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muldermuse · 4 months

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Naughty List (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

Gator comes round to reader’s house on Christmas Eve to get his gift.

This is in the two sinners world.

18+ only!! Smut ahead!!! Fic includes sub!Gator, dom!f!reader, oral (f recieving), mentions of wax play and piv sex, teasing language, use of restraints, dry humping, use of underwear as a gag, mentions of spanking with belt, panty kink????, brief aftercare. Reader fucking loves being mean to Gator hahaha I love her (me).

This is the completed version of this lil ficlet. And apologies, I was going to post it on Xmas day but I was too drunk and merry to edit and write. I’m not 100% with this one but it was fun fun fun. Like all the two sinners stuff is. Thank u all for reading and engaging with the series. ❤️ u all.

Ok seeing Gator on Christmas Day is out of the question. He’s spending the day with Glenda and Roy reciting their favourite psalms and thanking the lord for a bountiful Christmas. Glenda goes all out at Christmas, it’s obviously her favourite holiday and she constantly updates her Facebook with pictures of a content looking Roy and an exhausted looking Gator. No doubt, Glenda will have made him a piece of her artwork and bought him some novelty socks. He’ll smile at her and press a kiss to her cheek but you rejoice in the knowledge that thoughts of your Christmas Eve are running through his head.

[sent at 13:30] You: got your Christmas present at my house. Door will be unlocked for when you finish at 6. I’ll be upstairs 🎁

[received at 13:42] Gator💩🐍: am i on the nice list?

[sent at 13:43] You: no. See you at 6 💋

***

His Christmas present is you- OBVIOUSLY. But it’s a version of you that Gator only really gets when he begs and even then, you don’t always give it him. He asks for this when you eat his ass or when he’s had a week of getting non stop shit from his daddy or Glenda.

He wants you to turn him on that much his brain switches off.

He wants you to be in control and dominate him.

You’re wearing a red lace set with garters and pointy red heels. It’s nearly pitch black by the time Gator arrives. You’ve left one lamp lit downstairs to guide him up but, honestly, he knows the layout of your home like the back of his hand. In the bedroom, your curtains are open with the twinkling of outdoor Christmas lights provide occasional flickers that illuminate your white linen bed sheets. A cinnamon candle is glowing by the door and nearly blows out when Gator enters as dramatic as ever.

You’re sat at the end of the bed waiting for him and you smirk as you take in his expression- seemingly enthralled by your red look.

“Crawl to me, baby” your voice is low and by the way Gator drops to his knees without hesitation and a look of relief on his face- you already know how tonight is going to go.

He’s slow in his movement, keeping eye contact with you as he crawls towards your open legs and stopping a few inches from your panties. His eyes are fixed on the damp spot on your red underwear and his shuddering breaths are filling the room. You run your hands through his slicked back hair as you try not to recoil at the unnatural feeling of brushing your nails through hair gel.

“Y’wanna taste?” He looks up at you with the most love sick eyes you’ve ever seen, he nods slowly as he brushes his tongue over his bottom lip. You grip his hair in your hand as you push him into your panties, “make me cum with my panties still on baby- y’don’t deserve to taste properly just yet”. He groans as he pushes his face further into your pussy. He’s messy with it and you can feel his spit dripping down between your legs. It feels so good and the knowledge that he’s desperate to please you brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Take my panties off and make me cum on your tongue Gator, don’t let me down” you throw your head back on the bed as you feel Gator rip your panties down your legs and throw them across the room. He’s that desperate to make you cum he’s moaning into your pussy as he eats you out and you know he’s palming himself over his cargos. Your back arches as you clamp your thighs around Gator’s head and cry out as you cum.

He’s pressing hot kisses to your thighs as your pussy clenches around nothing, you can feel your breathing begin to regulate again as you come down from your high. Your hand smoothes over his ruffled hair, “that was so good Gator. You did such a good job…good to know you can do something right”. His smile drops at your final sentence. On trembling legs you head over to your closest to get the box that Gator both wants and dreads. The box is full of sex toys, restraints (some crudely made and some from a hidden sex store in town) and things that you’ve seen at a local store and thought could be fun and sexy. Jax has contributed to the box, he bought some candles and teased you for hours by slowly dropping hot wax over your chest whilst fucking you softly. Gator was devastated when he found out and had begged you to do it to him the next day. You weren’t as gentle and he fucking loved it.

You can hear him kicking off his boots and unzipping his cargos.

“Did I tell you to get undressed?”

“No but uh- I thought…”

You softly kiss him, tasting the remnants of your cum on his plush lips. “Don’t think baby, I know how hard that can be for you. Just lie on the bed dressed how you are now- hands above your head”. Your voice is authoritative and Gator never wants to disappoint you when he’s in this headspace.

As soon as his hands are placed at your headboard, you click pink fluffy handcuffs around them and make sure that they are tight. There’s something about the sight of your local Sheriff tied to your bed with novelty pink handcuffs that you love. You’ve taken a picture before and when you really want to fuck with Gator you’ll send it to him when you know he’s working with his daddy. You look at Gator, a silent check in to make sure he’s okay and he replies with a quick nod. He looks fucked out already, his lower face is red from the lace rubbing against it and his usually perfectly placed hair is disheveled. He looks desperate and that’s exactly how he wants it. You retrieve your panties from the floor and sit over Gators clothed cock.

“D’you really think you’re on the nice list this year baby? Can you tell me anything nice you’ve done for me?”

You slowly start to grind against his hard cock. When you look down, you can see a wet spot of his pre cum soaking through his cargos. You can feel him thrust up to try and get some friction to his achingly hard cock. You quickly rise so he gets nothing.

You grip his cheeks so his lips purse out “this isn’t good boy behaviour, Gator”. You inch closer to his face, “if you move again without my permission, you can fucking crawl home to her and fuck your fist to thoughts of me like some pathetic fucking loser”.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I’m f- I’m so sorry” he can’t think straight. His hands are in tight fists at the top of the bed and the sound of his breath filling the room. In and out. In and out. Probably trying to slow his breathing so he doesn’t cum when you start to grind down on him again.

The red underwear is quickly pushed towards his face. “Can you smell my cum baby? You were so good at doing that. Y’want another taste?” He nods as the balled up fabric is shoved into his mouth. You watch in awe as his eyes roll back whilst the makeshift gag stifles his moan. Rotating your hips slowly, you start to rock against his hard cock.

“Y’know when Jenson was round here a few nights ago. He left his belt, he was desperate to get his pants off as soon as he came in the door”. The fabric of Gator’s cargo is beginning to feel damp, you know it’s a mix of his pre cum and your arousal covering his work pants. It feels so good for you so you can imagine Gator’s getting close to cumming. His eyes are locked onto your body, watching your hips steadily swirl against him. “I was thinking I could use his belt on you, maybe could’ve bent you over the bed and used it to spank you”. His eyes screw shut and you can’t help the laugh that slips out. His body is stiff with tension underneath yours.

“Gator,” you chide, voice high and mocking “are you gonna cum thinking about me using some guys belt on you? Thinkin’ about me punishing you?”. He thrusts up and rather than backing off him you press your pussy harder against him. Rocking your hips back and forth on his cock and hearing him whimper through the lace underwear in his mouth. You lower your lips to his ear as you order him in a whisper to “cum in your pants before I send you back to your girlfriend and daddy”. He thrusts one final time against you and moans loudly as his eyes screw shut. His hands are in tight fists as he pulls off from the headboard and breaks the handcuffs into two pieces. With his now free hand, he pulls your underwear out of his mouth with staggered breath.

He’s cum in his pants; the already dark fabric now a darker colour around his crotch. His hands are covering his eyes with the broken restraints around his wrists like pink fluffy bracelets. You hear him curse under his breath as his breathing starts to normalise. He’s usually a bit vulnerable when you take control so you’re more affectionate than usual. Normally, after he cums you’re both in a hurry to leave, not wanting to stay in each others vicinity to enjoy the post orgasm bliss. It has to be different when it’s like this and you both silently know it. He sits up on the bed and you get in his lap again, slicking his hair back down and helping him get out of the now broken handcuffs. You press a soft kiss to his forehead and he grips your hip as a wordless thank you.

Before he leaves, you hand him your panties with the smell of his spit and your orgasm still on the fabric. He smirks as he tucks them into his back pocket.

On Christmas evening, he sends you a picture of his hard clock with your panties wrapped round it. It immediately turns you on as you can picture the scene. Glenda and Roy will be asleep in their rooms as Gator is fisting his cock with your underwear. His lip will be red from biting with him trying to keep his moans from slipping out. He’ll be thinking of you and it makes you feel fucking great.

[received at 23:49] Gator🐍💩: [image attached]

[received at 23:49] Gator🐍💩: best Christmas present this year

#gator tillman fanfic #gator tillman fic #gator tillman smut #gator tillman #gator x reader #gator tillman x fem!reader #fargofx #fargoedit #fargo #fargo fx #fargo season 5 #fargo s5 #roy tillman #joe keery smut #joe keery x reader #joe keery #gator Tillman x reader #two sinners works

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bluecatwriter · 7 months

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Jonathan: Do I have to read it, oh my dear one?

Me: (cries)

Jonathan: "I will keep my mouth as it were in a bridle: while the ungodly is in my sight. I held my tongue, and spake nothing: I kept silence, yea, even from good words; but it was pain and grief to me. My heart was hot within me; and while I was thus musing the fire kindled."

Me: (cries harder) Do you have to remind me!

OKAY BUT THE INCLUSION OF THIS LINE HAS ME GOING FERAL

(Theological ramble incoming. You have been warned.)

Jonathan is reading from the Book of Common Prayer, but the scripture is Psalm 39. (I originally thought that this was a quote from Jeremiah 20:9, which uses similar language to show the prophet's frustration with burning up inside if he refuses his call to prophesy, but this is even better.)

The psalmist here is a great example of how people's responses to God in the Bible do not fit neatly into the "unquestioning obedience and reverence" framework any more than Jonathan's actions do. The narrator of this psalm speaks despairingly about the vanity of life, begs God to stop heaping hardship on him ("Remove thy stroke away from me: I am consumed by the blow of thine hand"), and while he expresses near the middle that his ultimate hope is in God ("And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee"), he also flat-out asks God to leave him alone (the last line of the psalm in King James Version says "O spare me, that I may recover strength/before I go hence, and be no more," though I love the more modern translations such as the New Revised Standard version, which reads, "Turn your gaze away from me, that I may smile again/before I depart and am no more").

It's a gut-wrenching psalm that doesn't flinch from the realities of life: things feel meaningless, hardships are heaped on those who are faithful, humans are fragile, riches cannot safeguard against death— and the right to rage and weep before God is a given. It ends not with the line of hope from the middle but with a challenge to God, and the main conflict of the psalm is not resolved or neatly tied up. Like all the Wisdom literature in the Bible, it invites the readers to sit in the tension and the confusion and the pain, rather than hastening on to a "correct answer" or even a sense of resolution.

