#the bronze altar

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The Bronze Altar

1 “You shall make the altar of acacia wood, five cubits[a] long and five cubits broad. The altar shall be square, and its height shall be three cubits. 2 And you shall make horns for it on its four corners; its horns shall be of one piece with it, and you shall overlay it with bronze. 3 You shall make pots for it to receive its ashes, and shovels and basins and forks and fire pans. You shall make all its utensils of bronze. 4 You shall also make for it a grating, a network of bronze, and on the net you shall make four bronze rings at its four corners. 5 And you shall set it under the ledge of the altar so that the net extends halfway down the altar. 6 And you shall make poles for the altar, poles of acacia wood, and overlay them with bronze. 7 And the poles shall be put through the rings, so that the poles are on the two sides of the altar when it is carried. 8 You shall make it hollow, with boards. As it has been shown you on the mountain, so shall it be made.

The Court of the Tabernacle

9 “You shall make the court of the tabernacle. On the south side the court shall have hangings of fine twined linen a hundred cubits long for one side. 10 Its twenty pillars and their twenty bases shall be of bronze, but the hooks of the pillars and their fillets shall be of silver. 11 And likewise for its length on the north side there shall be hangings a hundred cubits long, its pillars twenty and their bases twenty, of bronze, but the hooks of the pillars and their fillets shall be of silver. 12 And for the breadth of the court on the west side there shall be hangings for fifty cubits, with ten pillars and ten bases. 13 The breadth of the court on the front to the east shall be fifty cubits. 14 The hangings for the one side of the gate shall be fifteen cubits, with their three pillars and three bases. 15 On the other side the hangings shall be fifteen cubits, with their three pillars and three bases. 16 For the gate of the court there shall be a screen twenty cubits long, of blue and purple and scarlet yarns and fine twined linen, embroidered with needlework. It shall have four pillars and with them four bases. 17 All the pillars around the court shall be filleted with silver. Their hooks shall be of silver, and their bases of bronze. 18 The length of the court shall be a hundred cubits, the breadth fifty, and the height five cubits, with hangings of fine twined linen and bases of bronze. 19 All the utensils of the tabernacle for every use, and all its pegs and all the pegs of the court, shall be of bronze.

Oil for the Lamp

20 “You shall command the people of Israel that they bring to you pure beaten olive oil for the light, that a lamp may regularly be set up to burn. 21 In the tent of meeting, outside the veil that is before the testimony, Aaron and his sons shall tend it from evening to morning before the Lord. It shall be a statute forever to be observed throughout their generations by the people of Israel. — Exodus 27 | English Standard Version (ESV) The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. ESV® Text Edition: 2016. Copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Cross References: Exodus 20:24; Exodus 25:5-6; Exodus 25:22; Exodus 26:1; Exodus 26:36; Exodus 29:12; Exodus 29:42; Exodus 35:16-17; Exodus 36:38; Exodus 38:3-4; Numbers 3:26; Numbers 4:15; Acts 7:44

Commentary on Exodus 27 by Matthew Henry

Key Passages in Exodus 27

1. The altar of burnt offering, with the vessels thereof 9. The court of the tabernacle enclosed with hangings and pillars 18. The measure of the court, and the furniture of brass 20. The oil for the lamp

[dieletztepanzerhexe]

North Macedonia. Anthropomorphic figurines and „house”, sanctuary models from Pelagonian tell settlements:

Suvodol (1), Porodin (2, 5, 8, 9), Dobromiri (3), Veluška Tumba (4, 7), Mogila (6) (by Bugaj—Naumov—Trzeciecki et al. 2014, Fig. 2)

Terracotta models of shrines with female busts have, in our view, fulfilled both the role of ritual artifacts, the small „shrines” and the function of female statuettes in the cult of fruitfulness and fecundity.

[emaadsidiki]

The Thought by Giulio Monteverde

[pagan-stitches]

Still working with my water dedicated to Morana/Smrtka

[ofruinsandmyth]

Dromberg Stone Circle (The Druid's Altar)

[thepastisalreadywritten]

By Courtney Mares

9 November 2024

For the first time in over a century, the historic Chair of St. Peter, a wooden throne symbolizing the pope’s magisterial authority, has been removed from its gilded bronze reliquary in St. Peter’s Basilica to be displayed for public veneration. 

Pilgrims and visitors can now behold this storied relic directly in front of the basilica’s main altar, just above the tomb of St. Peter, where it will remain on display until December 8, the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception.

According to Pietro Zander, Head of the Necropolis and Artistic Heritage Section of the Vatican:

"The last major public viewing of the chair occurred in 1867, when Pope Pius IX exposed the Chair of Peter for the veneration of the faithful for 12 days on the 1,800th anniversary of the martyrdoms of St. Peter and St. Paul."

It was the first time that the centuries-old wooden throne had been exhibited to the public since 1666 when it was first encased within Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s monumental bronze sculpture under the stained-glass Dove of the Holy Spirit window at the basilica’s apse.

Formally known as the Cathedra Sancti Petri Apostoli, or more simply as Cathedra Petri, the chair has held a revered place in Catholic tradition over the centuries, representing papal authority from St. Peter to the present.

“The chair is meant to be understood as the teacher’s ‘cathedra,’” art historian Elizabeth Lev told CNA.

“It symbolizes the pope’s duty to hand down the teaching of Christ from generation to generation.”

She explained:

“It’s antiquity [ninth century] speaks to a papacy that has endured through the ages — from St. Peter who governed a church on the run trying to evangelize with the might of the Roman Empire trying to shut him down, to the establishment of the Catholic Church and its setting down of roots in the Eternal City, to our 266th successor of St. Peter, Pope Francis.”

A Storied History

The wooden chair itself is steeped in history.

According to the Vatican, the wooden seat was likely given by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles the Bald to Pope John VIII in A.D. 875 for the emperor’s Christmas coronation in the old St. Peter’s Basilica.

A depiction of the emperor appears on the crossbeam of the chair, and its ivory panels illustrate the labors of Hercules along with other scenes from Greek mythology.

The informational sign near the chair in St. Peter’s Basilica informs visitors that “shortly after the year 1000, the Cathedra Petri began to be venerated as a relic of the seat used by the apostle Peter when he preached the Gospel first in Antioch and then in Rome.”

The Fabric of St. Peter, the organization responsible for the basilica’s upkeep, maintains:

“It cannot be ruled out that this ninth-century imperial seat may have later incorporated the panel depicting the labors of Hercules, which perhaps originally belonged to an earlier and more ancient papal seat.”

Before returning the chair to its place within Bernini’s monumental reliquary, Vatican experts will conduct a series of diagnostic tests with the Vatican Museums’ Cabinet of Scientific Research.

