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nerdygaymormon · 1 year

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Matthew 25:1-13 - Parable of the 10 Virgins

Something about this parable and how we teach it has always felt off to me. We tell this story as one of scarcity. We teach the story as though the bridegroom doesn’t have enough grace for all of us.

That doesn’t fit with a Jesus who turned 5 loaves of bread and 2 fishes into enough to feed 5000 people and even had leftovers. The gospel is one of abundance, there’s enough blessings for all.

My church often teaches that this is a story about the Last Days. We need to carefully work hard to squirrel away enough oil over our lifetime and guard it because we can’t share with others and they can’t share with us. Nobody can share their testimonies with us, we have to gather our own. If that’s the case, then why do we gather together to worship, why is the Sacrament a communal activity, why do we have a monthly testimony meeting at church?

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For a refresher, here’s the parable as relayed in the King James Version:

1 Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, which took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom. 2 And five of them were wise, and five were foolish. 3 They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them: 4 But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps. 5 While the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept. 6 And at midnight there was a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him. 7 Then all those virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps. 8 And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out. 9 But the wise answered, saying, Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves. 10 And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut. 11 Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us. 12 But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not. 13 Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh.

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I like the way that Nadia Bolz-Weber updates this parable to our modern day:

It feels like Jesus is saying the Kingdom of God is like a bad dream where I’m supposed to go pick someone important up from the airport like . . . Dolly Parton, but I forget to fill my gas tank and then I’m idling outside baggage claim for so long I doze off and then when Dolly Parton finally texts she’s almost there, my car starts beeping that it’s nearly out of gas but then I realize the dude in front of me has a gas can strapped in the back of his monster truck and I ask if he can help me out but he just points to the overpriced gas station outside the airport and in a panic I use the fumes in my tank to get there but then when I’m filling up my Subaru I see Dolly Parton drive off in the passenger side of the dude’s F150 and she doesn’t even return my wave - like she doesn’t even know me.

So stay alert. The kingdom of God is like that.

Nadia follows this with questions, what are we supposed to learn from this story:

That we should not rely on others? That we should not give to those who ask of us? I mean, that would be weird wouldn’t it, if Jesus just suddenly took back everything he said about generosity and self-giving and instead gave us a parable about how we should be stingy and self-reliant?

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Nadia provides an alternative interpretation to the story. The bridesmaids are foolish, not because they didn’t bring extra oil or because they fell asleep, but because they listened to the other bridesmaids. Some of the ‘wise’ bridesmaids said you can only greet the groom if you’ve already met your needs. Those foolish ones are made to feel ashamed.

The foolish bridesmaids didn’t trust that the light of those around them could be enough to guide them. Light from a lamp doesn’t only shine for the person holding it. Others can see the light and can see the path being illuminated. Yes, if everyone had their own light then they could see better, but it doesn’t mean only those with the light can see and everyone else is blinded by darkness.

If you had light and another didn’t, wouldn’t you offer to have them walk with you and let your light guide the way? And wouldn’t we want someone to do that for us if our light ran out?

The person who cried out that the bridegroom is coming, how did they know this? The bridegroom must have a lamp which could be seen from afar. The foolish ones didn’t trust that the light of Christ was enough. They didn’t believe the groom would offer to hold out his light where they could see it.

In an effort to fix their situation, they missed the wedding banquet. Is the bridegroom calling them foolish because they listened to the other bridesmaids and doubted him and his goodness?

The bridegroom said “I know you not,” because they hadn’t come to him with their situation but rather wanted to be independent of him. Are we too busy trying to be self reliant that we don’t have time for Christ?

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The part of the parable that really cuts is when they are knocking on the door and the person inside says “I know you not.” Do we really think someone who is seeking Christ will be turned away?

These aren’t people who can’t be bothered, they aren’t off engaged in other questionable activities. These are folks who show up and have a lamp FULL of oil, they’re where they are supposed to be because they are seeking the groom.

Someone shows up to church and is willing, is seeking, is following, and Christ is going to turn them away?

The focus is on what they are lacking. We all are lacking, is that what we should focus on, that we aren’t good enough for Christ, He won’t want to see us?

Maybe the parable is saying instead of trying to solve everything on their own, if the foolish bridesmaids approached the groom, he could’ve solved this, that he can meet our shortcomings.

They didn’t have faith that the bridegroom would let them in if they didn’t provide their own oil. They didn’t believe he would welcome them to the feast. Instead they believed the groom had no mercy or grace to offer them.

The way I’ve always heard this parable taught, we believe the assumptions presented by the bridesmaids without questioning if this is really what the groom requires.

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We are all sinners, we all fall short of perfection, none of us can save ourselves no matter how much “oil” we’ve gathered. In the parable, they all are awaiting the bridegroom with lamps full of oil and are looking for him. As they wait, all of the bridesmaids fell asleep.

When the call came, they all responded to the call that the bridegroom is approaching by trimming their lamps, but they’ve waited so long for the groom that their lamps go out.

I wonder if having our lamp go out is akin to when people face hard things in life and their faith falters, or to having some doubts. Everyone deals with hard things.

Those with extra oil refill their own lamps and tell the others that they won’t share and to go away and solve their own problems. In the LDS Church, we might use the phrase to go be “self reliant.”

When the ‘foolish’ bridesmaids show up to the banquet, the door is closed. The parable doesn’t indicate who closed it. It does not say that the bridegroom closed the door, locking everyone else out. It never is taught that the groom is keeping them away. In fact, the bridegroom wanted them to be part of the procession and to attend the banquet, they were invited guests.

Rather than a parable of hope in the ability of the Lord to save, I usually hear it presented as a fear-based warning that you better not be a ‘foolish’ one who wasn’t prepared and didn’t do enough.

I think we are all foolish in the exact same way as the foolish ones in this parable. They fell for the belief that they were lesser and not wanted, and then they leave. The “wise ones” made the others feel this way. My experience is it’s other believers, other church goers, who act as gatekeepers and make us feel ashamed that we fall short.

It’s not included in this parable, but I think the promise that the first shall be last and the last shall be first should be a warning to the “wise ones.” How would they want to be treated if they were “last,” and they should start treating everyone that way because one day you may be last.

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Why are Christians commanded to worship together? Why is community so important? Nobody can do this all on their own. We need to borrow oil. We need the light given by another’s lamp. If we only provide for ourselves, what is the point of building a community?

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My queer application is that I think most Christians would view queer believers as “foolish” and we need to go away and get ourselves fixed and in line with how they think we should be, only then are we welcome to come back. They think queer people won’t be invited to the great banquet of the Lord.

Do we listen to those who say Christ’s blessings aren’t enough and queer people will be excluded? Do we believe there’s no mansions awaiting us in heaven? Do we believe God made us queer and then rejects us for being queer?

It is no wonder most queer people leave the church. It’s a place full of rejecting messages to queer people. The gospel is often not presented as good news but instead as a way to clobber queer people.

#nadia bolz-weber #queer scriptures #long post

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tenebriism · 14 days

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She settles in the calm they've managed to steal; resting against a mighty oak tree, a set of tea emptied of contents and placed aside. Amari would tuck smaller frame against Urianger in a contented sigh.

❝ Would that we could always spirit away like this.❞ Hand reaches to hold his, idly lacing their fingers together, to gradually trace upon the lines of his palm. ❝ To simply have the world finally slow to a gentle respite. ❞ Another sigh escapes her but of a lower quality, an understanding that settles behind her eyes, even as she lifts his hand to place a kiss upon it.

❝ But, whatever happens… wherever this road takes us, I would want nothing more than to be beside you through it all. ❞

Slow... but not to a halt. The Elezen wishes, despite the immense power and skill he possesses within the very palms of his hands, that he had ever MORE so he may rid the world of troubles present and forthcoming. Where he has been wounded time and time again by the woes of the world that see fit to target them specifically, it is she who has healed him. Renewed and kept consistent this ineffable feeling of happiness and fulfilment that he hadn't thought possible, nor bothered to seek, prior. Even now, though they only sit 'neath this tree, hand in hand, gazing 'pon a world they had nearly lost more times than he deems plausible, it feels like the world, actually, is at peace.

That nothing, nothing, nothing at all is wrong, and it is only the two of them. Nothing and nobody else...

" Oft mine thoughts dwell on... what shall cometh. " Her hand is so tiny within his own, but never has something felt so right. For every kiss she bestows 'pon him, he doubly returns the gesture. " Just afore, I had resigned mineself to a life of self sought, albeit lonely enlightenment once the world saw fit to finally cease ending for longer than what feels like but a day... "

--- and now? There feels like an unwritten new path to this ending. One she is paving and painting for him, lined with flowers and sunshine and gaiety that she had already begun to lead him down the moment they locked gazes. Now, instead of some flustered hesitation, instead of walking just behind her out of FEAR of where this may go, he's nearly tugging her along himself. " However... the thought of a life without thee is one that I cannot bear. One could sayeth thou hath... becometh mine entire universe. I still believeth mineself to be in a dream still... and, should this be, I pray I never wake up. "

The Elezen turns, lifting his free hand to oh, so delicately cup her chin. The way he looks upon her with full, unadulterated adoration and appreciation... why, Thancred's relentless teases may just hold some level of validity; this is a man wholly, deeply, undeniably, in love. A foolish man not QUITE ready to say it, as if to fully acknowledge and verbalize the many feelings he possesses for her may turn the fear of LOSING her into reality.

" Regardless, I am yours, my flower bud. Whether in dream or reality, of that, I promise unrelenting certainty. "

@mystiic ;;

#mystiic #[ you come into MY inbox and make MY tol elezen feel many MANY things about your tiny flower child!!??!#WAAAAAAA Q AQ !! <33 ]#muse ;; URIANGER ( ANSWERED ASK )#muse ;; URIANGER ( ♥ AMARI . MYSTIIC )

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a-big-apple · 2 months

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A selection of readings for this Easter season

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And going a little further, he fell upon his face, praying, and saying: My Father, if it be possible, let this chalice pass from me. Nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt. And he cometh to his disciples, and findeth them asleep, and he saith to Peter: What? Could you not watch one hour with me?

Watch ye, and pray that ye enter not into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh weak. (Matthew 26:39-41)

She peeled her gloves off her wet red palms and rolled up her sleeves for no reason, except that it gave her something to do with her shaking hands. She made her voice as calm as possible: in a way, she was calm. She was the calmest she had ever been in her entire life. It was just her body that was frightened. "Okay," she said. "I understand now. I really, truly, absolutely understand." Harrowhark leant back on her elbows and was watching her, black eyes lightless and soft. "Nav," she said, the gentlest she had ever heard Harrow manage. "I can't hold this for—much longer." WHAM—WHAM—WHAM! "I don't know how you're holding it now," said Gideon and she backed up, looked at what she was backing toward, looked back at her necromancer. (GtN 431)

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And behold one of them that were with Jesus, stretching forth his hand, drew out his sword: and striking the servant of the high priest, cut off his ear. Then Jesus saith to him: Put up again thy sword into its place: for all that take the sword shall perish with the sword. (Matthew 26:51-52)

“Lady," ventured Ortus, voice deepening with timidity, "I would not venture it—but if a cavalier’s duty is to hold the sword—if a cavalier’s duty is to protect with the sword—if a cavalier’s duty is to die by the sword—have you never considered ORTUS NIGENAD?” (HtN 21)

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Then did they spit in his face, and buffeted him: and others struck his face with the palms of their hands, Saying: Prophesy unto us, O Christ, who is he that struck thee? But Peter sat without in the court: and there came to him a servant maid, saying: Thou also wast with Jesus the Galilean. But he denied before them all, saying: I know not what thou sayest. (Matthew 26:67-70)

Crux spat on her. That was disgusting, but whatever. ... When Aiglamene slapped her, it had none of the trembling affrontedness Crux might have slapped her with. She simply backhanded Gideon the way you might hit a barking animal. ... There was a pause. "Oh, Griddle!" said Harrow pityingly, in the silence. "But I don't even remember about you most of the time." (GtN 19, 21, 27)

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And immediately the cock crew again. And Peter remembered the word that Jesus had said unto him: Before the cock crow twice, thou shalt thrice deny me. And he began to weep. (Mark 14:72)

When the world finally landed its long wound-up sucker punch, a tangled howl came out of her throat, and she was shocked that she was able to make such a noise. Memory hit Harrowhark Nonagesimus with the inexorable gravity of a satellite sucked from orbit, flinging itself to die on the surface of its bounden planet; the world hit her like a fall. ... "If I forget you, let my right hand be forgotten," her mouth was saying. "Add more also, if aught but death part me and thee." And, unsteadily: "Griddle." The hands must have withdrawn; she found herself facedown on the mattress, sobbing as she had not sobbed since she was a child. (HtN 380)

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And the soldiers platting a crown of thorns, put it upon his head; and they put on him a purple garment.

