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adapembroke · 3 years

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Reading Tarot Like The Hierophant

For many years, I hated the Hierophant.

Whenever it came up in a reading, I sighed, dutifully tried to understand why it was bothering me, and shoved it back in the box as soon as possible. Most of the time I gained nothing from these interactions, even though I knew the Hierophant wasn’t silent. I just didn’t believe the Hierophant could possibly have anything useful to say to me.

The Hierophant is the archetype of traditional, usually religious, authorities. Nuns and priests and popes, temples and tabernacles, synods, dojos, and twelve steps groups . The original name of this card was The Pope, appropriate for a deck designed in Christian Europe,

I am not a person who works easily with the Hierophant. The anti-authoritarian stereotypes of Aquarius moons resonate strongly for me. I don’t do anything unless I know why I’m doing it and agree with the premise behind the action. Settings under the influence of the Hierophant are ritualistic. Their ability to function relies on everyone moving in lock-step. If you have questions, you follow the ritual and ask questions later. If you disagree with the answers to your questions, you leave.

Michelle Tea says in Modern Tarot:

“Conforming rightly has a bad reputation in contemporary culture; it’s used to keep bright spirits down, we think, and to preserve a dying status quo. Likewise, the concept of ‘tradition’ has been hijacked by people seeking to codify their dangerous opposition to a changing world.”

Conformity isn’t my happy place. I was convinced that for the happiness of everyone concerned, it would be best if I remained an outsider in the sphere of the Hierophant, but I was not a happy outsider. Not all of my experiences of the Hierophant were bitter. Without the Hierophant, something was missing in my life.

Beauty and Power of Ritual

There were a few years during college and just after when I had a wonderful relationship with the Hierophant. For most of that time, I belonged to a Christian church that was deeply ritualistic. When you walked into the sanctuary, you had to bow to the altar before taking your seat. You had to bow whenever someone said “Jesus,” and you had to make occult gestures with your hands during the reading of the Gospel.

I grew up in a church that was much less formal, and this new way of doing worship was strange to me, like walking into a dance I didn’t know the steps to. I stumbled through the ritual like a newborn calf, but despite my clumsy gestures, I felt transported. It wasn’t just influence of the thick cloud of frankincense. (Though, frankincense is a mind-altering substance.) I wasn’t any kind of magician then, but I could feel that what they were doing had magical power, power I now recognize as the power of the Hierophant.

The Hierophant’s power comes from tradition, the way that the repetition of meaningful words and gestures builds meaning over time. On the first day I walked into that church, they had been doing the same rituals in that space in the same way for hundred and fifty years. It felt like the rituals and incense had infused the walls. The rituals themselves had been altered little in fifteen hundred years. When the priest said the magic words of the Eucharist, I felt a sense of belonging, as if all of the congregations over time and space that had heard those words together were there with us, lending their power to the working. All of that accumulated power was palpable. I left the service each Sunday feeling like my batteries had been recharged.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take me long to see through the glamor and start asking questions, and when the answers I got to my questions didn’t satisfy me, I discovered that the Hierophant’s hold on that place was too rigid to hold me, and I left.

A few years after I left Christianity, I started studying the Tarot. The Hierophant felt like a tease, a reminder of something beautiful that I was incapable of participating in. It was easier to focus on the Hierophant’s bad side.

Leader of the Mindless Herd

Like all archetypes, the Hierophant has a shadow: Mobs of people coming together to chant slogans of hate, authoritarian leaders whipping people into a frenzy to support a controlling agenda, suicide cults filled with mindless automatons.

The same coordinated practice that builds power over time and that left me feeling empowered can be used just as easily to create power for evil.

Neuroscientists are just beginning to uncover the overwhelming power of habit. The human brain has to do an extraordinary amount of work in order to carry out simple functions. It is constantly trying to offload work as much as possible. It does this by using rituals, habits, and assumptions like a computer that relies on automated processes to do its job.

Group rituals, the natural habitat of the Hierophant, are simply habits that have been adopted by a people who have been trained to act as one. A person who has attended a liturgical Christian church for decades can perform the gestures of the Mass without thinking.

Once habits are set, they are extremely difficult to break. I built the habit of crossing myself every time I heard a siren, and it took me years of constant reminder not to do it to break myself of the habit after I left Christianity.

It is annoying to have to break a habit that no longer suits you, but habit itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Using hateful words can be a habit, but so is brushing your teeth. Habit becomes a problem when it helps you hurt yourself or others without thinking.

Hitler famously used the power of ritual in his rallies and parades to call the power of a nation to the service of hate. He created systems, habits, and gestures that made killing so easy for the bureaucrats in his service, the trials of his henchmen raised the question of whether they could have been accused of thinking about what they were doing at all.

The Hierophant, like habit, doesn’t take a side. Its power is present whenever groups of people use the magic of ritual to raise power. The Hierophant is there when people march for justice and when they rally for hate. The Hierophant is there when a community dances for joy and when they mourn at a funeral. The Hierophant uses the power of habit and group pressure to create addictions and break them.

Guardian of Initiation

The Tarot Pope became the Hierophant under the influence of Waite and Crowley who revised the Tarot in the 20th century. Historically, the Hierophant was the high priest of the Eleusinian Mysteries, a highly secretive cult in ancient Greece that celebrated the mystery of death and rebirth. In order to get in on the secrets of the Eleusinian mysteries, you needed to be initiated, and initiates were so good at keeping the secrets of the order very little is known about it today.

The Hierophant’s new emphasis on initiation was well in line with the archetype’s natural love of structure and conformity. Rachel Pollack says in 78 Degrees of Wisdom that when you work in an initiatory tradition, you are “entering a doctrine, with a set of beliefs which [you] must learn and accept before [you] can gain entrance.”

Initiatory traditions get a bad rap for their secretiveness. They must have something to hide, critics say, if they can’t share everything. But initiatory traditions at their best do not require initiates to assent to the doctrines of the order without knowing them. Instead, initiates are required to go through a discernment period where they think about the principles of the order and whether or not they can conform to them. Once they accept the doctrines of the order, then they are allowed access to the secret rituals and powers that would allow the initiate to use this knowledge.