I assume this is why it's included in the Book of Common Prayer's burial service: death cannot be tied up with a bow, or smoothed over with platitudes. This psalm expresses solidarity with people from every generation who have tried to make sense of their hardships and pain and the devastating reality of mortality.

Anyway, inclusion of this line in this scene was absolutely stunning. I suspect that many of Bram Stoker's original readers would have familiarity with the burial service since it would be read at every funeral, so adding in the words was wonderful to enhance the experience for the modern non-Anglican reader. This passage helped drive home how thematically resonant these words are with what's happening in the story in the moment. Very cool.

#re: dracula #dracula daily #christianity cw #answered #jonathan harker

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malice-ov-mercy · 5 months

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Face Fucked with A Knife

(x)

A/N: listen… I know the title is kinda off putting, but it’s a Lorna lyric from Wretching in Torment off of Psalms. If u haven’t listened to any other Lorna than the stuff with Will, ur doing urself a disservice; their other albums are great too. I randomly thought of it, and I couldn’t not use it. I’ve never written anything like this before, so please keep that in mind while reading. I did my best. Also, DON’T FUCK AROUND WITH BLOOD ALL WILLY NILLY. BE CAREFUL WITH THAT SHIT. DO YOUR RESEARCH BEFORE YOU GO EXPLORING THAT. THIS STORY IS FAKE, SO WE’RE PRETENDING IT’S ALL FINE AND DANDY AND NO RISKS. SAME GOES WITH THE KNIFE STUFF.

Pairing: Will Ramos x fem!Reader

Content Warnings: 18+!, smut, unprotected (p in v) sex, knife play, mention of blood/blood kink, praise kink, fingering, D/S if you squint, a little choking, squirting

Word count: 2.7k

Tag list: @circle-with-me @witchyweeb34 @xxrainstorm @foliosriot @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @reader13000 @cookiesupplier @sammyjoeee @agravemisstake

If you would like to be added, please let me know for who! If you tell me everyone/everything, just know that includes anything I may write for Bad Omens AND/OR Will Ramos.

————————————

Will Ramos Masterlist

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“Will?”

My voice bounced off the empty stairwell walls. The basement seemed like an odd place to hang out, but to each their own. I craned my neck to look further in the vast empty space. A big brown leather chair sat in the middle of the room and blue-purple light surrounded it. Will was perched on one of the arm rests, gaze focused intensely on me. He had something pressed to his cheek.

Was that a knife?

“What’re you doing down here?” I asked, confused but also a little hot from how he was staring at me.

“You’re late.”

His voice held no emotion. Will stood and motioned me to come to him with what I assumed was a knife. My feet started moving before I had time to think about it. He took a few steps away from the chair and met me a quarter of the way.

“What am I late for?”

My throat and mouth went dry when Will put the knife to my neck, the tip pressing into my throat.

“Fun.” He replied with a coy smile.

The knife was very real and very sharp. I was worried if he pressed the tip with any more force, it would pierce my throat. Will studied me, trying to gauge my response. I sucked in a sharp breath when he flattened the blade under my chin. I also tried to hide how I clenched my thighs together when he tilted my head back. The smirk on his face told me the movement wasn’t as subtle as I hoped.

“I hope you’re not wearing anything important.” His tone was full of rasp and gravel.

Will grabbed a fistful of my shirt and twisted the fabric in his hand, yanking me forward. I closed my eyes as he leisurely trailed the knife’s tip down my throat. My breaths were shallow; every time I swallowed, I felt the point dip a little more into my flesh. The sharp sensation and danger of getting nicked created a tantalizing blend of fear and arousal.

My breath halted altogether when the knife stopped at the collar of my shirt, right at the hollow space in between my collarbone. I looked at Will, whose stare was fixed on the knife. He quickly glanced at me, a smug yet kind smile tugged his lips. There was a glint in his eyes that told me he was enjoying the power he held over me, how completely under his control I was.

In a blindingly fast motion, he sank the knife through my shirt and cut it, his free hand helping to rip the fabric completely from my body. The cool air of the basement spread over my blazing hot skin and perked my nipples. Will roughly grabbed one of my breasts and placed the blade of the knife flat against the other.

“No bra?” He hummed and licked his lips.

He pressed the blunt edge of the knife to my skin, scraping a path down my stomach to the top of my leggings. I squeezed my legs together. Will softly bit his lip.

“Are you not wearing panties either?”

I held my breath as he slipped the knife into my leggings. He slid it side to side searching for the underwear I wasn’t wearing. A low groan rumbled deep in his throat.

“No bra, no panties,” Will husked. “What a little slut you are.”

He easily cut through my leggings, leaving my soaking wet pussy exposed. Carefully, Will spread my lips apart with the knife and used it to collect my arousal.

“Open your mouth.”

Will commanded. I obeyed.

“Stick out your tongue.”

I did. Will smiled sweetly.

“So obedient.” He pressed a kiss to my cheek. “So pretty with an open mouth.”

The knife moved from ripped leggings. My entire body froze and my blood turned to ice as the cool metal and the taste of myself hit my tongue. I couldn’t help the pathetic noise I made.

“But you look so much cuter with something in your mouth.”

Will pressed the blade firmly on my tongue. His eyes darkened.

“Do you trust me?”

Slowly, I nodded.

“Close your mouth.”

Will carefully slid the knife in and out. His eyes burned into mine. Everything about this seemed so wrong, but it was exhilarating. I didn’t know how he else planned to use the knife, but gently and softly facefucking me with it had me craving more.

I winced, feeling a sharp sting followed immediately by an even more prominent metallic tang on my tongue. Will pulled the knife out of my mouth and brought it to his face. A small smirk tugged the corners of his mouth. He grasped my jaw and wiggled it until I opened. Knowing he’d ask, I stuck my tongue out. His smile widened.

“Such a good girl.”

He ran his thumb over the cut, collecting and smearing blood over my tongue and lips. I watched him, my gaze intense and heated, as he licked his thumb clean. Will leaned in, his face impossibly close to mine. The warmth of his breath and the faint smell of blood had my heart pounding. I didn’t expect how into this I would be, but evidently I was really into it. A puddle was forming between my legs, my slick starting to drip down my legs.

Will pressed his tongue against mine, eagerly licking the crimson trail he created. He coaxed my tongue into his mouth and groaned loudly. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Will kissed me fervently and hard, like his life depended on it and like he’d never get a chance to do it again. His grip on my jaw tightened, his fingertips digging into my skin.

He took a few steps back, pulling me with him. I stumbled forward. He placed his other hand on my stomach to keep me from falling. Will broke our kiss and pulled away from me. I whined at the sudden loss of his body heat. I watched with half hooded lids as he hurriedly unfastened his belt and shoved his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprung free and I licked my lips.

Will pulled his shirt off then plopped down in the chair, spreading his legs as wide as he possibly could, setting himself on display for me. He rested his head on his fist, his other hand still gripping the knife.

“Take what’s left of your clothing off and come take a seat, love.”

I stepped out of my now tattered leggings and stalked towards him. His eyes roamed my body, heating my already scorching skin. My inner thighs were so drenched and slippery. When I was close enough, Will grabbed me by the hips and yanked me the rest of the way to him. I threw my arms out in front of me and braced myself against the back of the chair. My chest was right at his eye level.

He looked up at me. A tinge of red stained his mouth which meant it also stained mine. His eyes stayed on mine as he closed his mouth around one of my breasts. My eyes briefly fluttered shut when he ran his tongue over my nipple. The sharp sting of his teeth biting down and the knife back at my pussy pulled a strained gasp from my lips.

“Keep your eyes open and on me,” Will’s breath was searing hot on my skin.

I bit my lip harshly, the sensation of the blade carefully spreading my folds open made me throb. Will replaced the knife with his fingers, and instead used it to spread my legs further apart. A deep hum came from his chest. He delicately grazed a finger over my clit, smirking as I struggled to keep my eyes open.

“My little slut is so wet.” He pressed a finger to my entrance, teasingly prodding it. “The knife isn’t scaring you?”

His eyes softened just a bit at the question.

“No,” I said with a confident shake of my head.

“Good,” Will kissed my breasts as he sunk his finger deep into me, “Because it certainly doesn’t feel like you’re scared.”

There was no urgency in his movement, his pumps slow and deep. I nearly let my eyes close when he slid a second in, but the familiar feel of the knife pressing against my thigh stopped me.

“Careful, love, I wouldn’t want to mark up your soft, pretty skin.”

My walls clenched at the thought. Will immediately noticed.

“Or would you like that?”

The ball of the palm of his hand worked over my clit. He curled his fingers, reaching for my spot. I mewled loudly when he found it. He repeated the motion over and over again, making it impossible for me to respond and keep my eyes open.

Will abruptly removed his fingers. I whined at the sudden emptiness. He moved his hand to my hip and gripped roughly.

“I told you to keep your eyes open.” His voice was stern.

I felt the blade dig more into my thigh—not enough to cut, but enough that it wouldn’t take much for him to nick me. His eyes burned into mine, silently asking for permission. I gave a small nod. I hissed, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain surging through my veins as Will softly flicked his wrist and cut my inner thigh.

The cut was small, just enough to get a response and a few droplets of blood.

“Are you going to be a good girl and keep your eyes open?” Will rasped.

“Yes.”

He moved the knife to my other thigh. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Will.”

Will nicked my other thigh. A quiet exhale left my lips.

“Try again.”

He trailed the knife over my hip then up to my stomach, leaving goosebumps behind.

“Yes, papi.”

“Hm, that’s better.” He reached up and grabbed one of my hands, bringing it down to his cock. “Now sit.”

I wrapped my hand around him and ran his tip along my slit, coating it in my slick. Will shifted beneath me and helped align himself.

“Remember what I said:” His voice was low, “Eyes. On. Me.”

His last word transformed into a deep sigh as I lowered slowly onto his dick. My head lulled back, relishing in the feeling of fullness. I made sure to keep my gaze locked on Will—though the curiosity of where he would mark me tempted me like crazy.

“God, you feel so good.” Will moaned, his voice almost sounding like a whine.

Will dropped the knife on my thigh and grabbed my hips in a bruising grip, his short nails digging into the soft flesh. I couldn’t move much, the chair was just barely wide enough, but I did my best to rock against him. Will helped me along, rotating my hips and pushing more into me. The tip of his cock brushed that spot inside. A high pitched whimper fell from my lips. He thrust up again, hitting the spot deliberately, letting out his own whine as my walls pulsed around his dick.

“You’re so close already, fuck.”

It was almost shameful how well he knew my body and how easily he worked me up. He knew it better than I did.

“Do you want to cum?” There was a strained raspiness in his voice, like he was trying to keep himself from unloading.

“Yes,” I whined.

