what to do.

It’s a lot, not just for his first time, but anytime. His alpha’s manhood is … a lot. The head of his cock opening him up first, then the shaft which is just as thick and long: inch by inch carving out a space inside him, unrelenting as it stakes it’s claim of the little omega’s until now, unused omega cunt, his body completely pure in every sense of the word.

Steady and sure, Terry presses in, slowly opening him all the way, until his cock is in all the way, as deep as can be, reaching places inside Daniel no one has. Places inside him that will remained untouched by anyone but his rightful alpha.

Already, It feels too good, being inside his mate’s body, smelling how ripe he is, and Terry knows it’s a lost cause. He’ll knot the boy; come inside so deep, fill him so completely with seed, that anything but a child resulting would be impossible.

The boy will take to it though, like he’s taken to what Terry is giving him now.

He starts moving in and out, Daniel shaking and trembling as his alpha has him, his inner omega revelling at being claimed by such a strong and capable alpha. He submits, body and soul, relaxing into the penetration, accepting the coupling, the bond, and although he doesn’t realize it, the subsequent breeding that is sure to result.

The alpha feels the minute the omega accepts the bond, and his knots starts to well, the last step to cement their mating.

Harder and faster now.

Then he feels it - something even wider than the cock coring him, rearranging him. He feels it nudging against his entrance each time the alpha bottoms out.

Terry teases it against the boy’s entrance, grinding in, testing. Can feel the resistance as his knot presses against his already stretched entrance.

The omega’s body stretched impossible wide around the knot that slips in with a snap of the alpha’s hip, sealing them, and he cries out at the massive intrusion but the rush of endorphins as as Terry bites down on his mating gland, the euphoria of the bond cementing, take away any discomfort at the near violence of it.

The smaller body goes limp, boneless, as it accepts the knot, melting into the mattress.

Given no choice but to take it.

Take Terry.

Take his knot.

Take his seed.

Take it all.

Terry soothes his little omega, licking at the bonding bite, rutting his hips in as much as the knot will allow, stuck in place.

Little whimpers of oversensitivity as the knot tug at the sensitive entrance, obscene around the bulge of the knot.

The alpha comes and comes, around the tight fit, filling his fertile womb with virile seed.

“This is being mated - your duty as an omega - to take what your alpha sees as fit.”

“Alpha,” he slurs, knot drunk, crying out as Terry rubs at his rosebud, needing to feel the little omega come around his cock.

Over sensitive, the knot impossibly large inside him, he tries, kitten weak, to push those tormenting fingers off him, away from his still throbbing rosebud, but Terry pins his hand above his head, growing and Daniel comes, weak at best, walls fluttering around the intrusion and Terry groans as it triggers another way of his seed - balls drawing up - soft walls milking him for everything - filling his over stuffed omega cunt even more.

Terry comes several times before the knot abates enough to pull out and by that point the boy is so full, it was seeping out around the knot.

The little omega’s hole is obscenely used; Terry has never seen a better bred cunt.

“These are husbandly rights,” Terry explains. “I’ll be taking them often.”

He allows his precious little one to sleep, knowing he will wake soon needing more.

As predicted he wakes panting and crying for it.

Hands and knees for the next session, Terry doing most of the work, holding the little omega up to be used again.

His mate not even remotely used to physical love, let alone being bred.

Terry mounts him like that - and although he’s sore when the alpha presses back inside, the heat flaring up helps; his body needing to be full again.

When he knots him again the little omega is beyond overwhelmed, head lulling, little ah ah ahs as even more seed feels his tender womb, and Terry rolls them to their side, cooing and praising, soothing his little mate.

The heat breaks after that knotting session and Terry’s alpha roars with satisfaction and pride.

It means it took - his seed - and the omega is with child.

While not surprised, he is disappointed he never got to play with him during his heat more.

There will be other opportunities though.

The boy will take to his pregnancy - this successfully breeding - beautifully. Which is good, as Terry plans to keep him that way.