Then therefore he delivered him to them to be crucified. And they took Jesus, and led him forth. And bearing his own cross, he went forth to that place which is called Calvary, but in Hebrew Golgotha. (John 19:2, 16-17)

You were afraid someone might take your sword away from you if you left it; rather than lifting it, you lay down next to where it glowered at you blackly from the bed. You rolled over onto its flat steel breadth and bound crisscross straps of dense bone across your back, around the blade, around the hilt. Straining beneath its weight, with nothing but a ripped-up sheet to mask you, pathetic in your turquoise nudity, you found yourself accompanying the Emperor down long black corridors, trying to fix yourself in time and space. You were basically naked. The sword weighed you down so much that you were affecting a hump. Your Inglorious Mask was a patchwork of flaking osteology. You looked like an imbecile. (HtN 33-34)

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And Joseph taking the body, wrapped it up in a clean linen cloth. And laid it in his own new monument, which he had hewed out in a rock. And he rolled a great stone to the door of the monument, and went his way. (Matthew 27:59-60)

The breeze blew Harrow's hair into her mouth as she ran back and strained at the arms of her cavalier, pulled and pulled, so that she could take her off the spike and lay her on her back. Then she sat there for a long time. Beside her, Gideon lay smiling a small, tight, ready smile, stretched out beneath a blue and foreign sky. (GtN 439) You set me up. You set all of it up. I gave you one damn job. And instead you rolled a rock over me and turned your back. (HtN 434)

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For as Jonas was in the whale's belly three days and three nights: so shall the Son of man be in the heart of the earth three days and three nights. (Matthew 12:40) (Harrowing of Hell)

Before her, the waters parted, speared-through and mute, for an enormous lance of a tower—a tower that had never been there before; a tower that soared, impossible and deadly grey, out of the waters—a tower of grey bricks, lurching out of the River as though gasping for air. An impossible, cone-capped tower—a belled tower; she could see the steeple, but the bell cot was too far from shore to see the bell. "I'll start there," she said. And she stepped into the River. She took another step, and she walked, and she walked. (NtN 436)

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And he said to them: Thus it is written, and thus it behoved Christ to suffer, and to rise again from the dead, the third day... (Luke 24:46)

So many months had passed, and yet, at the same time, she had only lost Gideon Nav three days ago. It was the morning of the third day in a universe without her cavalier: it was the morning of the third day—and all the back of her brain could say, in exquisite agonies of amazement, was: She is dead. I will never see her again. (HtN 399)

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And behold there was a great earthquake. For an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and coming, rolled back the stone, and sat upon it. (Matthew 28:2)

There was a wet, meaty sound. The old man exhaled. It was dark. Then there was light, bright, cold, electrifying, like death; and the noise of another rock—slowly—agonizingly—grinding away. (NtN 473)

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But Mary stood at the sepulchre without, weeping. Now as she was weeping, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre, and she saw two angels in white, sitting, one at the head, and one at the feet, where the body of Jesus had been laid. They say to her: Woman, why weepest thou? She saith to them: Because they have taken away my Lord; and I know not where they have laid him. (John 20:11-13)

You looked up into her face. Camilla Hect was a closed object, with locks and snaps; she had an expression like the rock before the Tomb, inexorable, giving nothing away. But her eyes—her eyes were dark as the grit mixed with the soil, neither grey nor brown but both. They were they eyes of a winter season without any promise of spring. In comparing the eyes to the face, you saw into a zipped-up agony. And she said, with that same dull, blank, diamond-hard pain: "The Cohort took the rest of him away. And I don’t know where they have put him.” (HtN 306)

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Jesus saith to her: Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou? She, thinking it was the gardener, saith to him: Sir, if thou hast taken him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away. Jesus saith to her: Mary. She turning, saith to him: Rabboni (which is to say, Master). (John 20:15-16)

“Will you not look at me now, Cam, and know me?" Camilla raised her chin. She looked at the dead face. She said quietly— "Yes, Warden, I will always know you.” (NtN 351-352)

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The other disciples therefore said to him: We have seen the Lord. But he said to them: Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the place of the nails, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe. And after eight days again his disciples were within, and Thomas with them. Jesus cometh, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst, and said: Peace be to you. Then he saith to Thomas: Put in thy finger hither, and see my hands; and bring hither thy hand, and put it into my side; and be not faithless, but believing. Thomas answered, and said to him: My Lord, and my God. (John 20: 25-28)

“Right, Gideon. Let’s have a look at you." He undid her scarf, and Nona looked away. Beneath the scarf a huge wound in the throat made the neck yawn wide open. When she peeked back, wishing she had her braids to screen everything, she saw that Palamedes had unbuttoned the shirt partway and there was another big wound in the chest—a big purple bloodless puncture wound, with white teeth peeking out coyly from within. "Damage is consistent with reported injuries. There’s another wound lower down." "If it’s John’s copy, that doesn’t prove anything. It’s going to be exact," said Pyrrha. "I know. But I do have a personal advantage here—I’ve touched her when she was alive." ... Palamedes had placed Ianthe Naberius’s hand over the wound. He closed his eyes—really his eyes, his nice dark grey ones, not the strange blue ones with flecks—but almost immediately after closing them, he turned his head and sneezed violently; shuddered with the same violence; pulled his hand away, and said— "What? What is that?" "You just met God," said Pyrrha. ... Camilla passed him a little pair of scissors, and he cut a short slit in the thigh of the corpse's soft leather trousers. Then Palamedes prodded around withhis fingers—he placed the needle to the dead skin—and the corpse's hand shot out and ringed around his wrist before anyone could stop it. ... "One, that's not going to work. Two, I fucking hate needles," said the corpse. "Three—Sex Pal, if that's how you get a lady's pants off, holy shit, no wonder I stole your girl." Palamedes rocked back on his heels. "Not my girl. Unlike some of us, I've never much seen the allure of an evil cougar," he said crisply. "Good morning, Gideon." (NtN 365-366, 368)

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Let it be so.

#i'd say happy easter but i despise holy week generally #so happy tlt-thematic time to all enjoyers and especially fellow former catholics #the locked tomb #the locked tomb meta #kind of? not really i guess oh well #i didn't even get into nona as a christ figure also i just got too sleepy lololol

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pamphletstoinspire · 3 months

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Commentary on the Holy Gospel of Jesus Christ according to St. Mark – Chapter 10

St. Mark, the disciple and interpreter of St. Peter (as noted by St. Jerome.) according to what he heard from St. Peter himself, wrote at Rome a brief Gospel at the request of the Brethren (fellow Christians), about ten years after our Lord's Ascension; which when St. Peter had heard, he approved of it, and with his authority he published it to the Church to be read. Baronius and others maintain, that the original was written in Latin: but the more general opinion is that the Evangelist wrote it in Greek.

First, Christ abolishes the bill of divorce and declares sacred the original permanence of indissoluble marriage. Second (v. 13), He calls the little children to Himself and blesses them. Third (v. 17), He advises the rich young man seeking salvation to renounce his riches and to follow Him a poor man; he is saddened and refuses; hence Christ teaches that it is difficult for a rich man to be saved. Peter, then, declaring that he and his companions have renounced riches so as to follow Christ, asks for a reward, and receives from Christ the promise of a hundred-fold reward and eternal life. Fourth (v. 32), He says that He is going up to Jerusalem to His cross and death; then to James and John, who ask for the first places in His kingdom, He offers the chalice of suffering, and teaches that they and others must flee ambition and strive for humility. Finally (v. 46), He restores sight to blind Bartimeus.

And rising up from thence, he cometh into the coasts of Judea beyond the Jordan: and the multitudes flock to him again. And as he was accustomed, he taught them again. 2 And the Pharisees coming to him asked him: Is it lawful for a man to put away his wife? Tempting him. 3 But he answering, saith to them: What did Moses command you? 4 Who said: Moses permitted to write a bill of divorce, and to put her away. 5 To whom Jesus answering, said: Because of the hardness of your heart he wrote you that precept. 6 But from the beginning of the creation, God made them male and female. 7 For this cause a man shall leave his father and mother; and shall cleave to his wife. 8 And they two shall be in one flesh. Therefore now they are not two, but one flesh. 9 What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. 10 And in the house again his disciples asked him concerning the same thing. 11 And he saith to them: Whosoever shall put away his wife and marry another, committeth adultery against her. 12 And if the wife shall put away her husband, and be married to another, she committeth adultery. 13 And they brought to him young children, that he might touch them. And the disciples rebuked them that brought them. 14 Whom when Jesus saw, he was much displeased, and saith to them: Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God. 15 Amen I say to you, whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, shall not enter into it. 16 And embracing them, and laying his hands upon them, he blessed them. 17 And when he was gone forth into the way, a certain man running up and kneeling before him, asked him, Good Master, what shall I do that I may receive life everlasting? 18 And Jesus said to him, Why callest thou me good? None is good but one, that is God. 19 Thou knowest the commandments: Do not commit adultery, do not kill, do not steal, bear not false witness, do no fraud, honor thy father and mother. 20 But he answering, said to him: Master, all these things I have observed from my youth. 21 And Jesus looking on him, loved him, and said to him: One thing is wanting unto thee: go, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me. 22 Who being struck sad at that saying, went away sorrowful: for he had great possessions. 23 And Jesus looking round about, saith to his disciples: How hardly shall they that have riches, enter into the kingdom of God!

24 And the disciples were astonished at his words. But Jesus again answering, saith to them: Children, how hard is it for them that trust in riches, to enter into the kingdom of God? 25 It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God. 26 Who wondered the more, saying among themselves: Who then can be saved? 27 And Jesus looking on them, saith: With men it is impossible; but not with God: for all things are possible with God. 28 And Peter began to say unto him: Behold, we have left all things, and have followed thee. 29 Jesus answering, said: Amen I say to you, there is no man who hath left house or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or children, or lands, for my sake and for the gospel, 30 Who shall not receive an hundred times as much, now in this time; houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions: and in the world to come life everlasting. 31 But many that are first, shall be last: and the last, first. 32 And they were in the way going up to Jerusalem: and Jesus went before them, and they were astonished; and following were afraid. And taking again the twelve, he began to tell them the things that should befall him. 33 Saying: Behold we go up to Jerusalem, and the Son of man shall be betrayed to the chief priests, and to the scribes and ancients, and they shall condemn him to death, and shall deliver him to the Gentiles. 34 And they shall mock him, and spit on him, and scourge him, and kill him: and the third day he shall rise again. 35 And James and John the sons of Zebedee, come to him, saying: Master, we desire that whatsoever we shall ask, thou wouldst do it for us: 36 But he said to them: What would you that I should do for you? 37 And they said: Grant to us, that we may sit, one on thy right hand, and the other on thy left hand, in thy glory. 38 And Jesus said to them: You know not what you ask. Can you drink of the chalice that I drink of: or be baptized with the baptism wherewith I am baptized? 39 But they said to him: We can. And Jesus saith to them: You shall indeed drink of the chalice that I drink of: and with the baptism wherewith I am baptized, you shall be baptized. 40 But to sit on my right hand, or on my left, is not mine to give to you, but to them for whom it is prepared. 41 And the ten hearing it, began to be much displeased at James and John. 42 But Jesus calling them, saith to them: You know that they who seem to rule over the Gentiles, lord it over them: and their princes have power over them. 43 But it is not so among you: but whosoever will be greater, shall be your minister. 44 And whosoever will be first among you, shall be the servant of all. 45 For the Son of man also is not come to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a redemption for many. 46 And they came to Jericho: and as he went out of Jericho, with his disciples, and a very great multitude, Bartimeus the blind man, the son of Timeus, sat by the way side begging. 47 Who when he had heard, that it was Jesus of Nazareth, began to cry out, and to say: Jesus Son of David, have mercy on me. 48 And many rebuked him, that he might hold his peace; but he cried a great deal the more: Son of David, have mercy on me. 49 And Jesus, standing still, commanded him to be called. And they call the blind man, saying to him: Be of better comfort: arise, he calleth thee. 50 Who casting off his garment leaped up, and came to him. 51 And Jesus answering, said to him: What wilt thou that I should do to thee? And the blind man said to him: Rabboni, that I may see.

52 And Jesus saith to him: Go thy way, thy faith hath made thee whole. And immediately he saw, and followed him in the way.

Commentary: Saint Mark - Chapter 10

Verse 21. And Jesus looking on him, with a sweet, benign and tender countenance, loved him. That is, He showed him marks of His love, taking his hand, nodding and smiling at him, embracing and kissing him. And said to him: One thing is wanting unto thee. The Arabic interpolates: “And said to him: Dost thou want to become perfect? One thing is wanting unto thee, etc.,” namely, for the perfection of a holy and evangelical life.

Follow me. The Greek adds, “Taking up thy cross.” Hence the Syriac has: “Take thy cross, and come after me.” Arabic, “Come, follow Me, and carry the cross.”

Verse 24. Children. The Syriac has, “My sons.” By His tender form of addressing them He softens the hardness of the matter, as one who loves them most dearly, like his own children; and as such He would tell them the truth sincerely, and persuade them to renounce riches as an obstacle to salvation.

That trust in riches. For rich men trust in their riches more than in God, according to the saying in Proverbs 10:15, The substance of a rich man is the city of his strength. With difficulty, therefore, are they saved, because salvation cometh only from God. Hence those who wish to be saved must put their trust in God, and must ask and wait for salvation from Him, as the poor do. For inasmuch as they have no riches in which to trust, they are forced to place all their hopes in God, according to the words of Psalm 13:6, You have confounded the counsel of the poor man, but the Lord is his hope. Therefore, if rich men wish to be saved, let them turn their hope, their heart, their love from riches, and fix them upon God.

Verse 30. Who shall not receive an hundred times as much, now in this time; houses, and brethren, etc., with persecutions. I have explained this hundred-fold at Matthew 19:29. Mark here adds that it shall be repaid with persecutions. The Arabic has, “in tribulations." The meaning is: “Let him who has relinquished his possessions and friends for the love of Christ, and is set in the midst of persecutions, and is encompassed by them on every side, be faithful. For there will not be wanting a hundred, that is, very many, who will aid and cherish him, as brothers, fathers, and mothers.” So S. Jerome, S. Bede, Franz Lucas, Emmanuel Sa, and Vatablus.

This is added because in persecutions the believer especially needs the help and assistance of others. Also, because this is a rare and marvellous thing, that in persecution, when a man is wont to be left destitute of help and friends, and when all, through fear of danger, withdraw themselves from him, those who follow Christ experience the exact contrary, and find a hundred, i.e., very many to help them.

Again, the expression with persecutions may be taken thus: that persecutions and tribulations undergone or faced for Christ’s sake are part of the reward which shall be given to those who follow Christ, together with the hundred-fold. For to suffer for Christ is a great gift of God, as the Apostle teaches (Philip. 2:19). Thus Jansen, Emmanuel Sa and others.

Verse 32. They were in the way (from Jericho), going up to Jerusalem, to Christ’s imminent crucifixion and death, as He had predicted. And Jesus went before them. He eagerly afforded Himself as a guide along the way to the frightened Apostles, who shrank from Jerusalem, because they knew that Jesus was there sought for by the princes to be put to death. Indeed, a decree had been made to that effect by their great council, the Sanhedrin (John 11:52). Whence it follows:

And they were astonished, and following, were afraid. That is, they timidly followed Jesus. In Arabic, “and they, astonished, followed him, fearing.” In Greek, ἐθαµβοῦντο, i.e., they were astonished with great fear and dread. The imminent danger of death, says Bede, was the cause of their fear and dread. They were amazed that Christ with so prompt and resolute a mind should bring Himself and His disciples into such open peril of death. They were afraid lest they might suffer and be put to death on account of Christ.

Verse 38. Or be baptized with the baptism wherewith I am baptized. Christ calls His passsion a baptism, because He was to be evidently immersed and drowned in it, according to what David says of himself, but much more of Christ in Psalm 68:2-3, Save me, O God; for the waters (of tribulations) are come in even unto my soul. I stick fast in the mire of the deep, and there is no sure standing (place on which I might stand): I am come into the depth of the sea, and a tempest hath overwhelmed me. (See commentary on Matthew 20:22.)

Verse 42. You know that they who seem to rule over the Gentiles lord it over them. In Greek κατακυριεύουσιν αὐτῶν, i.e., domineer over them, or against them. For who seem, the Greek is οἱ δοκοῦντες, i.e., who please themselves, and rejoice in ruling and dominating. For none rule more imperiously and harshly than those who delight in ruling and commanding. Whence the Arabic translates, “they who think themselves princes of the people are their lords,” i.e., they exercise, as it were, a tyrannical domination over them.

Verse 46. Bartimeus, the son of Timeus. Syriac, “Timeus, the son of Timeus”; Arabic, “Bartimeus, son of Timeus.” This blind man, then, was called as though by a proper name, Bartimeus, i.e., the son of Timeus, just as Bartholomew means son of Ptolemy (Matth. 10:3). The same man was called also by the same name as his father Timeus. Timeus was the name of that Pythagorean philosopher who wrote the life of Pythagoras. Plato wrote a dialogue entitled “Timeus,” because it deals with nature and the universe and its parts, especially with man, subjects in which that Pythagorean philosopher Timaeus was quite an expert. Hence Plato introduced him as one of the interlocutors in this dialogue.