I choked on another sound when one of his hands moved to my clit, rubbing quick circles to bring me closer. My hands moved to his shoulders, digging my nails in. Will reached for the knife and pressed it to my throat.

“Then cum.” Will marked my shoulder then attached his mouth to the cut, sucking and running his tongue over the small wound.

That was the final push I needed as my orgasm came rippling through my body, coming in shuddered waves. I tried desperately to keep my eyes open, but I couldn’t. I hoped Will didn’t notice. His teeth scraped my collarbone a few times before detaching.

The knife poked under my chin, tilting my head back.

“Love,” the word was firm, a chill crept up my back, “I thought I told you to keep your eyes open.”

Before I had even finished, Will pushed me off of him, grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me to the side of the chair. He roughly forced me over one of the armrests. My hands gripped the opposite one to keep from smacking my face against the cool leather.

Will slammed into me with a loud grunt. A pathetic groan erupted deep from my lungs. The slick sound of skin slapping and erotic moans filled the empty space of the basement. He pressed the dull edge of the knife to my throat again.

“Listen to that.” His breath was searing hot in my ear. “My little slut is so wet.”

He released my hair and trailed his hand down my back, landing a sharp smack on my ass. He reached in front of me and relentlessly toyed with my clit. I quickly became a whimpering, blubbering mess feeling the familiar sensation of a building orgasm.

“Will,” I choked out.

“Close again already?”

I lost my voice, only being able to nod furiously. Will stopped touching me to grab another fistful of my hair, keeping the knife pressed to my throat as he yanked me up, my back resting flush against his heaving, sweat covered chest.

“Touch yourself, I’m not doing it.” He demanded.

One of my hands moved at lightning speed to where I needed most and the other reached to tangle harshly in Will’s hair. I tugged the curly locks tightly and was rewarded with a whiny moan. The pressure of the knife at my throat cut off my air. I struggled to breathe, every moan and whimper stuck in the base of my throat. My movements at my clit were sloppy and messy, promising a more intense and wild climax.

Will thrust impossibly deep and hard. He repeatedly pounded that sensitive spot inside, and I nearly collapsed as I came with a scream, releasing everything all at once. My jaw hung open and my body convulsed violently. I was dripping, absolutely coating my thighs and Will in my juices.

The sopping wet sound of my spent pussy and wailing orgasm pushed Will over the edge, his semen painting the inside of my cunt. He dropped the blade, replacing it with his hand and further cut off my access to air. His mouth clamped down hard in the crook of my neck, biting down so forcefully that he broke skin. The vibrations of his own whiny moans as he sucked the bloody bite rippled through me. I loved hearing him come undone.

Will fucked us both through our orgasms, rendering me completely numb and useless. I was at his mercy, a human fleshlight while he rode the rest of his high.

When he finally calmed, he held me close, cradling my weak and gelatin like body softly. His skin was slick with sweat and me. Will slowly pulled out and I sighed at the emptiness and feeling of his cum oozing out of me. He pressed a soft kiss to the already bruising bite he left.

“Are you okay?” His voice was gentle.

“Best I’ve ever been.” I replied breathlessly.

Will chuckled lightly. “Good. Can you walk?”

I stepped out of his grasp, nearly face planting into the chair, but Will was quick to catch me. He spun me around so we were face to face. His hair was a disheveled mess and more red stained his mouth. He looked absolutely spent but satisfaction and contentment was evident in his small smile.

“As much as I’d love to sit here with you, we need to get these cuts cleaned up.” He said, placing an arm around my back.

He bent down and placed his other arm at my knees and in one swift, easy motion, lifted me off my feet, carrying me bridal style. I let out a surprised giggle.

“I’ll try not to drop you.” Will kissed the side of my head. “My legs aren’t much better than yours.”

#will ramos x reader #will ramos fanfiction #will ramos fanfic #will ramos fic #lorna shore fanfiction #lorna shore fanfic #lorna shore fic #will ramos

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stuckinapril · 1 month

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Do you have any poetry recommendations? The poem poll made me realize that I like. ONLY know Iraqi poets. Like the only non-Iraqi poet I can name off the top of my head is Robert Frost

i'm literally hooked on poetry. even on days where i can't sit down to read a book, i try to consume at least one poem a day bc it keeps me sane. it actually does. i recommend signing up to one poem a day newsletters--those have been a game changer for me. as for recommendations, my favorite poems change every week, but current faves (whose authors i regularly go back to/are a good starting point) would be:

elegy for my sadness - chen chen (Who invented the word / “ennui”? A sad Frenchman? / A centipede? They should’ve never / been born. They should’ve seen me / in Paris, a sad teenage / exchange student. I was so sad / & so teenaged, one day my host sister / gripped my hand hard & even harder / said, SOIS HEUREUX. / BE HAPPY. & miraculously, / I wasn’t sad anymore. / All I felt was the desire to slap my host sister. / See, I was angry in Paris, which is clearly / not allowed. One can be sad in Paris (I was) / & one can be in love in Paris (I was not), / but angry? Angry in Paris?")

a pity, we were such a good invention - yehuda amichal ( "A pity / We were such a good / And loving invention / An aeroplane made from a man and wife / Wings and everything / We hovered a little above the earth")

like a small cafe, that's love - mahmoud darwish ("I say to myself at last / Perhaps she who I was waiting for / was waiting for me, or was waiting for some other man / or was waiting for us, and did not find him/me.")

bible study - tony hoagland ("Who knows, this might be the last good night of summer / My broken nose is forming an idea of what’s for supper / Hard to believe that death is just around the corner / What kind of idiot would think he even had a destiny?")

mother and child - louise gluck ("Why do I suffer? Why am I ignorant? / Cells in a great darkness. Some machine made us; / it is your turn to address it, to go back asking / what am I for? What am I for?")

america, america - saadi youssef ("We are not hostages, America, / and your soldiers are not God's soldiers... / We are the poor ones, ours is the earth of the drowned gods, / the gods of bulls, / the gods of fires, / the gods of sorrows that intertwine clay and blood in a song... / We are the poor, ours is the god of the poor, / who emerges out of farmers' ribs, / hungry / and bright, / and raises heads up high...")

the duino elegies (seventh elegy respectively) - rainer maria rilke ("Not only the devotion of these unfolded forces, / not only the paths, not only the evening fields, / not only, after a late storm, the breathing freshness, / not only approaching sleep and a premonition, evenings... / also the nights! Also the high summer nights / also the stars, the stars of this Earth! / O to be dead at last and know them eternally, / all the stars: for how, how, how to forget them!")

the endlessness - ada limon ("How was i supposed to feel then? About moving in the world? How could I touch anything or anyone without the weight of all of time shifting through us?")

psalm - adonis ("Open my memory and study my face beneath its words, learn my alphabet. When you see foam weaving my flesh and stone flowing in my blood, you will see me. I am closed like a tree trunk, present and ungraspable like air. Thus I cannot surrender to you.")

the war works hard - dunya mikhail ("The war continues working, / day and night. / It inspires tyrants / to deliver long speeches / awards medals to generals / and themes to poets / it contributes/ to the industry / of artificial limbs / provides food for flies / adds pages to the history books / achieves equality / between killer and killed / teaches lovers to write letters / accustoms young women to waiting / fills the newspapers / with articles and pictures / builds new houses / for the orphans / invigorates the coffin makers / gives grave diggers / a pat on the back / and paints a smile on the leader's face.")

#this list is me being conservative btw bc i got overwhelmed looking at the poetry list in my notes app ... its so hard to decide #a couple of these are iraqi poets but cmon #it's not a poetry list without mikhail and youssef's genius #poetry recs

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thewitchesfortune · 5 months

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How to cleanse your house for manifestation, and "clear your door ways" of negative shit

Clean your front door. I am not joking, clean the fucking door. Especially if you have VISIBLE grime on it, clean it physically. Take your multi-surface cleaner, spray it to fuck, then wipe it down with paper towels until everything is gone. And then, take a prepared wash (spiritual wash of whatever sort you feel necessary, could even be a multi-action bath for cleansing and protection as well as prosperity if you do it right) and re-wash the door with this mix. If you don't have visible grime on your door, you can skip the multi-surface cleaner and go straight to the spiritual wash

Once a month at least, especially for warding work or for road opening work (would not try to make it for both, if you do road opening have a separate ward set up at the door)

Easy Warding recipe

-baking soda

-bay leaves

-peppermint

-basil

-ashes of psalm 23 (or another if you have a preference, or a petition written for the protection of the home)

Wash the door, then throw the remaining liquid at the door and let it air dry

Easy Prosperity recipe

-cinnamon

-clove

-nutmeg

-ginger

-bay leaf

-holy water (optional, but adds an extra kick)

-coins (will be strained out and given as offerings at a crossroads after the wash is made)

-petition for prosperity and abundance burned (also psalm 23, and Mathew: 7:7-8)

Wash the door while petitioning for prosperity, for money to always be flowing in, and for blessings in general to always be flowing in. After entire door is washed, throw remaining liquid on door and allow to air dry. Take the coins and go to the nearest crossroads and drop them on the corner (if you live in an apartment complex, the entrance to the complex is the best place. Not the nearest gate, the ENTRANCE. My nearest gate is exit only, and you want abundance flowing IN)

Anyway, hmu if you want a reading, or if you'd like a specific work done! Info is in the pinned post on my page, lmk if you're interested!

#witchblr #witchcraft #spirit work #prosperity spell #wards #protection spell #cleansing #divination #spellwork #tarot

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molly-ghuleh · 6 months

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Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 6

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: Even though you have finally begun to translate Elizabeth's diary, you still need context. A visit from the archivist answers some questions but raises even more.

Word count: 4.6k

A/N: Helloooooo! Thank you all again for your extraordinary patience in the long wait for this chapter. It isn't the most eventful (nor am I the proudest of it) but things are definitely happening, and I think you all will enjoy where it's going!

P.s., the identity of the archivist was inspired by the lovely @writingjourney <3

Warnings: Nihil being a bad dad (again), descriptions of anxiety/panic, descriptions of afab people being seen as objects

AO3 / Chapter 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Secondo thinks that abdicating the position of Papa might be the best thing to ever happen to him.

That’s not to say he disliked being Papa. Quite the opposite, really—holding the scepter, wearing the crown, and hearing the title were all a generous ego boost. But the aspect he loved the most was that he could promote the tenets of the Lord Below how he wanted, how he felt was most effective. He was the mouthpiece of Satan, the proprietor of His word and the bridge between his unholy flock and the fires of Hell.

But that’s about it. He loved the glory, sure. He did not like the man that the Ministry molded him into. Once he stepped down, it was hard to look himself in the eye without cringing. He was supposed to hold the power for Satan, not the Clergy, and certainly not for Sister Imperator.

Just about the only thing he has to thank that woman for is the time he’s gotten back after “stepping down.”

