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megalony · 2 months ago

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What A Healer Can't Fix

This is anew Emperor Geta imagine, based on a lovely anon request. I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

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Joseph Quinn Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) is the Empress, it's her role to provide Geta with an heir. But that seems to be the one thing she can't achieve, and she wonders if she is cursed.

(Mentions/ description of miscarriages)

Enjoy.

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Geta's foot began to tap incessantly against the floor and the calm, composed expression on his face was slowly beginning to waver and fade into something tiresome and irritated.

He had been more than kind, more than considerate in listening to the Senates constant quibbles and demands and pointless babbling. He was sure he had been stood on this very spot for longer than half an hour with these two men who couldn't seem to see his rising temper. Did they expect him to stand around and wait until the sun dipped behind the sea and the stars lit up the sky? Did they expect to reel off every scripture to him and have him stand here and listen to it all?

None of their problems were worth Geta's time and he had been kind enough by agreeing to their first two demands of him. What they were babbling about now had washed over his head. He hadn't been listening intently any more and he thought that would have been abundantly clear.

His ringed fingers were starting to twitch and curl into fists at his sides and he began spinning the golden ring around his index finger, an old habit to try and keep himself composed.

During lessons that he and Caracalla frequently missed and ignored, Geta would mess with his jewellery to try and sustain his attention and stop his mind from drifting away. It helped him to concentrate but right now he was focusing more on controlling his temper and his attitude than sustaining whatever information they were trying to droll off to him.

He couldn't help the sigh that tumbled past his lips and his head angled to the right as his brow rose and his lips formed into a thin line with a slight crinkle to his upper lip. A look which clearly told the Senates how unsatisfied he was about being deadlocked in this conversation with them, but it didn't seem to put them off at all.

"… and I'm sure you can see this would be an inconvenience, Sire."

Whatever inconvenience Senator Caus was talking about couldn't have been much worse than the one Geta was currently enduring.

"And what is it you'd have me do?" There was a snappy tone to Geta's voice that added with the tapping of his golden sandal against the marbled floor. What was he supposed to do about this? What were they hoping for? He would agree to almost anything at this point if it would stop them from bothering him so much.

Every other day they would steer him in another direction after a meeting and talk his ear off about their problems. Most of the Senates seemed to think that because Geta tried to do a good job and not make enemies with them, that he was therefore agreeable to anything and he would give them what they wanted. They all acted like his most entrusted confidant and tried to worm around him for what they needed.

It was as annoying as it was unsettling that they thought he would be so swayed and so easily moulded to their ideals.

Geta was not naïve. He wasn't stupid and he wasn't ignorant or a silly little boy who needed guidance on the throne. He was ruling for both himself and his brother who was more incapable these days than he was lucid in his mind. Geta wouldn't have people walk all over him or try to sway Caracalla when he wasn't in his right mind.

"If you would sign our agreement to show your support, we could-"

"You expect me to sign without reading it first? Do you think me so naive?" His abrupt response caused both men to pause and stare at him with wide, panicked eyes.

Of course they did. They wanted him to sign so they would be truimphant against the Senate they had been having quabbles with. Well Geta wouldn't sign even if it would prevent headaches like these.

He watched them both struggle for a response, but something caught his eye and Geta found himself leaning to the right to look behind them.

A light in the darkness. A saving grace had appeared just behind them and Geta could feel his system calming down already and he internally sighed.

(Y/n).

His wife was standing at the far end of the hall, looking like a Goddess that had come down to Earth. The white dress she wore shone in the sunlight that streamed through the open windows, but it was the seams of gold woven into the fabric that caught the light in the perfect way to reflect sparkles and streaks around the walls. Almost as if she were a fallen piece of the sun giving off her own light for everyone in the palace.

Even from a distance, Geta was sure that he could see a flower or two woven into her intricately braided hair. And he could see the bangles and bracelets shimmering and bouncing on her wrists.

She never used to wear much jewellery until she married Geta. He had a love of pretty things and he liked to gift them to her, especially ones made out of gold. Gold was the symbol of Royalty, and coupled with the fact that both Emperors had golden hair and were always dripping with golden clothes, it seemed to embellish the fact that they were supposed to rule. They were here to govern and guide Rome to glory.

Geta seemed to wear more jewellery than his wife, but he liked that she wore the pieces he gave to her. The many bracelets, the three rings she wore, and one long necklace that reached her cleavage and was carved into the image of the sun. Those were all she wore each day, and they were enough to make her the image of an Empress that the people of Rome loved and admired.

She was just the excuse Geta needed to get him out of this dreary confrontation.

"Find me the papers in the morning and I'll read them." It was clear by Geta's tone that he was dismissing the subject and he wasn't going to stand and talk about this any longer.

Geta unclenched his hands and flexed his fingers and with a slight dip of his head, he walked past both men and left their irritating conversation behind him. His sights were set on his wife, she was the only person he wished to be around now.

He could see by the way (Y/n) was stood that she wanted to speak with him. She was stood to one side, hands clasped in front of her and that beautiful smile on her lips that always entranced Geta whenever he was in her presence. If they weren't already married he would be under her spell and begging to have her hand in marriage.

She wasn't trying to weave past any of the passing Senates since their meeting had come to an end, and she wasn't making her way towards the gardens or wandering the palace. She was waiting for Geta, and that thought alone had his heart soaring in his chest.

(Y/n) could feel her smile brightening when Geta approached her and her arms were reaching out for him as soon as he was within reach.

Her hands clasped down on his shoulders and her fingers itched and glided along the pale cream silks of the cape attached to his shoulders. He was in pale colours today, much like she was but of course the jewellery hanging off of him was golden. He had to wear something gold at almost all times, an internal tradition.

"You look tired," (Y/n) glided one one hand up from his shoulder to caress the side of his face. Her fingers traced along his pale cheek and soft skin, brushing along his jaw until he was leaning his head into her touch and almost melting in front of her.

The look in his eyes was a mixture of exhaustion and aggravation and he looked drained. Meetings were always boring to both the Emperors, they could barely keep their attention on what was happening. And people expected more of Geta than they did Caracalla. People knew Caracalla was prone to outbursts and a loss of attention, which meant that Geta had to do the thinking and concentrating for the both of them.

"Hm, your timing is divine or I might have been tempted to get rid of a few of the council men." The way Geta's head ticked to the left to subtly hint to the men behind him made (Y/n) smile.

She pushed up on her toes to press a kiss to his blushing lips that stood out against the rest of his pale features, and she felt the way he sighed and almost crumbled against her. His hands reached out for her hips, pulling her closer until there was no air of space between them, just the way he liked it.

"The meeting went well I take it?" The air of sarcasm in (Y/n)'s voice caused Geta to smile. The meeting hadn't been awful, just draining.

He didn't respond, but he didn't have to when his smile said it all. He tilted his head forward until his temple was softly pressed against (Y/n)'s and he allowed himself to close his eyes, basking in their closeness. His fingers squeezed into her hips and his chest inclined further against hers.

The display of affection was rather surprising. Geta was all for wrapping himself around (Y/n) or having her attached to his arm, but he didn't always cling to her where others could see.