Moreover, Bartimeus is interpreted by Pagnini in three ways (in Nomin. Hebraicis). The first is from S. Jerome, to the effect that Bartimeus means the blind son, or the son of blindness. He says that it is a Syriac name, but corrupted; strictly speaking it should be Barsemia or Barsameus. Bar is son, semaia—blindness. The second opinion is that it means the son of honor, as if compounded and conflated from the Syriac bar, a son, and the Greek τιµή, “honor.” Hence that Pythagorean philosopher was called Timeus, that is, “honorable” on account of his knowledge. So, too, this blind man, in following Christ, was worthy of honor and praise.

The third is, that it means the son of the admirer, or admirable grain, or admirable purity. For this was what the blind man received from Christ. For being illuminated in body, he was far more illuminated in his soul. For bar means “son” or “wheat,” or “purity”; tamah is “to admire.”

Verse 52. And followed him in the way. Morally, the Gloss says: Let us consider the way in which He goeth, and follow Him by humility and labors. The way is that of which He saith, I am the way, the truth, and the life. This is “the narrow way,” which leads to the heights of Jerusalem and Bethany, to the Mount of Olives, which is the mount of light and consolation; yea, which leads to Sion and the heavenly Jerusalem. The blind man, therefore, sees and follows, for he who rightly understands the life of Christ ought to follow and imitate it by his works.

For more stories, please visit our website:

#gospel of mark #st mark

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cassianus · 2 years

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Joyful Sorrow - Compunction and the Gift of Tears in the Philokalia:

“Blessed are they that mourn,” our Lord said in the second Beatitude. But mourn, weep, for what? Life certainly is filled with its sorrows and losses and often we may be moved to tears. Yet, how are we to understand our Lord’s teaching and the blessing that comes to those who weep?

This is a question that the Fathers of the Philokalia often asked and through them we discover that such mourning is a spiritual gift and the fruit of true repentance. In the Christian East, the Greek word for such sorrow is Penthos. While there is no English equivalent for the word, we can define it as “joyful sorrow”: a sorrow that arises from a broken and contrite heart, an inner sorrow for the sins that one has committed. However, such tears of compunction, the Fathers tell us, lead to a true and abiding joy. “‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning,’ says the psalmist. ‘These tears,’ writes St. John Chrysostom, ‘do not bring sorrow; they bring more joy than all the laughter of the world can gain for you.’ ‘Those who sow in tears shall reap with joyful shouting,’ says the psalmist (126:5). Archim. Sophrony writes, ‘Stemming originally from bitter repentance, weeping develops into tears of rapture with Divine love. And this is a sign that our prayer is heard and through its action we are led into new imperishable life’” (Coniaris, “Philokalia: Bible of Orthodox Spirituality”, 175).

Such tears of compunction are a gift of God, the fruit of baptismal grace and the renewal of our baptism. St. John Climacus wrote: “God in His love for mankind gave us tears. . . If God in His mercy had not granted to men this second baptism, then few indeed would be saved. . . When our soul departs from this life, we shall not be accused because we have not worked miracles . . .but we shall all certainly have to account to God because we have not wept unceasingly for our sins.”

This view of the importance of tears may seem paradoxical, scandalous or simply unnecessary to many in our day. Yet, such tears are merely the fruit of the grace already acquired in baptism and have been described as “the infallible sign that the heart has been overwhelmed by the love of God . . . These charismatic tears, which are the consummation of repentance are at the same time the first fruits of infinite joy: ‘Blessed are ye that weep now: for ye shall laugh.’ Tears purify our nature, for repentance is not merely our effort, our anguish, but it is also the resplendent gift of the Holy Spirit, penetrating and transforming our hearts” (Ibid., 173).

Obsessive guilt or scrupulosity only leads to hopelessness and despair, but true compunction and the cleansing tears that accompany it are a true gift of God meant to lead us back to Him and the embrace of His love. Indeed it has been described as the most precious thing on earth:

“There is an old legend according to which God said to one of His angels: ‘Go down to earth and bring back the most precious thing in the world.’ One angel brought a drop of blood back from a person who had sacrificed his life to save another: God said, ‘Indeed, O Angel, this is precious in my sight, but it is not the most precious thing in the world.’ Another angel caught the last breath of a nurse who died from a dread disease she contracted in nursing others to health. God smiled at the angel and said, “Indeed, O Angel, sacrifice in behalf of others is very precious in my sight, but it is not the most precious thing in the world.’ Finally one angel captured and brought a small vial containing the tear of a sinner who had repented and returned to God. God beamed upon the angel as He said: “Indeed, O Angel, you have brought me the most precious thing in the world - the tear of repentance which opens the gates in heaven.”

Such is what we hear from the Our Lord Himself when he taught, “there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance.” God secretly brings joy and consolation to those who in their heart of hearts are repentant and weep for their sins and all of heaven itself rejoices over the return of even one who was lost.

#desertfathers #philokalia ministries #compunction #tears #penthos

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ngkiscool · 2 years

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This time, all the fics happens after the apocalypse that wasn’t.

As always, all the fics are focusing on supporting characters, rated G or T and are SFW. The description includes rating, word count, main characters and main CW.

In the next week the focus will be about stories with happy endings, please send recs for stories that focus on supporting characters (as in, Aziraphale and Crowley are not the main ones). Self recs are encouraged!

After the Longest Day of His Life by MickyRC - 479 words, G, focusing on Lesly the International Express Man and Maud. cw - Temporary character death. Summary: Sometimes love is loud, and dramatic, and fiery. Sometimes it’s so worn in you could walk through it barefoot in absolute comfort. or: After delivering the most exhausting packages of his life, Lesley comes home.

Nature by Lady_of_the_Spirit - 853 words, G, focusing on The Them and The Horsepeople of the Apocalypse. Summary: "What I don't understand," Adam began, "is why you have to do the things you do." He bit into the scoop of strawberry ice cream perfectly placed on top of his cone and surveyed the scene in the garden before him. He was perched on top of the picnic table that had never seen a picnic before, but possibly would someday in the future. Summer was coming, after all, and summer picnics were certainly necessary for proper rehabilitation.

The Final Link by @anonymousdandelion - focusing on Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer. Summary: And ye, mine Childe Virtue and her Manne, shalle take and rede this Book, and teach of it to thy owne Children, and they in turne to theyrs. And the Chaine sharl continue Unbroken by alle mine Descendents, Parent to Childe to Grand Childe and so on and so forthe; unto the veriest coming of the Ende, so mine line shalle continue. But Anathema, Greatest of mine Grand Children, when thee time cometh ye shal be the final linke in the Chaine. Anathema has always known she was the end of the line; the final chapter of the story; the last leaf on the family tree. Except, maybe she isn't.

When The Sea Boils, The Kraken Will Rise (Against Its Inner Demons) by OtterFi - 435 words, G, focusing on the Kraken and Various Sea Monster. Summary: After the World Didn't End, Adam set the world right again. But he didn't undo it all. The World might be calling the Kraken events a mass hallucination, but some beings are still upset by the missing trade delegation.

When War Rode Alone by Darke_Eco_Freak - 1.6K, G, focusing on The Them and War. Summary: The Anti-Christ speaks and the Universe listens. Chaos is Order is Natural, but War is nature too, Human Nature, and she doesn't forget.

Old Habits by @ngkiscool (me!) - 500 words, G, focusing on Warlock. Summary: “Why on earth was there a knife on the door? It almost hit me!" “A silver knife ought to be on every sleeping room's lintel, everybody knows that!" Or: Warlock goes to university, and learns that not everyone grew up the same way he did.

Ghost in the Machine by @not-a-space-alien - 2.4K, G, focusing on The Them. Summary: The Them hunt some ghosts.

Some Complications by Aaymeirah - 4.5K, T, focusing on Beelzebub, Gabriel. Dagon, Michael, Hastur, Sandalphon, Uriel, Metatron, Lucifer, Aziraphale and Crowley. Summary: Beelzebub stalked towards the four angels waiting on the other side of the airstrip, flanked by Dagon and Hastur. “This better be good,” they hissed, crossing their arms. “Angels,” Dagon cursed at their approach. “Demons,” retorted Uriel. “We need to set aside our differences for a moment. There are bigger things to focus on,” said Michael, moderator for this meeting. “Like what?” sneered Hastur. “The Apocalypse, or the lack thereof you idiot,” responded Gabriel. “Be civil.” Micheal gave Gabriel a warning glance.“Fine, I’ll get to the point. It seems that the Final Battle and the subsequent destruction of Earth might not exactly be what God wants.”

All Bets Are Off by AnnaTheHank - 3.6K, T, focusing on Ligur and Michael. Summary: Ligur and Michael had a habit of making bets, even before the fall. Not much has changed. A.k.a Five times Michael won a bet against Ligur and the one time she didn't.

So glad you could make it by FancyTrinkets - 666 words, T, focusing on Hastur, Ligur and Dagon. Summary: When Ligur reappears, solid again and somehow undestroyed, his mouth is open wide and he's screaming out in rage and terror. He's also stuck behind a massive set of filing cabinets.

Authors - if you wish that your Tumblr account will be tagged, instead of the AO3, please comment or DM me the handle. Thanks :)

Bonus - master list with all past recommendations!

Thanks for reading, and remember - sharing is caring!

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kalikeha · 2 years

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Know me.

Worship me, swollen with passion, where are the saints grown mad upon the sweet foam of my bossom.

Scorn me, for the end of things is as stern fire about my loins, that glisten damp with sacrifice.

Enter me wantonly, whan am I like the dreg of Brothels. Be consumed by me.

Burn in me.

About the markets of the world I am sent bare, until the wotst of creatures may lie down with me.

Though wretched and with sores, they shall not be refused.

The mead of many rapes is sanctified in me, and is made holy as the stars, for I am Understanding whereby they that drik the filth of my adulteries shall be made clean.

For that which fouls me is the joy of paradise. The seed of wisdom runneth from my womb.

See! Iam couched with beasts , that monsters of the primitive and formless chaos shall know me.

Iam am the one no eartlhy man nor woman may embrace, tat vet is Whore to ALL.

Have I not fallen in thy sight?

Hast you not spat upon my name?

Hast thou not hated me?

Hast thou not called me the harlot, that endures thy father's infinite desires, and plundered every moment from her birth?

Then know me.

In my nakedness I am called revelation.

In the calculation of the hebrews shall my name be numbered six, and fifty and one hundred.

Then I am the world's destruction.

I am that understanding wherein all things are concluded.

I am Babylon.

(...)

That understanding is poured out like in to Blood from me. Like noble Wine, mine Essence runneth down into the Earth, and therein IS degraded and made bitter. Yet it giveth succor unto all things. Mother am I, that sways the great dark cradle of the night. Then I am Isis, a I Hecate, a I Selene. Black am i, Like to The hidden Moon, or as a womb. I taketh in and I receive. Virgin am I to they that know me not, and whore a I to they that know me. Then I am Scarlett, and made fertile that my passion is a great annihilating fire that none May look upon. Then I am Babylon. And further yet am I sunk down into the world itself. Then am I Mary, that conceals her child from Herod. I am Isis that conceals her child from Set. And further yet I am degraded. Then I am the Scarlet woman, mistress to the beast, called Crowley. Leah Hirsig, prostituted in the Paris streets, my star goudged in her breast. Thus does thy mother go a harlot in the world.

And this is the vision of Sorrow.

(...)

That understanding is decanted by another means: as a fiery mead of spirit does it flow, that is not in its downward path corrupted.

Fire of heaven is this nectar , that not in earth be soiled, nor quenched.

A burning moonfoam, then shall this trueblood, this sangreal, be carried down upon a mighty chariot.

In its red vintage is distilled the moment of my dreadful understanding, unexpressed, that cometh privately, in dark and silence.

That is called apocalypse.

Then is ignited my affection, and made hot.

Then I am strenght that straddles lions, and drunken on the juice of mine own flames.

Am I the concubine of revelation, known and mounted with her beast, whose number is a man.

Revealed to man, then is my inspiration come into the earth a child.

And is that child become a tale that strikes fire in the heart.

And is that fire become a blaze, where in thy time, Man's World must be consumed.

Named for the moth of Saturn, where I am exalted, she is called promethea.

From understanding spilled as wisdom is she called sophia.

And this is the vission of compassion

Traducción de google:

Conoceme. Adórame, henchida de pasión, donde están los santos enloquecidos sobre la dulce espuma de mi seno. Desdénenme, porque el final de las cosas es como un fuego severo sobre mis lomos, que brillan húmedos por el sacrificio. Entra en mí sin sentido, que soy como la escoria de los burdeles. Déjate consumir por mí. Arde en mí. Sobre los mercados del mundo me envían desnudo, hasta que la más infame de las criaturas se acueste conmigo. Aunque miserables y con llagas, no serán rechazados. El hidromiel de muchas violaciones es santificado en mí, y es santificado como las estrellas, porque Yo soy Entendimiento por el cual serán limpiados los que beben las inmundicias de mis adulterios. Porque lo que me ensucia es la alegría del paraíso. La semilla de la sabiduría corre de mi vientre. ¡Ver! Estoy acostado con las bestias, para que los monstruos del caos primitivo y sin forma me conozcan. Yo soy el que ningún hombre o mujer terrenal puede abrazar, pero soy la Puta de TODOS. ¿No he caído ante tus ojos? ¿No has escupido sobre mi nombre? ¿No me has odiado? ¿No me has llamado la ramera, que soporta los infinitos deseos de tu padre, y saqueó cada momento desde su nacimiento? Entonces conóceme. En mi desnudez soy llamado revelación. En el cómputo de los hebreos mi nombre será contado seis, cincuenta y cien. Entonces yo soy la destrucción del mundo. Yo soy ese entendimiento en el que se concluyen todas las cosas. Soy Babilonia.

(...)

Ese entendimiento es derramado como en Sangre de mí. Como el Vino noble, mi Esencia desciende a la Tierra, y en ella SE degrada y amarga.

Sin embargo, da socorro a todas las cosas.

Madre soy yo, que mece la gran cuna oscura de la noche.

Entonces soy Isis, soy Hécate, soy Selene. Negro soy, como la luna oculta, o como un útero.

Acepto y recibo.

Virgen soy para los que no me conocen, y ramera para los que me conocen.

Entonces soy Scarlett, y he hecho fértil que mi pasión es un gran fuego aniquilador que nadie puede mirar. Entonces yo soy Babilonia.

Y aún más estoy hundido en el mundo mismo.

Entonces soy yo María, que oculta a su hijo de Herodes. Soy Isis que oculta a su hijo de Set.

Y aún más estoy degradado.

Entonces yo soy la mujer Escarlata, amante de la bestia, llamada Crowley. Leah Hirsig, prostituida en las calles de París, mi estrella clavada en su pecho.

Así va tu madre ramera en el mundo.

Y esta es la visión del Dolor.

(...)