The ancient seat was last removed and studied from 1969 to 1974 under Pope Paul VI but was not shown to the public.

The recent restoration of Bernini’s works in the basilica, funded by the Knights of Columbus in preparation for the Catholic Church’s 2025 Jubilee Year, made it possible for the chair to be moved from the bronze sculpture in August.

Pope Francis got a sneak peak of the relic in early October and a photo of the moment — showing him sitting in a wheelchair before the Chair of St. Peter — quickly went viral.

Afterward, the pope requested that the relic be displayed for public veneration.

Francis ultimately decided that the Chair of St. Peter — a symbol of the Church’s unity under the instruction of Christ — would be unveiled for the public at the closing Mass for the Synod on Synodality.

“Pope Francis has been exceptionally generous to the faithful about displaying relics,” Lev said.

“He brought out the bones of St. Peter shortly after his election, he had the Shroud of Turin on view in 2015, and now he has taken the Chair of Peter out for veneration in the basilica.” 

“In our virtual age, where much confusion reigns between what is real and what is not, Pope Francis has encouraged us to come face to face with these ancient witnesses of our faith and our traditions.”

Feast of the Chair of St. Peter

The Feast of the Chair of St. Peter, celebrated each year on February 22, dates back to the fourth century.

St. Jerome (A.D. 347–420) spoke of his respect for the “Chair of Peter,” writing in a letter:

“I follow no leader save Christ, so I enter into communion with … the Chair of Peter, for this I know is the rock upon which the Church is built.”

As Pope Benedict XVI explained in a 2006 catechesis:

“‘Cathedra’ literally means the established seat of the bishop, placed in the mother church of a diocese, which for this reason is known as a ‘cathedral.”

“It is the symbol of the bishop’s authority and in particular, of his ‘magisterium,’ that is, the evangelical teaching which, as a successor of the apostles, he is called to safeguard and to transmit to the Christian community,” he said.

When a bishop takes possession of the particular Church that has been entrusted to him, he sits on the cathedra, Benedict explained:

“From this seat, as teacher and pastor, he will guide the journey of the faithful in faith, hope, and charity.”

“The Church’s first ‘seat’ was the upper room, and it is likely that a special place was reserved for Simon Peter in that room where Mary, mother of Jesus, also prayed with the disciples,” he added.

Benedict XVI described Peter’s ministry as a journey from Jerusalem to Antioch, where he served as bishop, and ultimately to Rome.

He noted that the See of Rome, where Peter ultimately “ended his race at the service of the Gospel with martyrdom,” became recognized as the seat of his successors, with the cathedra representing the mission entrusted to Peter by Christ.

“So it is that the See of Rome, which had received the greatest of honors, also has the honor that Christ entrusted to Peter of being at the service of all the particular Churches for the edification and unity of the entire people of God,” he said.

Bernini’s Baroque Masterpiece

Bernini’s monumental reliquary for the chair, commissioned by Pope Alexander VII and completed in 1666, is one of the most iconic artworks in St. Peter’s Basilica.

Bernini encased the wooden relic within a bronze-gilded throne, dramatically raised and crowned by a stained-glass depiction of the Holy Spirit, symbolized as a dove, surrounded by sculpted angels.

The bronze throne is supported by massive statues of four doctors of the Church — two from the West, St. Augustine and St. Ambrose, and two from the East, St. John Chrysostom and St. Athanasius.

It is symbolizing the unity of the Church through the ages, bringing together the teachings of both the Latin and Greek Church Fathers.

And at the top of the throne, cherubs hold up a papal tiara and keys symbolizing papal authority.

On the chair itself, there are three gold bas-reliefs representing the Gospel episodes: "consignment of the keys" (Matthew 16:19), “feed my sheep” (John 21:17), and the "washing of the feet" (John 13:1-17).

The ongoing restoration of Bernini’s monument at the Altar of the Chair, along with the recently finished restoration of the baldacchino, is significant not only in light of the 2025 Jubilee Year but also the upcoming 400th anniversary of the Consecration of the Current St. Peter’s Basilica in 2026.

Benedict XVI said:

“Celebrating the ‘Chair’ of Peter means attributing a strong spiritual significance to it and recognizing it as a privileged sign of the love of God, the eternal Good Shepherd, who wanted to gather his whole Church and lead her on the path of salvation.”

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Greek Champion x Priestess Reader - NonCon

He was chosen by the Gods to slaughter, to strike down all who stand against him. Your city has fallen at last and he has come to claim his prize.

Yandere! Champion with his bronze armour and his scars, sunlight reflecting off him in battle likes he's Ares himself.

Yandere! Champion who cares for nothing but his own glory. He'll step over the bodies of his own men if it meant victory.

Yandere! Champion who's chosen as the head of the delegation sent to your city. The offer is simple - swear fealty to the Greeks, open the city gates and hand over your Champion to be executed.

Yandere! Champion who rides right up to the city walls, even when his fellow warriors stay far out of arrow range. Does he not care for his own life, you wonder, or does he simply think himself immortal?

Yandere! Champion who barely even tries to be diplomatic. Who seems to think war is a foregone conclusion.

When your prince refuses him, Yandere! Champion looks up at the royalty and clergy on the wall above him - the greatest and most powerful of the city - and he spits.

"I will take this city and crush your walls under my heels."

Yandere! Champion who catches your eye and holds it. You, just a minor Priestess of Athena, have somehow attracted his attention.

Yandere! Champion who smiles a slow, terrible smile and you wonder what God whispered carnage in his cradle.

Yandere! Champion who blows you a mocking kiss, even though your robes show your dedication to the virgin goddess.

Yandere! Champion who is true to his promise. His soldiers throw themselves at your gates until the bodies on both sides are piled higher than your head.

Yandere! Champion who cuts down your prince in battle. Who beheads him with one clean sweep and as you watch it happen, you realise he is no mere mortal.

He truly is the God of War's Champion.

Yandere! Champion who doesn't even cheer when the city falls to him. Who simply steps over the shattered gates and heads toward the temple of Athena, his xiphos dripping blood behind him.

Yandere! Champion who finds you just as you're about to run. You're the last to leave the temple. Your love for your goddess outweighed your fear but the clash of swords and plumes of smoke finally broke you.

You're on the broad stairs that lead to the temple when you see him, standing at the bottom and looking up at you. His cloak and the crest on his helmet are a deep scarlet and he looks like a spill of blood on the marble stairs.

Yandere! Champion who takes a step forward for each one you take back. Your hands are trembling and he notices it, relishes it.

Yandere! Champion who smiles at you again. His helmet covers most of his face so all you can see is gleaming bronze and bloodstained teeth.