In Geta's mind, if people saw how much (Y/n) meant to him it would put her at risk. The Senates and Council could be so vindictive and if anyone in Rome turned against him, (Y/n) would be the first person they turned to and hurt her to get to him. But right now, Geta wasn't bothered by the passing councilmen who could see how he took refuge in his wife.

"Do you have a moment to talk?" (Y/n) kept caressing her hand along Geta's cheek as she spoke, seeing how the action was clearly soothing and she wondered if he might fall asleep standing up.

His eyes finally opened when her words registered in his ears and a certain look crossed his eyes which narrowed on her for a moment before he nodded. The way she smiled and looked up at him so endearingly told Geta that she wasn't worried or needed an urgent conversation, which was relieving. But there was still something about her expression that had him wondering.

"I have all the time in the world for you."

His hands lingered for a few moments before they finally left her waist and he reached out to entwine their fingers together instead. Geta felt relieved and invigorated at the same time when (Y/n) stood at his side and her free hand curled around his arm like she was binding them together.

He turned to the side and began guiding them down the hall, if she wanted to take he gathered that standing in the hall wasn't exactly what she had in mind. They would go and talk in the sun room, one of (Y/n)'s preferred places because Geta knew she loved to see the sun shining through the large open windows and glistening on the pond that lay outside the room in the garden.

(Y/n) let her head rest on Geta's shoulder and she leaned into him just a little as they took a steady walk down the next hall which was vacant of any other soul. Leaving them both secluded and content as Geta aimed for the sun room and opened the heavy wooden door.

Once they headed into the room, Geta aimed for the sofa in front of the window and gently pulled on (Y/n)'s hand until she took a seat beside him.

It felt like the first time he had truly relaxed all day, possibly all week and it was calming to finally be alone without dozens of people asking things of him and wanting his attention or wanting to get something from him.

When she took her seat beside him (Y/n) kept their entwined hands resting on her lap and she began to glide her other hand up and down Geta's arm like she was stroking and drawing patterns into his skin. He seemed to find the touch entrancing and relaxing as he watched her for a good minute or so before he finally broke the comfortable silence that had enveloped around them.

"You wanted to talk? Is everything okay?"

(Y/n) managed a smile and nodded her head, keeping her eyes on his milky white skin for a little bit longer before she found the will to look up at his concerned features. Despite the smile on his face, Geta looked slightly worried. He was always on edge, expecting things to go wrong or problems to arise, and when it came to (Y/n), she was the main person he constantly worried and fretted about.

Leaning a little closer, she perched her chin on his shoulder which caused Geta to turn his head to the right to look down at her. They were close enough that he was able to press his lips to her temple while he waited for her to explain.

"I saw the healer this morning, I've missed my cycles…" The implication in her words was clear, but (Y/n) had to keep holding her breath to steady her raging nerves and find the will to say it outloud. "I'm pregnant."

She couldn't open her eyes once the words left her lips. She kept leaning into his touch where his lips were glued to her temple and she waited, soaking in his touch until Geta finally leaned back and moved his free hand to cup her cheek. He tilted her head back, waiting for her to open those pretty eyes so he could examine her expression and read the emotions that were always so clear within her eyes.

It was hard for (Y/n) to open her eyes because she didn't want to get lost in the happiness she knew she would see on her husband's face.

Opening her eyes caused her breath to get caught within her lungs again, and she was relieved to see a content grin on his face which morphed when he leaned in to steal a kiss from her lips.

She allowed herself to bask in his touch and nuzzle her cheek into his palm that was cradling her face while adrenaline surged throughout her stomach and up to her chest.

Geta found himself murmuring "Truly?" against her lips, as if the most skilled healer in all of Rome might be wrong in his assumptions. But the nod of (Y/n)'s head was enough to have pride swelling in Geta's chest and a brighter smile beaming across his face.

The healer wasn't wrong and (Y/n) knew this was right, she knew the signs and the symptoms she was experiencing. And she knew that this was news her husband was desperate to hear, and that the Senates would be eager to announce and chime in with their opinions.

Leaning forwards, (Y/n) let go of Geta's hand in favour of looping both her arms around his neck and she tucked her face into his neck. It was comforting to feel his arms binding around her waist, but feeling one of his hands begin to skim across her so far unchanged stomach made tears build up in (Y/n)'s eyes.

"We must tell the council-"

"No."

Geta froze in place at the terror he could hear entwined within his wife's voice. It made his stomach tighten and his chest ache and he found himself pressing a few dozen kisses against her temple before he tried to part her head from his neck so they were looking at one another again.

"Not yet, please. Not- not until we know for sure that they are okay." A single tear traced down (Y/n)'s cheek and her eyes snapped closed when she felt Geta's hand graze along her stomach again.

She couldn't bear to tell the council or make an announcement to all of Rome, not at this early stage. It would break her heart completely and make her feel like a failure if they announced the pregnancy, only for (Y/n) to lose the child.

She couldn't lose another.

"Alright," Geta hummed against her temple in a quiet attempt to calm her down. He didn't want to upset her, not when this was news worth celebrating, not worrying over. "Once you begin to show, then we will make the announcement."

That seemed fair, that seemed amicable that they could announce it with some sense of certainty that they were going to have an heir this time with no bad fortunes attached. It would be a good sign once (Y/n)'s shape began to change and her stomach started to swell, then they would see that this was a fortunate sign and that their child would be okay and thriving.

(Y/n) managed to nod her head and whisper a croaky "Thank you," which showed just how badly she was trying to keep her tears at bay.

She rested her cheek back on Geta's shoulder and kept her arms bound around his neck to keep herself as close to him as possible.

Her eyes closed as she pressed herself as close to Geta's side as she possibly could, inhaling his scent that worked in calming down her wrecked nerves. And the feeling of Geta's hand gliding up and down her back and roaming around her hips was soothing.

She so wished that this time, things would turn out differently.

They had been in this position three times already, and none of those times had ever produced an heir to secure Geta on the throne and prevent a possible future uprising.

(Y/n) hadn't known she had been pregnant the first time. It hadn't been long since she and Geta got married and the maids had to fetch the healer when (Y/n) succumbed to terrible cramps and sickness. She'd lost a tiny child she had no idea she was carrying.

The second time they had known and told the Senates, who had all been pleasantly surprised and eager for a male heir to the throne. They congratulated (Y/n) like she was doing such a good job as being Empress, a position she hadn't had for too long. But she barely started to show before she lost that child too, and it almost destroyed her.

She took to fasting, to praying and going on pilgrimage outside of Rome to pray to Juno. She prayed to be given the chance to have a healthy baby, to give Geta the heir he needed and desperately wanted, to see him with a child in his arms. She wanted a baby, and she begged to all the Gods to let her prove herself to Rome and to have a family of her own.

Geta had started to panic for her until she got pregnant a third time. He saw the way (Y/n) went from frantic to relieved. He watched her try and do everything right, to take things easy, rest, eat only what the healers told her would be best. She did everything she could, but it had been no use.

She miscarried a boy, and it was as if all of Rome had been disappointed in her.

