#roofing gurus

[divinecarephysio]

Reclaim Your Health with Expert Physiotherapy in Walnut Grove, Langley, BC

At Divine Care Physiotherapy, we understand the challenges that come with physical discomfort and the impact it can have on your life. Whether you're recovering from an injury or seeking relief from chronic pain, our experienced physiotherapists in Walnut Grove, Langley, BC, are here to guide you back to optimal health. Our clinic offers a range of personalized treatments designed to help you regain strength, mobility, and independence. With a focus on holistic care, we tailor our services to meet the unique needs of each patient, helping them achieve their health goals efficiently.

For those living in Walnut Grove Langley, Divine Care Physiotherapy provides easy access to top-quality care right in your neighborhood. Whether it's recovering from sports injuries or managing pain from daily activities, our clinic is equipped to handle a wide variety of conditions. Our skilled physiotherapists use the latest techniques, from manual therapy to strength rehabilitation, ensuring that every treatment plan is custom-built for your specific condition. This means you can get back to doing the things you love, faster and with greater confidence.

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Finally, we are proud to serve the entire Walnut Grove BC community with a compassionate and professional approach to physiotherapy. Whether you’re dealing with a sports injury, managing chronic pain, or seeking specialized treatment for vertigo, Divine Care Physiotherapy is here for you. Our team is dedicated to your well-being, ensuring that you receive the highest quality care in a welcoming and supportive environment. Let us help you regain your strength, balance, and confidence, so you can live life without limitations.

[roofinggurus]

How a Roselle Roofing Company Saved My Home from a Major Disaster

James had lived in Roselle, IL, for over a decade, and his home had always been his pride and joy. However, after a rough winter, he noticed leaks forming in his attic. Worried about potential damage, he started searching for a Roselle roofing company that could provide reliable service. After reading several reviews, he came across Roofing Gurus, a local company known for its expertise and quality craftsmanship.

The next morning, a team from Roofing Gurus arrived for an inspection. They quickly identified missing shingles and water damage that needed immediate attention. Knowing that delaying repairs could lead to bigger issues, James decided to move forward with the roofing repairs in Roselle that the experts recommended. Within a few hours, the team efficiently sealed the leaks and replaced damaged shingles, ensuring his roof was back to top condition.

Impressed with their professionalism, James learned that Roofing Gurus offered a full range of roofing services in Roselle, including complete roof replacements, storm damage restoration, and routine maintenance. He appreciated their commitment to high-quality materials and expert installation, knowing that he could rely on them for any future roofing needs.

A few weeks later, his neighbor Sarah mentioned she was looking for trusted roofing contractors in Roselle for her aging roof. Without hesitation, James recommended Roofing Gurus, sharing how they had restored his peace of mind. Sarah took his advice, and soon, she too experienced the exceptional service that made Roofing Gurus a trusted name in the community.

[suuguchan]

who's afraid of the ✰big bad wolf✰?

a/n: because someone asked to turn this into a drabble, and daddy kori always delivers. also it gives me an excuse to write about wolf!guru hehe. also cuz i know someone's gonna ask, the source of the pic is Muttsuri Akazukin-kun kara wa Nigerarenai (careful cuz it's noncon n the guy is crazay)

cw: hybrid/wolf!sugu. female anatomy and she/her pronouns for reader (and her puss). fingering. not beta'd. sugu's mean. knotting. p in v. breeding kink.

“'s jus' my fingers baby, don' run f'rm me,” suguru slurred so badly, his tongue almost as heavy as his mushroomy tip; painting a looong brush stroke dipped in precum, from your thigh to your plushy mound again. kneading it like dunes with one meaty palm while long, mean fingers had a field day with your pussy.

rubbing, stroking, circling, playing, entering; never had you seen your hybrid boyfriend such a mess. eyes glossy, lips glossy, tip glossy, skin glossy. and all because of you. you you you you.

the messy sheets glistened and stuck to your skin, too; view worthy of a greek erotic tale. clinging wetly to the divots in your back and specially, to the mess that became the underside of your hips, after suguru made you cum and squirt and cum and squirt, over and over until your brain was in reactor meltdown.

“a-ahhh, please! please, mmm! sugu, i n-need it!”

“so slutty”. his giggle sounded absolutely drunk, pointy tip of his nose looking red and his pupils so dilated when they focused into yours, didn't help with the way he came across.

though, he was drunk. on the sweet sweet scent of your pussy, permeating the room with your hormones, with no mercy for him, for the way they tickled in ways that made your boyfriend tremor from the bottom of his spine to the squares of his wide shoulders.

his knot was fat, and hurt. it grew with every heartbeat and solidified almost to the size of a fist. his cock, juicy and veiny and a shade or two darker than his skin, looked red and angry that alll his milky precum was wasted; didn't get to slick up the tight passageway to your empty womb. an insult, really.

“mmm mwah, mwah,” he kissed her, his sweet girl, wearing sticky tendrils of your slick on his face like a trophy that suguru didn't dare to wipe off his chin. “allll mine. all m'ne, this pr'tty pussy. m' babymaker~”

“weirdo,” you sobbed, eyes like slits barely letting any light through the fat tears he coaxed out of you.

but you couldn't blame a man for being starved for something so delicious, right? couldn't dangle meat in front of a hungry wolf and expect it not to want to hunt.

and she, his mate, the juicy and plump feast between your legs, was the meal his bloated appetite was roaring for.

his cock throbbed, one, two, three times.

“i know, i know baby,” suguru panted. pointy leaky tip kissed and kissed and kissed your clit so much, aided by both his thumbs that pulled your shy hood back, and strangled his head against the roof of his one and only home. his black fluffy ears twitched when you only sobbed harder, “i know y'miss me, sweetie, don' cry, don' cry... 's gonna be mine soon right, aaaall of thiss...”

suguru was teasing you or himself, he didn't know; caressing you with his tip from your puckered back hole, up and up and up, until his length throbbed hot and raging over your tummy. mouthwatering, and scary; like the look in his eyes, like he wished he could open a window in your belly only to see from the inside how deep he got.

fuck.

his voice dropped huskily as he said, “take my cock, baby”.

and you did, and you screamed, because he left you no choice. the pressure on your cunny from his single thrust ricocheted in your ribs and left no space for air anymore, fingers digging digging digging in your thighs and his hips mashing mashing mashing into yours.

“fuck!” suguru panted, ears twitching for a moment before they went flat against his head in concentration. ever so collected, ever so gentlemanly, and now your mate's eyes rolled and teared up and he looked possessed. the bulge he made with every thrust up and down, up and down your belly was in its own way, hypnotizing, dancing to the primal drumming of skin on skin.

grinning down at you, or maybe at her, thumb gliding in your folds and fishing out your clit and pressing down. down until your brain finally snaped into place and you cried out, “f-fuck! sugu! s-sugu please s-slow down!”

“mmm b-but i can't!” his voice broke into drunken giggles. “she's so tiiight. ruining the fuckin' bed, sweetheart, yer so m-messy~”

there is no man as confusing as suguru geto. he, who could be so sweet and gentle: holding your hand to help you cross puddles of water; and staying the whole night up, to watch over you, whenever you're sick.

... now grabbed handfuls of your flesh, reassembling you like a doll over the bed just how he liked. until the pillow choked your keens and sobs.

you might think he did it only to torture you. with the slam slam slam thrusts targeted with pin-point accuracy all those sweet spots that were sure to make you cry. drooling on your cervix with every. single. one, getting his knot wetter and wetter with your juices for the nice finale, opening you up bit by bit by bit to the biiiig final stretch.

but, truth is, like this, you'd also not see the state he was in.

his face contorting, frowning, with drool and pussy juice and sweat pouring down his chiseled face. his shivering shaggy tail straight and glued behind him, his long, slick black tresses sticking to his forehead and shoulders and back.

your suguru was never a human man, but at the moment, he was closer to a beast.

“op'n up, f'me, all f'me”. under his breath, his words slurred, stopping just a breath to spit on the already overflowing fountain between your legs to slick it up even further. his hips went quick quick quick, thrusts short and needy molding you for him, he fucked deep like he could already savor your pussy around his knot and- fuck.

“c-can'-! c'n' take 'nymore! suguuuu!”

“you cannn, yes y'can, baby, you can”. suguru's weight drowned you further down in the sticky mess of the bed, palm not measuring his strength as he pushed down between your shoulder blades. he groaned audibly at the deeper angle, slowing down to match the heavy. mean. bounce of his hips off of your pussy.

it zapped so cute, the pleasure through your body. he could see it, you know? when your pussy opened up for him soooo easy, and your ass rippled. and the pleasure went up up up your spine, and your head bounced back, finally catching up with his hips just as the thrusted again.

“yer close, mm? right baby?” pants rebounded every thrust. a thrust, and a moan; a thrust, and a groan, a thrust, and a whimper. your mixed juices driiipped down his knot and the wet feeling made his veins throb, tail wagging like a puppy in excitement.

so close, so close, ready to breed you.

“y-yes! yes, so close!”

“cute slut can't even speak, mm? h-have to- hng, r-repeat what i s-say like a-a- fuck, fuck fuck”.

angry at himself, for losing his mind somewhere inside your body, suguru's hips picked up rhythm again and took it out on you. plap plap plap plap plap, fast fast and deep deep looking for the place in your spongy walls that always got you brainless.

“g-gimmeeee!” you squealed, body feeling your orgasm before you registered it, thighs trembling, thundering under the assault. “g-gimme y'r b-babies, mmmm!”

sharp jaw fell slack, suguru's hips turned into a blur because surely, surely if he was fast enough your pussy would just open up to him, your sweet womb would take it all and finally your walls would give in, and just let him stab his way-

“fuck fuck fuck!” he choked on the mantra because his pride won't let him whimper, and still suguru's eyes fluttered and shifted because they filled up with tears. the pressure, the snug tight killer hug around his knot was maddening, making him throb and shoot endless ribbons straight into his sweet girl's fertile mouth.

as long as he could, he kept thrusting, with whatever sliver of cock your body didn't swallow; the grip more and more and more asphyxiating, blissful, painful, until he couldn't anymore. not because he didn't want to, but because it was too hard to thrust.

and still, he kept cumming. balls visibly throbbing as they emptied spurt after spurt after spurt of thick baby batter.

the room finally settled down, everything clicking into place, oxygen heavy in your gaping mouth, filling your lungs so much your brain high and confused. but that's what suguru was for: to care for you. to collapse over you, still careful not to squish you, nuzzling into your shoulder with the shaky sigh of a nostalgic lover.

grinding deeper, deeper against your plushy globes as if somehow, he could be any further down your body.

“g-greedy pussy won' lemme go- heh, mmmph!” canines bit into your shoulder softly, marking you with their shape.

your exhausted, slack and pliant state couldn't be any more cute, he thought. his heart felt full, full of love, sides burning softly with it like sunrays on his skin, and he hoped his fingers gave you some of that as they found their way to the soft curve of your waist.

your bulging belly, which he now rubbed with a worshipping hand, was his biggest pride. “when it goes down, hm? les' do it 'gain... gotta m-make sure it takes, hehe”.

thanks for reading. ⋆ reblogs and comments appreciated.

[hoonieyun]

meet the potential and future lovebirds!

welcome to, "is he mr. right?", the dating game! where a lucky girl who is looking for love has the opportunity to go on a date with four handsome and eager bachelor's who are also looking for love.

this is an interactive dating show au where the readers can vote on "yn's" decisions, ultimately leading to who she will be with at the end... but more on that later!

heeseung 𐐪♡𐑂 jongseong 𐐪♡𐑂 jaeyun 𐐪♡𐑂 sunghoon

warnings: nothing really? maybe like judgemental glances and awkward tension? lmk if i miss something, 18+ not proofread lol!

wc: 2571

episode one: meet the potential and future lovebirds

“welcome! welcome! i’m your host, the love guru, and today we’ve got a great lineup of people who are looking to find the love of their lives!” the host of the dating show, “is he mr. right?” says to the audience, a roar of applause erupts within the room as she addresses the crowd. the host was beautiful, big bouncy hair and a bright smile as the spotlight found its way to her. waving and greeting some audience members. 

“let’s get right into it, shall we?” the love magician says as she further hypes up the crowd. “now let’s go over how this show works…

we bring in a lovely contestant who we call “the dove” and she will have the opportunity to get to know our bachelors before she chooses who she wants to go on a date first. once she’s able to go on a date with each bachelor; she’ll have the chance to make her final pick on who her mr. right will be! and with the help of you guys at home and in the live audience, you all will be able to vote on who you think she should choose as her mr. right! 

got it? good, because i’m not repeating myself.” 

the host jokingly says and a successful applause and laughter can be heard in response. 

“now, let’s bring in our dove! every one please give a warm welcome to YN!” the love guru says, waving her hand around as a wall rises, revealing you. 

you were fairly nervous, you weren’t entirely sure why you were going on a dating show so soon after your breakup but your friends pushed you to do it, having signed you up without your knowledge and by the time it came around you were too deep into it to back out. you had to do several background checks and interviews with the show's producers before you were even chosen but it seemed like you were the right pick for them because the producers loved your energy and smile. your friends had convinced you to go further with the interviews and before you knew it, you were willing to go along with all of it. 

even when you would tell your friends that maybe it’s too soon to get back into dating, they would all roll their eyes and remind you that it’s almost been a year since the breakup and that you need to put yourself out there. 

so here you are now, standing behind a levitating wall and waiting for the dating show host who calls herself “the love guru” to introduce you and begin the show. 

your nerves were through the roof because not only has it been a long time since you’ve dated but you never thought that it would be on a dating show of all things– your heart was beating in your ears when suddenly the wall in front of you was raised and you’re met with bright lights and and the sounds of applause drown out the sound of your own heartbeat. 

in almost an instant you snap into a different person, like your show mode just activates. 

a smile spreads across your face as you carefully walk down the stairs, waving at the audience and taking in all of the cheers and welcome from the audience. 