This process of learning, processing, acceptance, and initiation helps to ensure that initiates do not adopt powerful new habits blindly. The Hierophant is at its most dangerous when masses of people assent to principles without thinking. The draw of belonging is powerful, and the need to require thoughtfulness and consent is one of the reasons for levels of initiation in traditions such as Wicca, the Masons, and Druid orders. At each stage, the initiate learns a little more, and the order and the initiate need to both give their consent before the initiate is allowed to go to the next level.

It was the initiatory side of the Hierophant that finally lead me to make peace with the archetype. I realized that you don’t need to be a mindless automaton to work with the archetype. I had been born into Christianity. I was initiated into the religion under the threat of hellfire before I was old enough to understand its beliefs and doctrines. But I am an adult now with strong beliefs and principles. When I meet the Hierophant in the robes of the initiator, I do it with love and trust and my eyes wide open.

Reading Tarot Like The Hierophant

In the context of a Tarot reading, the Hierophant is present in the rituals you build into your practice. If you always shuffle your cards and lay them out a certain way, you are participating in the Hierophant. The Hierophant helps you to discover the habits and gestures and techniques that make your readings better, and the Hierophant uses the power of habit to help you do those things consistently.

The Hierophant also influences your Tarot practice when you study within the context of magical orders or sit at the feet of mentors who work within a tradition, even if it is a tradition they’ve created themselves.

Because traditions gain power from unconscious habits of thought, it is important to become conscious of the beliefs and traditions that influence your readings.

It is healthy, too, to periodically set aside some time to consider your lineage. Where did your ideas about the meanings of the cards come from? Who are your Tarot teachers? Who were their teachers? How much do you know about the traditions they belong to? How much do you know about your own traditions? What assumptions about how the world works inform your practice? What do you believe about fate and free-will? The afterlife and past lives? Good, evil, and the nature of suffering?

Lastly, if you read for others, it is important to be open with your clients about your traditions and beliefs, as well. Whenever we read for others, we may be acting as initiators, even if we don’t realize it. Your clients have the right to consent before being initiated into your mysteries, just as you have that right when you present yourself to the Hierophant.

#witchblr #tarot

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

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Home | Victor Von Doom

Pairing: Victor Von Doom x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Request: Can you write something with victor doom? It can be holiday themed or not I don’t care

Summary: your flatmate hates the holidays so he doesn’t celebrate them. You have to go home for said holidays, but maybe home isn’t where you thought it was. Modern AU.

Warnings: slight mentions of fat-shaming, mutual pining, shitty family members, kissing, slight fluff.

A/N: this was fun to write, I don’t think anyone will like it but I enjoyed it.

❆・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆

Victor had rolled his eyes for the hundredth time a certain afternoon. He didn’t see the point of decorating the apartment for Christmas when he wasn’t even Christian and when you wouldn’t spend the holidays there.

He remembered crossing the living room to enter the kitchen, the sound of your humming making him wonder why had he agreed to live with you in the first place. Contrary to everyone’s belief, you two were just friends. He tolerated you the best, though, his spectrum normally went from you being the easiest person to deal with to Reed being an utter pain in the ass, Tony fell in the perfect middle.

He had heard that stupid carol you were humming so often lately that he had it stuck in his head when you weren’t around. In retrospective, it was the least annoying of the carols and he should be thankful that you weren’t obsessed with the same Christmas songs Stark was. Tony’s taste in music sucked in general, but not even Steve could put up with his weird Christmas themed tastes.

Snatching an apple from the basket, he had leaned onto the counter to watch you from afar. Your chubby form stretched to hang ornaments on the tree was amusing, he had offered to pay someone to do it but you told him that wasn’t the point. He didn’t care for the point, or for holidays in general, the only reason he hadn’t fought you on the topic of ornaments around the house was that he was trying to be nicer and he knew he had to start at home.

Home, he had never had one. Not until you two started working at the same company and bonded over your hatred of overly sweet desserts at a work party. None of you were happy with the place you were living in but it was what you could afford at the time, upon touching the subject you had the idea of being flatmates. Victor had been skeptical at first, but the idea became less annoying when you offered to make a list of pros and cons.

Now the apartment didn’t feel like home, the Christmas tree was adorned perfectly— he even admitted it looked pretty. The gifts you bought him were around it, yet he found himself preferring for you to have been there. He would trade all the gifts of the world for you. You, the person who not once had ever judged him or considered him weird.

Flipping on the tv channels, he groaned every time something Christmas themed appeared which was too often. He was starting to regret telling Tony he would be busy or telling you he was sure he didn’t want to go with you to visit your family. Victor switched the cable programming for Netflix and distracted himself by searching for something to watch, not by watching it because he was indecisive.

Taking his phone, he started typing. His thumb hovered over the send button before deciding that there was deciding wrong with what he was saying.

❆・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆

You were listening to your mom complain about everything you hadn’t accomplished in life when your cellphone buzzed in your coat pocket. Withdrawing it, you felt your stomach churn for some reason.

Do you have a recommendation for a NON-CHRISTMAS movie on Netflix?

Just re-watch The Office like any normal human being.

Locking the device, you turned your physical attention back to your mom and dad although your mental one was far away. It was back at home, where Victor was probably sprawled on the couch wearing that soft-looking sweatshirt that made him look so damn approachable with a scowl on his face because he didn’t find anything worth his time on Netflix.

The first time you watched a movie with him had been somehow the best and worst experience of your life, he complained about everything and had stupidly high standards. He did that in general too, but you weren’t too different— however, you loved crappy movies.

Another notification broke through your phone. You found yourself eagerly unlocking it to reply.

Are you calling me average?

You chuckled. The truth was you could call Victor many things, average would never be one.

That’s exactly what I’m calling you.

The three dots signaling he was already typing an answer appeared immediately on your screen, making you miss him even more.

You really missed him, how interesting he was, how respectful of your boundaries. Victor had given you in six months the respect your family hadn’t in your entire life, he was supportive in his own way, he hadn’t once made a crude comment about your weight or judged your body type, he listened to you when you needed him, and if he couldn’t help you he would tell you so openly and honestly

“(y/n), are you listening to me?”

You shook your head at your mom’s question without even thinking.

“You never listen to me, that’s why—“ your mom sighed when your phone dinged again. “Tell whoever is interrupting your quality family time to quit it or I will throw that phone through the window.”