He runs a hand over his abdomen bloated and swollen from the alpha seed. It won’t stay that way for long - his cunt is fucked open and leaking the excess - but soon it will swell with something else. Something more permanent; for nine months anyway.

The omega purrs in pure happiness; content and satisfied, none the wiser of what the alpha has done, of the precision gift given to him that grows safe and deep within.

Terry kisses his mate and the feeling of love, safety and completeness follow Daniel to sleep.

The next day, he tells Daniel about the bond, that they are mated, and that Terry fully intends to marry him.

Daniel cannot help having fallen for the alpha although he is none the wiser about the child the alpha bestowed upon him.

Daniel cannot contain his excitement, even is despite it all he is somewhat still naive of his new life and duties, serving his alpha in all manners.

Terry allows him a few days to recover, before taking his (soon to be) husbandly rights again.

The little omega is endearingly shy despite the debauchery of his first heat and his first time being loved in such a manner.

Daniel takes to those new duties with enthusiasm though, receiving his alpha, soon to be husband, whenever it is desired of him, and it is desired often.

Their life is ideal in the cabin in the woods, just the two of them, no distractions as they grown in their bond and learn about each other. But when the sickness starts, coming in the early morning, his little omega miserable as he bends over the toilet, the alpha rubbing his back, Terry knows it’s time to head into town, back to their home.

Have his little mate be looked at by the best doctors, and tended to by their staff.

They are going to love him.

Yes, the only thing he plans to have his little mate worry about is their child growing safe inside him.

The boy is young and heathy, and fertile, Terry himself is not that far removed from his twenties so they will be having a big family, of that he is sure.

He’ll break the news to Daniel then as he thinks he has picked up an odd illness of sorts. Terry is not sure the little omega knows yet that taking an alpha inside in such a manner results in a child.

But he knows the boy will worry, once he finds out the state he is in, about what the church elders will say, having gotten with child outside of marriage but Terry will remedy that soon enough and their child will not be born out of wedlock.

The boy will wear his ring and his last name, the only question is will his bump on display when Terry gives him both.

[jeremiah-rose]

We didn't have much, but mum and dad, they made enough To put hot meals on the table, fill our bellies full of love A little sister fell into the picture Oh my God, we loved her, made our family richer Then we both got older, world a little colder Life, it had a way of chipping away at that shoulder I held her and I told her, "Hierarchy, status exists Sometimes the purity of youth gets snatched, leaving you stripped You'll learn that love is not enough, it's not a world for kid So toughen up and buckle up, because it's bumpy as shit And there'll be those who take advantage of the light in your soul And there'll be times you feel the cup you're filling leaking with holes And that dark can get much darker, we all must grow old But listen up, my little sister, hold these worlds to you close Keep that kind heart kind, humankind are in need Never ever let this world make you bitter like me Because this world needs love, and love it leaks from you, see? Sis, this world needs light and you're the brightest I see" I see your wings have feather more than ever Mine were torn by my oppressor, sickness scorned me but whatever By your side we fly together, give me flight when I could never A releasing of the pressure and the pressure makes a diamond, I will shine with you forever Fuck greed, fuck depression, fuck bullies, fuck the jealous Fuck every man who made you feel less than a treasure And fuck a world that makes us feel small Fuck the forces that divide us now's the time to stand tall

@pxtitxrosx

[wofbutgood]

Working out the details of the different dragon species (races?) for my rewrite, still a lot to work out + I need to actually draw and design them (that's a problem for future me to figure out) but here's some details I've got so far.

General

All dragons are significantly smaller than in canon. From smallest to largest:

Rainwings. 2.5-3ft at the shoulder

Seawings, 2.7-3.5ft at the shoulder

Sandwings, 4-5ft at the shoulder

Nightwings, 4.5-.5.3 at the shoulder

Icewings, 4.5-5.5 at the shoulder

Skywings, 5-6ft at the shoulder

Mudwings, 5.7-6.5 at the shoulder

Females are generally larger than the males - still a matriarchal society because of this.