“you are so beautiful, yn! are you ready to find mr. right?” the love guru asks you and you nodded, your smile widening as your eyes squint just a bit as you adjust to the lighting.

"so, yn.. tell us a little bit about yourself?" the host asks you as you’re waving to everyone cheering you on.

"well.. i like to read books, baking, and taking long walks to the bank because my future man better have a hefty bank account." you joke with the audience and to your surprise they accept your humor just fine as you were a bit scared that it wouldn’t come out as a joke and you didn’t want to be seen as a gold digger. 

“perfect answer! now, tell us why you are on this show?” the host asks and you explain your somewhat long history of dating and what ultimately got you on the show. the crowd ooh’d and aww’d at your story of how your last relationship ended because the two of you just couldn’t see eye to eye on where your relationship was going. 

you wanted to have more freedom in your life and felt that you were too young to settle down but your ex was ready to do just that. he often would talk about your life in the future, having a family, buying your dream house, and raising your family until the two of you became old and wrinkly. 

and although it sounded nice, you weren’t ready for that and it seemed like it was all moving too fast. so you ended up breaking off your year and a half long relationship and fast forward 8 months; here you are now ready to find your mr. right. 

“what are you looking for in a man?” the love guru asks. 

“aside from a man that has a wallet that’s heavy–” you joke once again. 

“i want someone who understands me the way my best friends do, someone who is honest and smart, maybe a little shy? but he likes being outgoing with me.. 

oh! and a guy who knows how to communicate and has a good hold on his emotions. i’m not looking for someone perfect because i wanna grow with him but i’m also not here to look for someone who has no idea of who he is.” you confidently respond and you earn nods and smiles from the audience, indicating that they either agree or find your answer admirable. 

“love these answers, yn! we’ve got some really cute bachelor’s lined up for you so why don’t you put these sound proof headphones on as we introduce our bachelor’s to our audience!” the love guru instructs as you take the headphones from one of the assistants, sliding it onto your head carefully so you don’t ruin your hair. 

you were excited to get to know the bachelor’s because eventually they’d be someone you were going to go on a date with and potentially be your future boyfriend. the audience smiled and laughed at you as you slightly danced around to the music playing through the headphones. 

“isn’t she cute, guys?” the love guru asks the audiences and they all cheer. 

“alright! let’s get to know our bachelor’s and potentially, yn’s future mr. right!” she says and with tv magic, four guys suddenly appear, all of them sitting on stools and waving to the audience present in the studio. 

“ok! let’s go down the line! please introduce yourself, starting with you.” the love guru says, gesturing to the first guy sitting on the stool from the left. 

“um.. hi guys. my name is sunghoon.” he says timidly with a tightlipped smile and the love guru just knows the girls in the audience and at home are swooning at his shy demeanor. “tell us sunghoon, what are you looking for?” the love guru asks, trying to get more information out of the shy boy for television purposes. 

“um..” he begins, scratching his head slightly. “i’m not sure.. i want her to be sweet and nice.. i think?” sunghoon says and as the audience oohs and awws at his response, a shade of pink spreads across his cheeks as he gets shy from their reactions. 

“well, best of luck to you sunghoon! maybe our dove can bring you out of your shell.” she teases and he just nods with a small smile. sunghoon wasn’t completely sure why he ever decided to be on this show. he wasn’t the most outgoing person and truly he only had a few friends who have ever witnessed his true persona. he was shy, there was no hiding that, but he was looking for someone he can be himself around. 

someone who wouldn’t force him to be outgoing and would welcome his naturally timid demeanor to the point where he’d be comfortable enough around them so that he could slowly but surely, show more of his personality. a lot of sunghoon’s friends say that he’s funny and a sweet guy and that any girl would be lucky to have him as their boyfriend; but sunghoon thinks his shyness was a curse. sure, some girls found it cute at first but the longer they realized he was shy and not just putting on an act, they’d lose interest just as fast as they got it. 

he just wants someone to get him. 

“alright, your turn! tell us about yourself, fluffy hair!” the love guru once again gestures to the next guy and he chuckles at her nickname for him. his soft and slightly curly hair does make it look like he’s extra fluffy and the audience definitely agrees as they all cheer for the cute nickname. 

“hi everyone, my name is jake, im from australia and i’m here to not only be someone’s mr. right but to be their mr. forever.” jake announces and his thick australian accent instantly has all of the girls in the audience melting. his voice was like silk and everyone was instantly entranced. 

“love the accent! what brings you over here?” the love guru asks. 

“to find love. i want to settle down and start living my dream world with my dream girl.” jake explains and he’s slightly startled when the audience erupts in adoration for him. his head whips around from looking at the host to the audience and although he can barely see them because of the bright stage lights, he can make out a few smiles in the crowd. 

“well mr. aussie, let’s see if our dove is ready to live with you in your dream world as your dream girl!” she says enthusiastically before moving to the next bachelor. 

jake was ready. for all of it. he’s wanted to settle down and build a family for a while now but after his last failed relationship he had to reevaluate a lot of his decisions. was he ready to settle down? he was so young but that’s what he wanted. 

he wanted to live in his dream home with his dream girl and build the family of his dreams so they could all live happily. sure it may seem a bit immature to imagine such a fairytale life, but that’s what he wanted and hopefully this show will be the start of that. 

“you know the drill, tell us about yourself.” she says shortly as she arrived to the third bachelor. “what’s up, everyone. i’m heeseung and i know i’m going to be mr. right.- looking beautiful by the way miss love guru.” he says while flashing his smile and twinkling eyes. the audience absolutely falls in love with him. 

his charm was on a different love and heeseung just oozed a different type of confidence that the show hadn’t seen prior. “why, thank you.” she responds. 

“but flattery will get you nowhere, i’m not the dove.” she teases and the audience laughs at her joke while heeseung nods and chuckles, his laugh causing the audience to fall even deeper for him. they look at him adoring as the spotlight seems to shine so much brighter on him than the previous bachelors. 

“what are you looking for in a girl?” she asks and heeseung’s face slightly contorted with thought. 

“someone my parents would be proud of. i want them to look at my future wife and think about all the ways they can brag to the world about how i’ve got the best wife.” heeseung says and although the answer wasn’t traditional in the slightest, the love guru nods her head in response. 

was she impressed with the answer? sure. was it slightly strange? a bit!

the audience however, didn’t care. they were going to love anything that heeseung said because he was just so charming and alluring, he had the audience eating out of his palm. 

heeseung was somewhat known as a playboy within his friend circle. sure he’s only had 1 or 2 girlfriends but he was known to be a serial dater. it may seem like a bad thing but he doesn’t think. unashamed that he’s gone on several dates because he was looking for the right girl. he wanted to make sure that the girl he’d be marrying was the one his parents also wanted him to marry. 

it’s where his charm came from. his parents always boasted about how good of a son he was, bragging to his relatives about his intelligence, successes, and prowess. it was only fair that heeseung also found someone his parents would be proud of. 

“last in line, hello hello! tell us a bit about yourself.” she says once again and the last guy clears his throat before answering and the room is dead silent. his presence alone was so strong that the audience couldn’t help but have their mouths agape. he was handsome with sharp features paired with a mysterious aura that surrounded him. 

“hey, i’m jay.” he says, short and sweet. 

although he didn’t have much to say, the audience swooned at his cool demeanor and laid back vibe. incomparison to sunghoon who had received a few awkward glances for his short response because of his shyness, jay received heart eyes from the crowd because they found him to be mysterious, like he was a puzzle to be solved. 

“we’ve got a few shy ones in the cast this time huh?” she says, looking directly into the camera and as if on cue, the audience erupts in laughter. “nah, not shy. just saving myself for the dove.” jay speaks up and although he wasn’t necessarily addressed by the love guru; his confidence in answering her regardless of being referenced made the audience want to know even more about him. 

“well! there you have it! our four bachelors and one of them will be our dove’s mr. right! tune in next week for the question and answer portion and first rounds of voting on who you, at home, think she should go on a date first!” the love guru says and continues to go on about the show's logistics. the first episode is typically the shortest as it only includes introductions while the rest of the episodes would play out a lot longer. 

jay tunes her out once she steps away and does her job as a host to close out the show. he was slightly relieved that she didn’t ask any questions further and wasn’t a victim of the audiences judging glances like the first guy. he felt bad for him because he could tell that he was just shy and wasn’t deserving of the perception of the audience for one instance. 

jay wasn’t sure what he was looking for in a girl nor did he know what he was even doing here. he had a lot to go through in his head and he somehow found himself on a dating show. he was trying to understand who he was as a person and he assumed that what better way to get to know yourself than through the lense of someone who loves you right? 

surely, he’d find love one way or another. 

𐐪♡𐑂 next ep

hoonieyun notes: first ep is out wooo!! i wanted to keep what number each enha member would a mystery because moving forward, they will be referred to as bachelor's 1-4 instead of their names. only i will know which number they are so you guys will also be playing into the mystery of who yn will end up going on a date with when you guys vote! also updates will be every saturday at 6pm pst <3

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @leipforggy

@berries-n-blues @simsungsims @softpia @enhastolemyheart @ilovbeshotaro @zwithae

[suratanontherun]

146 Pebble Drive, home of the Ramirez family

I don't know what happened here… I kind of hate how this turned out? The original roof is uniquely ugly, so naturally I left it the same. Then this ivy thing happened, sort of on its own? I don't like it, but I can't come up with anything better. It doesn't even make sense for this family, not one of them is interested in nature. But when I rerolled LTWs, Lisa rolled to become an eco guru, so I figured that somewhat justifies it? There is this triangle theme in the interior, again, for no reason. I noticed it accidentally and went with it all over.

Unlike with Delarosa or Tinkers, I had no concept of this family in my head. They are so meh, maxis didn't give them any story or personality, and I wasn't inspired.

OK, that's enough yapping. The floorplan is under the cut.

I gave them both a Family secondary, so the house has an extra (empty) bedroom and an unfinished nursery.

[doumadono]

Many things to discover - Douma x fem!reader

Warnings: smut w/o plot, fingerfucking Word count: ~2,4k

MASTERLIST

​The moonlight bathed the temple in a soft, silver light. The only sound that could be heard was the gentle murmur of the wind rustling through the leaves. 

You were nervous as you crept up to Douma's chamber. You had heard stories of the wise guru and was curious to see him in person. Taking a deep breath, you carefully slided the shoji door open and peered inside.

Douma was asleep, or at least he looked like it, and you could barely make out his features in the dim light. You were mesmerized by his beauty and, before you knew it, you were standing right next to him. You wanted to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Finally yet, you reached out and gently put a hand on his chest, biting the inner side of your cheek at the feeling of a tensed muscles, so well defined.

Little did you know Douma had often pretended to be asleep, with his eyes gently closed, giving off the impression of peaceful slumber. His senses were heightened, and he was acutely aware of his surroundings, even when it appeared that he was in a deep sleep. He listened to the gentle rustle of the wind, the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof; he would remain in that state of simulated sleep, for hours on end, until he felt it was safe to rise and continue his nocturnal activities.

Douma stirred and opened his eyes, grasped your wrist and pulled you down on his bed, but instead of getting angry, he smiled at you, cocking his eyebrow. "Well, well, well, what brings you here?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, as he leaned back against the pillows on his bed.

Your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to find the right words. "I...I just wanted to check up on you," you stammered, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze.

Douma's smile widened, and he chuckled softly. "Is that so?" he replied, his hand reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from your face. "Or perhaps you came to see me because you couldn't resist my charm?"

Douma's presence was both comforting and alluring, and you found yourself drawn to him.

As you looked up at him, his eyes met yours, and you could see the genuine curiosity and interest in them. "So, tell me," he whispered, his tone playful yet sincere. "What's been on your mind lately?"

"I was curious about you. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but there was something intriguing about you."

Douma tilted his head slightly, his gaze fixed on you. "Oh? And what was it that piqued your curiosity?" he chuckled rather darkly.

"It was the way you carried yourself," you replied, your voice soft but steady. "You seemed so confident, so sure of yourself. I couldn't help but wonder who you were and what you were capable of."

A small smile played at the corners of Douma's lips, and he reached out to gently brush his fingers against your cheek. "I see," he murmured. "Well, I'm glad that you found me interesting. And I'm even happier that you decided to stick around." As you sat on his bed, he paused and stared at you with an intense gaze, his eyes searching for recognition. Suddenly, his eyes widened in realization, and a soft gasp escaped his lips. "I remember you now," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Yes, I remember now. Your parents were devoted followers of mine for many years, and they brought you here some time ago to be a new member of my cult," Douma tapped his chin with his long, sharp nail. Douma's expression softened, and he reached out to gently touch your cheek. "And now here you are, all grown up and by my side once again. It's like we were always meant to be together."

As he spoke, you felt a strange sense of deja vu wash over you. It was as if you had known Douma your entire life, and yet at the same time, he was still a complete mystery to you.

"Don't be afraid," he said in a soft voice, "I won't hurt you." He extended a hand towards you, and as you hesitated, he gave you an encouraging smile. "Come closer." As you moved towards him, he took your hand in his and held it gently, his fingers entwining with yours. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

​Without a word, he pulled you closer and your lips met. The kiss was soft and warm, full of passion and longing. Douma pulled you closer and the intensity of the moment was palpable. He explored you with his hands and felt your body tremble. His desire for you was growing with each passing second. He leaned in and kissed the side of your neck, feeling your breathing became more rapid. His hands moved lower and he could feel your body quiver in anticipation. He wanted more and you apparently wanted the same.