Would Lightning McQueen buy car insurance or life insurance?

You pursed your lips to keep yourself from cackling.

Who are you and what have you done with Victor Von Doom? Also, are you watching Cars?

Perhaps.

You tried to imagine him watching Cars, the annoyed sighs that would leave his lips every few seconds, the smartass comments he would make regarding how the world in the movie functioned... it would be funny, and way better than seeing your family glare at you like you had done something wrong.

You had arrived three days ago and the entire time they had thrown every critique that came to their minds at you. They found the fact that you didn’t have a partner insulting, constantly comparing the lives of other family members to yours; they hated your line of work, they explicitly told you you should lose weight and insinuated you would finally be happy that way.

But you were happy. When you were not around them.

❆・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆ ・・・・・❆

Unceasing knocking woke Victor up, his neck was rigid and his lower back hurt like a bitch. The TV had turned itself off, he didn’t know what time was it and he didn’t care because the knocking was getting louder.

Fixing his hair as he walked toward the door he fiddled with the lock so whoever was knocking would stop. As he swung the entrance open, he couldn’t hide his shock.

“What are you doing here?”

You tilted your head sideways, “I live here?”

He rolled his eyes, moving to the side so you would get inside. You didn’t bother to carry your belongings to your room, not yet. Victor repeated his question.

“I didn’t feel comfortable.”

He hummed, entering the kitchen to put the kettle on. From there, he spoke some more. “So what will you do on Christmas Eve?”

You followed him, leaning on the wall to watch him. His movements usually calmed you in a very weird way. “Annoy you, I think.”

With his hands flat on the counter, he craned his neck to look at you. “How are you going to annoy me? That’s pretty vague.” There was a hint of teasing in his voice, something he reserved for you, he trusted you that much.

You annoyed him with icing cookies and Christmas carols, you made him watch The Grinch and laughed when he agreed with him, you kept the tree lit up the entire day, and you actually made his favorite dish for dinner to not be an asshole. You wanted him to enjoy himself that day too, to find the holidays at least tolerable no matter the type of holiday it was. You knew he never had something similar and it broke your heart.

Putting two glasses of eggnog down onto the coffee table, you sat down on your favorite side of the couch. Victor glared at you, dying to get rid of the ugly sweater you had bought just for him. He had said it was a waste of money, but you saw him hide his laugh.

You were watching Nightmare Before Christmas, Victor insisted it was a Christmas movie and who were you to argue with that? His eyes would shift from the screen to your side profile, catching the twitches on your face when a scene you enjoyed was playing.

There were things he liked too much about you, details he observed in you that he didn’t care for in anyone else. He was unsure about you thinking the same of him, Tony being his helpful self told him a few weeks ago to simply tell you— yet it was far from simple.

He wasn’t being self-deprecating, and he knew he was attractive so he wasn’t scared of rejection because of any type of insecurity and more because you two were flatmates, close friends— was ruining that worth it? Hearing you sing Kidnap The Sandy Claws under your breath, he told himself it was more prone to be worth it.

Victor paused the movie, to hell with subtlety. “Hey!” you complained, glaring at him, “you chose the movie, remember?”

He nodded, “you don’t annoy me, you know?”

“Thanks?” you laughed at the, oh so funnily ironic, annoyance clear in his face. “You don’t annoy me either, Victor.”

He considered the possibility of you playing with him to not acknowledge the meaning of what he had said then immediately discarded it when you continued to gaze at him. “I like you, (y/n).”

“Did Tony pay you to be this emotional or is— oh!” You felt like an idiot for undermining the meaning of his comment at first, it wasn’t until you opened your mouth that you saw the shift in his eyes while waiting to see your reaction.

Oh, wow, now you needed to say something before he thought you were rejecting him. Had you even understood him clearly? Did he mean it as a friend? He had never told you he liked you before! Victor didn’t like people, he either tolerated or despised them— it was one of the things you found so interesting about him.

“When you say like, do you mean it as in ‘I don’t want to kill you in your sleep’ or ‘I would literally kill for you’?“ you half-joked to not embarrass yourself in case he didn’t mean it past something platonic. “Those two are kind of two opposites of the liking spectrum so you should probably consider it, maybe?”

Victor exhaled heavily. “Both, honestly.”

Mouth bobbing open and closed, you fully faced him. “You don’t sound convinced...”

“You’re a little annoying, actually, and doing that thing that everyone finds funny but for some reason I find attractive.”

“Ask a question?”

“Talk too much.” You pursed your lips, nodding. He got closer to you on the couch, his eyes never leaving yours. “This is when you tell me you like me back.”

Nodding again, you got closer to him to narrow the space still existing between his and your thighs. “I like you too, and you’re a little annoying too.”

He hummed, the tip of his tongue coming out to lubricate his lips. “I should’ve let you buy that mistletoe, shouldn’t I?”

You giggled, taking him by the neck to place your lips on top of his. Victor reacted quickly, twisting his body to hug you by the middle as the kiss continued. He was so warm, his familiar smell hitting your nostrils as it mixed with the cinnamon-apple air freshener you sprayed earlier actually warming you in the inside. Soft sighs escaped you both, oxygen getting more needed as the seconds passed. You need to breathe properly as much as you wanted to continue kissing him— realizing that, he pulled away enough for you both to catch your breaths.

His hand skimmed the right side of your torso, the other still placed on your back. The way he was looking at you felt more intimate than anything else you had shared with someone before him, maybe because he wasn’t too touchy-feely or maybe because you liked him too much to not appreciate it. He granted you a smile, so charming and so rare, making you smile back. Victor sighed, the warmth of his breath hitting your face, he truly felt home now, peacefully so.

You kissed his nose, one of your hands moving up to play with his soft hair. “Do you still hate the holidays?”

He snorted. Home or not, the holidays weren’t his cup of tea. “Yes.”

#victor von doom x reader #victor von doom x plus size reader #doctor doom x reader #doctor doom x plus size reader #holiday fanfiction #plus size reader #plus size fanfiction #victor von doom #doctor doom #marvel x reader #marvel x plus size reader

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

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A Little Piece Of Heaven (part one)

[Tour!verse]

TW: Surprisingly not many...I guess mockery of religion, specifically Christianity and anything in that branch. Very minor mentions of self harm (like one time- if you blink you’ll miss it). But mainly this fic is just psychological.