"Little virgin priestess. Your goddess has abandoned you."

Yandere! Champion who finally reaches the top of the stairs and now that you're on even ground, you realise how he towers over you.

Yandere! Champion whose strides are much longer than yours and he gets closer with each halting step you take away.

"Why else would your city fall? You have been forsaken."

His blade twitches in his hand and it makes you jump. His eyes are on you - a colour so deep they look black. Hungry enough to devour you, devour the city, swallow the whole damn world.

For the first time, you feel afraid in your Goddess's temple.

Yandere! Champion who finally stops. His sword is still streaked with blood and it shines an awful red. His eyes dip from your face to your chest to your thighs. And nothing in his gaze seems noble or honourable at all.

"Run, priestess. Run to your Goddess and maybe she can save you."

You run.

You run through the temple, marble pillars blurring in your vision. The altar, the statues.... Surely no harm can come to you in the temple of Athena? Surely the War Goddess can protect one of her own?

Yandere! Champion who catches you at the base of her statue. Who grabs your hair and forces you to the ground.

Yandere! Champion who digs his knee into your back, one hand in your hair and the other gripping his sword. He's going to kill you, you think. Slit your throat and spill your blood on holy ground.

But he doesn't kill you. No, what he does is far worse.

Yandere! Champion who casts his sword aside and presses himself against your back, his weight trapping you under him.

Yandere! Champion who drags your chiton up your thighs, his breath growing ragged with want. Fingers digging into your flesh like he wants to sink hooks into you.

Yandere! Champion who was promised a prize.

Yandere! Champion who has levelled cities in the name of his God. Who's burnt temples to the ground. Who has forsaken his humanity for glory.

Yandere! Champion who was promised a prize and who demanded Athena's most beautiful priestess.

Yandere! Champion who trails kisses across your jaw and neck and shoulders. Whose lips leave blood behind.

Yandere! Champion who doesn't care to prepare you. Who lines his cock up with your cunt and sheaths himself inside you with one brutal thrust.

Yandere! Champion who pulls your hair so hard you arch your back. Whose weight on you makes his breastplate dig into your shoulder blades. Whose grunts echo in your ears.

Yandere! Champion who thrusts and thrusts and mercilessly keeps going.

Yandere! Champion who fucks you in the temple of the Virgin Goddess. Who desecrates Athena's temple and priestess both. And yet the candles keep burning, the fountains still flow clear.

The pain burns through your stomach like fire. And still you reach for her, for your Goddess.

Yandere! Champion who grabs your outstretched hand and forces it to the floor, who intertwines his fingers with yours in a terrible parody of intimacy.

You plead with her, your voice rough with panic and grief. But the statue's eyes are nothing more than sculpted marble.

Yandere! Champion who finally has his prize, after years of carnage and searching. And who will never let you go.

Yandere! Champion who cums inside of you, his voice rasping in your ear.

"Your goddess has abandoned you, little priestess. And I am all that remains."

And in the awful silence of the temple, with a killer's hands on your skin, you realise what it means to hate the Gods.

[perlukafarinn]

Dean's boyfriends ranked by how normal they were about him (from most to least):

4. Lee Webb. As normal as one could get about Dean Winchester. Like yeah, he tried to kill him, but that was completely unrelated to them being exes. Even able to have a nice, friendly reunion with Dean, no hard feelings at all (again, until Lee tried to kill him).

3. Benny Lafitte. Genuinely probably the closest Dean got to a normal relationship with a man and they probably could have made it work if they weren't both hung up on other people. Benny did end up sacrificing his life for Dean, after Dean ghosted him even, but Dean was only partly the motivation there. Still, seeing the dynamic between Dean and Cas in Purgatory and willingly inserting yourself is kind of bonkers.

2. Crowley. Man started this relationship thinking he had the upper hand, then caught feelings and fully shattered himself on the altar of Dean Winchester. Went around telling people that Dean completes him after they had a regrettable summer fling, then sacrificed his life for him because that's just what falling in love with late-seasons Dean does to a motherfucker.

(Special mention of Chuck, who while completely abnormal about Dean was never his boyfriend, as much as he wishes.)

1. Castiel. And it's not even close. In this competition, Cas takes the gold, silver and bronze. Laid a hand on Dean in hell and never had a normal thought again. You just know he had fantasies for years about confessing his love for Dean while dying in his arms before it actually happened. Fortunately for him, Dean matches his freak perfectly.

[lordgodjehovahsway]

Exodus 38: Bezalel Starts Building the Altar of Burnt Offering

1 They built the altar of burnt offering of acacia wood, three cubits high; it was square, five cubits long and five cubits wide. 

2 They made a horn at each of the four corners, so that the horns and the altar were of one piece, and they overlaid the altar with bronze. 

3 They made all its utensils of bronze—its pots, shovels, sprinkling bowls, meat forks and firepans. 

4 They made a grating for the altar, a bronze network, to be under its ledge, halfway up the altar. 

5 They cast bronze rings to hold the poles for the four corners of the bronze grating. 

6 They made the poles of acacia wood and overlaid them with bronze. 

7 They inserted the poles into the rings so they would be on the sides of the altar for carrying it. They made it hollow, out of boards.

The Basin for Washing

8 They made the bronze basin and its bronze stand from the mirrors of the women who served at the entrance to the tent of meeting.

The Courtyard

9 Next they made the courtyard. The south side was a hundred cubits long and had curtains of finely twisted linen,

10 with twenty posts and twenty bronze bases, and with silver hooks and bands on the posts. 

11 The north side was also a hundred cubits long and had twenty posts and twenty bronze bases, with silver hooks and bands on the posts.

12 The west end was fifty cubits wide and had curtains, with ten posts and ten bases, with silver hooks and bands on the posts. 

13 The east end, toward the sunrise, was also fifty cubits wide. 

14 Curtains fifteen cubits long were on one side of the entrance, with three posts and three bases, 

15 and curtains fifteen cubits long were on the other side of the entrance to the courtyard, with three posts and three bases. 

16 All the curtains around the courtyard were of finely twisted linen. 

17 The bases for the posts were bronze. The hooks and bands on the posts were silver, and their tops were overlaid with silver; so all the posts of the courtyard had silver bands.

18 The curtain for the entrance to the courtyard was made of blue, purple and scarlet yarn and finely twisted linen—the work of an embroiderer. It was twenty cubits long and, like the curtains of the courtyard, five cubits high, 

19 with four posts and four bronze bases. Their hooks and bands were silver, and their tops were overlaid with silver. 

20 All the tent pegs of the tabernacle and of the surrounding courtyard were bronze.

The Materials Used

21 These are the amounts of the materials used for the tabernacle, the tabernacle of the covenant law, which were recorded at Moses’ command by the Levites under the direction of Ithamar son of Aaron, the priest. 