Finally, you found the courage to take a step forward. Without breaking eye contact, you slowly moved to straddle him, feeling the coldness of his body against yours. You could feel his breath on your face as you leaned in closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

He responded with a low chuckle, his eyes still fixed on yours. "Don't be shy, my dear," he murmured, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back.

Encouraged by his words, you leaned in further, your lips brushing against his. The touch was electrifying, and you felt your entire body tremble with desire. As the kiss deepened, you found yourself lost in the sensation, the coldness of his lips against yours, the feel of his hands on your body. You had never felt so alive. Finally, you broke away, gasping for air. Douma's eyes were filled with a hunger that matched your own, and you knew that this was only the beginning of a wild, thrilling journey with the Upper Moon Two. "I know about your secret," you whispered quietly. "I know you're a demon."

As you spoke the words about Douma being a demon, he couldn't help but chuckle darkly, his lips curling into a sly smirk. He raised a brow and leaned back, propping himself on his elbows, the soft sound of his laughter filling the room. "You're not wrong," he said in a carefree tone, his eyes glinting with a mischievous gleam. "I am a demon, after all." He tilted his head slightly, his expression still playful as he gazed at you. "Does that scare you, my dear? Or does it make you curious?" he teased, his voice low and seductive.

A hint of fear was lingering in your voice as you spoke. "I've heard that demons eat humans, and I don't want to end up as your next meal."

Douma chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You don't have to worry about that. I have no interest in eating anyone right now, especially not sweet and courageous as you."

Despite your initial fear, you found yourself drawn to Douma's otherworldly charm. Without thinking, you reached out and gently brushed your lips against his cheek, feeling the coldness of his skin beneath your lips.

Douma ​watched you hungrily; your body so close that he could feel the heat radiating from it. You moved your hands up his chest, teasing his nipples with your fingertips. He shivered in anticipation as your lips brushed lightly against his neck and he let out a moan of pleasure, curling his lips in a grin.

​Your hands moved lower, tracing a path of fire across his abdomen. You looked up at him, your dark eyes filled with passion and desire. You couldn't help but smile at him, feeling a rush of warmth spread through your body. "I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate you," you replied softly, your gaze locked on his. "And I was curious about you"

Douma's lips curved into a small smile as he reached up to cup your cheek in his hand. "I appreciate you too," he said, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. Douma pulled you closer, tasting your lips as his hands roamed over your body. He felt you responding to his touch and he knew he wanted you more than anything.

You unbuttoned your kimono and let it slide off your shoulders, revealing the soft curves of your body. Next, you unclasped your bra and let it fall to the ground, feeling the cool air brush against your bare skin. There was no piece of clothing protecting you from his hungry eyes anymore.

Douma's lips curved into a smirk. "Am I to assume you are enjoying the freedom of not wearing panties?" he asked, amusement lacing his voice. "No need to be embarrassed, my dear. I rather enjoy the sight," he said, his fingers tracing along the exposed skin of your calf, moving up to soon knead the warm fesh of your thighs. "Look at you. You're so beautiful and eager." Douma suddenly placed his hands on your waist and with a swift motion, he flipped you effortlessly, leaving you stunned. "You're light as a feather," Douma remarked, grinning widely as he pinned you down to the bed.

As you watched him, your teeth found your lower lip, and you bit down gently, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight before you. "I think you're content with my late night visit."

As his finger ventured into the warmth of your wet folds, you couldn't help but notice how slick your arousal had made you. Douma's middle finger glided along your slick walls with such ease, it was as if it was coated in a fine layer of massage oil. He continued his exploration, sliding his slender finger down to the very depths of your core. Your eyes widened with a mix of surprise and pleasure, causing your abdominal muscles to flex as you arched your back in response. "Oh!" Douma applied more pressure to your slit, parting your lips with his fingers. As his digit hooked inside you, you couldn't help but gasp at the sensation of him penetrating you. Slowly, he delved deeper and deeper, eliciting a silent response from you as your pussy walls gripped his finger tightly. Your hips began to wiggle, instinctively trying to retreat from the sensation, only to press back down onto Douma's hand in surrender.

Douma leaned in, his lips closing around your left nipple. You gasped as you watched him lick and suck at the sensitive bud, sending waves of pleasure through your body. His other hand rubbed around the side of your breast, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh beneath his cold palm. You could feel the coldness of his body against your own delicate, curvy form. As he pulled his finger out, you moaned softly, already missing the feeling of him inside you. But then he plunged it back in, and you were transported to a new level of ecstasy. Your hips instinctively began to move, riding his finger with a rhythm you had never known before. Each thrust sent you closer and closer to the edge, and you could feel your body start to tremble in anticipation of what was to come.

"Don't stop, don't stop, my master," you moaned, your voice shaky with pleasure.

Douma's finger continued to pump into you with an increasing pace.

You could hear the wet sounds of his finger moving in and out of your pussy, and it only turned you on more. As he added a second finger, your back arched and your moans grew louder. Your breasts bounced with each thrust of his fingers, and you couldn't help but grip onto his shoulders tightly. His fingers filled you up so completely, and the sensation was overwhelming. "Don't stop, Douma," you begged, your eyes closed in ecstasy. "Please, don't stop." Your body convulsed with pleasure as the orgasmic waves crashed through you. You gasped for air and clenched your teeth, trying to hold back the moans that threatened to escape your lips. Your thighs trembled as they pressed tightly against Douma's hand, his long fingers still buried deep inside your soaking wet pussy. Your entire body shook as the climax consumed you, and you cried out in ecstasy, "Oh God, yes!" Your juices gushed out onto his hand, coating it in your essence as you continued to shudder with pleasure.

With a dark chuckle, Douma brought his hand, drenched in your essence, straight to his mouth. Not breaking eye contact with you, he slipped his fingers between his lips and let out a low moan as he tasted your juices. His grin widened as he savored the flavor, relishing in the sensation. "Well, well, Y/N," he purred, his voice laced with desire. "I must admit, you are absolutely delicious."

You felt your cheeks flush and the only sound that escaped your parted lips was a quiet groan as you watched Douma.

His cold hand caressed the curve of your waist, his sharp nails grazing the soft skin of your hip, sending shivers down your spine. Douma leaned in, his breath hot on your lips, and captured them with a deep, passionate kiss. Your tongues intertwined in a seductive dance, and you tasted the faint sweetness of yourself on his tongue. The taste of your own essence on his tongue only intensified the intimate moment, causing your senses to ignite with an unquenchable desire.

As he pulled back, his fingers trailed down your side, and he whispered into your ear., "I think there are many things I have yet to discover about you tonight," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "And I must say, my dear lotus, I am so fucking curious to find out."

In that moment, you knew that the night would be filled with endless exploration and pleasure, as Douma's insatiable hunger for you could not be quenched. The promise of new discoveries and indulgences filled you with a heady excitement, as you eagerly anticipated what was yet to come.

[kentocee]

Warmth • Geto x Fem!reader • (18+)

CW: smut ( shower sex, oral, (male recieving), slight degradation (use of whore and slut), Dom!Geto(he a lil mean wit it 🫣), slight choking, rough sex, unprotected sex, craampie, just slutty sex)

Cee’s Note: This pic of Geto is what spawned this filthy smut. Hope y’all enjoy :)

Song Cred: Warmth by Janet Jackson (this song is literally bout sucking dick UGH she is MOTHER)

[Minors do NOT interact; explicit content ahead]

Geto couldn’t tell what was warmer…

The hot water hitting his back from the shower head or the warmth from your hot tongue and the roof of your mouth sucking him like a straw.

All he knew is that this was exactly what he needed after coming back from a stressful mission with Satoru. After a long day of swallowing multiple curses all he wanted to do was watch you swallow his load.

He groaned as you began bobbing your head a little more frantically, your hand massaging his balls as you took him in deeper.

“Yeah suck it just like that,” Geto moans, one hand gripping your hair, the other clutching the wall of the shower.

The sight before you was glorious seeing Geto’s muscles and abs glistening with water droplets and his wet locks dangling in his face.

He was so beautiful.

He was shining like a god and only you could see him like this.

“Oh I’m cumming”, he grunted as he painted the back of your throat with his cum.

You gag slightly, feeling the hot liquid shoot down your throat. Your hands continued pumping him from the base, draining him for all he’s got.

“Swallow it all baby” Geto bit his lip as he pushed the strands of your hair out of your face loving the mess of cum and saliva smeared down your chin.

You popped off his dick and licked your lips, savoring the taste of the dark haired sorcerer’s cum.

Geto hummed, the sight making him hard again.

He placed two fingers under your chin, lifting you off your knees and up to his lips. He could taste his essence on your tongue as your tongues molded together in unison.

His hand lightly cupped your throat while your make out session continued. The kiss was so damn slutty but you didn’t care. Steam filled the air from the hot water making the air thicker around you. You couldn’t tell if the cloudiness you felt was from the steam or your lover’s kiss leaving you breathless.

“Turn,” he commanded, breaking your kiss.

You did like you were told and turned away from him, your ass pressed against his fully hard dick. Your cunt ached with need as you pushed your ass further against him, grinding yourself against him.

“My little whore, so needy for my cock”, he smirked

“Yes, I love your cock please fuck me Guru,” you whined pathetically, pushing your hips further against him.

He let out a low groan, you were practically begging for it.

He lifted your leg with one hand and other stroking his tip against your slick cunt, causing you to whine more impatiently.

He chuckled before finally pushing through your folds. The water from the shower providing extra lubricant as he sank into your pussy so effortlessly

Your eyes fluttered back as his thick member stretched your pussy so well. He wasted no time pumping his cock in you, causing you to cry out at the rough pace.

His grip on your thigh and the other around your neck tightened as he pounded into you with all his might.

“Gonna fuck you like the slut you are and you’re gonna take it” he grunted, tilting your head slightly to be met with your fucked out face.

“Yes, uh, ahhh only a slut for you,” you managed to choke out through his tight grip around your neck. You didn’t care how dumb you sounded. Your head was empty of thoughts other than his dick abusing your cunt.

The squelching sounds of skin against skin became more heightened mixed with the sound of the roaring shower.

He shoved his tongue down your throat, silencing your high pitched moans. His thrusts never faltered, but quickened as his pace became more sporadic, signaling he was close.

He brought his hand off your neck to rub your clit. The jolting pleasure from your clit and hitting your cervix caused you to have the most intense orgasm.

“Oh fuck, I-I’m…I’m” you couldn’t even finish your sentence as you cried out, the pleasure consuming you.

Geto cooed and talked you through it in your ear with soft “there you go” and “good girl”.

He fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own until he grunted loudly and spilled in your cunt, filling you up.

He slowly pulled out of you, admiring his cum trailing down your legs.

“Look at the mess we made,” Geto chuckles

“Good thing we’re already in the shower”

[itgirlgyu]

✷ zb1! if not the idols of your heart, what jobs would they be doing?

み this is just inspired by the in bloom lyrics for fun!!! 𓂃𓈒 zb1 ot9 ࿁ do not take it seriously please! › ‹゜

𖥔 zhang hao!

morning show news reporter.

he's up there at the ass crack of dawn at some random man's roof reporting to you live.

like why are you telling me that the morning has come boy??

also see him in the street doing personal interviews but it's always so invasive.

like "have you ever gotten hemmoroids? what are your thoughts on it?"

𖥔 kim jiwoong!

weather boy.

like why are you backing up zhang hao like has the flowers bloomed??

he's gonna tell us that's it's spring next.

it just makes sense because when he has to point somewhere north west in the map

he gets out his make shift cane like he's borrowed it off mr. grey

and he starts appealing his ass to the camera as much as possible.

the rating of morning show has been all time high!

𖥔 sung hanbin!

marriage matchmaker brand ambassador.

neither married nor dating but that's only because he has to lure in customers.

there's cutouts of him making a surprised face at a ring at every corner of seoul.

national "the kind of face that makes you want to get married." in korea.

𖥔 seok matthew!

chain restaurant owner.

but he's like at every goddamn establishment of his, running his mouth and working his ass off with the staff in the kitchen and the servers.

like he's using a hanky to wipe his sweat as closes a partnership deal with a multi millionaire company while serving chicken.

he literally only got big with the help of word of mouth.

like that's the power of a motormouth

𖥔 kim taerae!

strong feeling he should be a judge at rupaul's drag race.

like he literally started the whole sassy men trend idc

he'd get it.

but also he should have been a vine star turned singer either way because

i feel like he'd eat that "here's come hurricane katrina bitch" song.

𖥔 ricky!

jobless rich handsome senior.

literally don't see him working anything other than that god given face of his.

maybe a florist.

but the one that has like 30 staffs under him and only works as an influencer for his 30000 dollars a bouquet business.

like the most he'd do is post a picture on his instagram fixing the bow on his 300000000 dollar bouquet.

and it's always white roses.

𖥔 kim gyuvin!

works part time as a crane in a construction site.

not using the crane but as the crane.

had news paper from all over the globe coming to him like how do you do it?!?

gyuvin—"gotta utlise my height somehow."

also works part time as a break up guru.

i feel like he'd excel in it.

𖥔 park gunwook!

community service down the street with jongho.

he's at there helping grandmas cross the streets and singing and dancing and breaking fights.

breaking apples and showing off his strength.

like yes granny don't worry he'd braid both of yalls hair!