World is in roughly the bronze age.

Pantalla and its dragons don't exist. The planet is still separated into 2 major continents, but there's a large island chain between them, and the 7 main races are spread across them.

All races have their own language, some more similar than others.

There is no 'universal' language.

All dragons are usually expected to be at least bilingual.

Several languages have similar structures/sounds, which makes communication easier (think Norwegian and Swedish).

Mixed-race dragons are common, and its very normal to see a wide variety in cities and towns.

Each race isn't super distinct and defined like I've detailed below, because of the mixed population, so while they are still distinct, it's not all 'blood-purity' like in canon.

HOWEVER the royalty/upper echelons of society do stick very close to their bases, and see that as a sign of holiness, for lack of a better word.

Skywing

Body and wings covered predominantly by feathers. Exact feather coverage depends on the individual but the lower legs, end of the tail, and wing tips usually feature scales. (imagine a birds wing but replace the primary feather with dragon wings basically)

Wing shape more similar to seagulls and other ocean birds. Built for endurance and long-distance flights over speed.

Feathers and scales usually a reddish-brown colour, with some greys and whites mixed in. (see: golden eagles, bald eagles, haasts eagles, philippine eagles, etc.)

Carnivorous, diet made up of mountain-going ungulates, small mammals, and some fish.

Large front teeth for catching prey. Cone-shaped serrated cheek teeth for tearing flesh.

Long horns, typically narrow and spiraling.

Seawing

Covered in dense feathers similar to penguins, though their wings lack feathers completely.

No gills

Their wings have evolved to be curved and stiff, which allows them to launch out of the water and glide, like flying fish, for up to 500m with good winds.

Can't fly 'normally' outside of this.

their tail is a bit stiffer and ends in a fluke for more powerful swimming.

They're excellent divers, holding their breath for up to an hour, and diving as deep as a kilometer.

Feathers come in shades of blue, grey, green, brown, as well as many having bright accent colours like yellow and red.

Piscivorous, eating mostly fish, as well as squids, octopi, and various crustaceans

Robust front teeth for catching prey and cracking open shells. Hooked and serrated cheek teeth for holding onto prey and moving it down the throat.

Lack horns completely. Instead many individuals have large frills on the cheeks and down the spine.

Sandwing

Minimal feather covering, usually only a 'cape' around their shoulders and down their back.

Usually pale creams and browns, as well as darker shades, with some greys and blacks. Usually fairly solid colours, with some striping/barring.

Wings are broad and long, taking advantage of air columns to soar for hours.

Tail is long and flexible, ending in a stinger filled with paralysing venom.

Omnivores, growing root vegetables and hunting for small mammals and birds, and using their venom to bring down larger prey.

Small conical teeth for chewing smaller prey. Larger canines.

Best sense of smell of all dragons; can track their prey from up to 30km away.

Short horns with some curvature.

Icewing

Second thickest coat of feathers after Seawing's. Similar layout to Skywing's but feathers extend further down legs and tail.

Feathers come in greys and browns, with prominent barring down the whole body.

Thick mane of feathers on neck can stand on end, creating the 'spiky' look.

Wings are a similar shape to sand, but larger. Build for passive soaring.

Omnivores, eating mostly fish, seals, and penguins, but also enjoying various fruits when the season allows.

Large, cone-shaped and serrated teeth for tearing flesh.

Long, sharp horns. Tend to curl back then up. Excellent for stabbing.

Nightwing

Again, similar feather layout to Skywing's, but a bit denser.

Feathers are usually dark greys and browns, as well as black. An individuals scales are typically darker than their feathers.

Have white speckling along their wings, on the feather and skin sections, which gives the illusion of stars.

Wings are a broad elliptical shape, have a velvety fuzz along the skin section, and serrations along the leading edge of the wing. These factors allow them silent flight.

Fully nocturnal, though they may venture out occasionally at sunrise and set.