Ese entendimiento se decanta por otro medio: como hidromiel ardiente de espíritu fluye, que no se corrompe en su camino descendente. Fuego del cielo es este néctar, que en la tierra no se ensucia ni se apaga. Una espuma de luna ardiente, entonces esta sangre verdadera, esta sangreal, será llevada sobre un carro poderoso. En su cosecha roja se destila el momento de mi espantoso entendimiento, inexpresado, que llega en privado, en la oscuridad y el silencio. Eso se llama apocalipsis. Entonces se enciende mi afecto, y se calienta. Entonces soy la fuerza que cabalga sobre leones, y me emborracho con el jugo de mis propias llamas. ¿Soy yo la concubina de la revelación, conocida y montada con su bestia, cuyo número es un hombre? Revelado al hombre, entonces mi inspiración viene a la tierra como un niño. Y es que ese niño se convierte en un cuento que incendia el corazón. Y es que el fuego se convierte en una llamarada, donde en tu tiempo, el Mundo del Hombre debe ser consumido. Llamada así por la polilla de Saturno, donde estoy exaltado, se llama Promethea. Del entendimiento derramado como sabiduría se le llama sophia. Y esta es la visión de la compasión

Promethea. Alan Moore

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utilitycaster · 3 years

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Wizard Breakdown Tracker: Campaign 2 Finale Edition

AND LO THE COMEUPPANCE OF TRENT IKITHON HATH COMETH UP, AND I SAW IT, AND IT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD

I began this in late March, amidst the mists and fiercest frosts* and blithely declared my intentions to "to keep up with this nonsense until such time as Trent Ikithon is dead or as good as".

Well,

Let us begin. I should warn you that it's a long one.

As a reminder Caleb Widogast is a PC and is not included in the wizard breakdown tracker, except in Quebec.**

Finally: due to the nature of the finale and epilogues and such, the timeline is just completely fucked and some of this is pure headcanon. I promised nonsense to you two months ago; to nonsense we shall return.

Lady Vess Derogna: I eulogized her last week and as she's dead she gets no actual assessment. So this is just to say that Ludinus did not even like, register her seat as empty when he spoke to Caleb. Vess, babe, you got involved with some real bad groups. Like, the Emotionally Repressed Uk'otoa Warlock Family is fully out there being the fucking Skywalkers of the Lucidian Ocean and you still stand out as a shining example of Girl, What Were You Thinking.

Oremid Hass: honestly he's mostly been here to shut people up because when I made the first one despite clearly saying "I am not including people who haven't shown up recently" people were like "WhAt AbOuT oReMiD hAsS" and it was just like. easier to do it. Anyway we still haven't seen him but I'm hoping he was ignorant of Trent's crimes; I think both the Halls of Erudition and the Soltryce Academy would benefit from keeping their weird cat wizard professors.

Conclusion: 5/10. I mean it can't be like, great; even if he was innocent, having the Cobalt Soul on your ass is going to stress you out. Good thing Scrytube exists.

Pumat Sol: This was one of several cases where it's like...man I wish we'd gotten to see him just one more time, but also, this means the last time he saw the Nein during their main adventure was as the Spice Girls, and also Vess is dead, and that is beautiful. Anyway I hope that shortly before his return expedition with Essek to Aeor, after a difficult day at the Cobalt Soul in support of Beau during Zeenoth's trial, Caleb takes a break before meeting up with his friends and purchases some of those spells with the money he received as reparations from Trent Ikithon's seized assets. Also I hope Pumat went Tenser's Transformation on any Volstrucker spies and that they wisely ran away.

Conclusion: 2/10. It's not that he's worried, exactly, so much so that he's approached by someone...not exactly savory, bearing a pretty rare artifact who will part with it for a surprisingly low price provided he doesn't ask any questions. Pumat quickly clocks this is coming from the Myriad, but he wouldn't need to because Jester pretty quickly tells him. But they're really good artifacts and, uh, geez, the Assembly sure had its own moral quandaries, don'tcha know.

Ludinus Da'leth: Caleb Widogast proved himself in many ways this episode. Not only did he both think through the implications of time travel and how to avoid loops or contradictions better than quite literally anyone I can think of - and I love me some fucked up time travel stories - but he decisively made the choice to remove it as an option. He allowed himself to trust, to let go, to grieve, to let like three of his friends simultaneously sit on Ikithon's abdomen which honestly probably should have burst that guy's liver then and there, and finally, to love. But all that aside, he was probably the first person to match Ludinus Da'leth for sangfroid in a good four centuries.

The status of the Assembly was left open, so I don't know if Ludinus specifically faced consequences. I will however say that I think he felt the pangs of something in his slimy, hollow chest, seeing his two evil frenemies' seats become vacant in rapid succession as Caleb Widogast calmly turned down the offer of a lifetime and as the Cobalt Soul sharpened their...fists(?) rhetoric.

Conclusion: 5/10. Not sure he's capable of higher, but if he is I wish Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett, and possibly Astrid Beck a very pleasant making Ludinus Da'leth's life a living hell.

Trent Ikithon: imagine being held in a prison cell in a time before electricity, unable to use your two most powerful weapons - your voice and your magic. Now imagine doing so, but also you are a horrific abuser with no empathy such that making up stories in your head isn't even going to be entertaining.

Conclusion: Oh this is good he's just perma-stuck at 9/10. Deny that bitch catharsis and hope his liver lasts a good long while. Maybe let someone trustworthy - perhaps one of the Clays, who deserve a little vengeance, heal that jaundice to ensure he spends a decent chunk of time in imprisonment before he dies. Say, eleven years. Seems fitting.

Then Beau can kill him with a whole bale of suude because god that's fucking funny.

Astrid Beck: I know people are probably thinking she had hers onscreen this episode but I have Thoughts. I think it happened in the past week in-universe, off-screen. I find it difficult that Trent didn't put two and two together regarding the necklaces and possibly even the escape in Nicodranas. And yet she's still there, by his side. She doesn't want to fight, clearly; it is not hard to turn her even without the dominate person, and when Trent is at her mercy she needs to be held back from killing him. But we know something snapped when she told Caleb it would be a good time to strike.

I think Trent didn't bring any of it up, and there was nothing to push back against. I think it was like that every day for half her life. I think she gave up, in those few days while Caleb was in Aeor. And maybe in a different story she'd have had time to come back herself, and finish the job. I hope she would have. But when she first appeared in combat at the Blooming Grove? I think that was a hopeless person.

Conclusion: The good news is she can make what she wants of the rest of her life, whether that's mostly sticking with the status quo except a lot less child torture, or whether she becomes the insider in the Lionett-Widogast Assembly Destruction Apparatus. Her future is her own for the first time in decades. But at some point shortly before her first appearance in the finale she hit 10/10 and she hit it hard.

Welcome! This is definitely a funny post that is NOT about abject despair.

eɪʌdwʊlf: Okay on the other hand, others have made the excellent point that he just like...is a big strong man who exclusively seems to make passes at people who insult and/or stab him. The fact that Caleb compares him to Fjord did sort of clarify to me why Eadwulf was my personal minor NPC of choice but also while I see Astrid as mostly a tragic figure with a deliberately ambiguous but ultimately hopeful ending, Eadwulf, despite sharing the same basic story as Astrid, is hilarious to me, because he doesn't end up on the Assembly. And I don't think he wants it.

You know, before it was confirmed that Caleb was also romantically involved with Eadwulf I was like "oh is this guy not only going through these experiences as a teen but also he's third wheeling the whole time?" but here's the thing. He was still the third wheel, just not romantically. I'm like, pretty sure Trent saw him as such. I mean, no one was recommending Wulf for the Assembly. And while his choice to give a deposition means he does not need to run far away, and while I do choose to believe he becomes Astrid's house husband, I also think there is a great story where he does run and he lives out the rest of his days in Ank'harel or Tal'Dorei and as the myths of the Mighty Nein slowly coalesce, as the Assembly is torn down and the crew of a ship in Lucidian slays a leviathan and a woman in Nicodranas teaches a generation of mad archer-bombers he hears vague scraps of news and swigs from his Wristpocketflask and says "I am so fucking glad I don't have to deal with any of that shit."

Conclusion: I just can't see his needle moving from 4/10 actually. It's just stuck there, except when Yasha outdoes him with the Harvest Close decorations and then it briefly shoots up to 9/10.

Allura Vyesoren: I understand not seeing her in the finale; there was a lot to do and not much to say. I am going to be magnanimous towards the Mighty Nein, a word that through connotation implies I may be more powerful than they are, and say they gave her back her staff and Kima back her sword. Actually I choose to believe that part of the off-screen Nicodranas partying includes Yussa messaging her to come by and she does and she brings Kima and it's great.

Conclusion: 1/10. The world is saved and this time she literally just had to let a Cat Wizard use her staff. This is getting easy, and the fact that Tharizdun cults are increasing in activity is fine like it happens every few decades. She does briefly go to a 6 when an absolutely hammered Yussa explains his particular role but Kima and some fine wine calm her down.

Yussa Errenis: Yussa made decisions that nearly rival Vess's and probably tie with the Warlocks of The Coast: Pelagic The Seal-shattering. I cannot stress this enough: Caleb would have been well within his rights to confiscate the Happy Fun Ball and honestly the main reason he didn't was probably that he himself was thinking about going to Aeor and maybe playing with the time-space continuum a little bit. And yet Yussa not only survived, but he made friends in the bargain.

Also he's now officially reclaimed the title of Wildmount's Archmage Who Gets Off Scot-Free from Everything from Ludinus Da'leth. Fucking pettiness icon, that Yussa Errenis, and I wouldn't have him any other way.

Conclusion: 0/10. He actually did learn his lesson and it's "be friends with the Mighty Nein before making poor decisions." And he's right! We cannot help but stan.

Essek Thelyss: kind of jumped the gun there on the sad deep meta for him last week and a part of me just wants to be like LOOK. LOOK. THESE WIZARDS ARE BOYFRIENDS. But you know, I think I'll let him speak for himself:

Episode 97: I am but a humble, selfish creature...There are so many mysteries around these beacons, around dunamis, what it's capable of. My entire life, I've been propped up to be perhaps worthy of being one to break those boundaries. To find applications for it that could change everything. And if I don't do it, the first person who does, I don't trust them.

Episode 141: But such pursuits are selfish. For the more you understand time, understand you cannot see the ramifications of changing such things. Were I have found this before I found you, perhaps I may have done some incredible, terrible things with it. But I accept my regrets, my thoughts now, and I'm here today with this knowledge, in this moment with you, because of those mistakes. And as much as they hurt me, I don't want to change a thing."

[moments later, in response to Caleb outlining his exact plans for 'such pursuits']: Will you do it? Will you do it? I will help you.

Conclusion: to go from point A to point B like that? You think, even given the infinity that exists between the number zero, and the number ten - even that small infinity we all have access to, in a fashion - I can rank that? On a scale?

Halas Lutagran, aka Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk:

"And so we leave the Mighty Nein. The camera pans out, from a lavender tiefling on small ship on Darktow. We travel a few degrees north of east, towards the coast; on our way we find a somewhat larger ship on which a half-orc and a blue tiefling have their arms around each others' shoulders, gazing out towards the sunset. We move on, reaching the coast; in Nicodranas we find a family of halflings - a mother, a father, and a young son, having a lively dinner, two crossbows and an empty potion bottle resting on a side table for after the meal. We travel through the Wuyun Gates, flying over the small towns of Trostenwald and Alfield. We do not alight in Zadash; we follow the Amber Road north to Rexxentrum. It is darker there, further east, but we stop in two flats, one near the Cobalt Soul with a riot of flowering window boxes where two women laugh and kiss over glasses of wine, another just outside of the campus of the Soltryce Academy where two men, one human and one elven, read as they lean against each other on an overstuffed couch, the legs of which have been scratched by several cats. We then resume our just-north-of-east direction for a time across chilly forests until we at last finish in a garden, surrounded by purple crystals. It is dark but we see two tall figures; firbolgs, a man and a woman. The man is smiling as he holds his staff, topped by a crystal not unlike the ones at the perimeter of this site, and the woman gives him a friendly punch in the shoulder.

These are the Mighty Nein. Their deeds are many, if unevenly heralded. The consequences thereof are for another story. At their hands, the dead of Aeor are finally free; perhaps some of the living as well. Uk'otoa is nearly unbound. Tharizdun's chains loosen. And me? I am still in this FUCKING gem."

Conclusion: still in this FUCKING gem/10.

*not irl; I live in a swamp, and our frosts are long gone by late March. However, the first Wizard Breakdown Tracker did mark the return to Eiselcross after the Nicodranas-Emon-Rexxentrum-Vergesson-Nicodranas-Plane of Fire/Happy Fun Ball-Zadash-Blooming Grove whirlwind tour.

**Only Quebec Critters may read the following:

Caleb Widogast: S'il vous plaît envoyez-moi de la poutine. Désolé si c'est grammaticalement incorrect; Je ne connais pas le français. Conclusion: On s'en fout? Il a un petit ami gothique!

#critical role #wizard breakdown tracker #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #allura vyesoren #yussa errenis #known gem wizard hotsauce lutefisk #trent ikithon #astrid becke #eadwulf grieve #ludinus da'leth #vess derogna #pumat sol #oremid hass #the mighty nein #i had to zoom out to 67% to post this gargantuan thing tumblr sure is a functional website huh #also if you're wondering no i did not proofread #long post

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jellyfishinc · 3 years

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Day 8

S1E7 Gift Rappers

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve finally reached the episode many of you have been waiting for, and it’s my turn to post about it.

And for the record, even if there weren’t any sibling moments, I would’ve made a post anyway, because it would’ve been a crime against the Warners not to.

The opening scene shows the Warners testing a catapult, and landing inside a set where they’re shooting for a music video.

Naturally, they have no idea who he is, even after he finishes rapping, and the audience fills him in. Jaypac La East, a self-proclaimed lyrical genius. (Jay-Z, Tupac, and Kanye West?)

Someone mentions he’s even objectively better than Shakespeare, and Yakko asks for confirmation.

The dumbass has the nerve to call Shakespeare a “sucker MC”, and we see THIS.

Obviously Yakko's reaction is golden, but see the look on Dot’s face right there? That’s a look that says, “Oh hun, you have no idea who you’re talking to, do you?.”

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say Dot is well aware of Yakko’s love for Shakespeare, and has probably schooled her himself in the past when she tried to say the same thing.

The best part? This is all character continuity for Yakko, when you remember THIS from the original, when the narrator tried to suggest Yakko didn’t know what he was saying.

And before I dissect it, I’m just gonna share the whole Shakespeare rap, because...oh who am I kidding? Do I really need an excuse to share Yakko Warner, or Rob Paulsen, rapping Shakespeare?

I didn’t think so.

Now that we’ve had a moment to just sit back and appreciate Yakko’s theatrical genius, let’s break it down, shall we?

First off, of course Yakko Warner had a costume like that at the ready for something like this, because of course he fucking did.

Look at him!

Yakko starts playing the flute, and we see THIS from Dot and Wakko.

Makes me wonder if he’s ever played the flute for them to fall asleep to?

Next thing you know, we got this epic payoff of Yakko quoting Shakespeare throughout the whole verse.