𖥔 han yujin!

i do not support minors working!

COPYRIGHTS RESERVED TO ITGIRLGYU 23'. FEEDBACKS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! PERM' TAGLIST: @impureperhaps @full-sunnies @ox1-lovesick @jisungsdaydreamer @wonioml @1921choi @forever-in-the-sky2 @beoms-sugar @gyuletters

[hadesisqueer]

the way Violet's gonna learn about homosexuality from Francesca who bagged off to Scotland when Benedict has been sucking and fucking for 3 years under her own roof. slay Franny.

also justice for Brimsley

Benedict is gonna end up being Fran's guru and honestly I can't wait for it lmao. And I'm 100% sure Violet is gonna be confused and it's gonna be hard for her to understand Francesca and Michaela's thing at first but at the end she's gonna be supportive because, well, she's Violet Bridgerton and she wants her kids to be happy. Ally mom lmao

Also YES justice for Brimsley god

[bestjaydee]

Opinions about his personal life aside, I think his bigger problem lies in his branding. He’s been inconsistent for many years, even when it looked like he might have had some guidance. But now the incongruence is so wild that it comes off as if he wakes up and consults a magic 8 ball before starting his day.

I honestly think he has no clue who he is really. Is he the outdoorsy health guru or the whisky drinking, cigar smoking dude? If he loves Scotland as much as he says he does, why is he out of there every chance he gets? One day he's the spokesperson for motorcycle safety, the other he promotes his whisky on a motorcycle with an integrated flask holder. He says we need to protect the environment, yet is seen countless times with single-use plastic bottles, flying around the globe so many times his ecological footprint is probably through the roof. He comes off as humble in person (that's what I read, I haven't met him) but throws a tantrum if his show is not nominated for an award or is called out about anything. I think he's lost unfortunately. But I'll give him this: he's always shown he had a dirty side. Think about the early interviews, the "stiff one" comment for instance, and many others, his follows, etc. And now this. That's been a constant I think.

[kagetxiga]

Oh great and powerful fanfic guru please answer my humble plights,

IMAGINE creepypasta of your choice with a s/o who gets cold in like 70 degree weather so imagine when the snow starts to fall and cuddling on the couch under fluffy blankets cause it's cold!!!! >V<

Please and thank you! ☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*

Omggg my first request, thank you so so much for this <33 i hope you have such a wonderful day, now onto the creepypasta fic >:)

Winter Summer

Ticci Toby x Reader

Lying in your freezing bed, you were crawled up into a ball with multiple layers of blankets on top of you, no matter how many layers you put on, it would still be freezing. Your speaker playing music in the background was just some white noise to you, shaking and sneezing under the covers, you heard a knock on your wooden door.

Too cold to move you let out a small ‘come in’ yet it was loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear, entering without hesitation was none other than your twitchy boy standing by the doorframe. “There you are! Cmon, get up, you didn’t even have breakfast nor lunch yet!” Toby said with a few stutters here and there, slipping his hands under your large amount of layers, he grabbed onto your hands and started to drag you out of your blankets. You were groaning from the coldness and from your lack of warmth from your blankets.

“Nooo, it’s too cold” You whined with your hands in his as he continued to drag you, half your body was on the ground whilst the other half was on your bed with your legs still under the covers. “You need to move, you’ve been in your room all day, besides, i’m bored and I missed you” he pouted, lifting you off from the ground and are now in his arms. “You saw me not even an hour ago Toby” You spoke up, freezing under his touch, as he carried you down the stairs to the kitchen, his body jerking and twitching more than normally, probably from the low weather, not that he knows, he can’t feel.

Releasing you from his grasp, you were found in the kitchen on a stool by the island. Resting your arms on the counter and laying your head, he placed a plate in front of you yet frowned from the sight of you, “you okay? You seem cold” he asked, stutters and all. You groaned in response, his frown deepening as he sighed, taking your arm and dragging you to the living room, you immediately sat on the couch and lied there in the cold. You hated this weather, you just wished it was summer all over again, the warm feeling of the sun on your skin, the leaves growing and the flowers dancing with the wind.

Meanwhile you hadn’t even noticed that toby left the room to get blankets and pillows, “I’m back!” His voice muffled, looking over to your boyfriend, his arms were filled with fluffy blankets and pillows, placing them on the ground he smiled at you, taking off his sweater, he handed it to you with pink cheeks. You smiled at his kind gesture and took it in your hands, slipping it on your body. It somewhat helped your body warmth knowing it was his as you felt butterflies in your stomach.

“You lay down, while i make a small blanket fort for us, then we can watch a movie!” Toby exclaimed, while his arm jerked up, i smiled at him and nodded in response as he started to build the said fort, grabbing a few chairs as the walls, making a roof, and even using a pillow as a ‘door’.

Toby crawled into the fort and saw you in the same position, waiting patiently for your lovers touch. Seeing your body still quivering from the cold, he immediately crawled towards you ,due to the low roof of the fort. Slithering next to you on the couch, he placed the extra blankets on top of you both as he cuddled and stuffed his head into your chest, the warmth of his body on top of your cold one instantly heats you up, reminding you of summer relaxation, just you both lying there with peace. Toby loves to hear your heartbeat no matter what, it calms him down on so many levels, and the touch of toby in your arms never fails to give you beautiful and fluttering butterflies.

Feeling his hands around your torso while yours in his dark brown fluffy hair is enough to put you to sleep.

Just you two, on the couch, in the living room.

Until Jeff thought it was a good idea to throw ben on the roof of the fort.

Thank you!! <3

-K.T

A/n: im sorry if this isn’t really what youre hoping for, but i hope you had fun reading!!

[ramayantika]

Nataraja (mystery academia)

You accidentally stumbled into an old temple located deep within a forest. There is a large bronze idol of a dancing god shrouded in darkness except a single diya illuminating the face of the idol. Did his eyes just gleam at you?

It's 4.30 in the morning. The whole world is asleep, but you are on the terrace dancing in darkness. For anybody else, it would be scary seeing how the giant trees sway their branches in sync with the rhythm of your ghungroos until you sit on the floor in exhaustion. Eyes closes, chest too heavy to breathe in, sweat drips down from your forehead until you hear a distant jingle of ankle bells from the staircase.

You are the last one to leave the dance class. Your guru has left the premises, leaving you the keys because you wanted extra time to practice the new piece you are to perform on Mahashivratri. The speakers were working just fine until out of the blue they screech horribly and emit the sound of a damru (a small two headed drum)

Your class is going to start in a while. You were among the early comers so you decided to offer the pranam and sit until the others come on time. Your touch the floor and a strange sensation runs along your fingers. The floor definitely wasn't metallic. When you open your eyes, you see a man holding large flames in his hand. You blink and he disappears.

The old grandmother in your neighbourhood is narrating the story of Nataraja, the God of Dance by whom every Indian dance form has been inspired. Her body is old, but her eyes sparkle as if she were young. You see her finger movements, they move with a skillful precision as if she were dancing the story out. You were heading towards your tution when her gaze lands upon you, and she blesses you with her hand upraised. "Shivoham shivoham"

"Look far, look within..." The sound fills your ears until you feel a soft touch on your forehead. You look up and see a man's face effused with peace and serenity. A large fiery circle moves around him. The fire enchants your eyes. Could flames appear this beautiful? The radiant colour of yellow blue flames dances across your face and you see them glow even more yet the flames don't hurt your eyes. As a small child who is attracted to colourful flames, you stretch your hand to touch them. A voice brings you away from the man and the fiery circle. "Beta, are you okay? You fainted midway through the song."

"No, beta I am not able to see Shiva in you. I want you to portray his stillness, his divinity, him as the overseer of all. Your stance has to match of a God. Take a break and we'll get back to it." You are tired. Your clothes are drenched in sweat and your limbs are about to surrender if you even move an inch. You close your eyes. The sound of your heartbeat deafens your ears. The sound of your heart starts sounding similar to a drum. It doesn't cause yout breath however to accelerate any further. It calms you down and a breeze of cool air brushes your face providing you a moment of respite.

Dark patterns swirl around you and you feel yourself getting lost in them. You hear the juniors chattering about the new movie and the sound of the nattuvangam in another class. You are aware of the present -- this isn't a dream. The dark swirling patterns start clearing like a mist and you see a strange yet bewitching sight. There is a large stage in front, but no audience. There is no roof but the endless night sky filled with countless stars. You see yourself dance. There's no music, no nattuvangam or any instrument playing around. Your body yet moves to some unknown rhythm played by nature. The same man with pleasant looks joins you. He wears the fiery circle as a garland around him. His large feet sports ghungroos same as yours and a beautiful smile graces his lips.

He dances around you, beside you. When you strike a pose, he takes up the same. When you pause and gaze afar at the darkness, he stops and acts the same. You don't feel fear or anything unusual about him. You dance as if he were your dancemate from class. Your head feels a sharp pain and you clutch it to catch one last look at the elegantly dancing man before you lose you consciousness again. You strike the famous Nataraja pose, and the man joins you too, but stands behind. You look at your dancing self from front and the sight is astounding. He appears as if he has merged into you. The space where he stands glows and the same whispers circulate around your being. 'Look far, look within..'

The stage lights are on. The chief guest are bus with their speeches while you blast Nirvana Shatakam in your headphones. You can't understand the loud noise in your head. There is a strange restlessness in your heart. You are anticipating an event, with no idea of what could it be. Worried, if you would give justice to the dance piece, you sink back and close your eyes. 'Neither am I the sky, nor the earth, neither the fire nor the air, I am Shiva.'

It feels as if an ocean of bliss surrounds you. You can't see the audience nor the musicians. You don't even hear the music nor the chime of ghungrus. Darkness surrounds you which isn't unsettling. You are aware that you are dancing and then a voice rings from somewhere above or is it your heart? Have you known this truth from so long?

Everything dances. The universe, the galaxies, the stars, the planets and the living. There's a silent music everywhere. It never stops not even when you stop dancing. With the birth of creation to its death, the dance of Creation and Destructions keeps going on. The stage is infinite. Look far! The great void stares back at you. It holds answer to your questions and you. Who are you? What do you seek? Who are you in this ever continuous dancing circle? How many births did you take to understand this simple truth? You are limitless -- you are me. I am you. We are one.

The audience burst into an applause. The sound deafens your ears. Some of the old people are in tears as they stand up and bow down to you. You realize that the dance music is still playing. 'Shivoham Shivoham' You bow down at the audience when your eyes catch sight at a silver gleam amongst the crowd. Matted hair, a crescent moon on the head, skin as white as camphor, rudraksha beads around his neck and arms. He raises his hands with a smile in blessing. Your eyes tear up, as you chant, "Shivoham"

[roofinggurus]

How a Roofer in Roselle Saved My Home from Disaster!

John had lived in Roselle, IL, for over a decade, and his home had always been his pride and joy. But after a particularly harsh winter, he noticed leaks forming in his ceiling. Unsure of where to turn, he searched for a roofer in Roselle and came across Roofing Gurus. With their excellent reviews and years of experience, he decided to give them a call.

When the team arrived, they impressed John with their knowledge and professionalism. They explained that Roofing Gurus had built a reputation as the go-to experts—true gurus in roofing Roselle. They assessed the damage carefully, outlining a plan to repair his roof efficiently and affordably. John felt a sense of relief, knowing his home was in expert hands.

A few days later, as the crew worked diligently on his home, John chatted with the foreman, who explained how roofing gurus focus on quality materials and craftsmanship. Watching them work with precision, John realized the importance of choosing experienced professionals for such a vital job. The team completed the project on time, leaving his roof stronger than ever.

Before they left, the team offered John a free follow-up roof inspection in Roselle to ensure everything remained in top shape. Grateful for their thoroughness, he knew he had found a roofing company he could trust. From that day on, whenever his neighbors needed roofing work, John didn’t hesitate to recommend Roofing Gurus—the best in Roselle

[bjfinn]

THE TRIAL OF OTHO FENLOCK

TW: mention of suicide

"W-where am I?" Otho asked, looking around in trepidation. He strained futilely against the manacles that chained his wrists to the stone wall at his back.

"Welcome to the In-Between," Beej told him. "Think of it as kind of a no-man's-land between the land of the living and the land of the dead. Since you're not dead -- yet -- I can't take you to the Netherworld, and most of the witnesses are dead, so they can't go Topside."

"You can't do this!" Otho protested. "I have an appointment with my manicurist at three!"

"When I'm done with you," Beej said, scowling, "the only nails you'll be worrying about will be the ones keeping your coffin-lid shut."

Pac cleared his throat. "Uh, Beej ... what am I doing here?"

"You're the judge."

"Me??? "

"Well, I can't do it," Beej said. "He could have the verdict overturned because of, uhh ..."

"Judicial bias?" Pac suggested.

Beej smiled broadly and winked at him. "See?" he said. "You'll do great!"

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly Pac was seated at a desk on a raised dais. He was wearing a judicial robe and a ridiculously ornate white powdered wig, and looked for all the world like a younger, befuddled Rumpole of the Bailey.

"I refuse to play along with this ... this charade!" Otho exclaimed. He was now in the defendant's box, hands cuffed in front of him.

"I don't think you have much choice, buddy," Pac said. Truth be told, this guy was starting to piss him off, and even though Pac didn't know what this "trial" was all about, he was already inclined to believe Beej.

"That's right, Kevin! " Beej snarled, striding over to his captive. He raised the baton that had appeared in his fist. "Now shut your yap, or I'll --"

"The, uh ... prosecution will refrain from threatening the defendant," Pac said in his best "judge" voice.

Beej scowled sullenly, but backed down.