Carnivores, eating deer, small mammals, birds, and reptiles.

Teeth are cone-shapes and serrated.

Mid-length horns. Tend to curl in a large circle behind the head.

Rainwing

Completely lack feathers, instead covered in colour-changing scales.

Wings are small and elliptical, can be used for slowing their fall, or for sudden bursts of speed (and double-jumping, basically) but are too small for sustained flight.

Large, cobra-like teeth deliver a deadly venom upon a bite. The neurotoxins in the venom causes dizziness, vertigo, and nausea, followed by neuromuscular paralysis, and eventually tissue necrosis. If left untreated, the victim may require amputation of the bitten area. The venom is usually fatal within 30 minutes.

Prehensile tails and short, curved claws, allows them to live an almost fully arboreal lifestyle.

Frugivorous, eating various fruits, vegetables, flowers, nuts, and seeds. Though they may also enjoy the occasional small reptile or insect for some extra protein.

Lack horns. Instead have large frills framing their cheeks.

Mudwing

Completely lack feathers, most of their body being covered in thick, keratinous scales.

Come in shades of brown, greenish-browns, grey, and yellowish-brown.

Large, elliptical wings. Slow in flight, they're primarily terrestrial.

They have the strongest bite-force of all dragons, averaging around 5000psi.

While not truly aquatic, they still rely heavily on water to keep cool in the intense heat of their native habitat. They're powerful swimmers and can hold their breath for up to 5 minutes.

Omnivorous, they'll eat almost anything, though they prefer larger mammals like pigs, as well as crocodiles. They grow a wide range of fruits and vegetables, as well as foraging for native plants.

They have short, powerful teeth able to crush through bone.

Mid-length, thick horns. Usually curled down around the jaw to different levels. Some may curve in different directions.

Claws are large and flat, ideal for digging.

[myemuisemo]

POLYGAMY. In "A Flight for Life," this week's Letters from Watson, young Joseph Stangerson just oh-so-casually mentions that he currently has but four wives, while young Drebber (proven uncouth by having his hands in his pockets and whistling) already has seven.

Poor Lucy! Having come into the chapter with the assumption that, since other wives hadn't come up in Brigham Young's original visit, Lucy would be wife #1, this revelation seems much worse. Women are not Pokémon: no need to catch them all.

As an aside, where are Lucy's friends among the girls of Salt Lake City? Ferrier attended religious services. She must surely have socialized with other girls. Making her Not Like Other Girls seems othering toward the rest of the women: whether they were stolen from wagon trains, born to the culture and miserable, or born to the culture and relatively happy in working the system to be comfortable-ish, they were also people with thoughts and value.

Utah's Adventure Family does a photo tour of the Jacob Hamblin Home, where the parlor seems plausible to envision as Ferrier's parlor, right down to the rocking chairs -- here. Hamblin's stone house was built as part of a mission to convert the local Paiutes. Part of the reason for that U.S. Army expedition in 1857 was fear that the LDS community was turning the native peoples against Americans (which, given how badly Americans and our government treated the natives, would not be that difficult to do).

Horror! Mystery! Ninja Danists! White hero who knows the ways of the native peoples! (That's a trope.) Does Lucy know anything that's going on? Her Victorian purity seems to be winning over her Spunky Western Girl nature, even before we get her "death before dishonor" line.

So we're off to Carson City, Nevada. This means it's definitely at least 1859, since the city wasn't founded until 1858, as a deliberate effort to set up a capital for a proposed Nevada Territory that would separate Nevada's small population from the Utah Territory. The miners and opportunists in Nevada didn't like being governed by the LDS leaders in Salt Lake City. (Brigham Young was governor of the whole territory until the 1857-8 Utah War that appears not to have happened in this timeline.)

Carson City is a long walk. Google Maps is giving me 192 hours, mostly along what's now US-50, known as "the loneliest road in America." Even if we posit more activity due to miners heading west, it is still a haul across rugged mountains, and so, so much desert. (The route does legit skip the salt flats.)