Everyone except for Geta.

He was the only one who didn't shake his head or tut and sigh or say that she would have to try better next time, that she needed to do better to produce an heir. Geta had been the most understanding out of everyone and he had been adamant that no one talk about the losses.

He didn't want anyone trying to belittle his wife or make her feel broken when she was clearly struggling and grieving. He wouldn't have anyone upset her or say a bad word about her because he knew it wasn't her fault, it was the Gods who he was angry with for putting her through this.

Geta tried to get as many healers as he could to make sure (Y/n) recovered, that she was alright and he wouldn't think or have anyone talk about another heir. He wouldn't keep pushing and forcing (Y/n) into this situation if it was going to cause her such agony. That was why pregnancy was such a surprise, as it wasn't planned or as desperately prayed for like the others.

It wasn't as if (Y/n) was infertile, she had known women get married and send themselves into grief and insanity by not being able to get pregnant even once. (Y/n) could get pregnant rather easily, it was keeping and bearing the babies that she struggled to accomplish.

"I want to have a baby." (Y/n) wasn't sure whether she was talking to Geta or just whispering her heart's desire, but she knew he heard her when his arms tightened around her.

"I know, my love. We might have a chance now, hm?" He spoke into her hair while his hand continued to smooth up and down her back.

He would pray to every God he had to in order to beg for this pregnancy to work out. They wanted this child.

Was this finally going to work out?

***

Rubbing her reddened sore eyes with the back of her hand, (Y/n) tipped her head back like she was trying to tip all of the tears into the back of her head to stop them from falling. She felt like she had shed far too many tears already, but they kept on coming until there was bound to be no water left in her body. The shaking hadn't seem to stop yet and (Y/n) wondered whether her system would finally settle or whether she would simply pass out and end her misery that way.

The bleeding hadn’t stopped yet, neither had the cramps. And her body was starting to produce enough heat to rival the sun Geta was always comparing her to. Despite the flimsy evening gown she wore which was thin and loose enough to feel like a scrap of paper covering her than proper material. Maybe passing out would be a blessing in disguise.

What was she going to do?

Another flurry of tears rushed down her face and she tipped her head back against the stone wall as gasping breaths left her blushing lips.

"I- I'm sorry…"

She didn't quite know who she was talking to; herself, Geta who had crossed her mind every second for what felt like hours. Or the life she had just lost.

She had done it again. She had failed Geta, she had lost something so precious to them both, something that had given him hope and had made him so happy for the few short weeks that they had basked in this news. And Geta had been hoping to tell the Council in the upcoming weeks. He had wanted to tell them soon as (Y/n) was just starting to change shape.

Not anymore. Her body had betrayed her, just like it always did and evicted the babies she was so desperate to carry.

Why could all other women in Rome carry children, but not (Y/n)? Why was she not allowed to have an heir, yet there were concubines and women on the street angry that they had to bear more children?

One child. That was all (Y/n) was asking for, just one baby, one heir for her and Geta and for the peace of Rome.

Why did (Y/n) have to be broken like this? Why did she have to be cursed? The Gods disliked her, they bore such a grudge against her that they wouldn't give her the curtesy of being barren. They made her fertile only to lose each child she tried to carry. They were cruel, and (Y/n) hated each and every one of them.

"Why me?"

A broken wail left her lips and her bloodied hands slammed down against her thighs, wishing she could cause more damage to herself. She wanted to look as broken on the outside as she clearly was on the inside. She wanted to curl up and disappear, she wanted to fade from the world so she wouldn't have to bear the consequences of her body's actions.

How was she going to explain her failure to Geta?

The thought of having to tell him- tell the servants and explain to the Council when they eventually found out- made (Y/n) shiver and she twisted to the right just in time to throw up into the bowl resting beside her on the chamber floor.

She didn't want to tell him, but what choice did she have? (Y/n) had done the damage by confiding in Geta what the healer had told her. She had told him far too soon that she had been pregnant, but she did the previous two times as well. She told him because she needed to, she had to confide in him, show him that she was trying and to make him happy. But each time she had stolen that happiness away from him, and now she had to do it again.

She shouldn't have told anyone, she should have waited and maybe this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe she could have hid this quietly and tried again to have a baby without anyone needing to know just how many times she had failed her beloved Emperor and all of Rome.

She didn't want to tell Geta and see the torment in his eyes and the agony on his face. She didn't want his or anyone else's sympathy which she didn't deserve. And (Y/n) didn't want the Senates to show their obvious disappointment in her.

They would say she was infertile, they would try and persuade Geta to have their marriage annulled and get him to marry someone more suitable. Someone who wasn't irrevokably damaged like (Y/n). And they would be right. She was no use to such an Emperor if she couldn't give him the children he needed to carry on his bloodline.

It was clear that she couldn't hide in here forever, Geta was bound to come back to their shared quarters soon, once his business was finished and he had checked on Caracalla. Something he did more frequently now with his brother's raging moods.

She couldn't hide this from him or lock herself in here forever and hope that no one found her or knew anything was wrong.

(Y/n)’s aching heart wanted Geta and the comfort he would give, but her mind was desperate to keep him away.

With a shaky breath, (Y/n) pushed herself up from leaning against the wall and moved onto her knees instead. She couldn't stop the cry from bubbling past her lips when she tried to move her hands but they weren't under her control from how badly she was trembling.

She pushed the bloodied cloths into the corner of the room. She needed to tidy up the mess she had caused, but there was no energy left within her to do so. (Y/n) didn't want to do anything anymore; the one thing she wanted was something she clearly couldn't do. What else was she here for?

(Y/n) let all the energy dwindle away from her body and with little effort, she flopped onto the frozen stone floor on her side. Her knees coiled up to her aching stomach, her arms bound around her chest and her face pressed against the floor.

She didn't care how cold the floor felt against her burning skin or the light chill in the evening air creeping through from the bed chamber. She welcomed the darkness that enveloped her with open arms and wished that it would keep her in its sanctuary forever.

***

Tiredness washed over Geta as he closed the chamber door behind him and stepped out into the darkened hallway lit only by a string of candles spread far along the walls.

His head rolled from side to side trying to straighten the crick in his neck and his shoulders flexed before he looked across at the maid huddled at the side of the door. She looked much like a mouse, head down, arms bound to her chest and feet nervously twitching against the floor as she tried to make herself as small and insignificant as possible.

She only looked up when she felt Geta's inpertinent stare boring through into her soul.

"Keep an eye on him, if his mood changes then fetch me. Understand?" Most of the staff knew that if Caracalla went into one of his rages or sour moods, they were to find Geta. He was the only one able to get any sense out of the Emperor and calm him down.

The maid nodded and when Geta stepped to the side, she slid past him and crept into the room. She needed to refill the wine and keep an eye on the Emperor to make sure he was alright throughout the evening.

With a sigh, Geta moved his hand to cup the bridge of his nose and he tried to ward off the headache rolling in behind his eyes. He needed to get some rest. Being up since the beginning of the sun rising in the sky and still being on the move long after it had set behind the sea was wearing Geta down.