"Okay, uh ... opening statements, I guess," Pac said. "The prosecution will go first."

"Thank you, your Honour," Beej said. "And may I say that you look hot in that robe."

"Get on with it," Pac scowled.

"Okay, okay," the demon sighed. "Right. So, uh .... we are gathered here today to hold this man --" he pointed dramatically at Otho -- "accountable for his crimes against humanity, ghost-kind ... and me specifically."

Otho scoffed. "You? What did I ever do to you? "

Beej stormed over to him and leaned in until their noses were almost touching. "YOU TRIED TO EXORCISE ME!!!" he roared, his hair scarlet.

Otho threw his head back, grimacing in disgust. He waved a hand in front of his face. "Can you blame me?" he asked. "Your breath alone is a crime! Not to mention your fashion sense. I mean, stripes? Really??? That's sooo last century!"

"I like stripes!" the demon retorted. "Lots of people like stripes!"

"Beej," Pac warned. "Focus."

"He started it!"

"Okay, uh ... the defendant will refrain from insulting the prosecution's clothing."

"Or his breath," Beej added.

Pac sighed. "Or his breath."

"Or his --"

"Or anything else," Pac said quickly.

Beej nodded, mollified. "As I was saying," he continued, scowling at Otho, "I will prove -- beyond the shadow of a doubt -- that the defendant did willfully and with malice aforethought steal from his victims --"

"It's not my fault that people like to give me things," Otho said.

"-- used his position of influence to satisfy his carnal desires --"

"You're one to talk."

"-- drove people to suicide --"

"Some people are beyond help," the ersatz guru put in. "I can't be held responsible."

"-- knowing that they would be condemned to civil service in the Netherworld!" He turned to Pac. "It's a shitty deal -- believe me, I know. That's why I stopped Lydia from throwing herself off the roof."

"I thought it was 'cause you needed her to say --" Pac began.

"You say tomato, I say GUILTY!" the demon replied, whirling to point a finger at the defendant. "It's as plain as the knock-off suit he's wearing!"

Otho gasped in horror. "This is a custom Armani, I'll have you know!"

"I request a summary judgement," Beej said.

"I-I don't know if it's a knock-off," Pac demurred. "I buy mostly second-hand."

"You always look hot, though," Beej told him.

"Thanks," Pac said, grinning.

"The prosecution will refrain from buttering up the judge," Otho frowned.

"Hey!" Pac exclaimed. "You don't make the rules, pal!" Then he sighed. "The defendant has a point, though. No more buttering me up -- either of you."

He looked at Otho. "The defence will proceed with their opening statement."

"I'm innocent."

"And?"

"And that's all," Otho said, crossing his legs and resting his hands loosely on his knee. "What else is there to say?" He pursed his lips smugly.

Pac sighed heavily. I really don't like this guy, he thought to himself. "I don't think you get it," he said. "If Beej wins, you'll be ..." he looked at the demon. "What happens if you win?"

"I take him to the Netherworld."

"I thought only the dead were allowed to go there," Pac said.

Beej nodded eagerly, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Right. And, uh ... what happens to him there?"

The demon shrugged. "Depends on who gets ahold of him," he replied. "But it won't be pleasant! Well, not for him, anyway!"

" 'Depends on who ...'? Uhh, never mind." Pac shook his head. "Hear that?" he said to Otho. "It's not gonna be good. So you better say more than just 'I'm innocent'."

Otho's bottom lip began to tremble. "I ... I never meant to hurt anyone," he said. "I just ... I just wanted to help people. Spiritually, you know? I mean, so many people are searching for answers in this crazy world, looking for meaning, for purpose." He took a deep, overly dramatic breath. "It's not my fault that they wanted to give me all their money."

"Did you ask them to?" Pac queried.

"I simply told them that ... donations were welcome to help with administrative costs."

"Like a fancy new car," Beej sneered, "and a fancy new wardrobe, and a fancy new --"

"Okay, okay," Pac said. "Let him talk."

"In order to be successful, you have to look successful," Otho explained. "No one is going to listen to somebody who looks like ... like ... a stoner -- no offence, your Honour."

"None taken," Pac frowned.

"Objection!" Beej yelled. "The defence is buttering up the judge!"

"Uhh, no, he's really not," Pac told him. "He just called me a stoner, and implied that I dress like a loser."

"Oh," the demon said. "Yeah, right. Well ... the defence is insulting the judge! Off with his head!"

"No! No offing with his head!"

"I'm filing a motion of judicial incompetence!"

"Hey! This was your idea, pal -- I never asked to be here! Now, settle down!"

Beej grumbled, but said nothing.

"Okay," Pac said. "Let's get on with it -- call your first witness."

Beej snapped his fingers, and suddenly a young woman was sitting in the witness box.

"Hi," Pac said to her. "Uhh ... please state your name."

She leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. "Anne Butler."

"Permission to treat the witness as hostile, your Honour," Beej said.

"What? Why?"

"For fun."

"Beej ..."

"Okay, okay," the demon scowled. "Party pooper." He approached the witness box with a sheaf of papers in his hands. "Hey, how you doing?" he said. "Nice to meet you. I'm BJ -- or Beej. Your choice. Maybe later we could --"

"Get on with it," Pac sighed -- he was rapidly losing patience with this whole situation.

"Uh, yeah. Right." The demon cleared his throat dramatically. "Now then, Ms Butler -- how did you meet the defendant?"

"I ... I was in a bad place," she began. "I'd just broken up with my fiancé, the place I worked was laying people off and I was sure I'd be next, my dad was diagnosed with cancer ..."

"Sounds rough," Beej cut in. "So you were feeling vulnerable."

Anne nodded. "I saw a notice about a new group that was starting -- so I called the number to find out more, and they told me that the first meeting was that Saturday, and it was only twenty bucks, no obligation. So ... I went. I mean, what did I have to lose -- besides twenty bucks and a couple of hours, right?

"Anyway, there were a bunch of people there, and Otho was in charge. He seemed to genuinely care about us, you know? About what we were going through."

"Scumbag," Beej muttered.

"Beej," Pac warned.

"Sorry, your Honour." He turned back to the witness. "What happened in this meeting?"

"He led us in a ... a prayer, I guess you'd call it -- but we weren't praying to God. More like we were asking the universe for guidance, I guess. It was kinda strange, really, but I figured why not? It's not like God was paying attention."

"Yeah, He can be a real piece of shit," Beej nodded. "He's always like 'Oh, I love my children, they're my treasures, you guys can come to me whenever you need help', but then when you do he's like 'Whoops, sorry -- I just gotta take this call, and I'll get back to you on that' -- and then He never does. Just like the deadbeat dad He is -- am I right, or am I right?"

"Objection," Otho said. "The prosecution is ... well, he's leading the witness off-track. She's supposed to be testifying against me! "

Pac looked at him incredulously. "Really, dude? You're pissed that she's not? "

Otho looked nonplussed. "Well, it's my trial."

"Bring it back on track, Beej," Pac sighed.

"Uh, yeah -- right. Sorry. It's just that it's a bit of a sore point for me, you know? My dad took off before I was born, and then when I finally managed to track him down you know what he said? He said, 'Tough luck, kid -- I never wanted to be a father anyway.' I mean, what kind of bastard says that to his own kid, for crissakes? And my mom -- oh, don't get me started on her! She was the worst! One time she --"

"Beej!"

The demon bit his lip and looked down at his feet. "Sorry. Uh ... where was I?"

"You were asking the witness about how she met Otho," Pac reminded him.

"Right. So Otho was in charge of the meeting."

Anne nodded. "After the ... prayer he had us all tell about what was going on with our lives -- why we'd come. It felt good to talk about it, you know? So I decided to keep going to the meetings.

"Anyway, he got us to start meditating, and taught us about crystals --"

"Crystals?" Beej asked.

"How different kinds of crystals attract different kinds of spiritual energy -- I know it sounds really crazy, but it made sense, you know? Anyway, he'd sell us the crystals and candles we needed --"

"He sold you pretty rocks and scented wax."

"Well, yeah -- but it's not like you can just find them lying around on the street, right? I mean, he had to buy them first."

Otho nodded, trying his best to look the picture of innocence.

"Anyway," Anne continued, "as time went on there was always another crystal or candle we needed to get, and they got more and more expensive."

"I had to cover my costs," Otho interjected.

Pac shot him a warning look.

"How much money did he end up taking?" Beej asked.

"Nearly $15,000 -- all the money I had!" Anne replied, burying her face in her hands and sobbing. "That's ... that's when I decided to ... to ... I took a bunch of sleeping pills."

"And now you're a civil servant in the Netherworld."

Anne nodded.

"And it's all because of this guy!" the demon exclaimed, pointing dramatically at Otho. "He drove you to suicide, knowing what would happen to you after! You must really hate him."

"Well, I --"

"You must wanna see his guts ripped out."

"Um ..."

"You must wanna see him flayed alive, his eyes poked out, his head on a pike! His liver eaten by hideous birds! His flesh burned with acid! His --"

"Beej!"

Beej shook himself. "Uh, sorry, your Honour -- guess I got a little carried away for a sec." He turned back to Anne. "One last question -- did he ever, you know ..." He made a circle with his thumb and index finger and quickly slid his other index finger in and out, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Anne nodded, distraught.

"It's okay," the demon said. "Tell us all about it."

"Come on, man!" Pac sighed.

"We need to hear every detail about what he did to her!" Beej protested.

"You just wanna get your rocks off!"

"Is that so wrong??? "

Pac sighed and turned to the witness. "Was it, uh ... consensual?"

"Yeah, I -- I guess. I mean, I didn't really want to, but he said it was an important part of the healing process."

"How was it?" Beej asked. "I bet he's got a small dick -- a tiny little thing, no bigger than a --"

"I object!" Otho exclaimed. "I'll have you know that I am very well-endowed, thank you very much!"

"Really? Well, I think the court should have proof! Drop your pants!"

"No!" Pac shouted. "No one's dropping their pants!" He took a deep breath. "The witness is excused -- thank you, Ms Butler."

''But I'm not done questioning her," Beej protested.

"Call your next witness."

"Wait," Otho said. "When do I get my turn?"

"You're the defendant!" Beej told him. "You don't get to ask questions!"

"Uh, he's also acting as his own lawyer," Pac pointed out.

"That's not my problem."

"All right -- you may question the witness."

Beej scowled. "I'm gonna file a writ when this is over!"

"Yeah, you do that," Pac chuckled. He looked at Otho. "Go ahead, ask your questions."

"I, uh ... I don't actually have any questions for this witness at this time, your Honour," he admitted. "I just wanted to make sure that I could."

Pac frowned. "Okay, then -- next witness."

*****

And so it went. Witness after witness was called to testify, and Pac found his hands full just trying to prevent Beej from making a circus of the whole thing. Otho, for his part, spent his time alternately making snarky comments, sobbing, and coming up with lame excuses for his actions.

"Any more witnesses?" Pac asked wearily.

"Just one more, your Honour," Beej said. "The prosecution calls Delia Deetz to the stand."

Delia appeared suddenly in the witness box, looking a bit dishevelled. "What the hell -- BJ? Otho! "

"Hey, Mom," Beej said.

"BJ, what's going on? What am I doing here?"

"Otho's on trial," he explained. "And you're my last witness."

"On trial??? BJ, what are you doing?"

"He hurt a lot of people -- including you. He should pay for that." Beej took her hand in his. "You just tell your story, and he'll get what's coming to him -- I promise."

"BJ, no -- I ... I can't. I won't help you hurt him. He's still my friend."

"But he hurt you!"

"Yes," she nodded. "Yes, he did. But if he hadn't ... I never would have moved to New York. I never would have met Charles, or Lydia. And so I never would have come to Connecticut with them ... and I never would have met you. And I wouldn't have become your mom."

Beej's face fell -- he hadn't considered that.

"Otho has done a lot of bad things, but it's only because he did those things that you're part of our family," she said. "I think you should let karma deal with him."

The side of Beej's mouth twitched.

"Beej?" Pac asked. "What do you wanna do?"

The demon let out a loud sigh and snapped his fingers, freeing Otho. The ersatz guru rubbed his wrists.

"You're free to go," the demon told him.

"Really?" Otho sneered. "Not even an apology?"

"Otho, darling," Delia hissed, "shut the hell up before he changes his mind!"

Beej snapped his fingers again and Otho disappeared, transported back to the land of the living.

"Thank you, BJ," Delia said. "It was the right thing to do."

"I only let him go because of you," he told her.

"I know, honey. Now, how about you take us all back home?"

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter Ten. Apocalyptic Violence

…This was a “moment of madness”—a revolutionary, romantic moment when an entire society seems to be up for grabs. In these moments, fundamental change appears irresistible; for a brief moment, “all seems possible, all within reach.” Across time, people who get caught up in moments of madness imagine that their own “radiant vision” is at hand: a workers’ paradise, a grassroots democracy, fraternité-egalité-liberté, or the Second Coming of Jesus. The utopian imagination is—suddenly, powerfully, briefly—inflamed by the immediate prospect of radical change, by visions of an apocalypse now.