If nothing goes wrong, our little party will be on the road for about a month, through hostile terrain. When they arrive in Carson City (population 714), they'll still be technically within the Utah Territory, as Nevada Territory wasn't split off until 1861. However, it'd take a determined party to come after them, and they wouldn't get a friendly welcome.

(Carson City now has a population of about 60,000, along with the state capitol, some nice late Victorian architecture, and a bunch of antique stores. It may be my favorite spot in Nevada.)

[wri0thesley]

Wahh hybrid reader... hybrid reader...

Ayato with such a stereotypical dog hybrid,, sweet, loyal, perhaps a little bit dumb, someone much too optimistic and trusting for ayatos freak behaviours. Whines slipping from their mouth as ayato comes just a bit too close when he corners them while cleaning his private quarters. (Ayato then cooing at them in turn, because it's just too cute)

Bird hybrid reader with diluc. A pretty tail, soft feathers sticking out from behind their ears and little wings(much too small to grant proper flight) tucked neatly behind their back.(pretty and sweet, but such dutiful workers, perfect spouse material) In which the dawn winery becomes a gilded cage. Diluc wants to run his hands through their plumage, help them preen, and while he can't just yet, he has plenty of experience with birds, and will very surely have you bending to his whims soon.

Alhaitham and Kaveh sharing a fluffy cat hybrid(kaveh brought them home and alhaitham got attached). Kaveh trying to dress reader up, taking care of their long fur and constantly harping on about his brand new muse. Alhaitham appreciating readers intelligence, not so much the inherent sass. Keeping reader in line and keeping(well, trying to keep) reader to a schedule, training them to be a pliant pet. Them both constantly arguing over time spent with them and a myriad of other stupid things.

Dottore mouse reader... his little test subject. Squeaky and almost always shivering, they make for such an entertaining experimentee. Cooing at readers complaints and cries as he sticks another drug in them, or spends a bit too long testing their limits again. The perfect victim.

Dainsleif with a lamb reader. Picturesque innocence and purity symbolism going on here. Readers fluffy white ears and tail make him feel so much worse, like he's defiling you 10x more than he would be if you were just a normal human. A sinner and a saint. And as much as he would like to hold back he simply does not have the strength anymore. Reader is just too perfect. Maybe this is repentance for all the pain he has and currently suffers. An innocent little being just for him.

Others like zhongli with a big cat reader(big royal vibes, perfect match for a dragon) , tighnari with a bunny or wolf hyrbid(either way on the food chain, both reduced to messes under his power), itto with a small ferret reader(full of energy, lots of fun and way too easy to manhandle however he wants)

Im insane.

and they are ALL such good concepts. for some reason the idea of cat hybrid reader that kaveh brought home is so so funny to me. he found you in the rainforest during a THUNDERSTORM and you looked so pathetic with your fluffy tail all dripping with water and your soft ears plastered to your head and his bleeding heart insisted that he find you a new home, and where better than with him! alhaitham pretending, at first, to be entirely unbothered by your presence until kaveh walks in to find you curled around him on his lap when you're reading (well, that pre-empted the need for the "we can't keep them" argument he was expecting!). oh and dainsleif lamb . . . agh. thinking! thinking!!!!

[galeythecutest]

Hello Guys I made a PMD OC Named Emily So She Is an Umbreon

Lore Below!:

Emily was not your ordinary Umbreon. She was born under the luminous glow of a full moon in the quiet forests surrounding an ancient and mystical valley. From a young age, Emily exhibited an insatiable curiosity about the world beyond her home. As she listened to passing travelers sharing tales of adventure, bravery, and camaraderie around campfires, her heart yearned for something more than life amongst the trees: she longed to be part of a community that fought alongside each other for justice and friendship.