———————

Lord of The Flies

Let’s get something clear really quickly: Joan Meutas was not religious. Did she used to be? Unfortunately, yes, but after seeing the world for what it really was, after getting an axe to her vagina from her beloved husband, she has realized that there was no merciful God who would save lost souls. It was all a hoax by crazy old folk from wherever Jerusalem was to herd people into one belief, thinking that it may make them more humane and friendly. But religion has done more harm than good- Christianity damns all non CIS heterosexuals to hell, Jews got murdered by the thousands, that one branch literally won’t eat anything besides fucking grain or some shit, Catholics are just rude as all hell, those fasting things literally cause people to STARVE TO DEATH, and for what? To appease some higher being? Do they truly think they will be saved? If God was so merciful and wonderful and kindhearted, why would he make things like murder and cancer and rape and torture?

Joan even once heard that the Bible stated that when a woman was on her period she had to leave her village and wasn’t allowed to come back UNLESS she had a turtle dove. She’s never read the Good Book before, so she doesn’t know if that was true or not, but it doesn’t sound unlikely given all the stupid rules she’s heard about.

So, no, Joan was not religious.

It’s strange, she thinks, how offended people get when she says it or simply hints at it. Their eyes will practically bug out of their skull and they probably pray for her “lost soul”, maybe even do that weird cross gesture on their chest when they think she isn’t looking. They look at her as if she was actually a demon spy loosed from hell and not just someone who has enough common sense to realize that an “all powerful father” was complete and utter bullshit.

That’s the thing- it’s like the word “atheist” was purposely made to seem like the most evil string of letters to ever be created. You know the words- those synonyms that just sound much worse than the actual root phrase (molest, slaughter, moist). Atheist just has this dark shade to it. Or so religious people say.

But enough of that! There’s a reason why such a taboo subject is being brought up.

Joan was going to contact Death.

As they say, desperate times calls for desperate measures. And desperate Joan was.

You see, her queen- Jane Seymour- used to be quite the woman. Sharp, beautiful, powerful, but also warm behind the closed court doors. Joan was very lucky to see this side of her as her youngest lady in waiting, often getting called gentle pet names and sometimes pats on her head if she was particularly lucky that day. As a touch-starved orphan servant, this was like a pot of gold to Joan- love and affection is something she’s craved long before reincarnation in the modern world. And, speaking of the resurrection, Joan thought she would get even more of Jane’s “Mum Treatment” since they had more time on their hands, but she was very, very wrong.

Jane...Jane was different. She changed. No longer was she the motherly, caring, strong woman from the past, but instead coming back as some reduced version of herself- slightly younger (24, 25, maybe even 23), more awkward and timid, and much less maternal. The way she now looked at Joan wasn’t with compassion, rather...plain curiosity, sometimes even aversion. Her memory of her young lady in waiting has waned- it was as if she didn’t remember that Joan had been at her side the whole time when she was bedridden after giving birth to Edward! Like she couldn’t conjure up the remembrance of a teenager literally watching her rot away and slowly die for days!

To say the least, Joan was not happy. Add in trauma, insomnia, hate on social media, constant stress and pressure from her profession, and a severe lack of friends and you can probably see why Joan was going to such extreme measures.

Now, she knew about the stories. She’s read The Monkey’s Paw. She knows about the consequences of one’s actions. Joan wasn’t going into this completely stupid- have some faith, will you?

Gambling with Death was a risk. A huge risk that could very well end with her soul being ripped out of her mouth or her flesh being worn by a supernatural being that then goes on to commit atrocities under her identity. And not only was it a massive risk to take, it was also very, very stupid.

If I have to spell it out for you, listen closely: Death knows things. A lot of things. They don’t call him the “Lord of The Flies” for nothing. Which is why he loves to play games for those desperate enough to contact him because he knows he is much smarter than whatever pathetic, miserable piece of useless garbage comes clawing at a mirror, begging him to reveal himself. And unless you have every secret of the universe, you’re probably going to get ass-blasted back to Tuesday.

Oh, what am I saying? You won’t get a second chance.

You’ll be long gone by then.

And whatever state the cops find your body in the next morning depends on whatever mood the beast was in.

However, in Joan’s case here, she is desperate and stupid enough to take the risk. In her eyes, she doesn’t have much to live for. She’s a slave to SIX- day and night she’s working endlessly over musical paperwork and the same songs over and over and OVER again. It doesn’t help that she isn’t the closest to the rest of the cast and is often left alone when everyone else goes out and has fun. The scars on her wrists are evident of how many nights she’s been alone.

Without Jane, she has nothing to live for. She needed her.

And that’s exactly why she was sitting on the floor in front of a mirror propped against the wall in the dark theater surrounded by candles and a semicircle of salt.

Joan has done a lot of studying up to this point. She knows she has everything correctly, now she just has to get Death to appear...and hope he doesn’t immediately pull her small intestines out from her throat for bothering him.

Joan stares into the mirror as hard as she can, closes her eyes, then counted to ten. Her eyelids lingered shut for longer than she would like to admit after she hit the number one, but she eventually pried them open.

It was not her reflection staring back at her.

To be honest, Joan wasn’t exactly sure of what she was expecting to see. Some parts of her believed nothing would happen, other parts convinced itself that a grim reaper-like figure or a horned, goat-legged demon would be kneeling on the other side of the glass wielding a scythe or pitchfork. However, a suit-wearing young man was not really something that crossed her mind in her theories.

If Joan wasn’t a lesbian, she might have found him attractive, but he definitely was at a straight woman’s perspective. Perfect smile, the most amazing cheekbone structure, unflawed olive skin, neatly combed brown-blonde hair, a broad chest, phenomenal shape- if it weren’t for his yellow eyes with slit pupils, he might have been the perfect lady’s man (although, knowing straight women, they probably wouldn’t care for his demon eyes- after all, you don’t need to see someone’s peepers to suck cock!).

Joan sat completely bewildered, all of her confidence draining and being replaced with dread that drenches her like a thick, dark oil spill. She can feel her hands, which are lying in her lap, starting to tremble and clenching her fingers doesn’t help at all. The ability to form a coherent sentence slips from her mind, so Death speaks first.