And in case you wanted to know exactly which ones he was quoting, or if he was using them correctly, here you go:

“Alas, Poor Jay-Pac, I don’t know who you’re supposed to be” Hamlet, Act 5 Scene 1

“All the world’s a stage, but player, leave the stage to me.” As you like it, Act 2 Scene 7

“To rap or not to rap, that is the question.” Hamlet again, Act 3 Scene 1

“My boy Bill told us ‘pride cometh before the fall’” Richard II Act 5 Scene 5

“Else Yakk a liar call.” Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 5, Scene 1

Good enough on its own, right?

Wrong.

I was a wannabe theater kid, instead of an actual one, therefore I only know a little bit about how theater dynamics work, so forgive me if I get something wrong here:

If you’re going to be working with a partner, the thing that is stressed over and over is that whatever personal issues or drama you might have, leave it at the door, because the second you step on that stage together, you need to have 100% trust in the other person to have your back, so you can pull off something like this lift, because if you don’t, one or both of you is gonna get hurt.

That particular lift? Is the result of YEARS of trust and practicing lifts with each other, until they’ve perfected it to where they can do it within a second’s notice.

Jaypac goes next, and his first verse is to insult Dot and Wakko, and we see THIS.

And once he starts dissing the Marx brothers, they get up on stage, just in time to have the guy drop the mic on Yakko’s head.

Yakko’s up next, and Dot and Wakko get behind the DJ booth and camera for maximum effect.

Rob Paulsen, my hat is off to you, good sir, for spitting bars while also battling throat cancer, and having Yakko throwing out all kinds of references to both the original and the movie.

First there's a Wakko's Wish reference, which prompts THIS, which was also pointed out to me in another post, where apparently Wakko actually wasn’t saying this line, he was mouthing it alongside Yakko.

Then there’s THIS line, which is a reference to what their very first director Weed, said about Outback Buddy before bringing the Warners into it.

And by the end, Jaypac concedes, and of course Yakko, the little shit, can’t resist doing THIS just to mess with him.

Shoutout to all fans, who, like me, fell in love with rap battle themed episodes/segments because of the one in Regular show, and thus were stoked for this one.

Also, my sincerest apologies to Yakko himself for even thinking he could've possibly misquoted Shakespeare, when we all know damn well he'd do no such thing.

Shame on me!

This episode will forever hold a special place in my heart, and I can think of no better way to end this post than to just let our man of the hour, Yakko Warner, send it off right with now and forever the only acceptable way to drop the mic.

#animaniacs #yakko wakko and dot #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #warner siblings #warner brothers and sister #warner brothers #and the warner sister #animaniacs reboot #animaniacs 2020 #rob paulsen is a fucking legend

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childofchrist1983 · 3 years

Photo

And it came to pass after this, that Absalom the son of David had a fair sister, whose name was Tamar; and Amnon the son of David loved her. And Amnon was so vexed, that he fell sick for his sister Tamar; for she was a virgin; and Amnon thought it hard for him to do anything to her. But Amnon had a friend, whose name was Jonadab, the son of Shimeah David's brother: and Jonadab was a very subtil man. And he said unto him, Why art thou, being the king's son, lean from day to day? wilt thou not tell me? And Amnon said unto him, I love Tamar, my brother Absalom's sister. And Jonadab said unto him, Lay thee down on thy bed, and make thyself sick: and when thy father cometh to see thee, say unto him, I pray thee, let my sister Tamar come, and give me meat, and dress the meat in my sight, that I may see it, and eat it at her hand.

And when she had brought them unto him to eat, he took hold of her, and said unto her, Come lie with me, my sister. And she answered him, Nay, my brother, do not force me; for no such thing ought to be done in Israel: do not thou this folly. And I, whither shall I cause my shame to go? and as for thee, thou shalt be as one of the fools in Israel. Now therefore, I pray thee, speak unto the king; for he will not withhold me from thee. Howbeit he would not hearken unto her voice: but, being stronger than she, forced her, and lay with her. Then Amnon hated her exceedingly; so that the hatred wherewith he hated her was greater than the love wherewith he had loved her. And Amnon said unto her, Arise, be gone. And she said unto him, There is no cause: this evil in sending me away is greater than the other that thou didst unto me. But he would not hearken unto her.- 2 Samuel 13:1-5, 13:11-16 KJV

The world is starting to shed a bit more light on the dark plague that is sexual abuse and rape.

Abusive behavior of men that has been tolerated for most of human existence is finally beginning to be considered inappropriate and immoral. Unfortunately it is a problem that has existed for as long as there has been recorded history, and it seems it is only now getting the attention it deserves. Women are often blamed for being the victims of rape. "She shouldn't have been there", "she should have known better", "she knew what kind of man he is", "she should not be wearing that", and "boys will be boys", are all excuses that I have heard in response to the sexual abuse scandals in Hollywood. The problem will persist until we change the attitudes of people thinking these things.

These verses tell a disgusting story, once again involving a son of David. Another of David's sons, Absalom, will soon conspire to overthrow and kill his father, but in these verses, Absalom's sister Tamar is raped by her half-brother, Amnon. There is more than one guilty party here, for Amnon's friend, Jonadab, initially hatches the plan. Amnon forces his half-sister, a virgin, to sleep with him, and is then disgusted by her, ignoring her pleas not to send him away, knowing the shame that it will bring the two of them. This is only the beginning of this story, because later in this chapter, Absalom plots his revenge and eventually kills his brother, Amnon.

I once again think about David's role in this story: Considering the story of Bathsheba, he did not set the best male role model for his sons. This story sounds like it could be in a tabloid newspaper in modern times, so the problems have remained the same for literally thousands of years.

The way that the wrongdoers behave in these verses, namely, the men, is not so different from the shaming culture that persists today.

We can make a difference. We can learn from the sinful ways of those before us and create a new and safer society. It starts with us acknowledging that the way things were and the way things currently are is wrong.

Remember the Ten Commandments. Remember the teachings of Christ. Remember the horror stories in these verses and in modern society. Then - and only then - will people like Amnon listen to Tamar when she implores him not to do this wicked thing.

NO MEANS NO!

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yunathun · 2 years

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A VIRTUOUS WIFE

WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A VIRTUOUS DAUGHTER OF ZION, AMEN...

FROM THE KING JAMES BIBLE (KJV 1611) BY AUTHOR: J.R.WILLIS

***INTRODUCTION*** DEFINITION OF (VIRTUOUS), AMEN:

Definition of virtuous

1a: having or exhibiting virtue

b: morally excellent : RIGHTEOUSa virtuous decision

2: CHASTE

3: POTENT, EFFICACIOUS

***IMPORTANT NOTES***

WHAT IS A VIRTUOUS WIFE & DAUGHTER OF ZION ACCORDING TO THE HOLY WORD OF GOD, AMEN:

PROVERBS 12:4

[4] A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband: but she that maketh ashamed is as rottenness in his bones.

PROVERBS 31:10-11

[10] Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.

[11] The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.

2 ESDRAS 16:49-50

[49] Like as a whore envieth a right honest and virtuous woman:

[50] So shall righteousness hate iniquity, when she decketh herself, and shall accuse her to her face, when he cometh that shall defend him that diligently searcheth out every sin upon earth.

ECCLESIASTICUS-(BEN SIRACH) 26:1-4

[1] Blessed is the man that hath a virtuous wife, for the number of his days shall be double.

[2] A virtuous woman rejoiceth her husband, and he shall fulfil the years of his life in peace.

[3] A good wife is a good portion, which shall be given in the portion of them that fear the Lord.

[4] Whether a man be rich or poor, if he have a good heart toward the Lord, he shall at all times rejoice with a cheerful countenance.

ECCLESIASTICUS-(BEN SIRACH) 28:15

[15] A backbiting tongue hath cast out virtuous women, and deprived them of their labours.

***IMPORTANT NOTES***

A NON VIRTUOUS WOMAN, A FOOLISH WOMAN, AN EVIL WOMAN ON HER WAY TO DEATH & HELL, AMEN:

PROVERBS 9:13-18

[13] A foolish woman is clamorous: she is simple, and knoweth nothing.

[14] For she sitteth at the door of her house, on a seat in the high places of the city,

[15] To call passengers who go right on their ways:

[16] Whoso is simple, let him turn in hither: and as for him that wanteth understanding, she saith to him,

[17] Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.

[18] But he knoweth not that the dead are there; and that her guests are in the depths of hell.

***FINAL NOTE***

Wake up Daughters of Zion and return to thy Great God and keep His Majesty's Holy Laws such as Virtuous Wives & Daughters of Zion-(MOTHER EVE-SARAH-REBEKAH-LEAH, RACHEL, BILHAH, ZILPHAH-JUDITH-HULDAH-DEBORAH),

or perish with the rest of the ungodly Jezebel, Semiramis-Liltih spirited witches and strange women of our people, of our blood whom shall be purged very soon with the wicked of Yisrael as it is written, Amen-(ISAIAH 1/ISAIAH 2/PROVERBS 5, 6 & 7), Amen...

***CONCLUSION***

THE LION OF JUDAH IS COMING TO DESTROY ALL HEATHEN-GENTILE NATIONS, AMEN:

JEREMIAH 4:7

7. The lion is come up from his thicket, and the destroyer of the Gentiles is on his way; he is gone forth from his place to make thy land desolate; and thy cities shall be laid waste, without an inhabitant.

For Judgement-(DEATH) comes for Esau who is Amalek, who are Edom, which are the Caucasian nations by way of the WRATH OF THE LAMB.

REVELATION 2:9

9. I know thy works, and tribulation, and poverty, (but thou art rich)-(LORD YASHAYA KNOWS OUR OPPRESSION-AFFLICTION & DESTRUCTION AT THE HANDS OF OUR ENEMIES AS HE HIMSELF ENDURED THEM FOR US-BUT WE ARE RICH BECAUSE WE ARE THE LORD'S HERITAGE-WE ARE THE WORLD & THE WORLD WAS CREATED FOR US),

and I know the blasphemy of them which say they are Jews-(AMALEK-EDOM-THE CAUCASIAN NATIONS), and are not, but are the synagogue of Satan-(THESE WICKED SERPENTS ARE THE CHIEF HOUSE OF THE DEVIL HIMSELF).

NOW WHO SHALL DENY THIS REPORT?

J.R.WILLIS-(YUNATHUN ZION)

AUTHOR: A RACE OF DEMONS REFINED 2017

AUTHOR: SPIRITUAL CRIMES 2018 AUTHOR: THE PROPHECIES AUTHOR: THE PROPHECIES, BOOK 2 AUTHOR: DAEMONOLOGIE YEAR 2020

#Daughters of Zion #VIRTUOUS WIFE #AHAYAH #YASHAYA #THE HOLY SPIRIT #YISRAEL #ISRAEL #HEBREWS #BABYLON #AMERICA #THE HOLY KODESH SAFARIM #THE HOLY BIBLE

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toonytoodles · 3 years

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[Before reading, this is my FIRST fan fiction ive ever written, please leave kind feedback, thank you]

Onward fanfic; "Transfer students,"

Chapter one; "Application"

The young elf walked in the door, quickly making his way to his older brothers room. He could always count on Barley for advice, especially when it was important.

Ian approached his room, seeing that he was busy painting his Quest of Yore figurines, but if he was going to do this, he couldn't wait.

"Hey, umm, Bar?" He hesitantly asked, poking his head into Barleys bedroom.

"Brother!" Barley shouted in a booming voice, setting the figurine down along with the paintbrush. "Why hath thou cometh into mine lair?" He smiled as he stood up.

"Umm, well..." Ian sighed. "The school is doing this exchange student thing? And I umm, well, I was thinking about joining?"

"An exchange student?" His brother looked surprised, maybe even hurt. "Wouldn't- wouldn't that mean you, leaving?"

"Well, yes, but-but I'd go see new things, and meet new people! It's not something that I'd usually do, but I thought it could be fun? Maybe?"

Barley slipped out a light chuckle, "Well I'd miss you, that's for sure, but I'm glad to see my baby bro coming out of his shell!" He began using his Quest of Yore voice, "This shall be your most daunting quest yet, venturing to a far mysterious land alone, to study along side the native people, and embrace in a new culture!" He laughed triumphantly, tightly hugging his brother, nearly lifting him off the floor. "Tell me dear brother! When dost thy leave our humble city?" He released his brother, allowing him to breathe once more.

Ian laughed, "I-I'm not leaving yet! I wasn't even sure if I was going to do it yet! Besides, I haven't talked to mom or applied yet, I uh, I wanted to talk to you first." He smiled at him.

Barley smiled back, "Ah, well you might want to do those couple of things soon! I'd hate to see you lose the opportunity!"

"Yeah, you're right... I-I'm gonna talk to mom, and if it's alright with her, then I might, maybe, put in an application tomorrow... Possibly." He looked upset, as though he was second guessing everything, he looked down with a heavy sigh. The poor young elf was suffocating from his own anxieties.

"Hey," Barley began, "It'll be okay bro." He placed his arm on Ian's shoulder. "No matter what choice you make or where you go, it'll be alright, I promise." He smiled reassuringly. "Me and Guenivere two are only a phone call away," he began the voice again, "Your trusty brother and his mighty steed will overcome any obstacle to be by your side, and over come any challenge!" Ian couldn't help but laugh again, that stupid voice always got him.

"Now go brother! Request council with the queen so she may approve of your mission!"

"Alright alright I'm going." He lightly chuckled, leaving Barleys room. "Hey mom?" He lightly shouted, walking into the living room.

"Yes sweetie?" Their mother Laurel responded from the kitchen.

"Hey, umm, you're not too busy, right?" He asked as he came into the kitchen.

"Well I'm making dinner, but we can talk!" She smiled, turning to her son and noticing his nervousness grew upset, "It looks like somethings bothering you, are you okay? I swear if that Gorgamon is picking on you again-"

"No- no mom! I mean yes, but-but it's not that!"

"Oh, then what's up sweetheart?" She questioned, looking curious as she poured pasta into a boiling pot.

"Well- there's this thing, at school? Umm, an exchange student program? I was wondering if- if I could apply? Maybe?" He smiled nervously with a light chuckle.

"Well, I- You have proven you can take care of yourself... You're sixteen, and you've learned some magic, slayed a dragon, and the fact that you're asking has shown how much you've matured.... Well... Will you promise to call every day to let me know you're alright?"

"Yes, I'd call every day, I'd want to tell you guys everything!" He sounded eager to go.

"Wow, this is something you really wanna do, huh?" She sounded surprised.

"Yes! I mean- maybe? I-I haven't left New Mushroomington since that camping trip, and the opportunity for a paid for trip to live in another town and get to experience other cultures? It-it sounds amazing! Even if it is mostly school stuff, I'd- I'd still get to see new things and meet all kinds of people, it-it umm, just sounds nice." He chuckled nervously, noticing he was ranting.

"Have you applied yet?" She asked, stirring the pasta.

"No! No- I-I needed to talk to you and Barley first."

"Is your brother okay with it?"

"Well he-he seemed excited, I'm pretty sure he wants me to do it."