—Stephen D. O’Leary describing the “Great Awakening” of the 1700s[203]

The Gilead Baptist Church outside of Detroit is on a four-lane highway called South Telegraph Road. The drive down South Telegraph Road to the church, a warehouse-like structure surrounded by black asphalt parking lots, is a depressing gauntlet of boxy, cut-rate motels with names like Melody Lane and Best Value Inn. The highway is flanked by a flat-roofed Walgreens, Blockbuster, discount liquor stores, Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Bob’s Big Boy, Sunoco and Citgo gas stations, a Ford dealership, Nails USA, the Dollar Palace, Pro Quick Lube and U-Haul. The tawdry display of cheap consumer goods, emblazoned with neon, lines both sides of the road, a dirty brown strip in the middle. It is a sad reminder that something has gone terribly wrong with America, with its inhuman disregard for beauty and balance, its obsession with speed and utilitarianism, its crass commercialism and its oversized SUVs and trucks and greasy junk food. This disdain for nature, balance and harmony is part of the deadly, numbing assault against community. Ten or fiften minutes negotiating the traffic down South Telegraph Road make the bizarre attraction of the End Times—the obliteration of this world of alienation, noise and distortion—comprehensible. The manufacturing jobs in the Detroit auto plants nearby are largely gone, outsourced to other nations with cheaper labor. The paint is flaking off the cramped two-story houses that lie in grid patterns off the highway. The plagues of alcoholism, divorce, drug abuse, poverty and domestic violence make the internal life here as depressing as the external one. And the congregation gathering today in this church waits for the final, welcome relief of the purgative of violence, the vast cleansing that will lift them up into the heavens, and leave the world they despise, the one they ruined or that was ruined for them, to be wracked by plagues and flood and fire until it, and all those they blame for the debacle of their lives, are consumed and destroyed by God. It is a theology of despair. And for many, the apocalypse can’t happen soon enough.

The guru of the End Times movement is a small, elderly, gnomelike man with his hair dyed coal black, a battery-powered earpiece and a pedantic, cold demeanor. His name is Timothy LaHaye, a Southern Baptist minister and coauthor, along with Jerry Jenkins, of the Left Behind series of Christian apocalyptic thrillers that provide the graphic details of raw mayhem and cruelty that God will unleash on all nonbelievers when Christ returns and raptures Christians into heaven. Astonishingly, the novels are among the best-selling books in America with more than 62 million in print. They have been made into movies, as well as a graphic video game in which teenagers can blow away nonbelievers and the army of the Antichrist on the streets of New York City. These books have come to express, for many in the Christian Right, the yearning they feel for the Rapture, the end of history, the end of time. Once Christ returns and believers are lifted into heaven, the Earth will, they are told, enter a period of tribulation. The tribulation will lead to a final, gruesome battle between Christ and the forces of the Antichrist, with “bodies bursting open from head to toe at every word that proceeded out of the mouth of the Lord as he spoke to the captives within Jerusalem.”[204] In the novels those Christians, who hastily converted once the righteous were lifted into the clouds, have to drive carefully to avoid hitting splayed and filleted corpses of men and women and horses. The soldiers in the army of the Antichrist, facing the warrior Christ, are defeated in the final moments as “their flesh dissolved, their eyes melted, and their tongues disintegrated.” And after pages of graphic violence, readers are told that the soldiers of the Antichrist “stood briefly as skeletons in now-baggy uniforms, then dropped in heaps of bones as the blinded horses continued to fume and rant and rave.”[205]

LaHaye and Jenkins had to distort the Bible to make all this fit—the Rapture, along with the graphic details of the end of the world and the fantastic time line, is never articulated in the Bible—but all this is solved by picking out obscure and highly figurative passages and turning them into fuzzy allegory to fit the apocalyptic vision. This stygian nightmare is, rather, a visceral and disturbing expression of how believers feel about themselves and the world. The horror of apocalyptic violence—the final aesthetic of the movement—at once frightens and thrills followers. It feeds fantasies of revenge and empowerment. It is an ominous reminder that failing to follow God’s commands will ensure their own eternal damnation. LaHaye has a checkered past that includes years working for the John Birch Society and many more peddling quack theories such as “temperament analysis,” which purports to be a system to identify predominant characteristics, strengths and weaknesses to help people make vocational, personal and marital decisions. He was previously known for books such as Spirit Controlled Temperament, Transformed Temperaments, The Male Temperament and Your Temperament: Discover Its Potential, all variants of astrology.[206] In short, before becoming the champion of a Christian America and the apocalypse he made his living as a fortune-teller. LaHaye has helped found and lead numerous right-wing groups, including the Council for National Policy, and he is not only the nation’s best-selling author, but also one of the dominionists’ most powerful propagandists.

LaHaye has come to the conference with his wife, Beverly, who founded Concerned Women of America, an antifeminist group with 540,000 women “who were committed to protecting the rights of the family through moral activism.”[207] They were the early pioneers in the Christian Right’s attack on the school textbook industry, helping to orchestrate a series of lawsuits against publishers who printed material they found offensive or anti-Christian. They sit together at a table to sign their books, and the line snakes down the corridor, with many people clutching multiple books for signatures. LaHaye, along with two other well-known apocalyptic preachers—including Gary Frazier, the glib, silver-tongued founder of the Texas-based Discovery Ministries, Inc., which leads “Walking Where Jesus Walked” tours in Israel—travels the country holding daylong End Time conferences, such as today’s event at the Gilead Baptist Church. Tickets to the event in Detroit cost $20. Frazier and LaHaye also take pilgrims to visit Israel, where they stand on the hill of Megiddo—better known as Armageddon—that in the Book of Revelation is the site of the final battle between the forces of Christ and the Antichrist. In the lobby of the church, just outside the sanctuary, a television set on a stand continuously runs one of the tapes of a “Walking Where Jesus Walked” tour next to a table filled with Frazier’s books, CDs and DVDs.

LaHaye insists that everything in the Bible is literally true. All events in the modern world are described and represented, he says, in the Bible. All has been predicted. The Bible is primarily a book of prophecies that predict the events that will take place shortly before the worldwide cataclysm. This belief relies on a curious hybrid of allegory and literal interpretation. When Revelation 9:1–11 says that monsters will appear whose faces are “like human faces,” with “hair like women’s hair,” “teeth like lions’ teeth,” “scales like iron breastplates” and “tails like scorpions and stings,” LaHaye assures us they will appear. These monsters, which will have what look like crowns of gold on their heads, will torture unbelievers for five months, although not kill them. He quotes from some of the more disturbing passages in the Book of Revelation to remind his listeners of how terrible it will be for nonbelievers: “And in those days men will seek death and will not find it; they will long to die and death will fly from them” (Revelations 9:6).

“Everything we believe is based on the principles of this book,” LaHaye tells the group from the church pulpit, holding up his Bible.

“How do we know this is a supernatural book?” LaHaye asks. “Fulfilled prophecies prove that this was not written by men,” he says. “One thousand prophecies, as the Bible tells us, five hundred of which have already been fulfilled.”

The apocalyptic fantasy calls on believers to turn their backs on the crumbling world around them. This theology of despair is empowered by widespread poverty, violent crime, incurable diseases, global warming, war in the Middle East and the threat of nuclear war. All these events presage the longed-for obliteration of the Earth and the glorious moment of Christ’s return. In this scenario, the battle at Armageddon will be unleashed from the Antichrist’s worldwide headquarters in Babylon once the Jews again have control of Israel. The war in Iraq, along with the conflict between Israel and the Palestinians, only brings the world one step closer to the end.

LaHaye, his head poking up from behind the wooden pulpit, tells the story of the origins of his series of apocalyptic books to those in the pews in front of him. He was on an airplane, he says, watching a pilot flirt with an attractive flight attendant. The pilot had a wedding ring. The flight attendant did not. He wondered what would happen if the Rapture happened at that moment. What would happen if hundreds of millions of saved Christians were raptured into heaven and the unsaved left behind, including those who were insufficient Christians, along with Muslims, Catholics and Jews? He convinced Jerry Jenkins, a former sportswriter, to help him set his vision down in a series of novels. He and Jenkins went on to imagine the Rapture and what would happen when it set loose the Tribulation and a worldwide war. In their vision, this war would be waged by a band of new believers, called the Tribulation Force, against Satan and the Antichrist. In the end, seas and rivers would turn to blood, searing heat would burn men alive, ugly boils would erupt on the skin of the disfavored, and 200 million ghostly, demonic warriors would sweep across the planet, exterminating one-third of the world’s population. Those who join forces with the Antichrist in the Left Behind series, true to LaHaye’s conspiracy theories, include the United Nations, the European Union, Russia, Iraq, all Muslims, the media, liberals, freethinkers and “international bankers.” The Antichrist, who heads the United Nations, eventually moves his headquarters to Babylon. These demonic forces battle the remaining Christian believers—those who converted after the Rapture took place, remnants of extremist American militia groups, who in the novels are warriors for Christ, and the 144,000 Jews who convert. This, through pages of dense, stilted and leaden prose, is what has captivated tens of millions of American readers. And LaHaye tells those in front of him that he believes that their generation may be the “terminal” generation. He warns his listeners to get right with God as fast as they can because there is not much time left.

Gary Frazier, with his thick head of silver hair, is the most engaging of the speakers. He has a soft Texas twang, at times a soaring eloquence and easy cadence. He begins by flashing a drawing of a monster, taken, he says, from a dream of Nebuchadnezzar that was interpreted for the king by Daniel in Second Daniel. King Nebuchadnezzar sees in his dream a statue with a head of gold, iron teeth, bronze claws, arms and chest of silver, stomach and thighs of bronze, legs of iron, and feet of iron and clay.

“‘Here’s what it means,’” Frazier quotes Daniel as saying. “‘You, Nebuchadnezzar, are the head. That’s the Babylonian Empire. You rule over the whole world, but there’ll come a second empire behind you,’ and historically, we know now as we look back, that was the Medo-Persian Empire.” Frazier explains that the stomach and thighs of bronze are the Hellenistic Empire. The two legs of iron, he says, represent the Roman Empire.

“You see what God did was in this simple dream of Daniel, God set the boundaries, the parameters, that there would never be more than four world empires in the entire history of time,” Frazier explains. “It would be the Babylonians defeated by the Medes and the Persians, who were then later defeated by the Greeks, who were defeated by Rome, but the interesting part is found in the two feet and the ten toes of part iron and part plate.”

He tells the congregation that the 10 toes stand for ethnically mixed cultures that will unite and rise up to dominate the world before the Rapture. He describes this empire as the European Union, or what he says is a revived form of the Roman Empire. This final empire will be destroyed by God to usher in the 1,000-year reign of Christ.

Frazier says the final chapter in human history started in 1948 with the foundation of the state of Israel, something predicted by the Bible. Less noticed but equally important, he tells the crowd, was the 1948 Benelux Conference that brought together Holland, Luxembourg and Belgium. This too, he says, fulfilled biblical prophecy. Just as God had to restore Jews to the land of Israel before the End Times, so too did God have “to raise Europe back up in order to bring to pass this revived form of the ancient Roman Empire.”

He explains that while each of the other empires fell, Rome “has never gone away,” his voice dipping ominously. Instead of falling to an outside invader, Rome “collapsed,” “imploded,” due to its own “degradation and perversion.” “You see, there’s never been a society in the history of the world that has openly accepted and embraced homosexuality and lesbianism that has survived,” he explains, because while homosexuals and lesbians may not reproduce, “they are busy recruiting.”

“We’re seeing the shaping, the rebirthing, the revising of the ancient Roman Empire that will ultimately be the world power,” Frazier says of the European Union, the figure of the metallic man with the iron legs on the screen behind him.

He explains that Europe, because it has so few Bible-believing Christians, will not see large sections of its population lifted to heaven in the Rapture. The United States, however, will be devastated when tens of millions of its Christians disappear, including half of the military. America will suddenly become “a Third World” power, and Europe, ruled by the Antichrist, will dominate the planet.

“These prophecies were never given to scare us but to prepare us for the second coming of Jesus Christ,” he says.

The second sign of the End Times, he says, will be the rise of radical Islam. This too, he says, is predicted in the Bible.

“Now,” he says, “I realize that we’re living in a community that has a large Arab constituency. I want you to know something as I begin this portion of this particular message. Not all Muslims are terrorists. I want you to know that. But I also want you to know that to date every terrorist has been a Muslim. Hello? I want you also to know that the scripture’s clear on a couple of things, and I’m going to say some things today in the next few moments that may be construed as being intolerant. I want you to understand that. I’ve been called that on more than one occasion. And if you get mad at me about it, you’ll get over it, all right?

“In the days following 9/11,” Frazier says, “I heard our leadership say that we’re not at war with the religion of Islam, that there were Islamic radicals who had taken over the religion and they’re the ones we have a problem with. Folks, I’m here to tell you right now, I want to apologize to you on behalf of our president and our political leadership because they lied to us. We are at war with the religion of Islam, and it is not a handful of radical Islamists who are taking over the religion and hijacking it.”

He speaks about the child martyrs in the war between Iran and Iraq, in which the Iranian clerics sent young boys into the minefields to clear the way for troops and returned their remains, Frazier says, in urns to their families.

“Can you explain to me how in the West that we would understand a person who would strap dynamite upon themselves and blow themselves up along with innocent men and women and children with the promise that they would have seventy brown-haired—I mean blond-haired, blue-eyed—virgins for their unlimited sexual pleasure in this place called paradise? And the parents of that person then throw a party celebrating the destruction of their child. You want to tell me you understand that kind of mentality?

“Islam,” Frazier says dramatically, “is a satanic religion.”

He tells the crowd that his honesty and candor have brought him threats. He insists he has Muslim friends and that some Muslims who live in America love this country. But he warns about “a second kind of Muslim” who is in America for “the wrong reasons.”

These Muslims want to export their religion and achieve their goal of “world domination,” he explains.

“You show me a country that is dominated by Muslims, and I’ll show you a country where people are dying, where there are no freedoms or rights, and people being persecuted on a daily basis,” he says. “God help us if they ever were to get in control, in charge here in the United States of America.”