He began his slow descent down the hall towards his own chambers, but his brows furrowed and his head ticked to one side when he recognised a familiar face. It was one of the maids who usually tended to him and (Y/n).

Geta didn't remember most of the names of the servants in the palace, he had a hard enough time remembering the Senates and the few regular guards he interacted with. He had no time calling each member of staff by their name when it was irrelevant to him. But (Y/n) knew. She could talk to each of them and know their names and their favourite drink or some little intricate detail about them.

It was one of the reasons (Y/n) was so favoured as the Empress of Rome. She would know this maid's name, considering this elder maid was someone who (Y/n) always seemed to be chatting and smiling with.

She looked panicked right now. Her skin was pale, verging on grey and her features were contorted into an unsettling grimace that made Geta's own nose crinkle in apprehension and distaste.

"Sire…" She sounded breathless as if she had been running all the streets in Rome and Geta found himself leaning back and getting ready to step away from her as if she were contagious.

"Yes?" He waited, somewhat impatiently for her to speak. Unsure whether she had stopped because she had seen him or whether she had been searching for him specifically.

"The Empress, she- she seems distressed, I don't know what to do."

"What's wrong with her?" A horrible sense of dread began to swell and bubble up in Geta's stomach as apprehension flooded his chest. Why would she say that? What was wrong with (Y/n)? Why say she 'seemed' distressed, she either was or she wasn't.

"She won't let me in the room, sire." The maid seemed to glance around the corridor as if she thought the walls had ears before she leaned in closer to whisper to him. "She's locked the door."

That was frightening.

Mira thought she had a good repour with the Empress, she seemed to be trusted with the Empress's wishes and private thoughts and she was thought of highly. She had always managed to get (Y/n) to eat when she was ill or persuade her to move around after her bad spells and broken moods after her miscarriages. And she knew she was favoured by Geta, when (Y/n) wasn't well Geta asked for her specifically rather than the other servants.

So it was worrying when she tried to enter the Empress's bedchambers to turn down the bed and refill the wine, and found the door locked. That had never happened before. The door was never locked or barricaded and the Empress had never called out for the staff to leave. She had shouted for Mira to go away and there was something in her voice that made Mira sure that (Y/n) wasn't well in herself.

The only thing she could do was find Geta because if any of the servants tried to enter the room and Geta found out, he would dismiss them immediately. They had no right to barge into the room even if they thought something was wrong with the Empress. It was his position to go to her aid so Mira had ran to find him.

Geta's feet were moving before he could comprehend what he was doing and his heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted down the hall with Mira hot on his heels.

By the time he reached his chambers, it felt like his heart was about to claw its way out of his chest and try to burst through the door itself.

Part of him wished that the maid was simply mistaken in her panicked state and that when his hand curled around the brass handle, he would find the door open as usual. The door was locked, just like the maid had said.

He leaned close to the door and waited, listening for any sounds, whether it be (Y/n) crying, coughing, screaming or even muttering to herself. He just wanted to hear something that gave him an indication of what was going on behind that door, but he heard nothing.

He tried to jiggle the handle, desperate for it to open on its own but he couldn't get it to budge. The lock had been pulled across the door.

"(Y/n)? It's me, can you open the door?"

There was a quiet sound on the other side of the door that Geta couldn't decipher what it was. He leaned so close that his ear was almost pressed against the wood. There was a muffled sound, (Y/n) had said something but it was too quiet and distant for Geta to try and work it out. He couldn't hear her moving, all he heard was (Y/n) mutter something before the room went quiet again.

"(Y/n) open the door."

Geta looked at the maid who was stood to one side with her hands clasped in front of her and a panicked expression cemented on her face. This door was going to open one way or another, he would make sure of it. He had to get in that room and see what was happening to his Empress. If (Y/n) was ill, Geta had to be in there with her.

His hand curled up into a fist and before he could stop himself, he thrashed his knuckles on the door, loud enough for (Y/n) to hear wherever she was in their chambers.

She was crying.

He wasn't waiting any longer for her to come and open the door, she was either incapacitated or she didn't want anyone to see her. And Geta didn't care either way because he was getting in there to find out what was happening.

His head snapped from left to right until his wild eyes locked onto a guard a few paces down the hall who was watching the scene curiously. Clearly not wanting to come over and get involved if he wasn't needed. But the moment Geta waved his hand towards the guard, he sped down the hall towards them.

"Open this door."

Perplexion flooded the guard's face; he knew that was the Emperor's own room so to find that he couldn't enter his own chambers was rather worrisome and confusing. But the guard made no attempt to question his Emperor.

He nodded and when Geta stepped back, he hunkered down and began to ram his padded shoulder into the wood. A few strikes and the lock snapped, allowing the door to swing wide open. But as the door opened and the guard tried to walk in, he found the Emperor's hand tight around his arm to stop him.

Geta asked him to open the door, but he didn't ask him to go in and look around. He would find and look after his wife, no one else needed to be involved.

The guard stepped back and stood outside the doorway, clearly wanting to be nearby in case there was a situation that he needed to help with.

Geta stormed into the room, taking caution to look around and see what was happening as he looked for his wife. He could feel the maid following behind but she stood near the doorway, she didn't want to face Geta's wrath in case he told her to get out.

The room looked askew. The sheets on the bed were strewn out of proportion, half hanging on the end of the bed and half tangled in a mess on the floor. The pillows were scrunched and draped in odd positions on the bed like (Y/n) had been moving about and flailing in a hurry. But when Geta got closer to the empty bed, he found his blood running cold and draining down to his toes.

Droplets of blood were stained into the sheets.

"Fetch the healer. Now!"

The maid's already stricken expression paled once again and she nodded, twisting and hurrying from the doorway to find the healer who remained in the palace for such emergencies as this.

With (Y/n) not being in the bed or on the sofa or even at the desk near the balcony, there was only one other place in their chambers where she could be. The privy chamber.

He almost didn't want to look. He didn't want to walk into that room and find out what was happening and what he would be faced with.

It didn't take him long to find her when he walked in.

She was curled up in an awkward shape on the floor, trembling and gasping. But the moment she looked up and realised Geta was there, it was as if the world was starting to crumble and burn around her.

The look of despair in her eyes made Geta's stomach churn and his expression dropped into a gaping look of sorrow when she cried upon seeing him. Why would she look so mortified and harrowing at seeing him? He was by far the only person she allowed and was comfortable with seeing her when she was unwell. Why was this any different?

His robes scrunched around his knees as he crouched down beside her ad gingerly reached his hands out for her. He tried to be delicate and careful when he cupped her face in his hands. He brushed her fallen hair out of her eyes and gently tilted her head up so she was looking up at him. Tears were stained all down her face and her lower lip was speckled with blood from how badly she had bitten her lip. He could feel the way she was shaking, her tremors were vibrating into his bones but it was the fever she seemed to be burning that sent Geta's heart soaring.

(Y/n) lifted a shaking hand up to cup Geta's wrist but all she could do was choke on stuttered breaths and lean into his touch that she had been aching for but too afraid to get him.

"What happened?"