"Then I'm okay with it too!" She smiled, "You should apply tomorrow!"

"Really?" He questioned, "You-you don't think this is too dumb, or risky, or anything like that?"

"No! I think this'll be good for you! Just let me know if you can learn anything about the student coming here, I'd love to be able to prepare!"

"Will... You make sure they don't mess up my room too bad? And ask them to walk Blazey?"

"I'll do my best with your room, but remember to treat their room how you'd want them to treat your room, and once you find out where you're going try to study up, and-and be careful talking to strangers-"

"Mom!" Ian laughed lightly, "I'm not leaving yet! You don't have to worry about any of that stuff yet!"

"Well neither do you! I thought we were prepping!"

"Yeah, you're right... I guess I'm just nervous, I never thought I'd even be tempted to do anything like this..."

"Yeah, and I'm nervous for my little guy to leave... This'll be new to all of us." She chucked nervously.

Ian smiled at her, "Hey? Need help with dinner?" She nodded at him. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

The two prepared dinner together, soon sitting to eat. After that the evening routine went as usual, taking Blazey on her nighttime walk, reading a chapter of a book, mundane things like that, until bedtime finally came. Barleys snore could he heard throughout the house, but that's not what was keeping Ian awake, he couldn't stop thinking about the exchange student program... Was he actually going to do it? Leave home? Leave his family? It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and his family fully supports him, but is it the right choice? He tossed and turned all night, and there was enough sighs and second guesses to last a life time. Eventually he did fall asleep, though it wasn't very restful. It felt as though the alarm went off seconds after he finally dozed off. He smacked the snooze button, as he sat up, sighing and covering his face. He wants to apply, but at the same time he's terrified to actually do it...

He got out of bed, got dressed and went downstairs.

"Good morrow dear brother!" Barley shouted, "Are you ready to seize the day and fill out the form needed for your quest?"

"I-I don't know..." Ian stuttered out.

"Oh," Barley looked at him, slightly concerned, "Hey, don't get cold feet now! You should go see some of the world! It'll be fun remember? Embracing in another culture, meeting locals, doesn't that sound epic?!"

Ian laughed, "Yeah... I'm just... I know I'm not leaving yet or anything, but, I'm gonna miss you guys." He sighed.

"Hey, we're gonna talk every day, and you have a while before you leave! Right now all your doing is filling out a form." Their mother smiled, "Now get something to eat, you boys have to get going soon!"

Ian nodded, getting a box of cereal out of the pantry. He poured the cereal into the bowl, then poured the milk on top. He sat to eat his cereal, as barley sat across from him eating a muffin.

"So," Barley said, "If wherever you end up has exclusive merch?..."

"If it does, I'll get you some," Ian laughed, taking a bite. They continued talking as they ate, before rinsing off their dishes and heading outside.

"Come brother! Join me on my trusty steed!" Barley shouted, jumping into Guenivere two. "I'm coming, I'm coming," Ian smiled, jumping in.

The two drove to school, where Barley dropped Ian off. "I shall see thee at the end of mine shift! Have a glorious day!"

"Thanks Barley!" He smiled, getting out and headed toward the building. This was it... He walked in, heading to the office to fill out an application.

#onward #pixar #fanfic #crossover fanfiction #my first fanfic #likes comments reblogs & constructive critism are appretiated ❤#im scared #*hides in a corner*

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quokkacore · 4 years

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LIBERALITY: starshine [oh sehun] (m)

part II of all your gods are fake

summary: sehun gives you what he can, but it’s never easy. you have to work for it as well, but effort pays off, and he rewards you so kindly.

pairing: freedomfighter!sehun x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, light horror towards the end?

warnings: language, descriptions of war, descriptions of cults, mentions of violence, shibari, thigh riding, handjobs, reader has nipple piercings, sensory deprivation (blindfolds and ties), seizures, knives

song rec: rosalia & ozuna - yo x ti, tu x mi ♡ taemin - never forever

word count: 4.3k

a/n: this was originally posted to my old writing blog on may 9th, 2020. if you would like to be on the taglist, pls send me an ask or a message! <3

masterlist

He was getting agitated. You could tell this much.

It was already bad enough that the meeting so far had lasted for over an hour and a half, but now the tension of the situation was finally settling in, as everyone realized that it was finally here.

The last stronghold. Or so they believed. Or so he believed.

The meeting was only for the highest ranking officials of the resistance, people who The Brotherhood knew they could trust—the plan was far too important to risk it falling into the hands of The Sect of Seven at the hands of double agents.

The plan that, if executed correctly, could turn the tides and cause the downfall of the Sect.

You watched, leaning against the wall as Junmyeon, leader of The Brotherhood and face of the resistance towered over the war table, talking about possible strategies to take the last major neutral city and also take control of the country.

The Sect of Seven had existed for years before the war began—its existence spanned across centuries, millenia, even; dating back to the year The Prophecy of Brothers Alike was first proclaimed in the late twelfth century, and remained strong even almost a whole century after The Great Collapse of 2050, when global society had collapsed due to war, famine and climate disasters.

Then the war broke out, some ten years ago, when the first two brothers of the Fated Fourteen first made themselves known, springing the Sect’s violent plans into action.

Since then, the resistance had been built up by The Brotherhood’s efforts, both capturing strategic cities and territories across North America. The Sect was based in the desert, with the Sanctuary based in what was once Los Angeles, their control spanning across what was western Mexico, the american south, and half of the northwest.

The resistance was based higher north, in the Citadel, which used to be Chicago, territories consisting of parts of southern Canada, the rockies, the northern midwest and what remained of the Peninsula of Yucatan. Places like Greenland, the southern east coast and northern canadian territories had either been destroyed during the collapse or had since been reclaimed by extreme climate and nature.

The only major territory that remained uncaptured by either sides, the place where many had fled to avoid getting caught in the crossfire, was the northern west coast, and that was controlled by Washington DC.

The very spot the resistance was now planning to take.

Your eyes floated up towards Sehun, who was standing right next to Junmyeon, who was now listening to Chanyeol and Baekhyun discuss the logistics of a peaceful invasion.

“Overall, I think we still need time to form a solid strategy,” Baekhyun said, “Jongdae needs to get in contact with The Agate Sisters for some more weapons—”

“Which is not very easy, might I add—” Jongdae interjected.

“And even before that…” Junmyeon’s voice was loud, taking command of the situation, “Sehun.”

All eyes in the room fell to the youngest member of The Brotherhood.

Oh Sehun. The Oracle.

Sehun had become known to the world two years after Suho and Junmyeon were proclaimed the first two brothers of the prophecy, the same time as his twin brother. Being so young, his ability of both interpreting and creating prophecies was a sight to behold, both terrifying and morbidly fascinating.

You’d known him since he and his brother were children, before the three of you realized what the future held in store—pain and suffering for Sehun and you, and nothing but pleasure and debauchery for Sehün.

“Do you think you could consult with the spirits for a minor prophecy? Or any other interpretations of the prophecy?”

Sehun shifted in his stance, leaning back and forth. “I need time.” His voice was firm and gravelly as he crossed his arms, immersed in thought. “My most recent auguries have revealed to me that DC is the last stronghold that the prophecy is talking about. But I can’t be a hundred percent sure. Prophecies love to play mind games. We all know that.”

“Is there anything we have to be wary of when it comes to the prophecy? Double entendres, stuff like that?” Yixing asked, even though everyone in the room had heard the god-forsaken prophecy more than enough times throughout the past few years.

Sehun sighed, but closed his eyes and nodded anyway. A dramatic tension settled over the room, and Sehun began to speak.

“Cometh a day when seven sets of twins, be opposite ends of both virtue and sin—why am I going over this again, we all know this,” He huffed.

“Please just continue,” Baekhyun mumbled.

“Ugh, fine. Bearing eyes of blue and eyes of brown, cometh to tear the last stronghold down—” Sehun rolled his eyes, frustration evident in his expression. “The term stronghold has always been somewhat questionable. The prophecy was first declared in 1176, right? Early Modern English wouldn’t become a thing for another three hundred years, so most of this stems from Middle English. Some interpret stronghold as fort, or base, or holy land…”

Jongdae raised his hand before speaking, eyes flashing in alarm as he interrupted Sehun’s tangent. “Wait, wait, if others have translated it as holy land, then—”

“The Sanctuary.”

Junmyeon’s voice was quiet, but still commanded a heavy presence across the room, as a profound silence spread across the space.

“That means that the final battle could be in Los Angeles, on their turf. That would put us at a major disadvantage. We’re already at a major disadvantage.” The leader’s eyebrows were furrowed, using both hands to lean on the table as he made the connection.

The dread that followed was thick and suffocating, and you took the opportunity to speak up, wishing to rid the room of the anxiety gathering.

“But think about the implications of fighting the final battle in The Sanctuary. It would have to mean that we’ve managed to push them back sufficiently to the point where we feel confident invading their home base. Which we wouldn’t do unless we knew that we had a high possibility of winning.”

All eyes fell to you, and you crossed your arms, before meeting Sehun’s gaze. The look in his eyes was something akin to gratitude, being able to lift the sudden darkness. You lifted your hand to gesture back at Sehun. “Continue.”

He nodded, gaze stern. “Perhaps lovers lost to a most wicked brother, bringeth vengeance and hellfire upon one another… Loss could mean one of two things. Betrayal or death. But the rest of those two lines imply that the side that does the taking will suffer because of what they’ve done. That means that for now, none of us lay hands on any of the Sanctuary Queens, and those of us who have them, keep our partners close… Beware ye who heed this, for I warn thee now: suffer shall those who carelessly bow.”

“It has to be them,” A girl, Sasha, declared, “They’ve been lying to their followers for years—”

“That could mean anything. You know that.” Sehun’s voice was rough, eyes trained on the map that had been carved into the table.

A silence hung over the room, tension palpable as everyone remembered what the stakes were. These were lives and people’s free wills on the line, indescribable anguish promised by a prophecy written centuries ago to people who didn’t truly know their leaders. The end was near, but the outcome was nowhere near foreseeable.

“I’ll… I’ll try and do some more smoke readings.” It struck you how tired he sounded, watching as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger, “Maybe I’ll ask the spirit of the Oracle for a specific prophecy on DC. For now, we just have to be cautious. Watch for any suspicious activity here in the citadel and listen to intelligence reports. Jongin, you’ve got your moles at the Sanctuary, right?”

Jongin nodded, gaze dark. “Yeah. I’m meeting with Ren in two weeks. She’s the best of the best. I’ll see what she has for us.”

Junmyeon straightened his posture, everyone quieting when he opened his mouth to speak.

“I think that’s enough worrying about that for today,” He declared, sounding grim, “Before we go, you all know that not a single word is to leave this room. This is highly classified information. Meeting adjourned.”

You watched everyone file out of the room, hoping to speak to Sehun, yet somehow didn’t catch when he left. You got the feeling that that was what he intended.

So you left too, resolving to see him that night.

—

Sehun’s room was easy to find, seeing as how it was right across the hall from yours, in the large apartment building the heads of the resistance had settled into. You knocked on his door, sighing when you didn’t hear any response. You tried one more time, then another time, finally a third time, before letting your head fall frustratedly against the wood of the door.

“Hun, I know you’re in there… please let me in.”

You heard muffled sounds of shuffling from behind the door, pulling your head away to lean it against the doorframe. Waiting, you strained your ears for a noise, hearing the occasional sound.

Eventually, you heard the telltale sound of heavy footsteps being dragged across the floor. You pursed your lips, waiting for the door to open, wondering what you would see when it did.

The door swung open slowly, and you were met with a tall figure, hunched over as he peered down at you. The exhaustion in his gaze was palpable, and you felt your heart clench in sympathy.

Sehun was 25 now. He was made known to the public some nine years ago, and on top of it all, he was the Oracle. Interpretations of any and all prophecies were up to him, a sixteen year old boy who had just discovered he was destined to spend the rest of his life fighting against his own brother, something that tore his family apart.

He was a child.

And now, here he stood, looking too worn, too hopeless for someone so young. His eyes had seen horrors he was much too young to see. Life had eaten away at the glow he’d had when you were both younger. The dark circles underneath his eyes were so pronounced, you’d think he hadn’t slept since he was a baby. His short, dark hair was greasy. You wondered if he’d been taking care of himself properly.

“Do you need anything?” His voice was raspy, quiet. You looked at him, brown eyes met yours. Your heart clenched. Here he was, mentally exhausted, and the first thing he said to you wasn’t a hello, but rather, asking quietly if you needed anything.

“Can I come inside?” You asked sheepishly, and he blinked for a second, before nodding, opening the door more for you to pass. “Go ahead.”

You stepped past him, into the hallway of his small apartment. The smell of incense invaded your nose, and you frowned. He closed the door, and crossed his arms. “What’s going on, Y/N?”

“Are you okay? You looked so tired today, you look tired now.”

“I’m fine—"

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You refused to let him keep it all to himself. “Sehun…”

He leaned against the wall, head bowed, and you mirrored his stance, standing against the wall as well, but you didn’t look away. “Y/N, I can’t deal with that right now. People need me.”

“Sehun, you can’t force yourself like this, you’ve told me that yourself—"

“I have to make this work. I can’t fail like last time, not if DC is what we think it is.”

You sighed, taking a step forward, resting a hand on his arm. He glanced at it briefly, then raised his head to look at you. You said nothing, but guided him to sit down on the couch, and you sat next to him.

“Sehun,” You said, voice quiet, “DC is nothing but puppets right now pretending they’re actually doing anything. We have our puppets, the sect have theirs. You can’t be sure that a place like that is what determines whether we’re doomed or not. You said it yourself, there are so many possibilities that DC isn’t the place we’re thinking about.”

He took a few deep breaths, nodding to your words before rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger. He looked strained, and you moved to sit closer to him.

“Everything is so fucked up,” Sehun whispered, and you nodded in agreement. “I feel like everything is out of control. Like I can’t do anything about it. Meanwhile, Sehün—"

“Sehün has people who think he’s a god obeying his every whim, just like the rest of those—those idiots.“ Your voice was quiet, but firm, refusing to allow him to compare himself to his brother, "The only reason they look so polished and seem to have everything under control is they only leave the Sanctuary when they absolutely need to, to save face. They feel like they’re above everyone else.”

You took Sehun’s hand, carefully removing his worn, black glove before cradling it in your smaller hand, as if it were incredibly fragile. His eyes met yours, and you gave him a sad smile.

“The Brotherhood, on the other hand… You only use that title for formality’s sake. Yes, you’re all the leaders, but you see yourselves as equal to the rest of us. All of you are out there with us, on the front lines. You’re tired because you give everything you have to serve this cause, my love. You feel that everything is out of control because… well, it is. Lady Fate is a tricky one, we all know that. But you feel it even more because you’re dealing with it head on, not from some sparkly throne on a golden pedestal.”

Sehun’s eyes glittered with several emotions you couldn’t pinpoint, but you could see fondness in them. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Starshine,” He mumbled into your hair, before resting his chin on the crown of your head, “Where would I be without you.”