22 (Bezalel son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, made everything the Lord commanded Moses; 

23 with him was Oholiab son of Ahisamak, of the tribe of Dan—an engraver and designer, and an embroiderer in blue, purple and scarlet yarn and fine linen.) 

24 The total amount of the gold from the wave offering used for all the work on the sanctuary was 29 talents and 730 shekels, according to the sanctuary shekel.

25 The silver obtained from those of the community who were counted in the census was 100 talents and 1,775 shekels, according to the sanctuary shekel— 

26 one beka per person, that is, half a shekel, according to the sanctuary shekel, from everyone who had crossed over to those counted, twenty years old or more, a total of 603,550 men. 

27 The 100 talents of silver were used to cast the bases for the sanctuary and for the curtain—100 bases from the 100 talents, one talent for each base. 

28 They used the 1,775 shekels to make the hooks for the posts, to overlay the tops of the posts, and to make their bands.

29 The bronze from the wave offering was 70 talents and 2,400 shekels. 

30 They used it to make the bases for the entrance to the tent of meeting, the bronze altar with its bronze grating and all its utensils, 

31 the bases for the surrounding courtyard and those for its entrance and all the tent pegs for the tabernacle and those for the surrounding courtyard.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The Altar of Incense

1 And thou shalt make an altar to burn incense upon: of shittim wood shalt thou make it.

2 A cubit shall be the length thereof, and a cubit the breadth thereof; foursquare shall it be: and two cubits shall be the height thereof: the horns thereof shall be of the same.

3 And thou shalt overlay it with pure gold, the top thereof, and the sides thereof round about, and the horns thereof; and thou shalt make unto it a crown of gold round about.

4 And two golden rings shalt thou make to it under the crown of it, by the two corners thereof, upon the two sides of it shalt thou make it; and they shall be for places for the staves to bear it withal.

5 And thou shalt make the staves of shittim wood, and overlay them with gold.

6 And thou shalt put it before the vail that is by the ark of the testimony, before the mercy seat that is over the testimony, where I will meet with thee.

7 And Aaron shall burn thereon sweet incense every morning: when he dresseth the lamps, he shall burn incense upon it.

8 And when Aaron lighteth the lamps at even, he shall burn incense upon it, a perpetual incense before the Lord throughout your generations.

9 Ye shall offer no strange incense thereon, nor burnt sacrifice, nor meat offering; neither shall ye pour drink offering thereon.

10 And Aaron shall make an atonement upon the horns of it once in a year with the blood of the sin offering of atonements: once in the year shall he make atonement upon it throughout your generations: it is most holy unto the Lord.

The Census Tax

11 And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying,

12 When thou takest the sum of the children of Israel after their number, then shall they give every man a ransom for his soul unto the Lord, when thou numberest them; that there be no plague among them, when thou numberest them.

13 This they shall give, every one that passeth among them that are numbered, half a shekel after the shekel of the sanctuary: (a shekel is twenty gerahs:) an half shekel shall be the offering of the Lord.

14 Every one that passeth among them that are numbered, from twenty years old and above, shall give an offering unto the Lord.

15 The rich shall not give more, and the poor shall not give less than half a shekel, when they give an offering unto the Lord, to make an atonement for your souls.

16 And thou shalt take the atonement money of the children of Israel, and shalt appoint it for the service of the tabernacle of the congregation; that it may be a memorial unto the children of Israel before the Lord, to make an atonement for your souls.

The Bronze Basin

17 And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying,

18 Thou shalt also make a laver of brass, and his foot also of brass, to wash withal: and thou shalt put it between the tabernacle of the congregation and the altar, and thou shalt put water therein.

19 For Aaron and his sons shall wash their hands and their feet thereat:

20 When they go into the tabernacle of the congregation, they shall wash with water, that they die not; or when they come near to the altar to minister, to burn offering made by fire unto the Lord:

The Anointing Oil and Incense

21 So they shall wash their hands and their feet, that they die not: and it shall be a statute for ever to them, even to him and to his seed throughout their generations.

22 Moreover the Lord spake unto Moses, saying,

23 Take thou also unto thee principal spices, of pure myrrh five hundred shekels, and of sweet cinnamon half so much, even two hundred and fifty shekels, and of sweet calamus two hundred and fifty shekels,

24 And of cassia five hundred shekels, after the shekel of the sanctuary, and of oil olive an hin:

25 And thou shalt make it an oil of holy ointment, an ointment compound after the art of the apothecary: it shall be an holy anointing oil.

26 And thou shalt anoint the tabernacle of the congregation therewith, and the ark of the testimony,

27 And the table and all his vessels, and the candlestick and his vessels, and the altar of incense,

28 And the altar of burnt offering with all his vessels, and the laver and his foot.

29 And thou shalt sanctify them, that they may be most holy: whatsoever toucheth them shall be holy.

30 And thou shalt anoint Aaron and his sons, and consecrate them, that they may minister unto me in the priest's office.

31 And thou shalt speak unto the children of Israel, saying, This shall be an holy anointing oil unto me throughout your generations.

32 Upon man's flesh shall it not be poured, neither shall ye make any other like it, after the composition of it: it is holy, and it shall be holy unto you.

33 Whosoever compoundeth any like it, or whosoever putteth any of it upon a stranger, shall even be cut off from his people.

34 And the Lord said unto Moses, Take unto thee sweet spices, stacte, and onycha, and galbanum; these sweet spices with pure frankincense: of each shall there be a like weight:

35 And thou shalt make it a perfume, a confection after the art of the apothecary, tempered together, pure and holy:

36 And thou shalt beat some of it very small, and put of it before the testimony in the tabernacle of the congregation, where I will meet with thee: it shall be unto you most holy.

37 And as for the perfume which thou shalt make, ye shall not make to yourselves according to the composition thereof: it shall be unto thee holy for the Lord.

38 Whosoever shall make like unto that, to smell thereto, shall even be cut off from his people. — Exodus 30 | King James Version (KJV) The King James Version Bible is in the public domain Cross References: Genesis 17:14; Exodus 25:6; Exodus 25:5; Exodus 25:11; Exodus 25:21-22; Exodus 28:41; Exodus 28:43; Exodus 29:7; Exodus 29:21; Exodus 29:37; Exodus 31:1; Exodus 38:8; Exodus 40:9; Exodus 40:31; Leviticus 8:6; Leviticus 8:11; Leviticus 16:12; Numbers 1:2-3; Numbers 4:16; Numbers 31:54; Matthew 5:15; Matthew 17:24; Matthew 21:12; Luke 1:9; Hebrews 9:4; Hebrews 9:7; Revelation 8:3; Revelation 9:13

Exodus 30 Bible Commentary - Matthew Henry (concise)

Key Passages in Exodus 30

1. The altar of incense 11. The ransom of souls 17. The bronze basin 22. The holy anointing oil 34. The composition of the incense

[reviewsdeprodutosvalidados]

Devocional do dia: Qual será o sacrifício de hoje? - #sacrifício # holoc...