“Hello, Joan Meutas.”

This guy is the real deal. He pronounced her last name correctly!

Joan opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water and Death is thoroughly amused by her sardine impression. He watches her through the glass, waiting patiently for her to learn how to enunciate again.

“H-h-hello-”

“Yes, yes, h-h-hello to you to,” Death laughed. He wasn’t directly trying to be cruel, but Joan’s self esteem was far enough into the ground to hear his jibe as a mockery of her understanding of the English language. “If I let you speak the whole time we are going to get nowhere! Pull yourself together, kid. You should see the look on your face! You look like you just got caught making out with the family goat!”

Joan’s expression remained one of fright.

“What? Didn’t you own a goat back in- god, what year were you born? 1517 or 1525? Historians paint it as both! But I thought a family farm animal was the big rave back then! I apologize- I need to catch up on the modern slang. Say, would you be considered a ‘boomer’? Because I have been DYING to use that phrase on someone who contacts me. Could you imagine it?” He warps his voice into one of a pruny old woman, “‘I wish for great fortune!’ ‘Okay Boomer.’” Death bursts into fits of maniacal laughter that sounded as if a thousand lost souls were chortling together at once.

Joan is still silent, but during Death’s monologue she was able to wire her brain back to functionality. She sits up a little bit straighter and Death notices, so he containers himself instantly, also fixing his posture.

“Ready to talk now?” He asked.

“Yes.” Joan answered.

“Wonderful,” There’s a glint in his piercing yellow eyes, “What is it that you desire of me?”

Joan gathers up all her courage, sits up a little taller, and says, “I desire to challenge you to a game of question-and-answer.”

The glint flares into a blaze of confidence. If Joan stares hard enough, she swore she could almost see the fires of Hell burning in his eyes.

“How fun,” The words ooze out from Death’s pale lips, soaked in liquid menace. “Shall I go over the rules?”

Joan nodded. She knew them, she knew she did, but it would be good to hear them one last time.

“Very well,” Death said. He cleared his throat and began speaking as if he were reading off of a manual, “Death’s Gambit: A two-player game between the Lord of The Flies himself and a human. After being conjured- just gonna skip over that process, you’ve clearly got it down, kid- and initiating the game, both parties will have sixty-six minutes and six seconds to answer as many questions correctly as possible. Anything can be asked- trivia, personal inquiries, riddles, even dares, as long as the salt circle is not exited. The catch of the whole thing is this: The Prince of Darkness is obligated to tell the truth only if the human answers correctly to his question or does a requested dare or the human manages to stump him. However, if he answers correctly or the human answers incorrectly to HIS question, he may lie about whichever question he wants. The score will not be revealed until the very end once the time is over. If the human wins, the Keeper of Souls MUST grant any one wish they have. If He-Who-Lies wins, the human will be the victim to whatever losing punishment he comes up with. Remaining rules include: The salt circle cannot be left- you may find yourself no longer in your dimension-, the game cannot be quit until the time is over, items like watches or phones are not permitted to be used to look up answers or keep track of the time. Good luck and Beelzebub be with you.”

Despite knowing this all already, hearing it out loud, spoken by the beast himself, made it all hit home for Joan. She was really doing this; she was gambling with Death.

She had to be the stupidest fuck to ever grace God’s green earth.

“Are you ready to begin?” Death asked.

Joan took a deep death and answered, “Yes.”

A wicked smile curled on Death’s lips. The candles around Joan blaze.

“The game is on.”

A dark feeling weighed down on Joan after that was spoken. The air around her seemed to shift. Her gut was screaming at her to run away, to hide, to do something other than just sit there, but she couldn’t move. Not from fear, but from sheer will. She couldn’t be stupid. Who knows what lurked outside her thin salt circle....

As he usually did, Death initiates the game and asked his first question.

“What was the name of Catherine Parr’s true love?”

Like that, a cold stone drops deep into the pit of Joan’s stomach. Of all the questions she expected him to start off with, Tudor history was not one of them. It startles her, takes her by surprise, and she realizes very quickly that that’s exactly why Death asked it. He’s trying to disorientate her right off the bat and weaken her before she has the chance to get some points in.

She could not let that happen.

It’s just that- she didn’t know Tudor history outside of knowledge on her queen and whatever is said in the show. The others certainly did talk about their past lives, but Joan- she-

It stung, to say the least, when she realized that Death knew about her nonexistence friendships with the queens. And that he was targeting that.

“Thomas Seymour.” Joan finally said.

She was pretty sure that was the right answer...but not completely positive. And, because of that, her worried mind began to scream doubts inside of her brain.

Was that a trick question? He’s supposed to be the embodiment of pure evil- wouldn’t he think Henry is Parr’s true love? Was Henry the right answer?

“Your turn.” Death said, not reacting to Joan’s answer, which scares her even more.

“What’s- why did you choose to show up in that body?”

“Oooh, you’re starting with a personal inquiry!” Death said, laughing, “How fun! And I hope you’re not flattering yourself, Joan- I don’t look like this to make your pussy wet. Trust me, I could look way more attractive, but I know you.” Those three words slither into Joan’s ears and made her shudder. “Isn’t the whole point of being a lesbian to not be attracted to men?” Death laughed again, “But I look like this because I want to. I can take whatever shape I want! Remember that one time I was a snake? That was weird. Although, peeping at a naked chick was pretty damn fun. As a lesbian, you could probably appreciate the sight.”

For just a moment, the image of Death disappears, the mirror hazes to white, and Eve appears. Not the paintings you always see- THE Eve, bare breasts and vagina and all, and if Joan weren’t also asexual, her own genitals may have been burning with desperate pleasure.

“She was a sight.” Death said, returning to view. He chuckles, then immediately goes to his next question, “What was the exact height of Mount Everest in the year 1666?”

Joan’s heart just about stopped.

How in the holy hell was she supposed to know that? Then again, that was probably the point of asking such a thing.

“Three...hundred feet?” It came out as a question, but it’s taken as an answer and Death doesn’t react except for a slight twitch of his nose. “What...is the hardest piece to learn on the piano?”

“Liszt.” Death answered smoothly. “What animal can see the most amount of colors?”