Secondo has always been interested in the archives, ever since he was a boy. He would sneak around the Abbey in Rome into places he shouldn’t have been and see things he probably shouldn’t have seen, and keep everything he saw to himself. Having the knowledge of secrets he wasn’t supposed to know made him feel important, like he held some power over the Clergy if he decided to open his mouth.

So when he'd stumbled upon a dim room towards the back of the library at the tender age of eight, he thought he’d found the Library of Alexandria. Wall-to-wall shelves of thick leather bound books, stacks of tightly-rolled parchment and linens depicting unholy scenes. An old wooden table holding a desk lamp and a magnifying glass. A single lone lamp that, when he’d pulled the chain to illuminate it, had emanated a click so loud that he thought he’d be caught for sure.

He’d been so disappointed when he realized he couldn’t understand any of the books or scrolls or linens. They were all written in a language unfamiliar, which he knows now to be Latin. But at eight years old, his primary focus was to learn the unholy scripture, to serve Satan in his duties as an altar boy, and to make his father proud.

That last point… he never did accomplish.

But he did eventually learn Latin, so that he could read what was in that dim room. He’d learned to shimmy the lock open (the Roman Abbey is ancient, it wasn’t a difficult task) and sneak in, absorbing as much information as he could.

Secondo learned about rituals that haven’t been done in centuries. He read prayers and psalms that had been forgotten with time. He found drawings of long lost artifacts and relics shrouded in mystery. Each new bit of knowledge gave him that rush of adrenaline that could only come from forbidden things.

When he was old enough, he was allowed into the archive room. Of course, no one had known he’d already spent countless hours there. His father wanted him to know his family history if he were to take up the helm of Papa one day. You need to know what is in your blood, his father had said. Just as Primo does, and just as Terzo will.

Secondo had wanted to ask, what about Copia? But he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want his archive privileges revoked as soon as he’d gotten them.

The first thing he’d done was find his family tree. Who came before him? Who was Papa before his father, and before his father’s father? How far back did the Emeritus bloodline really go?

It was in the family tome that he first discovered the words Primus Motor. Up until a specific time, every Emeritus heir had been conceived by a woman with the title Prime Mover. Then the women proceeding them had lost that title, with seemingly no pomp or circumstance. Nearly a thousand years ago, the title had been dropped and forgotten. The final Prime Mover, it seems, had been a woman named Elizabeth.

When her diary had been found in some random basement room of the Abbey, Secondo immediately requested to be the archivist in charge. She was his ancestor, and the last Prime Mover on record. Her diary must have an explanation, or some insight as to what exactly a Prime Mover is. There were Prime Mover rituals outlined in those books he’d found as a boy, sure. But none ever explained what the significance was beyond “the chosen maternal body.” It all sounded rather dehumanizing.

But Sister Imperator had told him to keep that fact a secret. She’d brought in a translator to decipher the diary without telling her the whole story. So, he wasn’t terribly surprised to learn that you’d requested to speak to him, or that when he finds you in the restricted room, you look like a deer caught in headlights.

“Papa,” you say, standing to greet him formally. You bow your head out of respect and give him your name. “I can be out of your way, if you need—”

Secondo simply puts a hand up to stop you. “No, sorella. I am here to speak to you about the diary, as you requested.”

Your eyes go so wide that he almost laughs. “Wh-what?” You swallow. “Forgive me, Papa, I didn’t know that you are the archivist who evaluated Elizabeth’s diary…”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Secondo asks.

“No! No,” you scramble, shaking your head slightly to align your own thoughts. His intense gaze pins you to the spot, and not in a good way. Not a bad way, either, but… not in the way Copia’s gaze does.

Determined not to make a fool of yourself, you steel your nerves. “It’s not a problem, Papa. I apologize. I have only… the highest member of the Clergy I have ever met until I arrived here was Bishop Beaumont. I still find myself a bit overwhelmed, sometimes.”

The corners of Secondo’s painted lips tick up at your admission, but he makes no mention of it. “No matter. What is it you wished to discuss?”

You sit and turn your notebook around so Secondo can read the translation of the first line. Today I was chosen to be Papa’s Prime Mover.

“I was wondering,” you begin, “if you might be able to tell me what a Prime Mover is.”

After reading the translated line, Secondo leans back. “I do not know much,” he answers gruffly. “But I do know that it was an esteemed position. Something to do with continuing the bloodline. However the title of Prime Mover is no longer used.”

“How come?” You ask.

“I do not know.”

You hum and look down at Elizabeth’s diary, like it might speak the answer to you itself. Something to do with continuing the bloodline? “Sister Imperator told me that you estimated this diary to be about five hundred years old,” you say. “Is there a reason you chose that number?”

At Secondo’s silence, you meet his eyes again to find that his brows are furrowed and his jaw is set. His lips form a tight line, deepening the clefts beside his mouth. “I only ask because it may help with context,” you offer, defending your question. Your chest flutters with nerves again. You hope you haven’t somehow angered him… he’s quite intimidating.

Secondo’s mind turns. Sister Imperator hadn’t told you that he was the archivist, and she’d told you a different number than the one he’d estimated. She asked him to keep Elizabeth’s status as the last Prime Mover a secret. It seems odd, like she knows something that she wants neither you nor Secondo to. He finds himself annoyed that Sister wants to keep something shrouded in such unnecessary mystery.

“Sister Imperator has given you the wrong number,” he says after a moment of tense silence. “I believe it is nearly a thousand years old.”

“A thousand?” You gape. For a volume that’s a millennium old, it’s in remarkably good shape. You’d thought the same when you believed it was just five hundred years old.

Secondo nods. Whatever reasons that Sister Imperator has for wanting to keep the diary a secret, he doesn’t know. But if he can do anything to learn about his family and its history, or if he can spite Sister… he’ll take that chance. “Elizabeth is the last Prime Mover on record. I do not know why the title was dropped, and I do not know why it is supposed to be such a secret.”

Oh. Yes, you understand. Papa must have his reasons for disliking Sister, and you have your own. If you can contravene her in this small way, a secret kept between an archivist and a translator, you will. You’re slightly ashamed that the thought makes you a little giddy, but not ashamed enough to not do it.

“So,” you guess, “you’re hoping that this diary answers that?”

“Correct,” Papa nods again, and stands. “I ask that you keep me informed, sorella.”

“Of course, Papa,” you say with a polite smile.

He leaves the restricted room and you’re left alone with Elizabeth again. Only this time, there is a new clarity between you and your subject. Your gaze drops down to the pages of jumbled letters, wondering.

Papa Secondo had said that the position of Prime Mover was esteemed. If it had been, why was it dissolved? Perhaps it wasn’t dissolved at all, and it was only forgotten? And… the position is related to the Papal bloodline, so surely these Prime Movers would have been the mothers, right?

The answers lie in front of you, waiting to be translated. Elizabeth herself beckons you with her slanted script, saying, read me. Hear what I have to say.

And how you want to focus. How you want to spend the next weeks painstakingly deciphering letter by letter, word by word until you find these answers which will sate your curiosity. But, damn it to Hell, all you want to do is find Copia and tell him what you’ve found out. You want to tell him that you’re still here, that Sister Imperator had agreed to let you stay after your dramatic, last-minute discovery. You want to ask him all sorts of questions about what he might know of Prime Movers or his ancestors. You want to watch the excitement bloom in his eyes as it always does when you speak about the diary.

You have your reservations, though. Going to Copia on anything other than Ministry business feels like you’re overstepping your position. Who are you to assume that you’re important enough to him to just pop in?