After much contemplation, Emily decided to leave her secluded forest behind to join Wigglytuff's Guild—a place renowned for its reputation as one of the best guilds in Pokémon history. Rapidly adapting to life at the guild wasn't easy; she faced hurdles such as overcoming skepticism from some members regarding her small stature compared with more formidable Pokémon like Machamp or Golem. Yet Emily persisted through every trial thrown her way with determination fueled by dreams that ignited within her very essence beneath each moonbeam night after night. Her promise remained clear: never shy away but instead champion those considered weak—showing everyone that it’s not size or type alone which determines valor.

Her relentless spirit eventually earned respect within the ranks of Wigglytuff's Guild as well as strong bonds among friends both new and old—most notably with Luvdisc who taught invaluable lessons on cooperation during rescue missions deep into treacherous caves infested by mischievous bug-types or battling against ferocious foes threatening innocent ones nearby delves along mountain trails where danger lingered close behind every turn they took together hand-in-flipper tirelessly working side by side toward noble goals yet unclaimed until now discovered brimming just ahead waiting patiently out there somewhere still untouched waiting clockwise just out ahead into unexplored territories ready soon unveiling brighter tomorrows sparking ideas illuminating horizons anew boundless exchanging laughter endless filling hearts overflowing aspirations grander underneath soft silken blankets wrapped tightly ‘round stars shimmering above confidently chasing shadows tomorrow bringing hope beloved advancements pushing progress proving all truly possible ending anything daring fly end growth soaring onwards recognizing brilliance greatest skies reachable dancing bright futures embracing limitless journeys forever forward marching ever-onward united strong emerging champions radiant bright legends scripted rich histories echoing timeless tales unfolding blossoming wild endeavors embarked upon long journey awaited crossing realms uncharted ever reaching end lifted high aloft friendships formed dazzling starry nights surging depths undiscovered shining endlessly onward horizon gleamed before them leading quest promising destiny fulfilled forever chased …as one family steadfast always supportive advancing forth together taking flight once again adventurers spirited combined loyal band no second thoughts lingering fond memories cherished joy intimately embraced creating brighter beginnings unfolding hearts nurtured warmed sojourning across cosmos starlight paths weaved eternally intertwined illuminating love depth purity gently guiding hands entwined journey goal sought fulfilling purpose widely share disperse warmth encompassing true wonders seeking uplift continue flowing spreading light timeless echo felt everywhere… in unity gone pursued clarity fearlessly becoming unveiled stories told!

[jeanclamence]

La Mortification d'un Insomniaque

The Mortification of an Insomniac

Original Monologue by Jean Clamence (me)

I cannot sleep. Why sleep, anyway? The night holds wonders far more splendid than the day. I love him with all my heart. I can inhale stars, walk along icy quarters, lay on rigid concrete, and spin around in the pitch black, the void which embraces me and engulfs me into a sweet hysteria of turmoil. I will bang my head against my bed frame and my surroundings will swirl dizzily, laugh about it, then go outside, bump into streetlights with an eclipse of moths circling above my head that yearning for the light. From a stale, flaccid, pink worm, I twist and turn among the lepidoptera, growing their wings and taking flight, possessing their bewitching colour and gaining their curious allure. When day breaks, I will find my body broken beyond repair, that my metamorphosis has come undone and I've regressed to an ugly worm, my soul torn apart with each bit of purity dismembered, and my mind lost in the vastness of a region squashed between heaven and hell. I become aware of the meek fragility of my existence---in matter and in memory---and along with it the utter meaninglessness of everything. Hours will pass, twilight will start, and I will retreat into the night. Then, crimson puddles may dry up on my teeth, turn them brown, rot them to excess, fine dust, and my eyes may swell with tears, begging for the end, spread wide with eyelids parallel under the shade of fifty strands of fried hair, but I don't notice them. I cannot move for myself, but for the thought that seduces me and takes advantage of my blindness: 'What is so hazardous about a tiny cut, a small scratch, a little wound with a few miniscule drops of blood? There is no distinction between an arm lost and a healing bruise. Both will return to me a hundred times over to collect me at my doorstep, abrupt as the appearance of goodness and love, as simply developed and intricate as the act of sin, on an evening when silver skies weep and too, shout with brute force. Both will end me, and in the end my ending is nothingness, for the end is nothingness because the world is nothingness after days abundant of sin and beauty and will'. And so I continue, but the problem that troubles the lover of the after hours is that he is awake, he exists in the present as undoubtedly as the cold, hard wall which he peppers with rims of ash from the cigarette bums he presses onto it. More times than not it will occur to him: the thought that the promise of night is forfeit, for there is a plausibility in the possibility that it will only grant the ephemeral thought of eternal slumber, not the eternal slumber of ephemeral thought, and instead will lock him away, conscious of the reality that he has taken millions of breaths since death was promised to him. When he has alas had enough, all the peer insomniacs scream in unison with him, once again, after the vigor of life, when everybody has dozed off and children have been tucked in their beds with the comforting plumpness of soft, silk pillows and stuffed animals. And they cannot stop, for where else could they grieve but the night? Where else should they grieve but the night? The day cannot free any prisoners. Distraught, it is fully aware of the truth that it is also a problem.