“A...dolphin.” Joan physically cringed at her answer. “Who wrote Liszt?”

Is this what she was going to be doing the whole time? Asking the King of Hell fucking piano trivia?

“La Campanella.” Death once again answered perfectly. “What is the full chemical name for the antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication, Zoloft?”

Wasn’t that the medicine Joan was supposed to take for her anxiety?

“I- I don’t know.”

Death just hummed and awaited his next question. He didn’t laugh at her like she expected him to, which slightly lightened the blow of her stupidity.

“What’s my favorite song in SIX?”

“None of them. Why did you stop taking your Zoloft pills?”

The answer followed by such a question felt like Joan was just punched in the stomach with a spiked gauntlet. She swore she was winded by some unseen force (probably shock). Her breath hitched in her throat and she seemed like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I-” She hunched her shoulders around her neck. Death is giving her a curious look, which was at least better than worry or concern. “They- they weren’t helping me...so I didn’t think there was a point taking them if they weren’t going to fix me.”

Death hummed once more, this time louder and more enthusiastic. He clearly liked her answer.

“Interesting,” He mused, then quiets himself for the next question.

“What’s standing behind me?”

Ever since the game began, Joan picked up on the presence of something staring at the back of her head. She could feel their eyes burning into her skull, sometimes even breathing on the back of her neck.

Death smiled. “See for yourself.”

Joan saw nothing in the reflection, just darkness beyond the candles and Death, and she was not about to go and look away. She was scared about what would happen if she turned her gaze away from the mirror for even a second.

When Death realized Joan wasn’t going to fall for his tricks that easily, he quirked an impressed eyebrow and moved on.

“Will you greet the worker who just came in?”

Joan glanced fearfully to the corner of the room. A figure is hunched there. The glow from the candles just barely licks at their claws.

“What was their name? Terrance?” Death said, “Doesn’t he work in lightning?”

“That’s not Terrance,” Joan murmured.

Death took it as an answer, it seems. He leans in close to the glass and when he whispers, his hushed tone is right at the back of Joan’s ear.

“You don’t want to know what he really is.”

Joan can feel a panic attack rising in her chest. Death is trying to scare her, stray her from answering coherently or correctly and get her to waste time by freaking out. She had to steer the game back into calmness.

Or, rather, however calm a Devil game could get.

“What do I have in my pocket right now?”

Death seems a little bothered that the cryptic theme was interrupted, but he gets over it.

“One black pen that’s almost out of ink, a granola bar you promised yourself you would eat, and a rosary you stole from Aragon.” He said, “Oh and, by the way, that isn’t going to protect you from me. So return it as soon as possible or Aragon is gonna be PISSED!” He laughed, imagining the storm the golden queen would cause if she caught Joan with such a precious belonging.

Joan swallowed thickly. She didn’t want to check her pockets. She didn’t want to know that he was right.

“What is the color of the sky?”

It seemed like an easy enough question, but Joan, believe it or not, knew better than to fall for such a simple trick. She wracked her brain for a moment, then answered, “Black.”

Death doesn’t react aside from licking over his dried lips. His tongue is too pointy. Joan moves on.

“Does Jane care about me?”

Honestly, the question kind of surprised her. It bubbled up from her throat from out of nowhere- yes, she had been wanting to ask it so badly, but she didn’t actually expect it to come out.

“Yes.” Says Death.

For a moment, joy bursts through Joan, but the metaphorical, celebratory confetti is sucked up by the vacuum of doubt.

Is he lying? Is he giving me false hope? Or is he telling the truth?

“What’s your blood type?” Death asked.

“A...AB.”

Like Joan fucking knew that.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Blue.” Death smiled, “Because the blue sky would always remind you of opportunities for a better life.”

A shiver runs down Joan’s spine. She didn’t like how he knew that.

“What’s something that you can’t eat for lunch or dinner?”

He’s asking a riddle. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, thinking.

It couldn’t be a food. That was too easy.

Think, Joan, think!

“...Breakfast.”

Death chuckles. Joan doesn’t know what to think of that.

Twenty minutes pass by in a blur. Cold sweat soaks Joan’s brow, dripping down her face, but she’s too scared to move from her stiff position. Her back muscles hurt from sitting like a statue for so long- how the hell does Death look so relaxed? Then again, he doesn’t really have much to worry about.

He doesn’t have to worry about the possibility of being mutilated or dragged to Hell or that that figure in the corner has been getting closer and closer as the minutes passed by.

“Do you think every human deserves to live?”

The question came out of nowhere, really. Death had been asking mostly trivia up until that point. He tittered at Joan’s stunned expression, then raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Well?”

“No.”

Joan didn’t hesitate because she knew it was the truth. Not everyone deserved to live. Rapists, pedophiles, serial killers, racists, homophobes, terrorists, abusers- they didn’t deserve life. People like them deserved to die.

And anyone who doesn’t believe that is a fucking idiot.

“Do YOU think every human deserves to live?”

Death scoffed. “Of course not.” He peered at Joan, really analyzing her for the first time. His yellow slit eyes raked over the girl, making her feel uncomfortable and violated. “You know, you and I think a lot alike. Not many humans give ‘no’ as their answer. They think optimism will make them seem like a good person. It’s pathetic.”

Joan just nodded silently.

“Now...where were we? Oh, yes.” Death leaned in, “Which queen suffered the most?”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows. The whole point of the show was to not compare, especially traumas, but...

“Katherine Howard.”

Come on- clearly K Howard had it the worst. The girl was violated by four different men before she was an adult! None of the other five stories combined could possibly rank to the fifth queen’s suffering.

“Honestly, I think the same!” Death said, “I mean- what is UP with the whole ‘one of a kind, no category’ gimmick? How stupid! Last time I checked, being a victim of sexual abuse doesn’t make you ‘one of a kind.’ Why would you even think of it that way?“

Joan nodded slowly.

“I agree,” She said, “Um- here’s my next question: Is this question false?”

Death raised his eyebrows and cooed in obvious interest.

“True.” He said, smirking. “My turn. Do you resent the queens?”

Joan actually recoils. Death laughed.

“I-”

Did she? Did she resent the queens? Surely she didn’t... She couldn’t! The queens were perfect! How could anyone ever hate them?