He warns of Muslim “sleeper cells” waiting to carry out new terrorist attacks. He illustrates his point with a hypothetical story about a Muslim doctor forced to accept a nefarious mission or receive the heads of his three children in a box.

Frazier stops, pauses and slowly scans the crowd, which sits silently, expectantly for his next sentence.

“I thank God for our men and women who are fighting over there because if they weren’t fighting there, we’d be fighting right here in the streets of America. I’m convinced of that,” he says, and the sanctuary erupts in loud applause.

Once the Antichrist takes power, the second temple in Jerusalem will be rebuilt. Followers of the Antichrist will be branded on their hands and foreheads with “the mark of the Beast,” which Frazier says could well be “biochips” implanted under the skin. It will be impossible to buy and sell in the new world without this mark. Those who convert to Christ will receive “the mark of the Father” on their foreheads, but they will become outcasts and persecuted in the Antichrist’s worldwide empire. Most will be martyred and killed.

“Do you see this?” he asks. “We’re the first generation that’s ever had the possibility of this happening in our lives.

“Does that apply to you?” he asks. “Do you have to be concerned about taking the mark? Absolutely not. You can’t have but one mark. You’re safe if you already have it—the blood of Jesus Christ that cleanses away my sin and yours.”

He goes on to say that the loved ones of many in this room, who are not saved, will be branded with the mark of the Beast because they will be left behind.

America, according to Frazier, LaHaye and many other leaders in the movement, is being ruled by evil, clandestine organizations that hide behind the veneer of liberal, democratic groups. These clandestine forces seek to destroy Christians. They spread their demonic, secular-humanist ideology through front groups such as the American Civil Liberties Union, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, the National Organization for Women, Planned Parenthood, the Trilateral Commission and “the major TV networks, high-profile newspapers and news-magazines,” the U.S. State Department, major foundations (Rockefeller, Carnegie, Ford), the United Nations, “the left wing of the Democratic Party,” Harvard, Yale “and 2,000 other colleges and universities.”

America must repent, Frazier tells his audience. It must ask God to cleanse the moral stains that infect the nation and its godless inhabitants. The nation must swiftly dismantle the barriers between church and state and bring God back into the schools, the government, the media, the entertainment industry, the workplace, the courts and the home. Time is running out. If America, as a nation, does not get right with God very soon, it will face terrible retribution. The sins that have befallen America, the moral license, the high rates of premarital sex, homosexuality, abortion, pornography, the adultery and the greed and lust that have beset the country must be stamped out. America must become submissive and heed God’s prophets or be destroyed. If the Christians in this room fail, if they do not wipe out vice, sin and corruption, if they do not establish a Christian America soon, God will begin to carry out acts of vengeance.

Frazier ends the conference with a call for those in the room to commit or recommit their souls to Christ.

“This afternoon as we bring our time together to a close, it’s not about being a Baptist; we went through that earlier. It is not about being a Methodist, or charismatic, or Assembly of God or an Episcopalian,” he says softly. “It is about knowing in your soul.”

He asks those before him if they are sure that if Christ appeared today they would go to heaven.

“I’m not trying to trick you,” he implores the bowed heads. “I’m trying to reason with you. For you see, one day the life that you and I know will be over. So I just wonder, is there a stirring in your heart? Am I speaking to you? Is He calling your name? He is. He is knocking on the door of your life? The door handle is on the other side. Where does it open? You have to open it. How do you do that? Well, the way I did it years ago was to call on the name of the Lord, and I prayed. I’m going to ask you this afternoon if there is a stirring in your heart.” He prays:

“Dear Lord Jesus, I know that I’m a sinner, and right now as an act of my own free will, I agree with You that I have sinned, and I want to ask You to forgive me of the sin that separates me from You. Come into my life; save my soul—and right now, with heads bowed and eyes closed, I just wonder if any of you have prayed that prayer. Here is what I’m going to ask you to do: Will you lift your head and look at me and make eye contact with me? I just want to see your face. No one is looking around. If you prayed that prayer, here is what I’m going to ask you to do—will you lift your head and look at me and make eye contact with me? I just want to see your face. No one is looking around. If you prayed that prayer and you really mean it then just lift your head, look at me so I can see your…God bless you, God bless you…I can’t really see the balcony because of the angle here, but if you are in the balcony will you slip your hand up for just a moment…God bless you, God bless you, yep, yeah, God bless you…you…you…and God bless you back there.”

Several people in the pews begin weeping softly.

Frazier tells them God has taken their sins away.

“And now when God looks at you, he doesn’t see your sins, your mistakes, He sees the blood of Jesus that washed your sin away,” he intones.

He invites all those who raised their hands or looked him in the eye to stand and come down to the front of the church. A couple dozen people slowly make their way past those in the pews to walk down the aisles to the front. Frazier gathers them around him in a tight circle. As the group forms, several church members wearing tags that say “counselor” silently enter the sanctuary through the double doors at the back. They wait, hands folded in front of them, to pray with the new converts, to tell them they need to come to church and to offer to help guide them toward new life.

Frazier thanks God for looking past the congregation’s sins.

He tells the small group in front of him not to go back to their friends or family, not to retrieve their belongings from the pews.

“We are going to ask you to walk right back to that door,” he says, pointing to where the counselors with the name tags are waiting to receive the group. “Would you all just step right through that door? And while they are going, folks, can we just do what the angels in heaven are doing?”

He starts to clap. The crowd follows his lead. The men and women file down the aisle as the crowd applauds, each being met by an individual counselor who takes their arm and guides them to a secluded corner in the lobby. The process begins.

What I watch reminds me of a lazy spring afternoon nearly 25 years ago, when Dr. James Luther Adams, my ethics professor at Harvard Divinity School, told us that when we were his age—he was then close to 80—we would all be fighting the “Christian fascists.”

The warning came at the moment Pat Robertson and other radio and televangelists began speaking about a new political religion that would direct its efforts at taking control of all institutions, including mainstream denominations and the government. Its stated goal was to use the United States to create a global Christian empire. It was hard, at the time, to take such fantastic rhetoric seriously, especially given the buffoonish quality of leaders in the Christian Right who expounded it. But Adams warned us against the blindness caused by intellectual snobbery. The Nazis, he said, were not going to return with swastikas and brown shirts. Their ideological inheritors in America had found a mask for fascism in patriotism and the pages of the Bible.

Adams was not a man to use the word “fascist” lightly. He was in Germany in 1935 and 1936 and worked with the underground anti-Nazi church, known as the Confessing Church, with dissidents such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Adams was eventually detained and interrogated by the Gestapo, who suggested he might want to consider returning to the United States. It was a suggestion he followed. He left on a night train with framed portraits of Adolf Hitler placed over the contents inside his suitcase to hide the rolls of home movie film he took of the so-called German Christian Church, which was pro-Nazi, and the few individuals who defied them, including the theologians Karl Barth and Albert Schweitzer. The ruse worked. The border police lifted the tops of the suitcases, saw the portraits of the Führer and closed them up again. I watched hours of the grainy black-and-white films as he narrated in his apartment in Cambridge.

He saw in the Christian Right, long before we did, disturbing similarities with the German Christian Church and the Nazi Party, similarities, he said that would, in the event of prolonged social instability, catastrophe or national crisis, see American fascists, under the guise of Christianity, rise to dismantle the open society. He despaired of liberals, who he said, as in Nazi Germany, mouthed empty platitudes about dialogue and inclusiveness that made them ineffectual and impotent. Liberals, he said, did not understand the power and allure of evil or the cold reality of how the world worked. His long discussions with church leaders and theologians in Nazi Germany—some of whom collaborated with the regime, some of whom resisted and most of whom remained silent—were the defining experiences of his life. He was preoccupied with how liberal democracies, which could never hope to compete with the fantastic, utopian promises of personal and collective salvation offered by totalitarian movements, could resist. Adams was a close friend of the theologian Paul Tillich, a vocal opponent of the Nazis who in 1933 became the first non-Jewish professor barred from German universities and soon went into exile. Tillich, he reminded us, taught that the role of the church was in society, that the depth of its commitment and faith were measured by its engagement with politics and culture. It was this engagement that alone gave faith its vibrancy and worth. Tillich did not retreat from the looming crisis around him. He spoke out against the intolerance and hatred preached by the Nazis before they came to power. And Tillich angrily chastised those in the church who, preoccupied with narrow Christian piety, were passive. He thundered against this complacency and begged Christians to begin to “take time seriously.”

Adams had seen how the mask of religion hides irreligion. He reminded us that “our world is full to bursting with faiths, each contending for allegiance.” He told us that Hitler claimed to teach the meaning of faith. Mussolini used to shout, “Believe, follow, and act,” and told his followers that fascism, before being a party, had been a religion. Human history is not the struggle between religion and irreligion, Adams said. “It is veritably a battle of faiths, a battle of the gods who claim human allegiance.”

Democracy is not, as these Christo-fascists claim, the enemy of faith. Democracy keeps religious faith in the private sphere, ensuring that all believers have an equal measure of protection and practice mutual tolerance. Democracy sets no religious ideal. It simply ensures coexistence. It permits the individual to avoid being subsumed by the crowd—the chief goal of totalitarianism, which seeks to tell all citizens what to believe, how to behave and how to speak. The call to obliterate the public and the private wall that keeps faith the prerogative of the individual means the obliteration of democracy. Once this wall between church and state, or party and state, is torn down, there is an open and subtle warfare against love, which in an open society is another exclusive prerogative of the individual. In the totalitarian world, there are those worthy of love and those unworthy of it. In the totalitarian world, the private sphere becomes the concern of the state. This final restriction of the freedom to love—the freedom of a Christian to love a Muslim or the freedom to love those branded by the state as the enemy—heralds the death of the open society. The promises of Christian harmony, unity, happiness—in short a utopia—held forth by the dominionists have a seductive quality that will never be countered by the tepid offerings of democrats, who at best can offer citizens the opportunity to seek their own happiness and construct their own meaning.

We must, Adams also told us, watch closely what these new fascists accused their opponents of planning. For radical movements expose their own intentions and goals by tarring their enemies with their own nefarious motives. These movements assume that those they attack are, like themselves, also hiding their true agenda, also plotting to silence and eradicate opponents. This common form of “projection” was, on a smaller scale, on display during the Florida recount in 2000. The Republicans accused Al Gore of attempting to steal the election through court fiat, the very theft being secretly orchestrated by the Republicans. Richard Hofstadter was one of the first to grasp the role of projection in “The Paranoid Style in American Politics”:

It is hard to resist the conclusion that this enemy is on many counts the projection of the self; both the ideal and the unacceptable aspects of the self are attributed to him. The enemy may be the cosmopolitan intellectual, but the paranoid will outdo him in the apparatus of scholarship, even of pedantry. Secret organizations set up to combat secret organizations give the same flattery. The Ku Klux Klan imitated Catholicism to the point of donning priestly vestments, developing an elaborate ritual and an equally elaborate hierarchy. The John Birch Society emulates Communist cells and quasi-secret operation through “front” groups and preaches a ruthless prosecution of the ideological war along lines very similar to those it finds in the Communist enemy. Spokesmen of the various fundamentalist anti-Communist “crusades” openly express their admiration for the dedication and discipline the Communist cause calls forth.[208]

Adams, like Bonhoeffer, did not believe that those who would fight effectively in coming times of turmoil, a fight that for him was an integral part of the biblical message, would arise from the institutional church or the liberal, secular elite. His critique of the prominent research universities, along with the media, was withering. These institutions—self-absorbed, compromised by their close relationship with government and corporations, given enough of the pie to be complacent—were unwilling to deal with the fundamental moral questions and inequities of the age. They had no stomach for a battle that might cost them their prestige and comfort. He saw how easily the German universities had been Nazified. He told me, I suspect only half in jest, that if the Nazis took over America, “60 percent of the Harvard faculty would begin their lectures with the Nazi salute.” He had seen academics at the University of Heidelberg, including the philosopher Martin Heidegger, raise their arms stiffly to students before class. Adams also reminded us that American intellectuals and industrialists openly flirted with fascism in the 1930s. Mussolini’s “corporatism,” which created an unchecked industrial and business aristocracy, appealed to many American industrialists at the time, who saw it as an effective counterweight to Roosevelt’s New Deal. In July 1934, Fortune magazine lavished praise on the Italian dictator for his defanging of labor unions and his empowerment of industrialists at the expense of workers. And Sinclair Lewis’s 1935 novel It Can’t Happen Here told the story of a conservative politician, “Buzz” Windrip, backed by a nationally syndicated radio host, Bishop Peter Paul Prang, who is elected president and becomes a dictator to save the nation from welfare cheats, sex, crime and a liberal press.