Another floodwave of tears poured down (Y/n)'s face and she shuddered, leaning into Geta's touch despite how badly she wanted to flee from him and his comfort that she didn't deserve.

What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to explain her failure to him and expect him to understand and be rational when he had every right to be angry and disappointed with her?

"I can't… I- I lost them." Each word came out trembling and hoarse and (Y/n) couldn't look up at her beloved husband as she spoke.

Her hand let go of Geta's wrist to point across the room but she still wouldn't look at him. Her head angled to the left and her cheek pressed into her shoulder as she kept her face angled towards the wall and tightly shut her eyes to try and block out Geta and the world.

Geta could feel his heartbeat pulsing so loudly in his ears that his head swayed and he felt like he was drowning.

All the blood. The scrunched up cloths across the floor. The blood smeared into (Y/n)'s thighs and down her legs and smeared into her palms. The shaking and fever in her system. The way she wouldn't look at him or the blood stains that led across the room.

She'd lost the baby.

Geta's throat suddenly went dry and a wave of heat flooded his system as he looked back at his wife. His Empress. The light of his life. The person who made him who he was and made all of Rome love her and their Emperors with little effort.

His hands were reaching out for her and he hated how she writhed and tried to pull away from him, but she didn't have the ability or the effort. When his hands curled around her arms and he eased her forward into his hold until her face was meshed into his shoulder and he could bind his arms around her waist.

He slid one hand up to curl his hand into (Y/n)'s hair and his lips meshed against the top of her head.

He felt her hands scrunch up in his robes and a deep sob left her lips that started to break his heart all over again.

This is what Geta had been afraid of. This is what he worried about when he thought about this pregnancy. Three times they had been in this position and the first had been the easiest because at least they didn't have any knowledge or expectations and no one else knew. No one would look at (Y/n) or look in disappointment that first time.

But this was the fourth time that (Y/n) had been in this position, losing a life she was so desperate to nurture and carry. Each time it chipped a bit of her away and Geta didn't know what to do to piece her back together and help her through this.

All she wanted was to be able to have a child, and the Gods weren't letting it happen.

"Let's get you in bed for the healer."

The rapid shaking of (Y/n)'s head made Geta frown into her hair and she began tugging and yanking on his robes as she started to shake.

"I'm broken, a h-healer can't fix me." There was nothing a healer could do to fix what was damaged inside of (Y/n). There was something twisted inside her, something not normal. Something inadequate for bearing even one child that Geta yearned for and needed.

She was no Empress, she had no right to hold such a high esteem position or be worthy of Geta's love. How could he love someone infertile and cursed? How could be continue this marriage and continue to love her despite her inadequacy?

A strangled gasp left (Y/n)'s lips when she felt Geta's hands cupping her face and tilting her head back so they were once again looking at each other. And his fingertips pressed deeply into her skin until her eyes finally lifted to lock with him.

"There is nothing to be fixed about you. I want the healer to care for you because I will not lose you or have you become ill. Do you hear me?" His nose pressed against hers and their temples merged as if Geta wished to project each thought in his mind into her head.

He wasn't asking for the healer to fix whatever (Y/n) presumed was wrong within her. That wasn't what he was doing. geta wanted the healer to look after his wife and make sure that she wasn't going to succumb to illness or infection from this. Geta wouldn't lose her.

He would kill himself on the steps of Juno's temple if he lost his wife or if he had to in order to exchange his life for hers. Geta wouldn't live without her.

"I can't carry our child," (Y/n)'s trembling hands cupped Geta's wrists once again as an inner turmoil broke out within her.

She wanted his comfort, she wanted his arms around her and his heartbeat to settle her own. She wanted to feel like she wasn't such a failure that everyone in Rome was going to perceive her as once they learned this news. (Y/n) wanted to cling to Geta until the world turned itself the right way round again and came back to normal. She wanted Geta's love to heal what felt broken and unfixable within her.

But he couldn't fix what was wrong with her, and he didn't deserve a wife who couldn't bear him one child. A wife who had lost four of his children despite how she had prayed, pilgrimaged, fasted and listened to all the advice the healer and midwives would give her. She couldn't do anything right.

"I'm no good-"

"You are everything to me!" Geta's voice rose loud enough that (Y/n) shuddered at the volume and the haste in his words. "My world, my Empress, my life. I'm not putting you through this torture anymore, if we don't have an heir I won't lose any sleep over it. Not as long as I have you."

It didn't matter to Geta if they didn't have a child. His yearn for a child would fade and in comparison to potentially losing his wife to illness from losing a life or insanity from not having a child, being childless was something Geta wouldn't lose sleep over. He would happily spend the rest of his life devoting himself to his wife and doting on her, as long as she was healthy and well he didn't care.

But he wouldn't see her go through this again. Each attempt had left her tortured and suffering in agony both mentally and physically when she lost a life. She couldn't go through this again, Geta would see to it that they didn't pose the risk of another pregnancy only to see it end in torment.

His lips glued to her temple and his arms bound tighter around her as he cocooned her to his chest to keep them both secured to one another. He wanted to keep her safe and tucked up against his heart.

His hold was comforting and relieving and (Y/n) could feel herself starting to simmer down, but the ache in her heart felt like her organ was beating with a stab wound right in the centre.

Why couldn't she bear a child? Why had she lost each of them so soon and suddenly?

What had she done wrong?

#imagine #emperor geta imagine #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #geta imagine #geta x reader #gladiator imagine #gladiator ii #gladiator movie #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn

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madnessofmen · 7 months ago

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Hang on fuck wait what is up with that design choice, hole in heart vs hole in head?!?!?! I've played so much and never picked up on that!! Great find and def want to hear thoughts on it if you've got some

In reference to a previous post:

has anybody considered the symbolism of gabriel's armor having a huge gaping hole in the chest

hello? can anybody hear me? hole in the head vs hole in the heart?

Ultrakill is a game about holes, and it's opposite, light, which, in turn, is about self actualization, free will, and determination.

Gabriel's heart

Gabriel's heart hole signifies not heartlessness, but rather alienation from his heart.

Ferrymen have lost their purpose and now wander around aimlessly, hoping that the angels would grant them passage into Heaven, despite Gabriel being the only one who cares about their efforts. (from terminal)

The way in which he "cares" is unclear, and could be anything from relaying their prayers to Heaven (Gabriel is a messenger angel in biblical canon, and is the patron saint of communication), to lawyering it up and advocating for them, to just watching sadly and doing nothing. But the fact remains: if Gabriel were complacent with the Council's rule, he would have simply accepted their verdict that they aren't allowed into heaven and thought no more of it. So the fact that he continued to care, indicates that this is a point on which he DISAGREED with the Council. This strongly implies that he was not just a blind stooge of heaven; he had his doubts even before the events of the game. And yet he persisted in acting as their enforcer. This is a crucial part of his arc that I almost never see people get.

(Gabriel also has lots of parallels with the ferrymen with "powerful bodies, trained skills and blind faith" which may have also played a part in his sympathy for them.)