I am striding along elliptically around the base of an oak tree, waiting for day: waiting for it's demands, it's responsibilities, it's shedding light on the actuality of being, the wild unpredictability of a day, an hour, a minute, a second, a glimpse. I know I do not want it now, but I wait for it. The time will come when I kneel, assure it's superiority and beg, for I will feel and think 'I need it'. I frown at the slight appearance of the matter in my consciousness, at it's reoccurring routine, the never-ending pattern of night and day. I can never shut my eyes in the night, nor rest with my eyes open in day; I want to change the world at midnight, but four hours later dawn will come and everything, motionless and locomotive, will show me the short extent to which I can carry out my superficial aspirations. They are different, but they become one in the common torture they bring to me. They merged into one behind my back, under my ears, and I hitherto have been completely clueless; C'est la vie. And la vie est une maladie, a  malady that hides itself in plain sight and sense. It is a killer with excellent skill and strategy, being able to run on it's tip-toes and not make a sound. Nobody died that has not lived. Joy is living. This endless suffering is living. Attachment is living. War is living. It will kill us all because of the pointlessness of it all. I know what I must do now. I pray for neither night nor day. (It's like being given only two horrid politicians to vote for, and asking 'Which one of them has committed a lighter crime: the perpetrator of the genocide of children or the one who kills a child every month? Not only is the question foolish nonsense adorned with perfume made from cow dung, I deserve better.) I only await eternal slumber with no consciousness, only a comfortable hopelessness. Only then---when my remains will most likely lie in a coffin or in a marble jar---can I be free.

[reactor-four-official]

Rare photographs of one of the bathyscaphes used to lower liquidators into the ruins of Reactor 4.

The Sarcophagus of Chernobyl Unit 4 was constructed on top of the ruined reactor hall, using the existing structure as support for its massive weight. Engineers were unsure at the beginning of construction if the building could even support parts of the Sarcophagus. Initially, engineers could only find locations to place the prefabricated pieces of the Sarcophagus using photos taken from the helicopters above the reactor building. On a few occasions, men were sent to scout out potential locations for these structures on foot via passages in the plant. This proved extremely dangerous, and so another solution was brought forward by NIKIMT, a Soviet think tank responsible for several other innovative solutions within the zone; a twenty-one ton lead box with a single leaded glass window 30 centimeters thick. It was equipped with air filters that filtered the air to nearly 100% purity, allowing liquidators to work around the reactor for several hours at a time. Designed to accommodate up to four men, they were affectionately named the batiskaf, or bathyscaphe. These monstrous boxes would be attached to the hook of one of the cranes operating at the site by a short cable and lowered into the reactor hall. This allowed engineers to more closely assess the condition of the structure and find locations to rest the massive beams that held the roof of the Sarcophagus up. Those who worked in the bathyscaphe, known jokingly as “Cosmonauts”, communicated with the operators of the cranes via radio. Work could also be conducted through ports in the walls, through which a manipulator arm could be extended. It was also used on the rare occasion that welding was required on the Sarcophagus. Without this equipment, the Sarcophagus would not have been completed safely. It was also used after the completion of the Sarcophagus to monitor the condition of the construction and reactor hall, until it was retired in 1988 due to instability issues.