You hummed, before allowing your eyes to flutter shut, and the two of you sat in silence for what seemed like hours. You reflected back to when you and Sehun both realized your feelings for one another, after a devastating battle in Salt Lake City where Sehun had given his brother the now infamous scar running down the left side of his face, some six years ago. He’d come so close to dying that day, and you’d realized just how important he was to you.

You’d been joined by the hip since you were children, and when the revelation came that he and Sehün were the brothers of liberality and greed respectively, you didn’t hesitate in taking his side, vowing to follow him until the bitter end.

It all made sense to you when you came to Sehun’s sickbed, seeing him resting and bloodied, that you’d actually been in love with the boy for a long time, perhaps ever since you’d first met him. You wouldn’t ever be able to live without him, and apparently, he felt the same way.

In this moral crisis, you were his anchor, his tether to the corporeal plane when his world was on an ethereal one.

Upon all the doubts that everyone had, as to whether the Fated Fourteen were truly gods or if they were simply men with delusions of grandeur chosen by Lady Fate for her cruel entertainment, he felt that you were what reminded him that he was human, that past gods were never truly capable of love or real emotion.

To be capable of loving you was a humbling experience, one that he treasured dearly, especially in moments like this.

“Do you remember what we did the last time you felt like you had no control?” Your voice was a whisper, full of promise and anticipation, as the hand that wasn’t holding his own came to ghost over his thigh. Sehun’s breath hitched, recalling the experience. Roughness against soft, supple skin, restraint and control, you giving yourself entirely to him before he gave himself entirely to you.

“What exactly are you proposing?” He murmured, and you exhaled as one would when they found something amusing, the ghost of a laugh. “You know what I’m proposing, Sehun. Don’t act as if I haven’t seen you teaching Chanyeol to tie his knots when he’s getting ready to go out on a field mission.”

His hand tugged yours towards him, and you moved as he sat back, resting his back against the couch as he helped you straddle his waist. You faced him, realizing with a giggle that he’d turned slightly pink at your accusation.

“Do me a favor,” He said, and you nodded, letting your free hand rest on his shoulder. “Never talk about Chanyeol when you’re trying to get me into bed again. You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on… Chanyeol, however, is the most unsexy person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

Your head tipped back with laughter, and he joined in with you. Your heart, upon hearing this, skipped a beat. You had a hard time recalling when the last he’d laughed was. “I think Sasha would disagree.”

“Yeah, but Sasha isn’t here now, is she? It’s just you and me.” He leaned forward, trapping your waist with his hands and letting his face come close to yours. You watched his eyes flutter down to watch your lips, inches away from yours. You gulped when his lips parted, his tongue peeking out to lick the pink skin.

“So you want me to tie you up. Take control.”

Your hands wrapped around his neck, and you smiled. “Only if you want to tie me up. I want you to have at least one thing you feel you can control.”

Sehun licked his lips again, sighing in amusement as he considered the idea. “Y’know, a few weeks ago, some of the field officers came in with a bunch of fabric they managed to smuggle out of LA…” His tone was quiet, and his hands began trailing downwards, pulling you against him, voice filling you with anticipation. Comfortable fabric was so difficult to come by these days, given that the Sect had taken what were once lavish city districts.

You gasped slightly when your core came into contact with his lap, feeling he was already starting to get hard, and felt your face heat up.

“I might’ve bought a silk tie or two off of ‘em,” He told you, eyes burning holes into your skin, “Wanted to see what my starshine would look like in pink.”

Your felt your hands tighten of their own volition against the fabric of his black t-shirt, your mind conjuring the mental image. “Fuck, Sehun. W-where’s the jute?”

He flashed a lopsided grin, and you felt the need to smack the smug look off of his face. How he could go from being so serious to this, was beyond you. You personally didn’t believe that The Brotherhood and The Lords of the Sect were gods, but Sehun’s duality, in situations like this, seemed to be supernatural at times, if you dared say so yourself.

He pressed his lips to yours briefly, before lightly nudging you to get off of his lap. “I’ll go get it, baby. Give me a second.”

He stood, catching his breath briefly, before walking down the hall, towards his closet. The hallway was slightly darker, and you stood, striding over to him as he pulled out the rope. He turned to face you, and he quickly cornered you against the wall.

“Shirt off. Bra, too.”

You grinned. “What are you gonna do this time?”

You could vaguely make out his features, but you knew his face was probably twisted up in smug satisfaction. Regardless, you obeyed silently, your chest rising and falling quickly with anticipation.

“Chest harness, for now,” He quipped, “Is that okay?”

You nodded, not breaking eye contact with him as you undressed yourself. You wanted him to realize that you weren’t backing down.

He seemed to read you perfectly, nodding in response to your answer as he watched you pull off the dark fabric, before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. Even in the dim light of the corridor, you could see how his eyebrows raised and the way his lips parted slightly, lazy gaze falling down to your breasts. You knew what he was gawking at.

The studs embedded in your nipples were a dark stainless steel, glittering, alluring. You’d gotten them on a whim at nineteen from some clandestine tattoo artist on the way back from a field operation. He’d always had a bit of a fascination with them, the way they seemed to twinkle at him underneath the light.

"You gonna stare at me all night or will I have to tie myself up?”

Your playful jab snapped him out of his reverie, and he straightened his posture a few seconds later. “Go stand in front of the bed.” His voice was soft, but still commanding.

You stalked into the dark bedroom, standing in front of where you made the bed out to be. He followed you, before standing behind you. “Are you going to tie my hands up, too?"

"Not yet, starshine,” He declared quietly, into your left ear. You could tell he was untangling the jute, and you pursed your lips in anticipation. “You want to know what I’m about to do to you?”

“You know I do,” You whispered, a confession just for him, before lifting your arms and your hair for him to work.

“Too bad,” He sighed, ”Because I’m not telling you.”

You huffed, but didnt protest.

His arms began to wrap the rope below your ribcage, tightening the jute to the point where you could feel it digging into your skin, but enough to complicate your breathing. Taut, but not torturous. You closed your eyes, sighing quietly as he looped the jute higher up this time, just between your breasts and your collarbones, wrapping back to where he began, in the middle of your back.

The sensation of the rough fibers against your skin was by no means comfortable. It was scratchy and some stray fibers tickled at your chest. But its presence against your skin, the implications of its position and what was to come, was most definitely comforting. Intimacy with Sehun now was rare, you rarely even slept next to each other. But you knew that it wasn’t because of a strain in your relationship.

Sehun had always needed peace of mind and silence when it came to auguries and prophecy readings. Now, with the war coming so close to what seemed to be the end, he needed it more than ever, and the moments you shared with him came to a pause. You didn’t complain—the cause came before your emotions, now and always. But inside you were crying out for him; in concern, in longing, in yearning.

So maybe that’s why when he paused his ministrations and chuckled, tracing a finger down his spine, you whimpered quietly, thighs rubbing together in anticipation. “You have goosebumps,” He said, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“It’s been a while,” You answered, and he hummed in response, pressing a soft kiss to your nape. You sighed at the sensation.

“Drop your arms, and turn around to look at me,” Sehun whispered a few seconds later, and with some help from him to maneuver through the rope he was still trying to tie around you, you were able to complete his request.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” His voice was throaty, eyes scanning your body as you did the same, eyes landing on the growing bulge in his pants.

“Sehun, please just hurry.”

He shook his head, crooked smile still gracing his face. His hands worked quickly, looping the jute underneath the lowest rope, between your breasts.

“It’s not too tight, is it?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“It’s fine. Not too tight, not too loose.”

He nodded, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “Okay. Let me know if it becomes too much at any point.”

“I know, Hun.”

Sehun’s dark eyes lifted their gaze from where his hands were working to meet your own, not saying anything. By now, the smile had faded, replaced by a stern look of concentration.

Be still, my heart, you thought, he is so beautiful.

“What?” You whispered, and he blinked.

His response was soft, gentle. “I would fucking die for you.”

You felt your face grow warm, and you lowered your gaze. “Sehun,” You murmured, “I—”

“Sh, sh,” He answered, continuing to tie the rope, “Listen to me, starshine. You’re it for me. There’s never been anyone else. A-and if anything happens, Lady Fate forbid it… There’ll never be anyone else.”

He finished his words as he tied off the final knot, and silently, you stood there, eyes shut as you pressed your forehead to his. For how long, you weren’t sure. Seconds, minutes, eons… Maybe no time had passed at all. You didn’t really care. Moments like these were never long enough, they always ended too soon. Sehun was your elixir of life, your lifeline, and in these moments, you felt immortal, invincible, powerful.

To be able to bring such a man like him to his knees, to be so ready to put himself on the line for you; you were sure it would be your ruin.

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around Sehun’s neck, and he caught you as you pressed your lips to his in a blazing kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You whined into the kiss, the dark cotton of his t-shirt pressing against your sensitive nipples and their piercings.

“Sehun,” You moaned into the kiss, reaching down to tug at the hem of his shirt. “N-not fair, take it off.”

He hummed, pulling away to comply with your protests, revealing toned skin and the broad shoulders you so adored.

“Is it fair now?” He asked, grabbing your upper arms to pull you closer and press kisses to your collarbones and along your sternum. “I should tie your hands now, maybe then you’ll learn you’re not allowed to touch without my permission.”

“Shut up,” You said, ignoring his declaration as he pushed you onto the bed. You peered up at his broad form, towering over you in the darkness, almost trembling in anticipation, waiting for him to put his hands on you, to make a move.

A few moments later, he finally did, reaching down to pull your pants off, as well as your underwear. He pressed soft kisses to your stomach as he did. When both garments were finally tossed aside, he lifted himself up onto the bed, lips trailing up across your skin. His eyes met yours as he gazed up at you, through you, before pressing his lips to one of your breasts, your sensitive nipples hardening at the contact of his warm mouth against the cool steel embedded in it.

Your head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, unable to keep eye contact with your lover. One of your hands came up to comb through his dark hair, whimpering as he alternated between your nipples.

“Sehun, mmph, baby…” You murmured, coming back to look at him when he let go and came back to kiss at your jawline.

“Up, starshine,” He ordered, leaving no room for protest, arms wrapping around your waist and hauling you up to sit on his lap. As you squirmed to get comfortable in his grip, one of his hands reached for his nightstand’s drawer, and he pulled out two pastel pink silk ties. Your heart leaped towards your throat in excitement when you registered what these were, hips subconsciously searching for friction against his.

“Sit still,” He huffed as he closed the drawer, before straightening his posture, dwarfing you even sitting beneath you.

Wordlessly, he brought the tie up to your eyes, covering them before tying it at the back of your head with one tie, quickly doing the same to your hands with the other, tying them tightly in front of you.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” He mumbled, hands raking from your hair to down your back.

His hands came to grasp at your thighs, propping them so they rested only atop one of his. You felt your core clench at what he was alluding to, inhaling sharply.

“Move your hips, baby,” He said, and you couldn’t bring it in you to deny him.

Another thing you couldn’t do was speak, you found, as you prayed you could maintain your balance and began to slowly rock your hips against the rough fabric of his dark pants and his toned thigh, your bare pussy rubbing listlessly against the coarse fabric. You didn’t mind however, perfectly content to let him speak, murmuring strange hybrids of dirty and sweet things in your ear.

The hot pleasure between your legs seemed to double at the restriction in your ribs and not being able to see or anticipate where his hands or mouth were. You buried your head into the crook of Sehun’s neck, peppering wet, opened kisses against his collarbones, your nails digging into your palms with a vengeance in hopes of anchoring yourself to something.

The movements of your hips soon became capricious, rhythmless, your whimpers becoming louder and louder as he switched between flexing his thigh and bouncing it like a restless child. In the darkness of the silk tie, you could feel the callousness of his fingertips as they dug into your hips, a guided meditation through your pleasure.

The room reeked of incense and sex, you realized as you attempted to delay your slowly building release by focusing on different things. Smells, sounds, and finally, Sehun.

This was the Sehun you loved most, the one you cherished most in your heart. The Sehun that was so willing to give, give, and give, but not to the point of recklessness, unlike the Sehun you had seen so often lately in the war room. This Sehun was yours, and yours only. And if the growing wet spot against his rough pants was any indication, then your body loved this Sehun as well.

“S-Sehun.”

“Hmm?”

“P-please let me touch you.”

“Alright, since you asked so nicely.”

You clumsily began to search for his hard bulge, and he grabbed your tied hands and guided them to something hard and hot. You jumped slightly in surprise, not realizing he had taken himself out of his pants while you were humping away at his thigh like a bitch in heat.

He laughed at your squirming, and you slowed the rhythm of your hips in annoyance, but not completely—your hips had stopped folding to you, subconsciously rutting, twitching gently against the rough, now ruined fabric, perpetually searching for release.

“S-shut up,” You panted, and he laughed again, pressing another kiss to your jawline.

“You shut up. I still have to make you come.”

His hands resumed their leisurely movement on your hips, your focus snapping back to the impending edge, thoughts blurring into incoherency as the pleasure against your core. Mindlessly, you let go of Sehun’s member to bring your hands up to your mouth, attempting to spit crudely in order to improvise lube.

Instead, your heart jumped into your throat in arousal when Sehun grabbed your free hand and did the same, keening at his actions, eyebrows furrowing. And, despite feeling a slight annoyance at the chafing of your thighs, a feral instinct took over, and your hips sped up against his thighs.

“You look perfect like this,” He told you, guiding your hand back to where he needed you most, and you began to pump him slowly. His hands moved to wrap around your waist, large hands splaying possessively across your back.

“Gods, I wish you could see how lovely you look, starshine,” He mumbled, seemingly in a daze, “All mine.”

You nodded. “Y-yours, Hunnie. Only yours.”

He pressed a kiss to your collarbone, his breath picking up as your hands did the same, pace speeding up. He groaned against your skin as you pressed your thumb into the slit of his cock. Your movements were harsh, jerking against him as you felt yourself losing yourself in his touch.

“S-Sehun, I’m gonna…”

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, his voice your only anchor, “Let go, Y/N, it’s okay.”

Finally, finally, you crested, head tipping back, mouth falling open in a silent scream, body stiffening in his arms as you were possessed by pleasure. In the dark, colors danced around you, sounds could be touched, Sehun’s hands on your body tasted exquisite.

You didn’t even realize that your display had tipped Sehun over the edge, spilling himself onto your hands while he gripped your shoulders like his life depended on it.

When you came down from your orgasm, your chest heaving, you reached up to pull the blindfold off of your face, struggling slightly as you were still restrained by the silk tie. You blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the light of Sehun’s room, and found that he had fallen back onto the bed in the height of his orgasm.

His eyes had fluttered closed, panting furiously. He seemed loose, almost boneless, and you stifled a laugh at how much more relaxed he seemed now.

“I take it you had fun?” You asked, poking his stomach teasingly. After a moment of silence, of what you assumed to be Sehun trying to catch his breath, you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Hunnie, come on, get up. Can you untie me, please, baby?”

No response. If anything, Sehun’s pants seemed to be getting even heavier.

“Sehun?”

His eyes fluttered open, and your blood ran cold.