When the Council severs Gabriel from God's light, "a single burning hatred was born anew." He tells V1, "You've taken everything from me, machine. And now all that remains is perfect hatred." But act 2 is literally titled Imperfect Hatred. It's only after losing a second time to V1 that "Gabriel realized he had been mistaken. The strong fire that burned inside him was not hatred at all, but passion." He has been alienated from his heart for so long that he doesn't know what his emotions are when he feels them, directionless except for where the Council points him.

Head holes and anti-holes

God's absence is a huge hole in Ultrakill. Where before there was the radiant light of God there is now nothing. The Council tried to fill this hole, but they merely serve to embody that continued hole. They have no will of their own, merely "[chasing] after the light of God's fire," and you can see this in their design; they are thoughtless.

Unlike the Council, Gabriel's head bears the cross. He truly believed in the righteousness of God and was persuaded to commit heartless acts in his name. I believe he felt some of that dissonance even as he committed such acts but quashed them under scripture.

Compare now the Council's head hole to V1, whose head is a radiant anti-hole. CRAZY implications in that alone.

The light of its creators is gone, but V1 has its own light, its own will, so self driven (by a love of bloodshed and a desire to live) that anyone can see it. Also note that the lights in V1's chest are over its pectorals. If Gabriel's heart hole is squandered compassion, then V1's pec lights are actualized strength.

Liberation by blood

"So this is what you see in bloodshed?" — unused Apostate Gabriel line

Blood in Ultrakill is implied to have transitive properties, granting all who have it sentience and free will, which is why machines all have personalities. And the machines are dependent on blood to live.

Gabriel's defeat in 6-2 and subsequent clarity of purpose is because of blood, and has two biblical analogs.

I've only known the taste of victory. But this taste is...is this my blood? I've never known such relief.

The first one is Eve eating the forbidden fruit. The serpent says, “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” Original sin is why humans have free will.

Gabriel formerly bore the titles Will of God/God's Will. His song in 6-2 is Death of God's Will. And from intermission 2:

"He drew his blade and held it in contrast with the dying light. In its reflection, he saw a weapon reborn, no longer wielded by the will of another, but his own."

The second analog is holy communion. Bood drinking is a sacrament in Catholicism; it is through eating the body and drinking the blood of Christ that one strengthens their bond and achieves unity with him. But Gabriel is tasting his own blood. His communion is unity of heart and mind. It's only then that he's able to correctly identify what he is feeling.

Gabriel had never before known the joy of a struggle, of coming face-to-face with an opponent of equal or greater measure. Though he had lost twice, each loss only further grew his desire to overcome.

Up until now, he had only done what was expected of him, but now for the first time he had found something he himself wanted. Not even the fast encroaching End of Hell mattered to him anymore.

He wants to beat V1, not for the threat to hell it poses, not for the council, not to regain God's light, but because he wants to.

This communion also allows him to properly consider the doubts he had about the Council that he had previously suppressed.

Having come to realize the horrors he had committed in God's name, he felt a great guilt. Though he could not undo what he had done, Gabriel knew he had to make things right.

When Gabriel frees heaven from the Council's tyranny, he communicates this through blood, and very publicly. Everyone must see the blood, that they are free now.

Radiance

There are many ways God is connected to fire. The song that plays at each secret terminal is "The Fire Is Gone". The Council "chases the light of God's fire." His light is the angels' life force and is described as "embers". Compare this to the language used to describe Gabriel's passion: "a single burning hatred" and "the strong fire that burned inside him". God's light may be almost gone, but Gabriel has his own fire, his own light now. You can see it reflected in his wings and halo, the way they glow radiant gold against blue, not unlike V1.

Sisyphus' terminal entry:

Sisyphus' charisma and drive had made his warriors dependent on his radiance and guidance. Although he did not know why yet, Gabriel recognised this flaw, having experienced it first hand, and ordered a focused assault to take down the king.

Even before the game, Gabriel knew you could not rely on someone else's light! Presumably, he saw it in the losing side during the war in Heaven, but there is the possibility that he experienced it himself. Either way, this would have been one of the things that contributed to his growing disillusionment with the Council's rule, even if he couldn't place exactly why.

Minos' terminal entry:

As manifestations of pure will, souls are incredibly powerful, to the point that even the prideful angels see them as a threat and will use any means necessary to stop them from forming.

As Minos' will was strong enough to attempt to stand up to Heaven's rule, the angels chose to imprison his soul in an attempt to stop it from forming into a prime soul.

The fact that Gabriel not only stood up to the Council, but killed them all, means that he has a will greater than Minos. When his vessel dies, whether by the fading of God's light or one final defeat by V1, he may become a prime soul.

Minos and Sisyphus

Hole vs radiance. Their layers are night and day.

The way they failed to free their respective layers.

The king, rather than fight back, tried to reason with him, but Gabriel mercilessly struck him down without listening.

Sisyphus' time had finally come, and once the angels returned, they were met with a force and fury that had boiled in the hearts of men for millennia, a warcry so fierce it shook the very foundations of Hell.

Their feelings about their defeat to Gabriel.

From the prison inside his own body, Minos helplessly watched as his soulless corpse, now controlled by parasites, tore apart everything he had worked so hard to build, cursing his own weakness for failing to protect his people.

To him, fighting an impossible battle with full knowledge of its futility and taking joy in just the act of resistance itself is the ultimate rebellion against the oppressor.

(Compare also Apostate Gabriel's "joy of a struggle" vs Sisyphus "taking joy in just the act of resistance." One must imagine Gabriel happy.)

Their feelings about their defeat to V1.

Forgive me my children for I have failed to bring you salvation from this cold, dark world.

Ahh...So concludes the life and times of King Sisyphus. A fitting end to an existence defined by futile struggle, doomed from the very start...And I don't regret a SECOND of it!

Think about it.

#ultrakill #gabriel ultrakill #ultrakill meta #HOLE THEORY WINS AGAIN #hole theory #i will never stop talking about holes

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pen-and-umbra · 6 months ago

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The parallels between Masamune & Robio and Sephiroth & Nibelheim cases are so on the nose, it's not even funny.

FS ep. 2 chapter 2 makes a point of using similar expressions when describing Masamune's and Sephiroth's descent into madness and subsequent murder spree.

(Sephiroth): And that was it. He stayed holed up in the basement...reading and reading... like a man POSSESSED. (Masamune): Robio's tools and weapons were the responsibility of a single smith. One day, he took up his hammer as if POSSESSED, and poured all of his energy into crafting a remarkable blade.]

As a result, both men's behaviour is described as obsessive to the point of appearing possessed.

This possessed-like behavior eventually leads to a very specific type of carnage: the settlement is burned down, and the townspeople are slaughtered one by one. The opening sequence for the FS, episode 2, emphasizes the parallel by depicting a young Sephiroth standing amidst burning Robio in the same iconic pose as during the Nibelheim massacre. Furthermore, one of the first FS teasers cleverly superimposed Nibelheim footage over that of FS to create the glitching dejavu effect, almost as if history repeats itself.

In the case of Sephiroth, we can be fairly certain that his proximity to Jenova, combined with prolonged mental and physical degradation due to stress, lack of sleep, food, and so on, caused his mind to "slip" — or be hijacked.