“No.”

Death almost looks disappointed.

“What’s worse than death?”

“You’re living it.”

Cold sweat drips down Joan’s face. It stings her eyes and is salty on her tongue. She hears noises all around her, but doesn’t dare to look. She already knows “Terrance” is on his knees beside the salt circle and his leaning his face in right next to hers. She can smell the rot on him.

“Have you ever wanted to hurt the queens?”

Death’s questions are definitely ramping up in darkness. Was the time close to ending? Is that why he’s getting deeper?

Joan shut her eyes tightly for a moment, but opened them quickly when the fear of losing sight of Death nagged at the back of her mind. Before her, on the other side of the mirror, the being is waiting patiently, eagerly for her answer.

“Sometimes,” Joan breathed, “Yes.”

Death smiles a wicked smile.

“How interesting,” He purred, then gestured for Joan to ask her question.

“Does God exist?”

“Unfortunately.” Death groaned, then laughed. He inspected Joan again. “How would you hurt the queens?”

Joan felt her stomach ache. She didn’t like that question. She didn’t want to think about actually hurting the queens, even if she’s considered it one or two times before.

“I- I haven’t really given it any thought.” She answered, then quickly sputtered out her next question before Death could comment, “Does the Bible speak the truth?”

“Of course not.” Death said. “My next question is this: If I were to give you a task, would you do it?”

“Depends,” Joan said, “What would the task be?”

Death held up both arms in a shrugging motion. “I don’t know! Pick up my dry cleaning? It depends! Don’t put me on the spot like that!” He then laughed that horrible laugh again. Once he contains himself, he says, “Time is ticking. The game is almost over. I want to switch things up before we end. I have a dare for you.”

Joan nods.

“Stab yourself in the hand.”

That flush of icy cold dread floods through Joan’s system again. Every part of her being screamed at her to refuse, there will be other offers or questions she could make up for, but she knew that was just false hope. Like Death said: time was almost up. She couldn’t risk refusing and docking more points (if she isn’t in the negatives already, that is).

“Fine.” She forced out through her teeth.

She reached for the pen in her pocket, but Death held up a hand.

“Don’t use that inky thing,” He said. “It won’t get the job done. Please- allow me.”

He flicked his wrist and a large carving knife appears out of thin air and clatters to the floor in front of Joan. She stares at it for a moment, then picked it up, setting her left hand down in its place. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, and plunged the blade down.

Joan couldn’t choke back the scream that burst from her lips. She cried at the pain, sobbing in horror when she looked down to see the knife practically pinning her hand to the floor. Dark red blood pools around her fingers, gushing and spurting like spigot from the wound when she pulls the blade free. She cradled her wounded hand close to her chest, weeping weakly.

“Very good,” Death cooed, clapping.

Joan raised her eyes slowly and Death smirked at how lit up they were, almost like hot coals.

“I have a dare for you.” Joan growled, her voice low and dangerous.

“I accept.”

“Change your eye color to blue.”

For a moment, Joan swore she saw the slightly twitch on Death’s features. She watched him close his eyes, sit their silently for a moment, then open them again.

They were still yellow and slit.

“I cannot.” He said. However, he wasn’t angry or irritated at being stumped, rather amused. “Next...what is the flying speed of a swallow?”

Joan ripped off of a strip of her shirt and wrapped it around her bloody hand, hoping it would be a good enough substitute for real bandages for now.

“African or European?”

Death grinned. And that grin only grew wider as the candles around Joan went out until only the one behind her remained lit.

"̸̡̢̢̣͓͚͖̪̼̪͑͊̈́͋̀́̾͗͘ͅT̷̼̺͈̮̜͔̙͂̋̉͋͛̈̿̀̕͜͠͝i̸̢̹̙̼̠͓͚̖̗͔̮̔̌͂̓̐̊̈́̔̃̕m̸̡̱̤̱͙͎̦̱͙̪̻̓̅͌̉̀̈́̐̄͒̌̕͘͝e̸̟̳͒'̸̗͎̞̙̋̎̓́́͑̉͐͑̈́s̷̰̬̙͖̲̩͚̥͈̝̩̻̻̮̭͂̀̐̓̑̓͌̓̀́̐̐ ̷̡̳͍̗͉̝͔̃̑͛̀͊͌͆̌̒̃̔͘̚͠ͅû̵̞̠̣͉̻̖̅̓̄̏͝p̷̛͖͎̮̖͇̬̮͉̥̲͈̟͊̃́̃̏̇̇͛͗̅̕͘,̷̢̧̧̹͈̗̝͙̪͉̖̆̈́ͅ ̸̲̩̥̇͂̓͌̀̋͗̀͛̚J̵̼̣̋ö̴̡͕̺̪̠͓̹͔̂͝ą̶̡̜̭̤͖̭̫̝̘̆̂̾̐͊̾̒̂̏n̶̛̛̬̦̥̠̮̐̓̃̋̍̒̂͐̂̽ͅ.̴̪̰̩̀͊̑̐́̂͗̍̐̈́̚"̴͍͆͛́̈́̈́̍͆̀͗͘͝͝

It was almost impossible to breathe. Joan can barely hold herself together- the tears are flowing freely and she can’t get them to stop. She would say a prayer for her damned soul if it weren’t for the whole atheist thing, and she worried that Death would get angry at her for it, even if it was said in her mind, which he couldn’t possible read (or, at least, she hoped he couldn’t).

Still, she bowed at the waist and thanked Death for the game.

“Let’s tally up the score, shall we?”

Joan first saw blood start to spread across Death’s midsection, then a sharp sting struck her in the stomach. She hissed in pain and lifted her shirt slightly, as did Death, and they both saw tally marks upon their flesh.

Death had twenty-three.

And Joan watched in shock as a twenty-fourth tally carved down through her skin right before her eyes.

“Congratulations, Joan Meutas,” Death says, “You’ve won. What is it that you wish for?”

#six the musical #six the musical tour #six uk tour #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six fic #six ff #tour jane seymour #jane seymour #tour joan on the keys #joan on the keys #tw: religion

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Manifestation Magic Learn This, and Your Life Will Change Forever!

I 'd like you to visualize a yard. In this yard, the soil is constantly abundant with nutrients as well as what you plant, it will expand.