Once again, my apologies for low quality images. A few of these images are so rare that I could only find them in one place.

[Image descriptions: Top left image: The bathyscaphe is a large white metal box about seven feet tall, four feet long, and four feet deep, with a single square window. It has several lifting cables attached to its roof and several pipes jut out from it pointing towards the ground to keep it from falling over.

Top right image: they bathyscaphe in ‘flight’.

Bottom left image: The bathyscaphe from another angle, showing the single porthole.

Bottom right image: This is a photo of the bathyschape’s interior. Two manipulator arms sit below the window, and a small stool is welded onto the floor where an operator could sit.

PS feedback on my image descriptions is very much appreciated and helpful. I am new to this, but I think everyone has the right to learn and experience history and if you have any suggestions or comments on how to improve my descriptions please do not hesitate to reach out! I am more than happy to provide more detailed image descriptions as well upon request. Many thanks for your interest!]

[someweirdoreblogger]

I want Hades to send vague hints. Faint ghosts of himself, crawling shadows up to the surface, peering over from the Underworld to let me know he's silently watching me.

Strange phenomenon of unexplained occurrence, a dark ghost hiding in the shell of humanity's vision. Hades is always in plain sight but also invisible. The living and the dead hold limited interactions for several reasons, but Hades lets those who know realize.

I want young, immortal asphodels to spiral into a beautiful meadow around my feet, assorted so a large cluster of spikes and blooming thorns. Long as snakes radiating a hardy purity snow refection, freshest neath Apollo's ablessed veil when I'm sleeping, so people shall think twice on waking me up from my peaceful daze into dreamful nothingness.

I want to feel an overgrowing darkness, hugging me out from under what I consider down and deep. Fleshless yet whole, devoid but real.

Darkness so vast, so godly, so infectiously potent no soft whisper, rhyme, or meaning can be found by mere sight alone. Hades only reveals what he wants you to see, dreams beyond imagination behind the heavy cover of my eyes, in-between the ether and life itself, where feeble understandings are blind thanks to a timeless thread sticking worryless mere mortals to their rightful plane. A shadow of a dominant hand, a dab of cloud-like cotton, tender flutter of caressing invisible fingers across my cheek, a delicate silken-kiss. Wishing me 'good night', a silent promise of a nightmare-less wish after a long day of hard work and deep punches.

I want to see butterflies, wearing chiseled gold wings. Spirits in the most fragile form, pristine. A tiny glimpse of the unnatural, a unique flash of light to catch the attention of no one but me. Notice them more and more throughout my entire lifetime, scattering like stotic Poseidon's rapid ocean currents, peerless Moons of broken glass. Unpredictable patterns crowding me through soft gusts of free air; but, for whatever reason, I can not seem to mind them-as they are hazardless. It feels as if they never dare harm their chosen.

Learn these special little critters, the smallest miracles of nature seem attracted to my stories and opinions, my voice in gerenal like they somehow maintain human ears and understanding.

Even something as small as a whisper, a butterfly just so happens to pass; Prodryas persephone, supposedly extinct-perching like a bird on my shoulder listening on to my next offer for whistling winds of the world. I want to be overtaken by them, guided to safe shelters from sudden rainfall, rare medicines and happen upon a lake with a perfect veiw of the moon, all because I was struck hard enough with curiosity following a stray flight of precious insect beats. A tempting echo whispering a fast secret by my ear. Swarmed in colorful bugs aplenty long lost to human civilization, a harmless storm of fragile mighty bodies, just to bless me with a sight humans can only pray to see in such open variety.