[multi-fandom-imagine]

hey!! I loved your Epic series, and if it doesn't bother you, can you do one of places where Apollo would have sex with fem!reader? <3

A/n: Excellent

Apollo’s Favorite Places He and You Have Had Sex

By the god of poetry, prophecy, music, and absolutely unholy sex

1. In the Temple Dedicated to Him

Of course this is one of his favorites. What kind of god wouldn’t want to be worshiped in every possible sense of the word?

He had you spread across the marble altar, sunlight slicing through the columns like golden blades, casting holy light on your naked skin. The air was thick with incense — frankincense, myrrh, and your scent, which he swears is now his favorite perfume.

Apollo took his time, slow and deliberate, the kind of slow that’s maddening. He whispered praises into your ear in Ancient Greek, tongue flicking along your neck as he slid into you. Every roll of his hips made the mosaics overhead seem to shimmer. “You were made for this,” he muttered, hands holding your thighs open like he was offering you to the gods — except he was the god, and you were already his offering.

By the time he finished, you were trembling, back arched, the altar damp with sweat. He looked down at you like you were the prophecy he never saw coming — beautiful, divine, and absolutely wrecked.

2. On His Sun Chariot (While It Was in the Sky)

“Do you trust me?” he asked with that infuriatingly perfect grin — right before lifting you into the flaming chariot mid-sky.

The chariot moved fast, powered by his divine horses, soaring through the clouds. The wind whipped your hair back, and the sunlight painted his skin in godly gold, brighter than anything mortal eyes could bear. But he only had eyes for you.

He had you bent over the front of the chariot, bracing yourself against the golden frame as he pounded into you from behind, every thrust rattling the heavens. The horses neighed in approval (or protest — honestly who cared?), and the mortals below probably thought the streaks in the sky were shooting stars. They had no idea it was just Apollo fucking his favorite mortal across the stratosphere.

You came screaming his name — and somewhere, a poet was struck with inspiration.

3. In the Oracle’s Chamber at Delphi

The sacred space where his voice speaks through the Pythia and now, through you, when he’s deep inside and you can barely form coherent words.

The first time it happened, he caught you staring a little too long at the bronze tripod where the Oracle sat. He raised a brow and said, “Wanna sit there?” And you, of course, didn’t realize what he meant until he was lowering you onto it, letting you straddle the seat while he knelt before you.

His tongue was devastating. Divine. Almost cruel with how expertly he worked you up, dragging it over your slick folds, licking and sucking like it was ambrosia. He held your thighs open, whispering things no mortal should ever hear — promises of how he’d make you feel like a goddess, if only for a moment.

And then he stood, slid into you with a slow groan, and suddenly you understood why the Oracle spoke in tongues. Because with Apollo inside you, gasping and calling out is the only language that makes sense.

4. In the Middle of a Field of Poppies

Sun-warmed, lazy, dream-dazed sex. One of those days where he’d wrapped himself around you under the golden sun, fingers lazily stroking your skin, feeding you grapes and kisses like you were Persephone and he was trying to lure you into staying forever.

The poppies rustled around you, soft and fragrant, as he slid between your legs with the kind of tenderness that made your chest ache. He didn’t thrust so much as roll into you, every motion a sin made sacred by the way he whispered your name.

This was slow, syrupy sex. Hands in hair. Lips on collarbones. Words like “mine” and “always” murmured like prayers. He made love to you, and then he did it again, even slower, even deeper, until you were boneless and blissed out and wearing nothing but petals and his fingerprints.

5. On the Stage at an Empty Amphitheater

Because Apollo isn’t just the god of prophecy and plague — he’s the god of music, and your moans are his favorite melody.

He sat on the edge of the stage, legs spread, cock hard and leaking, beckoning you forward like you were his next performance. You sank to your knees, mouth parting around him, and he groaned like the first note of a song.

But that wasn’t enough. It never is with him. He pulled you up, bent you over the edge of the platform, and slid into you with a low hiss. The acoustics made everything louder — the slap of skin, the wet sound of your cunt, your broken cries as he fucked you harder and harder, until your voice echoed across the stone walls like some ancient hymn.

He swore later that if anyone ever heard that echo, they’d be compelled to write the next great tragedy. One that begins and ends with a god losing his mind over a mortal like you.

6. In His Sacred Grove — Against a Laurel Tree

Oh, this one was personal.

You were teasing him, wearing one of his laurel crowns and nothing else, lounging among his trees like you owned the place. “You know that’s sacred,” he warned, but you just smiled.

So he made you kneel before the tree, cheek pressed to the bark, while he took you from behind, fingers gripping your hips so tight you bore little bruises shaped like his hands.

“You think you can mock me, little nymph?” he growled against your neck. “I’m a god. Your god.”

You bit back a moan, but he smirked. “Say it. Who do you belong to?”

“Apollo,” you gasped. “I belong to Apollo.”

He didn’t stop until your legs gave out, and even then he lifted you, pinned you to the tree, and fucked you into it like he was staking his claim on nature itself.

7. In His Library — With You Bent Over His Scrolls

Knowledge? Sacred. Learning? Beautiful. But nothing makes Apollo harder than seeing you stretched across his parchment, smudging ink with your sweat and slick.

He had been reading. You had been distracting. And suddenly, you were bent over the desk, skirt bunched around your waist, hands grasping for the edge as he filled you from behind. Scrolls fell to the floor. Candles flickered. The only thing louder than your cries was the sound of his hips slamming into you.

He groaned every time you clenched around him. “You’re ruining centuries of wisdom,” he growled, “and I don’t even care.”

You came with his name on your lips and a map of ancient texts pressed into your back. He came with a curse and a promise — that he’d bind you to him, with words and moans and the kind of pleasure only a god can give.

Honorable Mentions

• In the bath, with golden oils and lazy kisses

• During a thunderstorm, while lightning crackled around you

• In mortal disguise, in a crowded temple, with his fingers inside you while you tried to stay quiet

• Against a mirror, watching you fall apart and loving every second of it

And the best part?

Every time he takes you — no matter the place — he swears he falls a little more. You’re his muse, his madness, his favorite song. And he’ll keep writing you into every verse, every prophecy, every moan that leaves his lips.

Because for Apollo, the god of light, there is nothing more divine than the way you say his name when you come.