There is rainfall and also sun so you do not have to stress about anything.

You can grow anything. There are no restrictions. You can plant roses or you can grow toxin ivy. You can plant tomatoes or you can grow nightshade, a dangerous poison. What you place

in, as a seed, will ultimately become something a lot bigger. This garden is your mind as well as the seeds you can plant are your thoughts. Your mind is a fertile location where the thoughts you plant, will grow and make up for what your life is. Or as the old passage from the Bible goes, from guide of proverbs, phase 23, verse 7:"As a male thinketh in his heart, so is he, ".< p design =" box-sizing: border-box; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">

Your ideas, your sentences, manifest the bordering truth. Manifestation magic.

Your life, excellent or negative, is nothing greater than a representation of the thoughts you've grown in your mind and also nourished. These ideas came to be habits. Behaviors came to be results.< p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px;"> You are where you are right currently due to the fact that deep down in your heart, this is where you wanted to be, no matter exactly how unfortunate or unfair this might seem. This principle is just one of the oldest spiritual regulations out there. It's also among the finest known. You may know it under a different term. This is"you become what you

consider".

As well as you can find this in all of globe's religions. Some variant of this exists in Hinduism, in Christianity as well as in essentially every various other significant religion. It's found in all belief systems, as the one utilized by the Chinese. It's as much of a doctrine as gravity. Long prior to books existed, sensible people comprehended that our ideas materialize our reality.

It functions on two levels.

First, your ideas are connected to deep space on a quantum degree

. We manifest what we actually think.

Allow me make this clear though. You do not materialize what you believe you believe.

You manifest what's in your heart. If

you believe you deserve distress and pain, then regardless of what you state, this you'll get. A large amount of people think they have favorable thoughts when their inner guide is constantly negative and also damaging.

That voice will always win. Maybe this is why LoA fails for numerous individuals- they're trying to grow trees of success and success while growing seeds of uncertainty as well as pain and suffering.

It does not function in this manner. You obtain what remains in your heart. The world will manifest it. However what remains in your heart is the reality and we may not always understand of this fact. Life does not provide you what you meant. Life gives you what you ask. And also while lots of people mean for riches as well as delight and also health, their thoughts are of hardship and also sadness and also misery. Since this is what they're planting, this is what the cosmos appears.

2nd, your thoughts result in beliefs. Your ideas result in activities.

Your actions result in end results. Your end results brings about your destiny.

The ideas you plant in your mind will certainly identify just how you act, on a level that's so subtle that you can not also regard it. Who you are, is the repercussion of the ideas you've adopted. It's tough to understand this.

It gets on the same degree of breathing. You realize your breath just if you focus. You recognize your actions and also where it originates from just if you evaluate it. But every little thing you are originates from the ideas you've once grown in your mind as well as then allow them become a component of you.

So when you plant positive ideas, you obtain favorable results. When you plant love as well as happiness, your behavior will mirror love as well as it will certainly produce joy for yourself and also for others. When you plant ideas of prosperity and also wealth, your actions will develop wealth and also prosperity in the globe.

Consider this like the captain of an airplane.

A plane is substantial, lugs hundreds of guests and also weighs 10s of heaps. Yet, you will find just a couple of pilots in the cabin, controlling this big device. So is with your life. Also if your actions is definitely intricate, there are simply a few ideas that control every one of

it and also if you change those thoughts, whatever will alter for you too.

The thoughts you plant in it will certainly both show up truth as

in developing reality itself and also form your habits to develop the results you desire.

Both are essential. This world is a 50-50 place. The cosmos can manifest the opportunities you need at this minute yet you should act to take advantage. If good luck knocks at your door, you still require to unlock.

It's like in this old joke. An angler is caught up in a storm. His watercraft is sinking. Hopeless, he prays to God. "God, please save me, I'll be excellent, I'll repent, just save me " A few minutes later on, a boat appears."Hello there, do you need any assistance? ", the do-gooder asks him.

"No, no, God will conserve me", the fisherman solutions. Perplexed, the hero leaves. Ten mins later, the same things happen. An additional boat appears. They supply to help him. The fisherman rejects stating that God will assist him. At some point, the boat sinks, he passes away and goes to heaven. There, face to face with God, he asks ... "God, why did you left me to die? I hoped to you as well as I assured I'll repent for my wrongs".

God checks out him and claims "What are you discussing? I've sent you two boats". This is a joke, but this is exactly how life works also.

We manifest opportunities yet you have to take advantage of these chances. If you are a property agent and you intend to shut a big offer, your ideas will materialize this possibility. The universe will line up individuals, locations and also conditions for this to happen.

Yet these people, locations as well as conditions won't come to you in your living room. You need to still act and also do something. Or possibly you want to locate the love of your life.

Thoughts of love as well as recognition will manifest your perfect partner but your partner will not knock at the door and also ask you for a date. Deep space resembles a tree that supplies you the fruits you need, in boundless abundance, however you still should get hold of those fruits from the tree.

And also it all starts with your ideas, with your beliefs. Make a commitment currently to fill your mind with favorable thoughts. Make a commitment to assume just ideas of love as well as happiness and also wealth.

At first, it will be difficult. If you're used to plant only poisonous substance in your mind, it will certainly take a while until you take it all out. Once you do, you'll see something extraordinary happening. You'll see just how you'll stroll right into the best circumstances. You'll locate on your own in the ideal places, at the correct time, to get what you want.

Exactly how can I aid you do this?

Manifestation Magic consists of covert NLP commands which work as seeds to plant in your subconscious mind. NLP is an effective modern technology built around the very best schools of psychotherapy as well as hypnosis. It allows you to "program" your subconscious mind - planting seeds right into the productive ground of your mind as well as heart.

This implies you can listen to these tracks prior to going to rest and also change what you think, placing no initiative in any way.

Manifestation Magic constantly includes the best of brainwave entrainment, which educates the brain to operate at a higher frequency and also is constructed around the Solfeggio scales, tones that will certainly heal you and also assist you materialize miracles in your life.

Click below to uncover exactly how Manifestation Magic can assist you grow far better ideas into your mind and materialize the life you are entitled to.

>>Click Here To Manifest Magic Into Your Life<<

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