In those moments in the gardens, and in the chapel, though… it sure felt like you were. He had looked at you like you were. In the gardens he was Copia, and you find within yourself that you’d rather be sent back to Liège than see Copia as only Papa again.

~~~

It’s been two days since Copia has seen you. Two full days since he’d watched you half-waddle down the Sibling corridor, soaking wet and shivering and covered in mud from the knees down, and he can’t focus on anything whatsoever.

There’s some official bulletin or another on his desk, awaiting his signature to distribute it out to the rest of the Ministry, but he can’t bring himself to pick up his pen and sign it. Not for a lack of caring—the bulletin is actually quite important—but because he’s conjured up this beautiful picture of you in his head, and he’s afraid that if he moves he’ll lose it.

You must be busy. You’d told him you had an idea about the cipher on your way up the hill out of the gardens, and if he hasn’t so much as gotten a glimpse of you around the Abbey, it must have been a breakthrough. He knows how frustrated you’d been, how determined you were to figure it out, as you’d said. I want to stay and figure it out.

Another part of Copia’s mind, the part he doesn’t want to listen to but that is so very loud, tells him that perhaps your idea had been wrong, and Sister Imperator had sent you home. Maybe the reason he hasn’t seen you is because you’re not even here anymore.

So, he keeps still, his eyes unseeing as he stares into nothing but his own mental image of you. If you’re really gone, at least he has this. You might not be gone, but he’s almost scared to go looking for you because he might find that you are. As it stands, you are Schrödinger's Sister of Sin. Here, and not.

His, and not.

“Al diavolo questo,” Copia grumbles to himself, pushing himself up from his chair. He rounds his desk, sending a few loose papers (including the bulletin he’s supposed to sign by the end of the day) to the floor, and swings open the door to his office. He turns left, towards the library. If there’s a chance he can see you, rather than his limited mental image of you, he’d be foolish not to take it.

His footsteps are determined, bringing him quickly down the stairs to the main artery of the Abbey, and across the wide hall towards the entrance to the library. His breath picks up and his heart pounds in his ears like he’s sprinting. By the end of this agonizing trek to the restricted room, he just might be.

He takes the stairs to the right of the library entrance two at a time. Usually he would smile and wave to whichever Sibling is working the front desk, but not today. The guilt he feels is quickly squashed by the pressing need to either see you or not see you. It feels like it’s eating him up, not knowing.

Copia has tried to be patient and give you time, if you are still here. He knows that what happened between the two of you in the chapel was a lot, all at once, and even if nothing had been said explicitly, you must know. You must.

For a moment, when he reaches the top of the stairs, he wonders why it is that he feels so strongly for you, so quickly. It’s as if Satan himself deposited you on his doorstep, just for him. As if Satan had kept him from sleeping that night, so that you could run right into him outside the restricted room door.

He rounds the corner to walk further into the library, into the shelves of romance books (which, he admits, is rather serendipitous placement). His heart thuds against his sternum when he sees the little square window in the door illuminated. Who else would be in that room with the door closed but you? Who else would have any reason to spend more than five minutes in there, aside from you, or Secondo?

Copia loves his brother. He really does. But he hopes to Lucifer that it isn’t Secondo behind that door, or he might punch him simply for the fact that he’s not you.

He reaches the door, and pauses. His hand rests on the brass doorknob, but doesn’t turn, because what if you are gone?

No, no. You aren’t gone. You can’t be gone.

He turns the handle and pushes the door open on squeaky hinges. There you are, sitting at the desk you always do, head tilted up to see who is at the door. Your brows are slightly raised, your shoulders are hunched—you must be tense from sitting over your work all day—and your finger is placed against that grid of letters as if you had been in the middle of decoding a word when he walked in. The light of the desk lamp attached to your station casts your skin in a warm glow.

If he thought his heart would calm when he saw that you’re still at the Abbey, he was mistaken. Just the sight of you here, that slight hint of heat in your face illuminated so plainly by the desk lamp has his chest vibrating with relief. At least his mind quiets, the tempest of thoughts and questions finally calming after a long, sleepless two days.

“Papa?” You ask, after a long moment. You sit up a bit straighter and tilt your head. The slight crease between your brows returns, and Copia wishes he could kiss it smooth again. “Are you alright?”

Your voice seems to break Copia out of whatever reverie he’s stuck in, because he finally blinks and his jaw closes. “I— eh, yes, I’m alright.”

You slowly stand from your desk and round it, but keep a respectable distance between you and Copia. “You don’t seem alright,” you say. “Copia… what’s wrong?”

It feels like a weight off his shoulders to hear you call him by his name. With you, he’s not Papa. He doesn’t want to be Papa, not to you, not when you’re looking at him like that. “I thought you might have been gone,” Copia breathes, his voice just above a whisper. “I thought she might have sent you back.”

“She didn’t.”

“Good, that’s… good.”

You and Copia stare at one another for another moment. The air is thick with something unspoken.

“I figured it out,” you say. Then you add, “the diary,” because you both know that there are two things you had to figure out. The diary, and… this.

You’re still working on whatever this is, and Copia is still staring at you.

“Copia,” you say with an awkward little smile, “why are you staring at me?”

His own lips curve into a smile. “Sorry, cara mia. I’m just happy you’re not gone.”

“Me, too.”

“So, eh… what is it that you figured out?” Copia asks, blinking a few times in rapid succession. His heart still hammers in his ears.

You round your desk again to turn your notebook over and show him. “She’s clever. Every word requires a new key, which is why we could only decipher one word using her name,” you explain. “Every decoded word is the key to the next one.”

Copia leans over to read the notebook. You have it flipped open to the complete translation of the first line, and his eyes scan the sentence a few times. “Prime Mover?” he asks, looking back up at you.

“I don’t know, either,” you tell him.

He hums in response, his gaze falling back towards the diary and your notebook.

“When were you going to tell me that your brother is the archivist, you ass?”

Copia’s head whips back up, afraid that you’d be actually angry at him. His mouth opens, prepared to defend himself because how would he know that you were planning on speaking to his brother? But he sees your wry grin, and the protest dies on his lips. Instead, he releases an airy laugh and his shoulders drop. “Ah, yes… I suppose I should have mentioned that.”

“Sweet Satan, I made myself look like a fool,” you laugh. “I’m not used to Papas and Cardinals walking around yet. Every time I see one I nearly fall over.”

“You don’t seem so intimidated by me,” Copia says, half relieved and half worried. “What, am I not as scary as Secondo?”

“Not nearly as scary, no! He could stare someone to death,” you say through a chuckle. “That, and when you and I first met, you were wearing sweatpants and rat slippers.”

Copia smiles fondly, though you don’t catch it. “So you’re not starstruck by me, tesoro? I’m hurt.”

“At first I was!” you defend yourself. “But somewhere after that I guess I just… forgot.”

“Forgot to be starstruck?”

“Forgot that you are Papa.”

Oh. Oh, Copia could kiss you, you sweet thing. He doesn’t ever want to go this long without seeing you again. It’s all he can do to stop himself from walking over to you and sweeping you up in his arms and kissing you silly. His hands itch to hold you but you aren’t ready for that yet. So he says instead, “I don’t want to be Papa with you.”

Your heart rises to your throat. “You don’t?”

“No,” Copia says softly. “I don’t.”

You have to fight off the smile threatening to stretch your lips. You don’t want him to be Papa with you either, but you don’t know what you do want him to be to you.

You do know that you want him to kiss you. You do know that the thought of leaving the Abbey without resolving whatever this is made your heart ache, but that talking about whatever this is would make it real and that terrifies you. You do know that falling in love with him means you have something to lose. It’s not quite that, not yet, but… it could be.

Copia can see your mind working itself in circles. He knows that you’ll talk yourself out of it—whatever it is—if he doesn’t intervene. “Tesoro,” he calls to you, pulling your focus back out from inside your head. When he’s certain you can see him and not just through him, he takes a slow step forward and gently reaches for your hand. The white linen of your gloves, worn while you handle the diary, is a stark contrast to the black leather of his. It slips against his glove and settles into his palm like your hands were crafted for him to hold. Sathanas, your hands are perfect. You are perfect. “Please… tell me you know. Tell me you feel it.”

Your eyes are wide when they meet his own. “I know,” you whisper. Your voice is shaky with the weight of speaking your feelings, making them real. “And I don’t.”

His thumb rubs circles on your knuckles. “Cara… you know. You must.”

“I…” you swallow dryly. “I do, but it’s… it’s scary, Copia. It’s happening and I have no control over it and…”

“And?” Copia whispers. He takes your other hand, stepping just close enough that you can feel his breath ghost across your cheeks.

“And I will have to leave,” you respond. Your eyes burn with unshed tears that you desperately try to blink away. “As soon as the diary is done, I will have to go back.”

Copia looks at you for a silent moment. His eyes search your face, noticing all the details he hadn’t noticed before. This is the closest he’s ever been to you. A tear rolls down your cheek and he reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, but doesn’t return his hand to his side. It cradles your face like you’re something precious, and to him, you are.

He gently tugs you closer and wraps his arms around you, holding you against him. You tuck your head under his chin, savoring the smell of him, the comfort of his embrace and the warmth of his body through his suit. “It will be alright, carissima mia.”

You shut your eyes and two fat tears escape as you do. Your body shudders with a repressed sob.

Copia simply holds you closer, fighting back tears of his own.

He’d nearly forgotten. Of course you would have to leave again, once your project was done. Just because you’re here now, doesn’t mean you will always be here.

Maybe there are ways to have you stay. Maybe if he asked Sister Imperator, she would find a place for you here, doing translation as your sole duty. But can he keep you away from your home, when it’s so obvious how fond you are of it? How could he ask you to stay, knowing you would miss Marseille the whole time?

Copia squeezes you tighter. “Will you do something for me?” He asks so, so softly. One of his hands strokes the back of your head, drawing you closer into his embrace. “Come and work in my office with me, yes? Just for a little while. Or a day or two, maybe. I hate that you’re all alone up here.”

“I can do that,” you say, and draw away from him slightly so you can look at him. You’re sure you must look a mess with your eyes puffy and nose running. But standing this close to him, clutching the fabric of his shirt like it grounds you to the world, you can’t bring yourself to care. “But I need permission from Papa or Sister Imperator to remove the diary from this room.”

Copia smiles. “Well, I have good news, then,” he says with a quirk of his brow. “There’s a Papa right here. Perhaps you should ask him?”

“Right, yes, I forgot,” you laugh. “Papa, do I have your permission to take Elizabeth’s diary out of the restricted room?”

Copia laughs back and his breath is warm on your cheek. “Yes, tesoro, you have my permission. Only if you bring it straight to my office.”

“Of course, Papa,” you nod, smiling.

“Bene! Let me help you with your things.”

Copia steps away and releases you from his grasp to help you gather your materials. For a brief moment you’re disappointed, but your cheeks warm at the thought that maybe he might hold you again in the safety and comfort of his office. Maybe you might gather the courage to allow yourself to feel the feelings you’re desperately trying to suppress, and maybe he might feel them back.

But, you chuckle at his charming urgency to help you. You work on wrapping Elizabeth’s diary in its linens, and placing it in a wooden box you retrieve from a small shelf in the corner of the room. You still wear your white gloves.

“Shall we?” Copia gestures to the open door once you’re both done preparing to leave. His eyes shine with mirth and something you might think was affection if you weren’t doubtful to a fault.

“We shall,” you reply. He lets you slip past him and out the door, then falls into step beside you as you make your way down the curved staircase.

~~~

March 27

Today I was chosen to be Papa’s Prime Mover.

Mother said it is a gift from Satan to be chosen. I am to conceive the next Papa, and continue the bloodline with the blessing of the Olde One.

Truthfully, I am frightened. Mother said that it is now my only duty. She said it is an extreme privilege to be a Prime Mover and to carry the blood of Emeritus inside me. But I did not get a say. I was chosen, and that was the end. Papa did not even tell me himself, it was Mother. She said it is better to hear the good news from the mouth of the fairer sex, from the woman who did her duty as I must.

Fairer sex. I must laugh at that. Fairer sex, and yet I must be a vessel for Emeritus blood at the whim of Satan. Fairer sex because I am beautiful but better to be seen and not heard. And yet I am expected to carry and birth the most powerful man in the Ministry, a power that no one else has. To ‘fairer sex’ I bite my thumb.

There is to be a ritual tomorrow night, to solidify my role as Papa’s Prime Mover. I am horrified. Mother said that a woman can only hope to be so lucky as to be Prime Mover. Must I pray to be a bred heifer? What of me? What of my own wishes?

I believed the Dark Lord to be wiser than this. I believed he would not ordain any sex to be lesser than the other. I believed in his doctrine of free choice, of fairness and civility, after having been cast down for disobeying. My faith wavers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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10yrsyart · 1 year

Photo

i decided to try something a little different. i often have these discussions in my head as i’m studying the Bible, but Apologetics can be heavy in text and hard to understand. so i thought.. well, i’m an artist. maybe i can make this more palatable. (the place they are at is my mindscape for prayer)

there are tons of places to go from here, and maybe i will in the future. but as someone who is coming out of a foundation of anxiety, this particular message is important to me. there is no condemnation for those that trust in the Lord and His work. He is capable of helping us and carrying us to the finish line 💙

transcript:

10: Y'know Lord, a lot of people read Matthew 7:21-23 and get scared. “Not everyone who calls out to Me, 'Lord! Lord!' will enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Jesus: “On judgment day many will say to M, 'Lord! Lord! We prophesied in Your name and performed miracles in Your name!' But I will reply, 'I never knew you. Get away from Me, you who break God's laws.' “ Let's think about this. What are the “works” of God?

10: Uhm.. oh! John 6:29, “Jesus told them, 'This is the only work God wants from you: Believe in the One He has sent.' “ So then, they didn't really believe in You? You said You don't know them.

Jesus: Now read Matthew 12:50.

10: “Anyone who does the will of My Father in heaven is My brother and sister and mother!”

Jesus: My family are those who have been adopted through the Holy Spirit. Romans 8:15-16 says, “You received God's Spirit when He adopted you as His children (…) For His Spirit joins with our spirit to affirm that we are God's children.” These are the ones that I “know.” As for My Father's will-

10: Oh, I know this one. John 6:40, “For it is My Father's will that all who see His Son and believe in Him shall have eternal life.” So essentially, the people saying “Lord, Lord” weren't believers because they trusted in their works to save them, instead of Your work on the cross. And You said You don't know them to prove they don't have the Holy Spirit.