The New York Times in 1944 asked Vice President Henry Wallace to answer the questions: What is a fascist? How many fascists have we? How dangerous are they? The Vice President’s answers were published on April 9, 1944, as the war against the Axis powers and Japan was drawing to a close. He wrote:

The really dangerous American fascist…is the man who wants to do in the United States in an American way what Hitler did in Germany in a Prussian way. The American fascist would prefer not to use violence. His method is to poison the channels of public information. With a fascist the problem is never how best to present the truth to the public but how best to use the news to deceive the public into giving the fascist and his group more money or more power. They claim to be superpatriots, but they would destroy every liberty guaranteed by the Constitution. They demand free enterprise but are the spokesmen for monopoly and vested interest. Their final objective toward which all their deceit is directed is to capture political power so that, using the power of the state and the power of the market simultaneously, they may keep the common man in eternal subjugation.[209]

Adams knew that resentments and bigotry lurk below the surface of all democratic societies and can be roused, under the right conditions, to promote a creed that calls for the destruction of democracy. What is evil about these systems of intolerance and persecution is not the foot soldiers who carry out the crimes, but the organization that mobilizes and unleashes these dark passions. He worried that such a movement was, late in his life, again on the march. It was more sophisticated than in the past, more cleverly packaged, and this time without serious opposition. The hatreds were again being stoked. The labor unions and progressives who had been able to battle back in the 1930s were spent forces. The despair of tens of millions of Americans, unable to find manufacturing jobs or work that offered fair wages and benefits, would lead them, he knew, into the arms of these fanatical preachers. The rage of those abandoned by the economy, the fears and concerns of a beleaguered and insecure middle class, and the numbing isolation that comes with the loss of community, would be the kindling for a dangerous mass movement. If these dispossessed were not reincorporated into mainstream society, if they eventually lost all hope of finding good, stable jobs and opportunities for themselves and their children—in short, the promise of a brighter future—the specter of American fascism would beset the nation. This despair, this loss of hope, this denial of a future, led the desperate into the arms of those who promised miracles and dreams of apocalyptic glory. Adams had seen it once. He knew what it looked like. He feared it was coming again.

Toward the close of the Second World War, Adams was asked to give a lecture about the Nazi faith to a large group of U.S. Army officers preparing for service in the occupation army in Germany. He described the views expressed by the officers at the meeting as “an orgy of self-righteousness.” Bigotry, in all its forms, had to be vigorously fought. He was not going to let this opportunity escape him. Adams wrote later:

This self-righteousness, I decided, ought somehow to be checked. Otherwise I might succeed only in strengthening the morale of a bumptious hundred-percent “Americanism,” and that was not the faith we were supposed to be fighting for. Toward the end of the lecture I recapitulated the ideas of the Nazi “faith,” stressing the Nazi belief in the superiority of the Teutons and in the inferiority of other “races.” I also reminded the officers of similar attitudes to be observed in America, not only among the lunatic and subversive groups but also among respectable Americans in the army of democracy. Then I asked these Army officers to pose one or two questions to be answered by each man in his own conscience. First: “Is there any essential difference between your attitude toward the Negro and the Jew, and the Nazi attitude toward other ‘races’—not the difference in brutality but a difference in basic philosophy?” “If there is an essential difference,” I said, “then the American soldier might logically become a defender of the Four Freedoms [freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom from want, and freedom from fear], but if there is no essential difference between your race philosophy and that of the Nazis, a second question should be posed: “What are you fighting for?” I blush when I think of some of the responses I received. I was immediately besieged with questions like these: “Do you think we should marry the nigger?” “Aren’t Negroes a naturally indolent and dirty race?” “Haven’t you been in business, and don’t you know that every Jew is a kike?” Questions like these came back to me for over an hour. I simply repeated my question again and again: “How do you distinguish between yourself and a Nazi?” Seldom have I witnessed such agony of spirit in a public place. Many of these Americans who could not distinguish between themselves and Nazis came from “religious” homes, or they claimed to be representatives (or even leaders) of the American faith. Apparently their faith was quite different from the faith behind the Four Freedoms. On the other hand, many of them no doubt would have disclaimed possessing anything they would call faith, yet all of them, whatever their answers to these questions, spoke the faith that was in them, and for many of them it was a trust in white, gentile supremacy—faith in the blood.[210]

Adams, finally, told us to watch closely what the Christian Right did to homosexuals. The Nazis had used “values” to launch state repression of opponents. Hitler, days after he took power in 1933, imposed a ban on all homosexual and lesbian organizations. He ordered raids on places where homosexuals gathered, culminating in the ransacking of the Institute for Sexual Science in Berlin and the permanent exile of its director, Magnus Hirschfeld. Thousands of volumes from the institute’s library were tossed into a bonfire. The stripping of gay and lesbian Germans of their civil rights was largely cheered by the German churches. But this campaign legitimized tactics, outside the law, that would soon be employed against others. Adams said that homosexuals would also be the first “social deviants” singled out and disempowered by the Christian Right. We would be the next.

Those arrayed against American democracy are waiting for a moment to strike, a national crisis that will allow them to shred the Constitution in the name of national security and strength. And those in the movement often speak about such a moment with gleeful anticipation. Howard Phillips, a right-wing strategist who helped Jerry Falwell create the Moral Majority, has warned Christians to be ready. “My friends, it is time to leave the ‘political Titanic’ on which the conservative movement has for too long booked passage,” he told the Council for National Policy. “Instead, it is our task to build an ark so that we can and will be ready to renew and restore our nation and our culture when God brings the tides to flood.”[211]

Debate with the radical Christian Right is useless. We cannot reach this movement. It does not want a dialogue. It is a movement based on emotion and cares nothing for rational thought and discussion. It is not mollified because John Kerry prays or Jimmy Carter teaches Sunday school. Naive attempts to reach out to the movement, to assure them that we, too, are Christian or we, too, care about moral values, are doomed. This movement is bent on our destruction. The attempts by many liberals to make peace would be humorous if the stakes were not so deadly. These dominionists hate the liberal, enlightened world formed by the Constitution, a world they blame for the debacle of their lives. They have one goal—its destruction.

Alvin Toffler wrote that if you don’t have a strategy you end up being part of someone else’s strategy. There are isolated groups and individuals who, at some cost, are fighting back. The nonviolent protests of the Reverend Mel White’s Soulforce outside of Christian universities and service academies that discriminate against gays and lesbians are, according to the ideas of theologians such as Adams and Tillich, acts of faith. The clergy and rabbis who have banded together in Ohio to challenge the tax-exempt status of the megachurches that promote “Christian” candidates are performing an act of faith. The rulings of independent judges—such as the Republican-appointed Judge John E. Jones III in Dover, Pennsylvania—who have prohibited the teaching of creationism in public schools because it is not science, are acts of faith. Cardinal Roger Mahony, the head of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, the nation’s largest, has called on Catholics to be prepared to defy the laws now being considered in Congress and backed by the Christian Right that make it a felony to shield or protect or offer support to illegal immigrants. Such civil disobedience would be an act of faith. The hate-crimes legislation now stalled in Congress because of bitter opposition from the Christian Right must be made law. Its passage would be an act of faith. Programs to protect or establish community, to direct federal and state assistance to those truly left behind, those trapped in America’s urban ghettos and blighted former manufacturing towns, are acts of faith. And the valiant struggle by former Vice President Al Gore and others to wake us up to the impending catastrophe that will beset us if we do not curb global warming is an act of faith. The accelerated rate of global warming could, within a decade, bring about epic destruction involving extreme weather, floods, droughts, epidemics and killer heat waves. To face this challenge, to do something about it, is to embrace a theology of hope, of life. To do nothing, to paint these ecological catastrophes as messages from an angry God rather than the folly of humankind, to believe blithely that global warming is a fiction and God alone determines human fate, is to accept this theology of despair, this radical evil. There are battles, big and small, that we can join. Many of them are being waged nearby, at our local school board. So much of maintaining a democracy is simply about showing up, and Adams felt that none of us had a right to profess our faith without this daily involvement in the life and well-being of our community, our nation and the planet Earth. “Repeatedly,” Adams told us, “I heard anti-Nazis say, ‘If only 1,000 of us in the late twenties had combined in heroic resistance, we could have stopped Hitler.’”

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain ends with Huck facing the moral dilemma we now face: whether to pay homage to a false moral code, one which has become law, or to damn ourselves in the eyes of many by opposing it. Here is Huck, faced with the choice of turning in his friend and escaped slave Jim, or living in defiance:

So I was full of trouble, full as I could be; and didn’t know what to do. At last I had an idea; and I says, I’ll go and write the letter—and then see if I can pray. Why, it was astonishing, the way I felt as light as a feather right straight off, and my troubles all gone. So I got a piece of paper and a pencil, all glad and excited, and set down and wrote: Miss Watson, your runaway nigger Jim is down here two mile below Pikesville and Mr. Phelps has got him and he will give him up for the reward if you send. Huck Finn. I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever felt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now. But I didn’t do it straight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinking—thinking how good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost and going to hell. And went on thinking. And got to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me, all the time in the day, and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a-floating along, talking, and singing, and laughing. But somehow I couldn’t seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. I’d see him standing my watch on top of his’n, stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call me honey, and pet me, and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling the men we had smallpox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was the best friend old Jim ever had Apocalyptic Violence in the world, and the only one he’s got now; and then I happened to look around and see that paper. It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling, because I’d got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: “All right, then, I’ll go to hell”—and tore it up.[212]

The radical Christian Right calls for exclusion, cruelty and intolerance in the name of God. Its members do not commit evil for evil’s sake. They commit evil to make a better world. To attain this better world, they believe, some must suffer and be silenced, and at the end of time all those who oppose them must be destroyed. The worst suffering in human history has been carried out by those who preach such grand, utopian visions, those who seek to implant by force their narrow, particular version of goodness. This is true for all doctrines of personal salvation, from Christianity to ethnic nationalism to communism to fascism. Dreams of a universal good create hells of persecution, suffering and slaughter. No human being could ever be virtuous enough to attain such dreams, and the Earth has swallowed millions of hapless victims in the vain pursuit of a new heaven and a new Earth. Ironically, it is idealism that leads radical fundamentalists to strip human beings of their dignity and their sanctity and turn them into abstractions. Yet it is only by holding on to the sanctity of each individual, each human life, only by placing our faith in tiny, unheroic acts of compassion and kindness, that we survive as a community and as individual human beings. These small acts of kindness are deeply feared and subversive to these idealists, as the Russian novelist Vasily Grossman wrote in Life and Fate.

I have seen that it is not man who is impotent in the struggle against evil, but the power of evil that is impotent in the struggle against man. The powerlessness of kindness, of senseless kindness, is the secret of its immortality. It can never be conquered. The more stupid, the more senseless, the more helpless it may seem, the vaster it is. Evil is impotent before it. The prophets, religious teachers, reformers, social and political leaders are impotent before it. This dumb, blind love is man’s meaning. Human history is not the battle of good struggling to overcome evil. It is a battle fought by a great evil struggling to crush a small kernel of human kindness. But if what is human in human beings has not been destroyed even now, then evil will never conquer.[213]

Plato and Aristotle defended slavery and often attacked Athenian democracy, but this does not mean they should not be read for their deep and penetrating insights into political systems and ethics. Sigmund Freud understood little about love, viewed religion as infantile regression and viewed nearly every human motive through the lens of human sexuality, but at the same time Freud gave us one of the most powerful windows into and vocabularies for the workings of the subconscious. The Bible was written by numerous people over hundreds of years with wide and often varying concerns, some of which were and are morally indefensible. Within its pages, however, lie powerful passages that help illuminate our lives and our place before the mystery of human existence. I, too, struggle, like the writers of the Bible, to understand. I, too, often get it wrong. But it is the honesty and rigor of the search, the doubts and reverses, the mistakes and regrets, the ability to stand up again and keep trying that ultimately express faith. This humility before the unknowable, the acceptance that there is much we will never understand, makes possible self-criticism, self-awareness, self-possession and self-reflection. They make possible compassion and acts of kindness. They allow us to see ourselves in the stranger, to reach out in solidarity to those who travel with us on this dusty, brief and often lonely road of life. This honesty and humility make possible a diverse and tolerant human community. They sustain life and, in the midst of it all, impart hope.

I do not deny the right of Christian radicals to be, to believe and worship as they choose. But I will not engage in a dialogue with those who deny my right to be, who delegitimize my faith and denounce my struggle before God as worthless. All dialogue must include respect and tolerance for the beliefs, worth and dignity of others, including those outside the nation and the faith. When this respect is denied, this clash of ideologies ceases to be merely a difference of opinion and becomes a fight for survival. This movement seeks, in the name of Christianity and American democracy, to destroy that which it claims to defend. I do not believe that America will inevitably become a fascist state or that the Christian Right is the Nazi Party. But I do believe that the radical Christian Right is a sworn and potent enemy of the open society. Its ideology bears within it the tenets of a Christian fascism. In the event of a crisis, in the event of another catastrophic terrorist attack, an economic meltdown or huge environmental disaster, the movement stands poised to manipulate fear and chaos ruthlessly and reshape America in ways that have not been seen since the nation’s founding. All Americans—not only those of faith—who care about our open society must learn to speak about this movement with a new vocabulary, to give up passivity, to challenge aggressively this movement’s deluded appropriation of Christianity and to do everything possible to defend tolerance. The attacks by this movement on the rights and beliefs of Muslims, Jews, immigrants, gays, lesbians, women, scholars, scientists, those they dismiss as “nominal Christians,” and those they brand with the curse of “secular humanist” are an attack on all of us, on our values, our freedoms and ultimately our democracy. Tolerance is a virtue, but tolerance coupled with passivity is a vice.

[bymooniemoonsims]

Dynamic Daters Makeover

How did these four completely different Sims end up under the same roof? Well, it’s all for the plot, of course! Carmen, a retired CEO with a wildly successful career behind her, was looking for some excitement in her golden years after losing her wife. Years ago, she met Elia, who had been hired as the chef for her company. The two hit it off instantly and have been inseparable ever since.

Manuel joined the mix more recently, after a chance encounter with Carmen and Elia during a night out. His over-the-top personality and immediate obsession with Carmen amused her, and while she found his infatuation flattering (if a bit ridiculous), it quickly cemented his spot in the group. Not long after, Manuel’s close friend and style guru, Yoltic, joined the household, bringing even more flair to the dynamic.

Who knows what romantic chaos and adventures await this eclectic crew?