[bi-numi-aliyani]

Another out-in-the-woods setup 💚

I really wish I was more active on here, I've just been absolutely clobbered with anxiety and everything else 😓 I wanna do more for the Deities, though, like praying more regularly and even composing more of my own prayers. I'll try to post more of my Semitic Pagan life as it comes like I said before, I just wish I wasn't so terrified of failure. Please pray for me if you pray much at all, I could certainly use it. Shulmu 𒁲𒈬 to you all!

[andy-15-07]

The Wedding

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 1381

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Warnings:smut

The air crackled with anticipation as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the Palatine Hill. In the heart of Rome, amidst the grandeur of the imperial palace, preparations for the wedding of General Marcus Acacius and his beloved Y/n were in full swing.

Y/n, resplendent in a gown of ivory silk that shimmered like moonlight on water, waited nervously backstage. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she gazed at her reflection in the polished bronze mirror. Her hair, a cascade of raven tresses, was adorned with a delicate wreath of lilies, their fragrance a sweet counterpoint to the nervous flutter in her stomach.

Marcus Acacius, his armor polished to a blinding sheen, stood before the altar, his gaze fixed on the entrance, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension etched on his rugged features. He had fought countless battles, faced death countless times, but nothing, not even the roar of the Coliseum, could prepare him for the tremors that shook his very core as he awaited the arrival of his bride.

Finally, the doors of the basilica swung open, and Y/n emerged, a vision of ethereal beauty. Acacius's breath hitched. She was more breathtaking than he could have ever imagined.

The ceremony was a blend of Roman tradition and personal vows. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the murmur of prayers. Emperor Geta, his face etched with a genuine smile, officiated, his voice resonating with gravitas.

"Marcus Acacius," Geta began, his voice booming through the basilica, "do you, before these witnesses, take Y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife, to cherish her, to honor her, and to love her faithfully until death do you part?"

Acacius, his voice strong and unwavering, declared, "I do."

Geta turned to Y/n, his gaze filled with warmth. "Y/n," he intoned, "do you, before these witnesses, take Marcus Acacius to be your lawfully wedded husband, to cherish him, to honor him, and to love him faithfully until death do you part?"

Y/n, her voice trembling slightly with emotion, replied, "I do."

Geta, with a flourish, declared them husband and wife. The crowd erupted in cheers, and the strains of a joyous hymn filled the basilica. Confetti rained down, showering the newlyweds in a cascade of color.

Later that evening, within the opulent chambers of the imperial palace, the air throbbed with a sensual tension. Y/n, her wedding gown discarded, wore a simple chemise of the finest linen, its delicate fabric clinging to her curves. Marcus , his armor exchanged for a toga of midnight blue, watched her with a gaze that burned with a primal hunger.

He approached her slowly, his hands reaching out to cup her face, his thumbs gently tracing the contours of her jawline. "You are more beautiful than I ever dreamed," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

Y/n, her breath catching in her throat, leaned into his touch, her fingers tangling in the thick strands of his dark hair. "And you, my husband," she murmured, her voice a silken caress, "are more than I ever dared to hope for."

Their lips met in a searing kiss, a desperate, yearning embrace that ignited a fire within them. Marcus pulled her close, his body pressed against hers, molding perfectly to her curves. He tasted the sweetness of her lips, the faintest hint of wine lingering on her breath.

He carried her to the four-poster bed, its silken sheets invitingly rumpled. He laid her gently upon the soft mattress, his gaze lingering on the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, the delicate curve of her hips.

He shed his toga, revealing his broad, muscular chest, his body honed by years of rigorous training. Y/n reached out, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the calloused texture of his palms.

He lowered himself onto the bed beside her, his body radiating heat. His hands roamed over her, exploring every inch of her skin, eliciting shivers of pleasure that rippled through her.

He kissed her again, a slow, sensual exploration that left her breathless. His tongue traced the contours of her mouth, teasing, probing, igniting a fire within her that threatened to consume her.

He moved lower, his lips finding the sensitive skin of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. She arched against him, her body pleading for more.

He unfastened the delicate straps of her chemise, the silken fabric falling away to reveal the full glory of her breasts. He cupped them in his hands, his thumbs circling their peaks, eliciting a soft moan from her lips.

He lowered his head, his lips finding the tender flesh of her breasts, his tongue swirling around the hardened nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through her entire body.

Y/n cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He looked up at her, his eyes burning with desire, and saw the raw, unbridled passion reflected in her own.

He moved lower, his hands exploring the silken expanse of her thighs, his fingers tracing the delicate curves of her hips. She gasped, her body arching against him, her legs instinctively opening for him.

He entered her slowly, tenderly, his body filling her completely. Y/n cried out, her head thrown back, her fingers digging into the sheets.

He began to move, his strokes slow and deliberate, deepening with each thrust. Y/n moaned, her body arching against him, her hands gripping his back, urging him on.

The room filled with the sounds of their passion – the soft cries of pleasure, the rhythmic thud of their bodies moving as one. They reached for each other, their bodies entwined, their souls intertwined.

The world faded away, leaving only the intensity of their shared pleasure, the raw, primal connection that bound them together. They moved as one, their bodies a symphony of movement, a testament to the power of their love.

Finally, they reached their peak, a wave of ecstasy washing over them, leaving them breathless and spent. They lay entwined, their bodies bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, their hearts beating in unison.

He pulled her close, his arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, as if he feared losing her. "I love you, Y/n," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Y/n, her head resting on his chest, replied, "I love you too, my husband."

They lay there for a long time, content in the aftermath of their passion, their love a beacon in the darkness, a promise of a lifetime of happiness together.

The next morning, the sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. Y/n stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She found herself nestled in Marcus's arms, his chest a warm, solid wall against her back.

She smiled, remembering the night before, the intensity of their passion, the way he had made her feel like the only woman in the world.

She turned in his arms, her gaze meeting his. He was already awake, his eyes filled with a tender amusement.

"Good morning, my love," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning," she replied, her voice soft with affection.

They lay there for a while, simply enjoying each other's presence, the silence filled with the unspoken words of their love.

Finally, Marcus leaned down and kissed her, a gentle, lingering kiss that sent shivers down her spine.

"We should get up," he said, his voice a low rumble. "We have duties to attend to."

Y/n reluctantly pulled away from him, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. "Yes," she agreed, "but I wouldn't mind staying here with you forever."

Acacius chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Perhaps another time, my love," he said, his voice laced with a playful warning.

Y/n laughed, her heart light and carefree. She knew, with a certainty that settled deep within her soul, that their life together would be filled with joy, passion, and adventure.