What about Masamune? According to Alissa's account, as far as it can be trusted, the massacre was motivated by villagers coveting the masterwork weapon for themselves, which resulted in hostilities and infighting. Thus, it can be concluded that the problem began with the forging of a weapon, both the process and the end result.

(The villagers started fighting amongst themselves to claim the sword as their own. Some even attempted to sneak into the smith's home and steal it for themselves.)

Incidentally, to the point of being conspicuous, Alissa plants the idea that Sephiroth is deserving of a weapon as special as himself.

Eventually, Sephiroth makes a rather odd statement, that he feels the sword calling out to him. It's not the first time Sephiroth demonstrates some kind of extrasensory perception, despite vehemently denying it out loud.

Shortly before those purple orbs first appear on-screen in Chapter 1, Sephiroth mentions that he feels they're being watched. Later he makes an even creepier remark that he senses the presence of a strong will of some sorts.

The statement is linked to the fact that Masamune the swordsmith is thought to have been alive for the past 500 years, and that some power — allegedly the strong will that Sephiroth senses — is seemingly responsible for keeping him alive.

Excluding ShinRA's R&D vicious experiments with biological samples and various types of Mako, there's only one known case of keeping one's body in an undying state — and that is the case of Lucrecia, according to whom Jenova cells keep her from dying. Jenova itself is mentioned by the Cetra as not capable of dying during the Temple of Ancients exploration.

Moreover, why would Sephiroth sense a presence? Unless, of course, he shares a strong link to the source, perhaps on a cellular level.

I've already discussed the possible link between Masamune and Jenova here [read here].

(In ancient times, before the discovery of smelting, people forged weapons and tools from **meteoric iron**. Interestingly, there is a phenomenon known as telluric iron, derived from the Latin word for earth, "tellus," as seen in terms like "Telluric Fury" or "Telluric Scriptures.")

In short, in the distant past, people forged cold arms from using matter from meteors. Oddly enough, the most recent chapter mentions meteors, as Bachman relays a "hogwash" rumour that ShinRA creates their new breed of SOLDIER by scraping something (cells) off a meteor.

A strange introduction to the meteor subject, given that the general lore held that ShinRA unearthed an alien body and used it as a source of tissue. In the previously linked post I theorized that the meteor Jenova had arrived on splintered upon entering the atmosphere, and a piece landed in Wutai vicinity, centuries later to be discovered by Masamune and used in the forging of the sword. This splinter may have contained some of Jenova's organic matter. It fits well with the newly introduced concept of "special cells" being scraped off a meteor. On the other hand, the rumour clearly contradicts known lore; it could have been purposefully planted by ShinRA to obscure the true source of SOLDIER procedure in the hopes that it would be perceived as too absurd to be taken seriously.

Another similarity connects Robio's story to that of a "calamity from the skies". If Alissa's story is to be believed, a great battle took place in that area — a fight between Ancients and a vicious beast, similar to the story told by the Cetra hologram in the Temple of Ancients.

(But then, without warning, a fearsome beast invaded the region. Its attacks on the village claimed the lives of its people and their animals. The fiend existed only to slaughter.)

Specifically, the game depicts Cetra battling Jenova as a tentacled monster, a BEAST, that transforms into a human Goddess-like figure upon defeat.

Powerful fire magic was mentioned as being at work in Robio (fire being exceptionally good at eroding organic matter as well as preventing deadly bacteria/diseases from infecting new hosts), but more importantly, the village area is repeatedly mentioned in conjunction with the concept of "sealing". Angeal, Sephiroth and others initially conclude that the zone is abandoned, "forbidden," and "sealed" to prevent the truth about the heinous massacre from being revealed, but later hypothesize that the village was sealed together with whatever evil emerged there.

One detail that comes to mind is that since the Cetra's "celestial adversary" could not truly die, so it could not be defeated in a true sense, which is why the Ancients sealed/imprisoned it in geological strata (where it fell into slumber, per Temple of Ancients narrator).

So, here's the idea. The Temple of Ancients refers to "celestial adversary" as having been scattered in some way since the Age of Ancients [more on this here].

(“Heed well to our warning of that which is to come…<...> The reunion. When our adversary's scattered malignancy shall converge to plague the Planet once more.”)

Indeed, what if, upon arrival, Jenova was fragmented, either by meteor splintering or by design (Ancients cleaved it into pieces to weaken it, defeat it bit by bit, and eventually prevent the parts from converging into a single organism). Whatever the case, the Robio area may contain some of Jenova's organic remnants, such as a meteor (or its metallic core within Masamune's sword) or a body part sealed in the Petra-inspired temple. Masamune the swordsmith discovered it over 500 years ago and became exposed to its mind-altering properties, which resulted in corruption (perhaps unsealing and a letting the contaminant outside?), subsequent crazed behavior, and an eventual massacre. In its turn, the villagers' sporadic coveting of the blade and hostile behavior evokes some strange parallels with a "celestial adversary" sowing discord among men.

Interestingly, the settlers of Robio—I'd call them proto-Wutaians—are said to be Ancients or their descendants. The interesting part is that the descendants of those who defeated "the beast" appear to die in the same way the beast was slain: they are burned down, as if in vengeance.

And to point out the obvious: it oddly mirrors Sephiroth's deranged decision to burn down the town of Nibelheim, all while sticking to a paranoid delusion that humankind attempted to take something of his [The Planet]. Like the sword, like the world.

----

@pen-and-umbra

#sephiroth #ffvii ever crisis #ffvii first soldier #jenova #alissa goldie #final fantasy vii #ff7 ever crisis #ff7 first soldier #ffvii rebirth #ffvii@luv fandoms #penumbra@theories

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heathersdesk · 1 year ago

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When I was investigating the Church, I told the people around me I wanted to get baptized after I'd only been to services a few times. I hadn't read much of the Book of Mormon. There were many things I didn't know or understand. But I had felt the Spirit of God and knew that this was the place where I would find God. I knew I was supposed to be baptized.

What was the response?

"You can't do that."

They didn't have missionaries. They didn't have anyone to teach me the discussions. I was coming to Church in a different place from where I lived because of where my friends, who were members and who had invited me, were living.

It got bad enough that I set a date for myself to get baptized and told them they had that long to figure it out and deal with their scruples. And they did.

Then I found out about patriarchal blessings in one of the lessons I had in Young Women. I wanted mine. I went to my branch president and told him that.

"You can't do that."

I hadn't been to church long enough. Could I wait a year? Six months?

But that's not what the lesson I was taught said. It said that if I felt like I was ready, then I could have one. So I showed up outside of my branch president's office every week for over a month to ask again. Finally, he talked to the stake president, who told him there was no rule or timeline mandated in the Handbook of Instruction that prevented me from receiving my patriarchal blessing. I finally received it 4 months after I was baptized.

Then I went to BYU. I was in one of my favorite wards I've ever attended. Everyone around me was so kind and supportive. They helped me deepen my knowledge of the restored gospel and the scriptures. And when all the young men in my classes started receiving mission calls, I wanted to as well. I felt "called to the work," and the Doctrine and Covenants said that was enough.

"You can't do that."