Jesus: They are similar to the crowd I speak to in Revelation 3:15-21.

10: Ah, the dreaded Lukewarmers. “You say, 'I am rich. I have everything I want. I don't need a thing.' And you don't realize that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked.” Yikes.

Jesus: And what do I tell them to buy from Me in verse 18?

10: White garments, among other things..

Jesus: Psalm 51:7 says, “Purify me from my sins and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.” And 1 John 1:7 says, “The blood of Jesus, (God's) Son, cleanses us from all sin.” You, for example, are already in possession of white garments. My blood through My sacrifice cleansed them when you believed.

10: So the Lukewarmers don't believe in You either, because they trust in their wealth and possessions instead of You. But they say they're Christians just because they do to Church, or because their families are Christian.

Jesus: Born Again believers with the Holy Spirit never have to fear rejection from Me or My Father. “And this is the will of God, that I should not lose even one of those He has given Me, but that I should raise them up on the last day.” (John 6:3) As John 14:23 states, We will never take the Holy Spirit away once He's been given.

10: Once “Born Again”, no “unborning again” happening later, ey?

Jesus: Hahah! “No, I will not abandon you as orphans- I will come to you.” (John 14:18)

Jesus: “When everything is ready, I will come and get you so that you will always be with Me where I am.” (John 14:3)

#Christianity #Jesus Christ #God #the bible #Bible Verses #bible scripture #faithstuff #faith #heaven #apologetics #religion #religious art #digital illustraiton #digital comic #comics #long post.#my art #me.

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orthodoxadventure · 2 months

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do you know of prayers to decrease suicide ideation? And can you please pray my stomach churns i am in so much distress. (I love your blog, god bless you) <33333

May God bless you and comfort you, and thank you for the kind words! I will definitely keep you in my prayers.

One thing I would recommend is reading the Psalms, and finding one that really resonates with you and including that into your prayer routine. Or if you don't have a prayer routine already, then praying this Psalm morning and night (and whenever else you need it through the day). It doesn't explicitly have to be about depression, a lot of the Psalms talk about placing their hope in the Lord even through the distress and suffering they're experiencing - and something like this might really resonate with you and comfort you.

You can find a collection of four prayers that are related to depression, anxiety, and suffering here, which should be of some help to you: https://www.sthermansoca.org/resources/prayers-against-fear/

Then there is also:

Prayer against Depression: Prayer to the Mother of God

Prayer to the Theotokos for Healing

Prayer to the Mother of God in a Time of Distress

Akathist to St. Xenia of St. Petersburg

Prayer of Someone in Trouble

Prayer of Saint John Chrysostom

Prayer to St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco

Healing Prayer of Saint Ambrose of Milan

Guardian Angel Prayers for Protection

Prayer of St. Dimitri of Rostov

Prayer for the Self

Prayers don't have to explicitly be about depression or liberation from despair in order to be helpful. Find prayers that really resonate with you, and ones that you are willing and able to pray. Try to read even one Psalm a day as well as a prayer that you find helpful.

Speak often to God about your difficulties and struggles also. Sometimes the best prayers are the ones that we come up with, because they most accurately reflect our situation, our wants, our needs, and so on. We don't need to know the perfect things to say. But the act of praying about our issues, of articulating them and putting them into words and placing them before God can be of immense help and comfort to us. And the act of articulating problems out loud can go a long way to untangling them in our head which can help us feel even a little less overwhelmed.

God bless you!

#prayer #prayer request #prayer req

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nateconnolly · 2 months

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I made a Patreon lol.

Here's the free sample post:

THE CREATION MYTH OF KILL 6 BILLION DEMONS

INTRODUCTION

I love fantasy religions. I love it when fictional humans try to understand worlds like Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere and Tolkein’s Middle Earth through a religious lens—especially because in those books and in many others, the fantasy religions are somewhat true, and somewhat false. It’s really fun to look at a fictional universe through the eyes of a character who might not see things objectively. Religion usually plays a role in that. But, if I’m being honest, a lot of fantasy religions are just Christianity wearing a fun hat. Don’t get me wrong, I am fascinated by Chrisitianity, and I really enjoy a lot of fantasy versions of Christianity. But it’s a great special treat when a fantasy story goes the extra mile and portrays another concept of the divine. That’s one of many reasons that I love the webcomic Kill 6 Billion Demons. The webcomic’s fictional religion Atru has parallels to Taoism, Gnosticism, Advaita Vedanta, theothanatology, Biblical divine nomenclature, the list goes on. I just threw a lot of big scary words at you, but I promise, this is a beginner level essay. I’ll break everything down into bite-sized pieces. I just wanted to list out some of K6BD’s religious influences to show that they are complicated, and diverse.

This is specifically a essay about the creation narratives. K6BD is an amazing comic—later on, it tackles questions about time, free will, and optimistic nihilism, but I won’t dig into that stuff here. Those things would require their own essays. Here, I’m going to try to explain how the seven-part world came to be. More specifically, I’ll examine the stories that White Chain, Cio, Michael, and the old devil’s tale tell us; then I’ll look at fictional holy texts found in the Concordance.

I’ll also compare and contrast with a lot of real world religion and philosophy. I want to be clear that the creator Abaddon and I have never spoken. I don’t know where he got most of his inspiration. I’m not revealing any information that wasn’t already available, I’m just compiling it and offering my own thoughts. Unless I specifically quote Abaddon, assume that I’m not even talking about his inspirations. I’m drawing parallels because it’s fun, even though it probably won’t give us new insight into how the text was created.

I promise I’m not trying to convert you! I genuinely don’t want to make other people believe the religion that I believe—or any religion at all. I’m just trying to show you how understanding some real world religious and philosophical concepts can deepen your appreciation of K6BD. Obviously, there will be tons of spoilers, so go read the webcomic if you haven’t already. It’s absolutely genius.

Lastly, I want to say I will discuss suicide and murder.

Ok, let’s get started.

PART ONE: THE FIRST AND GREATEST DIVISION

Let There Be No Genesis

White Chain begins the history of the universe with the words, “Let there be no Genesis,” closely echoing the in-universe fictional Psalm I. “For indeed, there was [no Genesis]. God has always existed and has never existed.” As White Chain tells her story, we are shown the god YISUN. This figure is sometimes described with it/its or she/her pronouns, but for the sake of simplicity, I’m going to follow the example of the fictional Psalm I, and use he/him. I might call him “YISUN” or “God” with a capital G depending on the context.

YISUN was eternal, and the “undisputed master of the entire omniverse.” He predates everything else, and without him, nothing would exist.

YISUN has at least twelve bodies, probably more. Some are smiling, some look mad; some resemble insects or animals; most hold weapons; and all are different colors. The central white body has four arms. Abaddon has said that YISUN’s appearance is directly inspired by the Hindu god Vishvarupa. Hindu gods are frequently depicted with multiple body parts, an artistic tradition that Doris Srinivasan calls “the multiplicity convention.” She explains some of the religious and artistic reasons that many Indian gods have multiple body parts in her book “Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes: Origin, Meaning, and Form of Multiplicity in Indian Art.” The tradition of Hinduism is long, and diverse, so the multiple limbs in one text can mean something very different from the multiple limbs elsewhere. Srinivasan closely examines a vast expanse of Indian history, and I don’t have time to present all her ideas. I would like to specifically focus on the interpretation that multiple limbs represent the manifestations of a singular godhead.

Srinivasan writes that “Multiple versions of a myth are facilitated by the idea that there exists multiple aspects or manifestations of a godhead.” Think of the difference between Greek and Hindu goddesses. Bruno Snell suggests “that these four women signalize the four aspects of all womanhood,” but Srinivasan qualifies his interpretation. The Olympian women “are not multiple forms of [one] Divine Woman, as is the case in Hinduism.” Artemis and Athena are different people who are both women, plural. Parvati, Sati, and Uma together are Woman, singular. Zeus, Demeter, and Poseidon are gods, plural. Shiva, Vishnu, and Krishna are God, singular. That’s not how all Hindus see things, but it is one Hindu perspective that I find especially comparable to K6BD.

Similarly, the multiple bodies are only manifestations of a single God: YISUN. All of his bodies are a single person. In Hinduism, the plurality of the divine can be seen as empowering and liberating. Multiple body parts signify that the god is a well-rounded entity. But Abaddon makes it look like a curse. He turns the artistic convention around. Using the same symbolism and metaphysics, he tells a radically different story. As White Chain says, “Being was only circular.” “YISUN had no equal… It was a wretched life, without meaning or perception. Imagine infinite stories to tell… and nobody to tell them to.” Perfection is lonely. At this point, YISUN is the only thing that exists, and that can’t be fun. All those arms and heads cannot satisfy YISUN’s need for companionship. It’s fascinating to me that when White Chain says YISUN had no one to whom it could tell its stories, Abaddon chose to illustrate multiple heads right next to each other. Even if those heads told each other stories, the speaker and the listener would still be the same person. Dissatisfaction with isolation is why YISUN created the world.

Although not all Hindus follow the school of Advaita Vedanta, in this case, I think it will be helpful to compare and contrast with Advaita. As Ram Shanker Misra writes in “The Integral Advaitism of Sri Aurobindo,” “Brahman [ is] perfect, absolute, infinite, need[s] nothing, [and] desir[es] nothing…” Brahman is full of all perfections. And to say that Brahman has some purpose in creating the world will mean that [Brahman] wants to attain through the process of creation something which it has not. And that is impossible.”

But that’s exactly why YISUN created this world. He wants to gain something that he does not have: companionship.The universe is God’s escape from himself. There was no Genesis, but there was “the first and greatest division: division of self”: “God committed holy suicide.”

2. The Divine Suicide

White Chain’s story is similar to Friedrich Nietzsche’s famous claim that “God is dead,” but Nietzsche did not mean God was a real entity that had literally died. He meant that intellectually, it was impossible to continue believing in God, and that all intellectual achievements founded on belief in Him had to be abandoned. Nietzsche’s claim is a famous example of a philosophical school of thought called death of God theology, also called “theothanatology,” which means “the study of God’s death” in Greek.

“Death” can mean a lot of different things in this context. Sometimes it’s metaphorical, sometimes it’s literal, and usually, it’s a very confusing mixture of both.

Nietzsche proposed the death of God as a social claim about humans. He’s talking about what we can believe, what we should do, and what we need to accept. God never really existed, but as religion loses followers and influence, even the idea of God has begun to “die” because it no longer has power over the real world.

“Death” can also mean God exists, but in a way radically different from what people usually mean when they say “God.” The Rabbi and philosopher Richard L. Rubenstein thought God exists as a “ground of being,” but not as a supernatural entity that made a covenant with Abraham. Rubenstein proposed the death of God as an intellectual change in what humans think the word “God” means.