As they prepared to face the day, they knew that their wedding night was just the beginning of their journey together, a journey filled with love, laughter, and the promise of a lifetime of happiness.

[spider-stark]

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN OLD FRIENDS

Gwayne Hightower x Septa!Reader

Summary - Devotion will never be enough to make the Gods forgive you for the sin of your existence. They will keep finding new ways to punish you.

Warnings - fem!reader, bastard!reader, septa!reader, mostly edited, heavy religious themes & guilt, angst, yearning, *slightly* ooc gwayne but mostly cause he's drunk and bitter lmao

Word Count - 1.3k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Dark obsidian walls glisten like the night sky as you enter the Starry Sept from the motherhouse. Towering statues stand sentinel around the round-altar, carved in the likeness of the Seven. Forever repenting for the sin of your existence, you often acknowledge them as you draw close—with a nod, a prayer, an offering. 

But not tonight. 

Even with his forehead pressed to the altar, you recognize Gwayne by his tawny hair, shimmering like bronze in the candlelight. His tunic is wrinkled, half-untucked from his trousers. The sharp scent of alcohol burns your nose, strong enough to smell it from across the Sept.

For a moment, a smile touches your lips. You think of lost nights spent by the Honeywine river. Skipping rocks on the water and drinking from a bottle of arbor gold, snagged from his uncle's cellar.

But nostalgia is all too fleeting, soon replaced by deep worry for an old friend. 

Cavernous and austere, the Sept echoes your every footfall. Consumed by a drunken haze, Gwayne remains oblivious to your presence, even as you sink to your knees beside him. 

It’s only when you speak that he looks up. 

“I’m reminded of a verse from The Warrior’s Edicts.” Armed with sword and helm, the God's stony eyes seem to peer down as you recite His wisdom: “Drink muddles the sensible mind. ‘Tis the duty of knights to remain sober-minded, to pave a path of rectitude so that all men might follow.” 

Gwayne’s voice is unusually hoarse, wavering slightly as he tells you, “You won’t find a sober knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“Perhaps that’s why there are so many indecent men,” you turn your head to him with a soft smile, “because none are willing to pave a better way.” 

Altar candles flicker, bathing his features in dim warmth. You note the faint stubble along his jaw, the dull shine of sapphire eyes. When was the last time you sat this close? It feels like a lifetime ago, now. 

He swallows, looks down at his lap. “How did you know I was here?” 

“Septon Halleck saw you come in,” you tell him. “Thought you looked in need of a friend.” 

In the years since swearing your vows to the Faith, the aging Septon was your only blessing. Between services, he spins tales about his life before coming to Oldtown—of a youth spent north of the Neck, about a pale castle surrounded by frigid waters. 

You tell Halleck stories about your life, too. He pretends not to notice that Gwayne Hightower is at the center of them all. 

Softly, you tease, “Though if he had known you were drunk, he might’ve sooner tossed you onto the streets.” 

Gwayne scoffs. Starts fiddling with his fingers, picking at them. “If the Septon’s life was half as grueling,” he grumbles, “then he would understand my need for a drink.” 

“And what’s so grueling about the life of a trueborn son?” 

It’s not meant as a slight, though a certain bitterness seeps through. 

Raised in the shadow of trueborn siblings, you know well of the luxuries they’re afforded. Watched as your sisters were swathed in silk and coddled with gold, freely given all which you were made to claw for. 

You recall a quote on envy that Halleck recited during your novice years, when your blood still ran thick with resentment: He who sits at the head of the table will still covet crumbs off a beggar’s plate.

But what if you’re the beggar? If the Gods gave you nothing but crumbs. Would envy still be a sin? Or a sign of injustice. 

Gwayne shakes his head. Mutters under his breath, “You’ve never understood.” 

“Understood what?” 

“What it’s like to be shackled by your father’s name,” he answers, frustrated. 

His thoughtlessness is a fist around your heart, squeezed tight. 

If he was sober, he would apologize. If he was sober, he wouldn’t be here at all. 

You suck in a calming breath, interlacing your fingers and resting your elbows upon the altar. Heat from the flames caresses your forearms as you utter a wordless prayer to the Warrior, asking Him to keep your voice from wavering. 

“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Images flash in your mind. The hazy face of a father who didn’t want you. You clear your throat, say, “But I know it is to be nameless, and I can’t imagine the shackles of a noble-name hurt any worse.” 

“Better to be nameless and free,” he says, “than noble and in chains.” 

You fight the urge to laugh, instead citing a relevant phrase from The Book of Reflections. “Those bound in chains oft discover they were forged by thine own hands.” Gwayne’s head tips back, groaning. Your lips briefly twitch. “It’s not your fate to be nameless,” you tell him. “But, even if it were, the shackles are of your own making—you would bear them all the same.” 

Drunkenness exaggerates his expression. Pulls his brows together, tugs his wine-stained bottom lip into a deep frown. “If I had known you were just going to quote scripture at me,” his words slur slightly, “then I wouldn’t have come.” 

You don’t let yourself wonder at the implication there. That maybe he had come to see you. 

“Why come to a Sept if not to receive wisdom from the Gods?” You ask. 

Gwayne’s stare shifts upwards, settles on the scales of justice clutch in the Father’s stone fist. Sapphire eyes begin to blaze like searing flames. “For forgiveness,” he answers slowly, without inflection. 

Hesitant, you ask, “So that’s why you’re here tonight? To ask the Gods for their forgiveness?” 

His head shakes. His fingers never still, never stop tearing at his cuticles. 

He holds the Father’s stare and, with a voice like death, says, “I’m here so they can beg for mine.” 

The pressure in your chest grows tighter, his words resonating with a part of yourself long since buried by the Faith. The angry, bitter part of you—the nameless, the beggar, the bastard. 

Instinct tightens your fingers, still interlocked. You look to those stone Gods. Feel an old weight settle on your shoulders as they look back. 

Strained, you ask, “For what reason?” 

Gwayne doesn’t answer. Asks his own question, instead. “Why did you join the Faith?” 

You think of the Honeywine. Of the last time you sat this close. 

Of a boy born with such honor, cherished by his Gods. 

Of a girl born with such shame, scorned by them. 

You think of the Faith. Of the passage that led you away from his side. 

A Bastard's life is a testament to the reach of sin. 

Tainted and tarnished, all they touch will come to rot. 

Tears sting the back of your throat. Unsure of a better answer, you tell him, “Because we all bear our own shackles.” 

As if comparing wounds, Gwayne offers up his own answer, too. “There was a feast tonight,” he tells you. “My father announced that I am to be wed.” 

There’s such hollow silence. Obsidian walls wrap around you. Starlight burns your skin. 

“To who?” 

Something tells you that you won’t like his answer. A soundless voice, a whisper on a phantom wind. 