His eyes had rolled up into his head, mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to say something but he’d lost his voice. Around you, the temperature seemed to drop.Out of nowhere, the scent of incense returned, stronger than ever, and beneath you, Sehun tensed, muscles contracting as he began to seize.

You froze, momentarily unsure of what was happening. Here lay your lover, convulsing under you, and you were restrained to a point where it would be difficult to help him. Panic creeped into your stomach, eyes searching for something, anything, that would get you out of the grasp of the silk tie. You brought your wrists up to your teeth, frantically hoping to loosen the knot. Sehun was still convulsing. Your eyes drifted around the room, glancing at his stiff hands, gnarled into unrecognizable gestures. Your clothes were on the floor, but you had left your knife in your room.

Knife. Sehun’s knife.

You lunged for the nightstand, knowing that was where he kept his switchblade in case of an emergency, tumbling to the floor as your legs gave out, still wobbly from both panic and your previous orgasm. You managed to open the drawer, clumsily fumbling for the blade, before pulling it out, holding it between your teeth and bringing your wrists up to your mouth, beginning to saw away at the lovely, pale fabric, suddenly not caring about its softness or its illusion of luxury.

All you needed was to know that Sehun was okay.

Your eyes squeezed shut at the thought that he might be dying, and when the final strands of silk finally gave way, you practically spat out the knife, grabbing onto the nightstand for balance, turning to look at Sehun on your weak legs.

He wasn’t on the bed anymore. Your eyebrows furrowed, head spinning as you tried to figure out what was going on.

“Beware the master of tongues.”

You shrieked, eyes snapping up from where the deep, almost demonic voice had come from, and almost fainted then and there.

Because somehow, Sehun was floating above you, suspended in midair, eyes open wide but not a sliver of brown could be seen. In its place shone a bright silver, the holiest of metals for the unholiest sight.

“Beware the master of tongues,” The voice spoke again, speaking through Sehun, who was stiff as a board, face contorted into a sneer, and you realized with a chill that this wasn’t Sehun, but rather the Oracle.

“Beware the master of tongues,” He said once more, as his sneer morphed into a cruel grin, “But beware more the wrath of the faceless one.”

#kpop scenarios #kpop smut #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #kpop au #exo x reader #exo scenarios #exo smut #exo imagines #sehun x reader #sehun smut #sehun scenarios #my writing #fic: aygaf

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godlikecunning · 3 years

Text

Doriath’s treaties on shapeshifting

My @officialtolkiensecretsanta gift for @batshape who asked for something with Lúthien and Thuringwethil.

Word count: 2400 words.

Lúthien discovers someone (something?) who might teach her what Melian the Maia will not.

The problem with a half-Maia child –

There are no guards, doors or locks when Lúthien decides to leave – to run, her hollow-boned thrumming to a strange melody she alone hears. Her mother teaches only tricks a girl would benefit from. Sing and dance to dazzle, tie a knot that never will fail for a life that will prevail, coax flowers from hard earth. The rest, she figures out by herself. How to send souls with iron spines to sleep and how to tear through the dark, sleeping forest. Lúthien burns and runs like a shooting star invariably plummeting.

It’s no surprise she walks through the Ered Gorgoroth with her breath held, eyes on the stars that are twice as dim here. Beneath her feet, the soil is cold and lifeless, and Lúthien thinks of flowers but knows none that would daringly bloom here.

(She comes, but not as the nightingale.)

“The Maia Queen’s daughter cometh to me,” the thing in the dark says, voice stretching strangely, vowels damp and odd. Far too gleeful and twisting and else. “Why dost thee walk alone? There would be handsome reward for thy life returned.”

Lúthien scowls, digs her feet in the rocks. “Show yourself.”

One day, this voice might send the King of the World to sleep. It hasn’t yet, it might not, but there is a world where Morgoth will spend the rest of his days wondering and furious at a simple song, a simpler dance. The thing in the dark hisses, a long, slithery sound that makes her ears ring and her skull drum, but it slides from all around her.

It has no shape but three hearts relentlessly beating, cores of molten iron and fire. There are shapes and shadows wrapped around it. Lúthien knows it – her people do not venture here, but they tell tales nonetheless from passing glimpses.

The thing that has no name beats and coils, its lack of a body wrapping up until it passes for a woman, a creature pale like the underbelly of a fish. Grown in the dark, Lúthien thinks, stumbling a step back. White and red-eyed, an albino bat and an elf at once with a snout and a sneer. It laughs, the sound brittle and sharp, a glass shard.

“What is thy name?”

“Maybe,” Lúthien says, languid and deliberate – her mother has taught her how to deal with her kin, if mother even has kin. “Maybe I could give you a name few know, one that was whispered at cradle, for a promise. And you might even give me yours.”

“Thy secrets art not worth my own,” it argues, advancing with joints that move strangely. An unshapely creature who doesn’t understand what it is mimicking.

“Are you even called something?” She challenges.

“Not in any tongue your mouth may form words in without burning.”

(Lie.

Truth: the thing in the dark has no name and didn’t bother to give itself one. It was born with Morgoth’s song deafening and molten in its half-formed core, and the only thing it could mutter was chaos like one mutters for their distant mother. It had a shape that remembered many concepts, many thoughts, but Valarin doesn’t translate well. Once, a Vanya was driven insane trying to make grammar out of feelings.)

Lúthien breaths in the stale, foul air and breaths out. If she ever spins this tale, she’ll remove the fear and focus the eyes on defiance. “I need to call you something.”

It snaps malleable joints, testing its new body. “Call me Horror if thou must.”

Her father has a talent for plucking it out meaning and titles from nothing but speeches and a certain natural creativity. He could weave a name that would echo for centuries, if only because of raw significance and no echoing power of its own. Lúthien has to make do. She will not call anything Horror, not even shapeless creatures digging gnarled roots into land that hates and twists and agonizes. Her idea is uninspired.

“Thuringwethil will have to do.”

From: the women who stalk the halls with blind eyes and soft, amorphous mouths, reaching out for the forests with fingers like poisoned spider-silk. There is already a Thuringwethil, countless of them in her beloved Doriath, a society of its own, but their namesake is going to be more famous – or infamous and terrifying, truly.

“Must I be a woman? Must I be anything at all?” Thuringwethil cocks it head.

Lúthien shrugs. “I had to begin with something.”

“Very well, gray daughter, I suppose I shall hear more.”

It sits, she sits, and they talk.

Or rather, they don’t talk, and Lúthien tries to pry meaning from antiquated language and limbs that twitch like reality bears down too heavily to stand without scratching at the cage. But she is curious, and Thuringwethil even more. There has never been another of mother’s kin, her kin. Not a single another to teach her what Melian will not, thinking it’d be better for her daughter to be a glimmering girl with gentle touch.

Lúthien dreams of waves and seagulls and children that do not fit her arms comfortably, both dark-haired and gray-eyed and lost. She dreams of kissing a statue on the lips, mistaken for a man she loves and is now given to the land. She dreams of falling on the halls of a palace still building itself anew, a sword stuck in her gut. She dreams of light, mostly – a light that calls to her and shifts beneath her skin, alive alive alive.

Thuringwethil laughs, shrill. It has not remade the bat snout and the fluid spine as it leans into her and twists her face from one side to another. Displeasure does not shine in her expression but leaks into the air. “Thou hast been made too solid.”

Solid?

“What does that even mean?” Lúthien scowls, a whip on herself.

“Once, thou changed at will. Not anymore.”

“Teach me.”

“No,” it says, smiling too wide.

(Too many teeth.)

“Teach me,” Lúthien insists, not for the first – nor for the second or third or fourth. Everywhere in Doriath, her father’s hunters hound her steps, but she comes still.

They wound deeper and deeper into the Ered Gorgoroth. There are no stars, but a fog that’s cold and clammy and hateful. She has learned how to fend off spiders that have poison dripping from their fangs with fire and begged her mother for a cloak of twilight to thread the path as a shade – Melian must know, because Melian knows everything, but she keeps the secret and Lúthien keeps coming. If she discovers a peculiar trick or two by herself, the Queen certainly can’t be blamed for her strangeness.

Tonight, Thuringwethil has a thick, sneering mouth and no bat snout, though its eyes shine golden and still as death. It has skin brown as damp earth and hands that blur, perhaps three or four of them if Lúthien squints. And it is not prone to kindness.

“No, for mine time is a precious gift, and thy self is hard as stone.”

She twists her hands. “Teach me,” Lúthien commands, Compels, beseeches.

Thuringwethil throws its head back, neck almost snapped, and laughs without a single sound. “Clever, clever tricks, though empty as air here. Unveil your eyes.”

Its hands, its many or few hands, snap as spiders, bones popping and remaking themselves – Lúthien watches, watches, watches until there is a buzz in her ears and tears in her eyes. Her palms sweat but do not imitate, can’t imitate. Thuringwethil has needles now, sharp as polished steel and twice as wicked. They pluck from fabric from the rotten, stale air and twist one, two, three times as they measure the length. A cloak, black as Night itself. The buzz is loud, a living creature festering inside her skull.

Lúthien watches.

“The world is Song, Maia daughter,” Thuringwethil intones. “Song is not stone, is not unchanging. The melody shifts, and there’s creation. The melody shifts, and there’s destruction. Thou art not born from earth. Remember this, and maybe I shall teach you.”

“Why must you be so difficult?” She huffs, kicks a pebble in its direction.

“Why must thee think as some pitiful fool that will wilt in a summer?”

It cuts the final thread and slips the cloak over its full, naked shoulders. A mantle like no other, a mantle like a miracle. Lúthien reins herself back in, the buzz subsiding to a hum. Not black as Night but the proper Night, darkness given a solid body where once was nothing but shapeless ideas. Her fingers twitch. Is it soft to the touch? Cold? Could she… Thuringwethil slips on the hood and stares at her golden, unblinking eyes.

Lúthien stands very, very still as its needle-wicked hand brushes her hair back from her eyes. Its touch is icy, too light. “Nightingale, thine eyes are blind.”

“Then I will make them see.”

Thuringwethil smiles, wide and pleased and sharp. “Aye, you shall.”

One day, tales of Lúthien’s stubbornness might rewrite fate itself – fall down towers, challenge the King of the World, work a twist around the Doomsman.

Might.

As for now, she sits down where no other light shines and talks with a being pulled in so many directions her eyes sting if she looks too closely. It reeks of old smoke and cold and laughs strangely and doesn’t even try to be an elf most times.

There are indeed worse people to talk to.

And many more boring.

“Gray daughter,” it says, close enough its talons brush against Lúthien’s back, wickedly sharp. “Why dost thou come to me? Dost thou not fear thy death?”

“Fear my death? Will you kill me?”

“Ah, ‘tis but a way of speaking.”

Lúthien does not believe it’s only a way of speaking, just as she doesn’t believe she’ll be killed. Thuringwethil could’ve killed her already or simply let wander around in the Ered Gorgoroth to her untimely doom. As she yet lives, she hums out a laugh and doesn’t turn back to face it. It has its beauty, those lands forsaken by all goodness.

And well, she does favor testing out Thuringwethil’s strange temper.

“Why did you not kill me?” She challenges, imperial.

Thuringwethil hesitates for a suspended moment before her clawed hands rise to rest at the base of Lúthien throat. “I do not desire the Maia Queen’s wrath.”

“Is that all?”

“No.” And nothing else.

Orcs’ flaming shit. Lúthien turns around sharply and goes up, up, up to kiss Thuringwethil on its almost-mouth (not-mouth?). She’s kissed people for less.

It is not bad, but its mouth is spongy and too still, a pale imitation of her own.

She doubts it has ever done so and takes an odd pride at that.

“What hast thou done?” It asks, vexed, lying still as a pray animal caught in the sharp gaze of a hunter. Lúthien smiles – beams up, disproportionately satisfied.

“Kissed you.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Thuringwethil doesn’t even blink, a statue save in the way her flesh seems to move out of her control. Lúthien refuses to her smile waver. “Teach me.”

“No,” it answers, but it is unmoored, curious, lingering.

Lúthien’s mouth tingles.

It’d not be so terrible, she thinks, unbidden, to kiss once more.

The second time Lúthien kisses Thuringwethil, she’s fluid as water under her wandering hands. She takes a disproportionate pride in making it forget a body entirely, even if she comes back drenched and miserably cold through a forest which shades grow both sharper and darker as the things outside push and hiss and sing in odd tunes.

It becomes a game.

“Close thine eyes,” Thuringwethil says, eyes wide and still and fever bright. She deems it a victory, that twisting madness. “Oh, gray girl, close thine eyes.”

They only kiss when she can’t see it.

A precaution.

Thuringwethil turns from too thin flesh to hard, boiling scales that send Lúthien scrambling back, her hands and her mouth searing with pain and bubbling. I’m not afraid, she tells herself, as the skin peels. I’m not afraid, she swears, oath-solemn in her determination even as there are soft, fine feathers poking at her face and a wiry, sharp fur that reminds her the countless spiders weaving their webs in this dubious peace. It becomes a game to herself, a trick she alone can uncover – how many times more may she kiss it to learn how to trade this elf for something else? She’s is half Maia.

(Underneath it all: how many times more may they kiss without feeling?)

“Dost thou know fear at all?” Thuringwethil asks, curious like an owl, all bizarrely exaggerated expression and gestures. Too thick, too ached eyebrows and mechanic, histrionic confusion. Lúthien wonders from who it is learning its tricks and shows.

“None,” she lies. But does it count as fear if not a single soul can tell?

It laughs, thick and treacherous as the chilly wind blowing through her hair, freezing her skin. “Then close thine eyes, and for I have something else to show thee.”

In Doriath, whispers run with the wind, as they are prone to do when an uneasy peace lingers – the princess has gone mad, has gone savage, has gone strange.

(Truth be told, only madness may be a recent development.)

Elu Thingol’s hunters return empty-handed, as do his spies.

As for Queen Malia, she remains tight-lipped.

Lúthien lingers where the shadows are too thick and undisturbed, quiet as the tombs. She lies down under starless sky, hard rock on her back and the screech of things unnamable in her eyes. She keeps kissing Thuringwethil – for the hell of it, because it is a surprisingly good kisser with a bit of practice, to discover how to change.

Underneath her hands, there is metal, cold and unfeeling, but the mouth remains warm as embers. Sometimes, there is barely anything, and Lúthien reaches out for air and little else. She doesn’t mind it terribly, even if the scars of the second kiss remain.

And Lúthien is clever.

Thuringwethil, equally.

“Thou knowest how to change thy shape, and yet thou linger and dost not make an escape,” it says, habitual and grotesque confusion twisting its expression into what might pass as those clay masks actors wear. “Thou art a fool, gray daughter.”

“Ah, but do I?” Lúthien grins.

Thuringwethil’s soundless laughter echoes in her chest, warm.

#tss2020 #tolkien #silmarilliion #tolkien fic #silm fic #writing #my writing #fanfiction #lúthien #thuringwethil #lúthien x thuringwethil #gen #body horror tw #taking just for safety as there are some descriptions of maia being weird #but nothing gory or freaky or horror #but again safety

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