And, finally, “death” can just literally mean “death.” The Protestant theologian Thomas J.J. Altizer wrote “we shall understand the death of God as an historical event: God has died in our time, in

our history, in our existence.” This isn’t a social claim about humans—it’s a metaphysical claim about God.

Death of God theologians usually mean more than one thing when they say God is dead. Nietzsche wasn’t just trying to convince Christians to become atheists; he was also trying to convince many atheists that they disbelieved in God in the wrong way. Altizer had radical thoughts about what human beings are able to believe.

White Chain means that God is dead in the literal sense. She is proposing a metaphysical belief that God, as a historical figure, chose to actually kill himself. White Chain is not rejecting or critiquing religion—she’s asserting that her religion, in which God has died, is fact.

You can see slight parallels to Nietzsche, Rubenstein, Altizer, Hegel, Zizek, and Blake in White Chain’s version of the fictional religion Atru. But there is no better comparison than the king of sad philosophers Philipp Mainlander.

Mainlander was an atheist—but not in the sense that people usually mean when they say “atheist.” Mainlander believed that there was a God at some time, but that time is now over. There isn’t a God anymore. Mainlander is pretty unique among death of God theologians because he explicitly describes God’s death as a suicide. Whittaker explains that Mainlander thought “[a]ll things have their origin in what may be called… the ‘will’ of the absolute being… to annihilate itself.” Essentially, the cause of the universe is God’s suicidal desires.

God was a “real unity,” but his death caused a “collective unity”—that’s the universe where we live now. God had been a total and undivided One, but now the universe is made of distinct parts. God cut himself apart into the pieces of the universe. God created the world by becoming it, and he became the world by dying.

Mainlander said “the knowledge that life is worthless is the flower of all human knowledge.” He thought suicide was desirable, and ultimately, he put his money where his mouth was. The biggest difference between Mainlander and White Chain is that she doesn’t seem to think ordinary people such as herself should follow God’s suicidal example. Even beyond the views of a specific character, the story of Kill 6 Billion Demons reads as an affirmation of life’s beauty and value.

But the webcomic clearly argues that making a better world is a bloody project. So it should come as no surprise that making the world itself involved bloodshed. First and foremost, the blood of God. What’s so interesting to me is that both White Chain and Mainlander equate God’s suicide to the creation of the world. Our life comes from God’s death. Creation and destruction aren’t opposites—they’re different ways of looking at the same process. At the end of Book 2, Allison destroys Mottom’s evil tree and a lot of her palace—but this destruction is also part of the creation of a more just and free world.

So, what did God’s destruction create? What came after YISUN?

3. The Duality of Un and Yis

The destruction of the total unity creates duality. I know that’s a little confusing because YISUN had many faces, but remember that behind all of those faces was one God, and only one. Not anymore. “From division was birthed duality. White Un, Lord of empty and still places, master of all that is not. Black Yis, infinite mother of the rampant flame. Master of all that is''

I cannot avoid comparing the White and Black gods to the Yin and Yang—a spinning black and white symbol usually associated with the religion Taoism. Yin and Yang represent a cosmic duality. Yin is associated with femininity, darkness, passivity, and even numbers, among other things. Yang is associated with masculinity, light, activity, and odd numbers, among other things. Mainstream Taoist philosophy asserts that the universe can be understood through duality. So, why are these pairs important? And why do things get paired together in the first place?

As is written in the foundational Taoist text the Tao Te Ching, “Being and non-being create each other. Difficult and easy support each other. Long and short define each other. High and low depend on each other. Before and after follow each other.” What’s so interesting about the pairs is they “create,” “support,” “define,” and “depend on” each other. Black can’t exist without white, and white cannot exist without black.

As the Encyclopedia of Philosophy puts it, “...yinyang is emblematic of valuational equality rooted in the unified, dynamic, and harmonized structure of the cosmos. As such, it has served as a heuristic mechanism for formulating a coherent view of the world…” Essentially, neither of these opposites are “dominant” or “truer.” Choosing one side won’t help you understand the universe because the universe is their partnership. Their equality gives “structure to the cosmos.” That structure is order, not chaos, but it is differentiated. There are two different things: Yin and Yang. They contradict each other, but at the same time, they make the universe. Yin and Yang are a productive paradox.

I’d like to return to the notion that “being and non-being create each other.” At this stage of creation in K6BD, UN and YIS could not exist without each other. Their very existence is the fact that they are not a unity. If there was only one of them, then there wouldn’t have been a division—and they are nothing more than the product of division. Just like how being and non-being create each other, the Master of All That Is and the Master of All That Is Not create each other. YISUN was characterized by his totality—he was the total sum of the omniverse, there was nothing else. After the division, Un and Yis experience otherness. The first otherness in the omniverse. It’s difficult for them to find balance—in fact, they immediately went to war for seven years. At the end of their seven-year war, Un and Yis made love for seven days.

I want to be very clear that this is not a depiction of actual Taoism. Yin and Yang are not gods with faces and minds. Notably, the Tao Te Ching asserts that yin and yang are “older than God.” so make of that what you will. But I think Taoism is thematically relevant to this era. Two opposites have to come into balance with each other. The whole universe is a duality of interconnected forces.

K6BD repeatedly emphasizes the need for community. As Allison says at the end of King of Swords, “I couldn’t have done this without any of you… We make mistakes. We learn from each other. We all still have so much to learn. Once I saw that as a weakness, now I’m certain it’s not. Someone who lives still thinking like that… struggling to do everything themselves… I can’t help but think how alone they must be.”

YISUN had to do everything all by himself, and we saw that Allison was right—isolation was a struggle, even for God. But the struggle is over, and in its place is duality. Partnership. The first community.

These are the first four parts of a fourteen-part critical essay. You can read the rest here.

Bibliography is on the free Patreon post.

#patreon #nate's writing #original post

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momentsbeforemass · 7 months

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Follow me

“As Jesus passed by, He saw a man named Matthew sitting at the customs post. He said to him, “Follow me.” And Matthew got up and followed Him.”

That’s how today’s Gospel opens. And to many of us (myself included), the more you think about it the scarier it gets.

You’re going about your day – at work or school or whatever – minding your own business. And then God calls you to follow Him. With the expectation that you will just (literally) drop everything. And get up and follow Him.

I have so many questions.

Follow You where? What are we doing? What do You want from me? Etc.

But all of them really boil down to this basic fear – if I really follow God (and I mean actually give up trying to do it all myself and let God lead), am I going to lose me in the process? Am I going to become some sort of mass-produced, bland, nonentity lost in the herd?

Of course, a minute’s look at the saints (the ones that do the best job of letting God lead) and their massively different personalities and gifts would put the lie to all of that.

Joan of Arc, Francis of Assisi, Teresa of Avila, Dorothy Day, Augustine Tolton? No bland, nonentities here.

But in the moment, when God’s asking, that’s not where my lizard brain goes. Because I don’t want to admit who the author of my life really is.

Not that any of that changes the truth about me (or anyone else).

Because the truth is that I’ve got it wrong. This isn’t an “either-or” (either I can be God’s or I can be me). The truth is that it’s a “both-and.” As the Psalms put it, “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.”

That is, if you and I understand what Paul is telling us in Ephesians (“For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them.”), then it becomes clear that in choosing to follow God we are choosing to be exactly who we were created to be.

That’s not an “either-or” at all. It’s a “both-and.” And a roadmap.

As C.S. Lewis puts it, “The more we let God take us over, the more truly ourselves we become.”

In short, Matthew got it right. All that remains for you and me is to follow his example.

To get up and follow God.

Today’s Readings

#Who God made you to be #C.S. Lewis #God #Jesus #Catholic #Christian #Church #Matthew #Follow #Both-And #Moments Before Mass

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 7 months

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An Update from anonymous in Israel and a personal note from me:

*Hamas threatens execution of the hostages.

*1000 Israelis murdered on Israeli soil. The numbers keep rising. There are a few hundreds struggle for their lives in hospitals.

*At the strongholds of Hamas in Gaza whole neighborhoods were wiped out.

*Deputy commander of a Brigade killed in a confrontation with terrorists from Lebanon. Must be Hezbollah. Israeli doctrine is the commanders physically lead which can have a high price.

*The White House was lightened with blue and white Israeli colors. Solidarity. Will take it even if don’t like the occupants right now. We miss Trump.

*The Head of the Joint Staff of the US had a talk with the IDF Chief of Staff about making American Military support in the region stronger. My Interpretation: American fleet is on the way to deter Iran and Hezbollah from joining the war. We in Israel don’t like it. Israel should not rely on anyone else. Specially not Biden. Again , we miss Trump. On second thought it does feel good to know we are not alone even if the move is symbolic.

*Netanyahu -“What we will do to Hamas will eco for generations.” “We will treat them like ISIS” (like treating ISIS.)

*Biden – “11 Americans were killed in the attack”.

*My ____told me that the largest hospital in the North (Rambam Hospital) is converting the parking structure to a hospital space. It’s the north. Could mean preparation for a war in the north with Hezbollah.

*IDF- “Tens of terrorists were eliminated in the past day.”

*IDF – “So far we attacked 1707 targets.” Air Force.

*The leaders of the US, Germany, Italy, UK, France in a joint statement condemning the attack, warning others from joining the war and saying they support Israel. The Globalists are supporting Israel. I wonder why and for how long?

*The popular Telegram channel in Gaza is pleading not to publish names of terrorists because “the IDF is bombing their homes”. Some terrorists will be homeless and familyless. There is a black list of all the involved. Israel is known to have a long memory. All the involved directly or indirectly are going to die. I am sure.

*American Israeli in Miami – a wealthy guy- is organizing an operation room with volunteers. Arranged and arranging flight tickets for Israelis who are reservists abroad who want to come to fight. The numbers are confidential but I am sure that there are thousands who are coming back to fight. But the airport is closed. But airlines are getting prepared to help with this effort as soon as they can.

*Speaker of the National Security of the US (or whatever it is called) John Kirby is choking on live TV when asked about the images of the kidnapped. He is saying they have no direct intelligence of Iran’s involvement in this attack. (Israel will know the whole chain to the top shortly. From prisoners and other means).

Love, Shalom & God Bless you all my friends.

From me, GRITS on Tumblr:

I'm sharing the updates to encourage prayer. God loves EVERY human being, no matter your family of origin. Even those who deny his existence or seek to destroy Him are loved by Him. Why? Because He is Elohim who created everyone. He made a covenant with Abraham and God will NOT break His promises. If the entire world turns against Israel (and according to prophecy Ezekiel 38 & 39), that day will come), God alone will fight for them. This does not mean their government is good or righteous. Their government is corrupt just like the American government. It does mean that God keeps His promises in spite of politics and in spite of governments.