Quietly, voice wavering, he tells you, “One of Lord Mullendore’s daughters.” 

A stone drops in your stomach. 

“Lord Mullendore…” Your mind begins to reel. Images flash. A hazy face. Silk and gold and clawing clawing clawing. “One of his daughters…” 

All at once, the air is sucked from the room. As if oxygen is yet another thing denied to you in the name of repentance. As if all your devotion still isn’t enough to purge the rot from your existence. 

Both soft and resentful, he murmurs, “She has your eyes…” 

You keep your fingers interlocked. Gwayne picks his bloody. The Gods watch. 

The path of devotion is fraught with pain. But fear not! Trials endured in Faith shall always be rewarded with Light. The Seven are just. The Seven are wise. The Seven are merciful.

a/n - Honestly, I just wanted to explore the internal conflict that might come from a bastard going the Faith of the Seven considering that, while they're welcome to become Septons/Septas, they're still viewed as being sinful and treacherous by nature. Additionally, the idea of a bastard being so in love with a pious, honorable man that she turns to his religion just feeds something inside of me?? like, her turning to scripture to communicate with him?? him beginning to resent the gods that 'cherish' him?? neither of them ever getting what they want??

anyways--all thoughts/opinions/feedback are welcome and very very appreciated!

[kabr0ztrousers]

dubcon/noncon scenario, fem!reader on a wildlife sightseeing tour in Africa, getting separated from her tour group and fucked silly by a group of humanoid crocodilians (they’re bigger and stronger than her, chubby, and have cocks bigger than anything she has ever taken), and the tour group doesn’t notice her absence and leaves without her, so nobody’s coming to rescue her from her captors (or their numerous friends that they share her with)

Wow, re-reading this prompt, I may need to add it to my "revisit in case of emergency" list, because what shook out doesn't quite fit... Having said that, here's

Kabr0z Writes episode 87: Crocodilian

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: noncon; kidnap; oral sex; group sex

A/N: All hail Sobek! Lord of semen!

Having said that, I realise that my Egyptian geography is about 2000 years out of date. So expect some weirdness with that

#######################################

Kayaking up the Nile. It's been on your bucket list for years, and now you're finally here. You'd already ticket Alexandria off the list, then Cairo, Luxor and and now you're on the way South to Heirakonpolis, hitting all the important bronze age archaeology on the way to Abu Simbel.

Of course, you'd left the glittering cities behind in the Nile delta. This far south the riverbanks fade between farmlands and overgrown nature. You'd learned the hard way that farmers aren't keen on random tourists portaging their boats and pitching their tents on their land, so you found some relatively solid ground to drag your kayak onto, set up the pop-up tent in your pack and crawled into your sleeping bag,

You woke to a tearing sound, the thin canopy of the tent rent open. Three men stood over you, crocodile-headed and well-built. Each had a spear in one hand, a shield in the other. You went to scream. The butt of a spear hit you in the head, and you were silenced.

A cold stone floor beneath you. Shadows flickered on massive sandstone blocks, cast from flames you could hear in the corners of the room. You tried to look without being spotted, turning your head ever so slightly. One of the men noticed you. He yelled something. You don't know what he said, you'd never even heard that language before. Two sets of footsteps echoed down the hall, hurrying towards you. Strong hands lifted you, carrying you between two of the men as they walked.

Measured, perfectly drilled steps took you out of the room. The chamber you found yourself was huge. A ceiling at least thirty feet above you, held up by pillars as wide as a man is tall, decorated with fern leaf motifs. A statue stood at the end of the room, presiding over the altar you were being carried to. Twenty feet tall, at least. A man, tall and thin, in that way that Kemetic statues are. A tall crown sat atop the head of a crocodile. One hand clutched an ankh, the other a staff with topped with a feather.

Sobek.

Your mind raced. You weren't an expert on the Kemetic religion, but they were generally good natured gods. Human sacrifice is rare, normally it's bread or something related to the god's domain. Sobek was the god of the Nile, he dictated the ebb and flow of the yearly floods. There was something else as well, something you couldn't quite...

Oh. Yeah. That's how he controlled the floods. Legend has it that every year, Sobek would masturbate into the Nile, the river swelling with his semen. Indeed, in years where the flood was too low, the Pharaoh would ceremonially jack off into the river to try and appease him.

Suddenly, this all made a little too much sense.

The men lay you on the altar. You shivered from the sandstone under you, looking between the reptilian chin of the one above your head, and the maw of the one holding up your ankles, spreading you apart as his hips rubbed his cock against your pussy.

The one above you removed his loincloth, baring his cock to you. It hung over you, scaled and ridged. He pinched your nose, holding it shut as you tried not to breathe, not to give him the opportunity.

You failed. Instinct took over and your mouth opened to take a breath. It filled with cock instantly. You tried to bite down on it but he didn't seem to notice, the scaly skin unbothered by your teeth. He took it slow, crooning gently at you as he pushed himself into your mouth.

The other had finished rubbing himself against you, bracing his tip against your entrance as he leant gently on you. Your body let him in and you whined as every hard ridge and bump massaged the inside of your cunt.

It was like his cock was made for you, every move stimulated you in just the right way to raise goosebumps on your skin despite the tropical climate. You moaned slightly, the sound muffled by the cock in your mouth.

They both sped up, moving just out of sync so one pushed in a moment after the other. The third stepped up beside the altar, chanting to the god looming over you, cock erect and throbbing. His hands caressed you, one holding your right breast, rolling the nipple under his thumb, the other massaging your clit as his comrade fucked you without pause.

Your cunt clenched and wept, the sound of your arousal audible over the steady Kemetic chanting of the men. Your legs shook, one hand on your tits, the other holding the scaled wrist of the one in the middle. You bucked your hips against the cock in you, tongue rolling around the one in your mouth. Sticky precum coated your tongue as it worked on the length pistoning into your mouth. You drank it down, every gulp warming you.

The third one let go of your tit a moment, just long enough to guide your hand to his already dripping member. Your fingers closed around it, pulling him off in time with his chants.

The prayers grew in intensity. Every syllable brought you closer to your peak.

The cocks pulled out of you. All three pulsing over you, spurting hot cum as your hand rubbed your clit. You wailed in orgasm as the crocodile-men covered you in a stream of sacred cum, coating your skin, getting into your hair.

You fell back, exhausted, stroking the scales of the men standing over you.

Above you, an ancient god smiled

###############################################

Well. The next time I think to myself "I'll leave it here tonight and finish this part before I start my shift tomorrow" please slap me.

This won't interrupt regular posting, you'll get Episode 88 tonight, as scheduled. For now though, I'm playing some Stellaris.