If you would like to pray for our world, I recommend reading aloud & meditating on the Psalms. We all have our favorites but in light of current events, start at Psalms 120 and just keep going. There are many translations. The ESV The NCV The CEV are more modern but less flowery/romantic.

If you are a Christian, you are commanded to "Pray for peace in Jerusalem" (psalm 122:6)

We don't need to understand the politics. Our job is to pray for peace.

For my friends here who are not Believers, I offer you the psalms. There is something very special about these words. We believe they were inspired by God Himself and preserved for thousands of years by a small group of Hebrew people. It was out of these tribes that God gave us our Lord Jesus who we believe is the prophesied Messiah, the Christ.

The Jewish leaders were expecting a political messiah to rescue them from a corrupt government---a political KING. God sent them a lowly, adopted son of a carpenter who waited until age 30 to begin a 3 year ministry. Jesus came not to be served but to serve. Jesus came to seek and save the lost. Unfortunately they didn't realize their greatest need was not political, but soul salvation.

Jesus, God's only son came to be the bridge between us and the Father.

Allegedly (Steve) founder of Apple Computers said, "God sent His son on a suicide mission but we forgive Him because He gave us trees."

I can see how people feel that way, but it was more than a suicide mission---It was a redemption mission: Him for us. One day we will all stand before our Creator and none of my "good works" will be enough to overcome my sinful heart. I was born a sinner but Jesus stands in the gap for me. I deserve death as the penalty for my sinful heart but Jesus defeated death. Now I will live forever with Him. You can too.

Maranatha!

#israel #pray for the peace of jerusalem

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bringmemyrocks · 4 months

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I noticed on your about the point saying "christianity isn't inherently antisemitic". I'm not challenging you on this, but I am asking - How can you believe this? I know for me, a lot of this has to do with religious trauma. But I struggle with the idea. One of the first things I learned when I left that faith was about supercessionism, about all the nasty antisemitic undertones and overtones in the New Testament, all that. The more I learned, the more everything I had once held dear just felt appropriative, or hypocritical, or paper-thin, or downright hateful... when you cut all that out of Christianity.. what even is left? That doesn't mean that individual practitioners can't be good people, but learning all this and its history just made me want to get away from it even more. It felt profane, I didn't want to touch it or even be associated with it at all. It made me bitter and a little hateful, if I'm being honest. I'll never go back, that wasn't why I left to begin with, but I'm trying to put that bitterness behind me. Especially seeing what Palestinian Christians are going through I think I at least owe them that. Normally when I see people talking about Christianity in a positive light it just makes me uncomfortable but since you feel so strongly about this that you put it on your about, I thought I should ask what your thoughts are

Hi anon, you are welcome to challenge me however you like. I'm glad my about page made you think, and I'm glad I put that particular note there ("Christianity/Islam/atheism are not inherently antisemitic.") I'm also glad you felt comfortable coming to me about this.

This is going to be a hard pill to swallow, but you’ll be much happier once you accept:

You have been taught to see everything that threatens your interpretation of Judaism as a threat. This is wrong and makes you feel bad for no reason.

You need to ask yourself “is XYZ really a threat to me, or have I just been conditioned to think that way by my community?” (Some) evangelical Christians see the world this way, "Starbucks is doing a war on Christmas" etc.–you have been conditioned to see threats to your religion everywhere just like they have.

A good book on this is The Gift of Fear–it’s not about religion, but rather how to actually spot threats in a world that lies about where the danger really is.

This “everything is against the Jews” conditioning is intrinsically tied to Zionism. Zionism benefits from Jews feeling that they are under threat. Zionism benefits from Jews thinking Judaism as a concept/a nazi-style race is under constant attack and needs to be protected. I had to come to this realization myself. I am not exaggerating. A comic from religious zionist institution Aish HaTorah that was rightfully mocked among Jews had a picture of a sad Jew with the text “If you are Jewish, somebody out there hates you!” (literally.)

Ask yourself: who benefits from me thinking this way? Certainly not you; I can tell it’s causing you anguish.

Some gems from Jumblr which demonstrate that this type of thinking is inextricably linked to Zionism:

If you think that Christianity and Islam are “appropriations” of Judaism, boy howdy do I have something to tell you about Judaism’s relationship to ancient Canaanite religion…

This is going to get long, sorry. I’m going to use “Hebrew Bible,” “Old Testament,” and “Tanakh” interchangeably.

General notes:

The Bible is public domain. Anyone can read it, and they can interpret it however they want. Jews do not have a special claim to this text, and we have never tried to keep it secret from others.

Interestingly, some of the mistranslations in Isaiah and the Book of Psalms/Tehillim that lend the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible/Tanakh to a more Christian reading are from the Septuagint, a Jewish translation of the original text into Greek. Oops.

There is nothing inherently wrong with supersessionism in its basic definition. It just means that Christians and Muslims believe they no longer have to follow the covenant of Moses because their new covenants supersede the covenant of Moses. Muslims actually believe that everyone is born Muslim (thus the term “revert” rather than “convert”,) so Islam is technically more supersessionist than Christianity. Unlike Christianity, which takes both the Old Testament and New Testament as scripture, Islam believes that while the Bible contains some truth, it contains many errors, while the Quran does not. Nobody is harmed by this.

Regardless, Christianity is not “about supersessionism” anymore than Judaism is "about Moses"; that is simply one aspect of the religion and how some people view it.

If you’re going to split hairs over the literal text on the page instead of its interpretation, there’s a lot of condoned violence against non-Jews in the Tanakh. If you’re going to cherry pick lines from a text you don’t like, realize that the text you do like does not hold up under scrutiny, either.

The harm comes in when people use violence to impose their beliefs on others. You see this throughout history. You are not harmed by a Christian thinking “smh doesn’t anon know it’s fine to eat pork” or even "doesn't anon know that Jesus can provide eternal life?"

Groups driven practicing both Christianity and Islam have carried out large-scale violence against Jews throughout history. Christians moreso, but no tradition’s hands are clean here. There is no denying the historical connection between the institutional Christian church and antisemitism. Plenty of Christians, including Christians who are not themselves antisemitic still do not know this part of Christian history, and that is a problem.

The particular strand of evangelical Protestant Christianity that believes that the modern state of Israel must exist to bring about the second coming of Jesus is called Premillennial Dispensationalism. This particular theology is actually the opposite of supersessionism because it believes the Jewish covenant is still relevant to Christians. Thus supersessionism is neither necessary nor sufficient for antisemitism.

In my opinion, “supersessionism” is a buzzword that is used online to get Jews to refuse any engagement with Christianity. Same with “original sin”, a concept traditional Judaism actually believes in, but you won’t catch Jumblr admitting that…

Orthodox Jews refer to liberal Judaism as an “appropriation” and “twisting” of True Judaism ™ all the time. Your reaction to Christianity is just a version of that made palatable for liberal Jews. It’s just as chauvinistic. Anyone is allowed to read the Bible however they want to. They can add books in or they can take books out. You cannot control what people do in their religion, nor should you try.

*Unless they’re advocating anti-gay/antisemitic/racist laws, which plenty of people of all faiths are currently doing worldwide. Then you should say something. But the problem is the prejudice and use of violence, not the religion itself.

Assuming you were brought up in a form of Christianity that is actually antisemitic (not just one that you’re labeling as such by virtue of it believing in Jesus), I am truly sorry that that was your experience. You say: “when you cut all that out of Christianity.. what even is left?”

My heart sank when I heard that. What is left? What is left, anon? Thousands of years of history and tradition! Poetry and music and mysticism of every flavor!

I am glad you are aware that you feel bitter and hateful towards other religions. I hope that your choice of words indicates that you want to change that. In recovery, there’s a saying of “first thought, second thought.” The first thought is what comes immediately–it can be “I would be happier if I was still using.” The second thought is “actually, let me think about this, I’m doing much better now than I was when I was using.”

For you, the first thought might be “Christianity is evil and should be abolished,” but what might your second thought be?

You mention Palestinian Christians. That’s a good start. I really don’t want to sound like Bartolome de las Casas here; I do not want to sound patronizing, but truly anon, Palestinians are the kindest people you will ever meet. Most Palestinian Christians are Catholic or Orthodox, both types of Christianity that are supersessionist (again, not needing to keep kosher, the new covenant of Jesus supersedes the covenant of Moses,) yet they are kind people. And not the fake nice you get from megachurch pastors who spend their congregation’s money on private jets.

When I decided to become Jewish, I left behind one of my favorite hobbies of all time, singing from the Sacred Harp. It’s an early American folk hymn tradition that’s sung on shape notes. I thought “this is idolatry; I cannot engage with it” and I broke my own heart for no reason except my own stubbornness.

If you’re familiar with the Sacred Harp tradition, you’ll recognize the little girl in my avatar is from the documentary “Awake My Soul,” and she’s leading a song from the Sacred Harp hymnal. I describe the Sacred Harp as being similar to opera: you either love it or you hate it. I promise you can have a normal healthy relationship with Christianity. (And there are a truly astounding number of Jews involved in Sacred Harp singing.)

As a fellow convert, once upon a time I also fell for this nonsense. I now recognize that this stuff was taught to me and I can unlearn it. So can you! Block the chauvinists on Jumblr, stop listening to Tovia Singer podcasts, and appreciate the world in all its diversity. It’s what we are compelled to do as Jews.

Anyone wrestling this is welcome to talk to me on anon or on DMs. Unlearning this type of thinking is so important. Asking questions is a good first step. The fact that you reached out to an antizionist Jew shows that you’re willing to listen to alternative voices. It’ll be easier for you to get rid of this type of thinking than it is for others who can’t let go of Zionism.

I’ll leave you with my two favorite verses from the New Testament (yes, I can still have favorite verses in a holy text I don’t follow. Try reading it again and learn to appreciate it as an outsider. That can be key to dismantling your negative associations with it. Read the Jewish Annotated New Testament if you like extra commentaries and can’t stomach Christian commentaries on Christian texts yet–truly there’s a lot of fascinating stuff there.)

Mark 8:36 For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

Matthew 25 (linking because it’s too long on this already overly-long post): https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2025%3A34-46&version=ESV

I love talking about theology. I came to Tumblr to talk about faith, not politics, but I am compelled to speak about genocide, so my posts have mostly been about Palestine of late.

I know an absurd amount about Christianity because I studied it for so long. I will gladly expand on any of the points I mentioned here. (But you don’t have to become a theologian like me to dispense with anti-Christian prejudice.)

Also, kudos to you for not spelling it “xtianity”--that always gave me a headache.

Anon, do feel free to come back if you have more thoughts. I try to modulate tone, but I can come across as quite serious even if I don't intend to. Truly, thank you for asking me this question.

Good faith responders who have read the entire post are welcome to engage. Anyone who believes Jumblr's strawman version of Christianity is accurate will be blocked.

#jewish convert #long post #christianity #judaism #conversion to judaism #i #cultural christianity #jumblr

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