They didn't let women serve at 19 at the time. I had to wait. Why? Because I might get married instead. The hypothetical possibility of reserving me for a man was more important than the calling I had received from God.

I had the opportunity to serve in the temple regularly for the first time in my life. I was from an area where the temple was two hours away, which meant I got to go only a couple times a year, at most. As the only member in my family, I had many names to do. And as the endowments started piling up, I could feel the weight of my responsibility to get the names done weighing on me. I didn't have a ward full of endowed people to rely on in my student wards. It was just me. And the more I went to the temple, the more I craved that divine closeness, the spiritual support for how much harder it was for me to be a member of the Church than it was for everyone else. I was totally on my own, no support from large extended families like they had. I needed more support to come from somewhere. So I started asking to receive my endowment.

"You can't do that."

I needed to be getting married (preferably, in their minds) or serving a mission to get endowed. That was the rule at the time. It didn't matter that I already wanted to serve a mission. It would be so much more special if I could go with my husband! Didn't I see that? My life was just supposed to stay on hold for him, whoever he was. The idea that I would have a spiritual development and progression separate from his was a totally foreign idea at the time, and wasn't reason enough for me to receive my own endowment. Meanwhile, as the ordinances in my own family backed up higher and higher because I was in student wards with no access to the endowment or other endowed people, I was just stuck and alone.

Then the identity of the mysterious young man I would eventually marry was revealed to me. Hurray! And we both went on missions. We were planning our wedding. And after years of alienating my family with all the milestones of my adult life they didn't get to witness because I was *IN UTAH* thousands of miles away, I wanted to have a ring ceremony so they could at least watch me get married.

"You can't do that."

And every reason I was given, especially the one that it took away from the validity and the sacredness of my temple sealing, was later disavowed when they did away with this rule.

ALL OF THIS TO SAY, I've been in the Church for almost 18 years. I have seen so many changes come into the Church and its culture in that time. The things that were impediments to me as a young believer and convert are no longer there, in part because I left so many bloody knuckle prints on heaven's door, pleading for these things to change. Heaven bore witness to how many times I was told "You can't do that" by my own community—with shallow, indefensible reasons for why my journey needed to be so much harder and lonelier than it needed to be.

Changes like these do not come about simply by waiting. They come because the faithful, especially those who are most affected by the lack of change, keep praying and pleading with heaven for change. The hurt goes on the altar because it never should've been mine to carry. Let God witness it. Let him see, feel, and know the burdens I bore in his name, solely at the behest of my community whose reasoning for it was poor and indefensible, because it all came down to a single failure: they couldn't begin to imagine the impacts their choices were having on me. And until they could begin to understand it, they could never conceive of why their status quo needed to change. Their ignorance and desire to remain in what was familiar and comfortable was a form of bondage to me. That was true.

But what was equally true was that there was nothing wrong or evil in pushing back against all of that, with all the strength I possessed. I would live to see so many of these stumbling blocks I encountered change for those who came behind me. Young people in my church community today don't have to make many of the same choices I did anymore—and thank God for that! I called down the powers of heaven to me to witness these burdens so no one else would ever have to carry them again! I have been witness to the power that these prayers—my prayers—have had to build the kingdom of God on the earth by affecting these changes.

And we're not done. There are many more such changes that need to come to fruition , including (but not limited to) making the Church fully accessible to everyone in our community. Our LGBTQIA+ and disabled people, our women and single Saints, our marginalized, abused, and forgotten in communities of color all over this world.

The kingdom of Heaven is not built, our work is not finished, until ALL are safely gathered in. That is, until they all CAN be safely gathered in. Until all that resists unity, diversity, equity, and inclusion that will define Heaven are removed by the Saints, whose job it is to build that kingdom. To never say again to someone who is trying to come to Christ "You can't do that."

Because with enough time, and effort from the Saints, you'll find they can, in fact, do that.

#mormon #mormonism #lds #tumblrstake #the church of jesus christ of latter day saints #religion #faith #queerstake

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overculturedswine · 9 months ago

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My sister was endowed this last week, and I am very happy and excited for her. We had a night as a family, and it was lovely. Her escort was a former YW leader, and our dad also went in with her. The rest of the family went after her and waited in the waiting room (the room designed for you to wait in) until she came out.

I found it interesting the two main feelings I was having there. I would not be able to get a recommend right now, on account of the transness, so I was longing to going inside, because I do love it. But even in the waiting room, I felt incredibly at home. I got to see the familiar art on the walls, look at the room's layout I had seen a million times, read the scriptures in that environment (D&C 93 is my go-to in the temple). I just felt like I was home again.

And then a couple came into the room and I remembered I wasn't alone in there. I was there with my family, to whom I'm not out, small packs of strangers, and God. And I looked at each of those groups, and where I did or did not feel at home. I felt an anxiety with others in the room, because even though I was dressed up like the good mormon boy they think me to be, I knew that I was lying in that presentation.

But, the fulfilling part was that I simply did not feel that way about God. For various reasons, this is the first time I've been in or even near a temple for a very long time, and I was anxious about going back. God has been a very important part in exploring my queerness - I never would've been able to accept myself as trans if not for the prayers that I did - but I was still anxious something would change in His house. But of course, it didn't. If I felt at peace with Him while scared at a trailhead He directed me to, of course I would feel at peace with Him while further along that same trail.

And that's pretty much what I wanted to share. I was anxious my queerness would alienate me from God if I got too close, and it did not :)

#tumblrstake #queerstake

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queerprayers · 8 months ago

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I'm a lifelong Christian and I've been struck with fear recently because I've never feared God. I love God so much, but I cannot fear anyone whom I love. Those two things can't go together in my mind. I think of 1 John 4:18 and I justified, but then I think of all of Proverbs (wisdom is the fear of God) or even some of Jesus' sayings (ex. Luke 12:5)... and I start feeling like a horrible Christian because I just can't imagine loving someone that I'm afraid of. I guess I am afraid sometimes of God showing me my guilt when I sin, but I'm not scared of God sending me into eternal hell or anything, because I wouldn't be able to believe in a God who'd do that to anyone. Is there another way to think about "fear of God"?

What a great topic, beloved! The answer is yes, there are many ways to think about the concept of "fear of God!"

The first thing I want to bring up is that we have to be careful about moralizing emotions. As someone with a mood disorder, I know all too well that when we do this, we alienate people with emotional differences, and we also fundamentally misunderstand a lot. We cannot control our emotions. We can choose between reveling in them or moving on from them, we can learn ways to process them, we can identify whether they're helpful, but we cannot control them. Because of this, we cannot require certain emotions as a virtue. It's not realistic or helpful.

Fear, the way we usually talk about it, is an emotion. It can be a logical response or a completely illogical one. Someone with an anxiety disorder may experience fear in perfectly normal situations; someone with paranoia or a phobia may be afraid of completely safe situations. We may not feel fear in an unsafe situation because of recklessness or ignorance.

Emotional responses to God are varied and uncontrollable—although with religious education and emotional intelligence, they can be useful. We can process our guilt to decide whether it's pushing us to change or keeping us trapped. We can process our joy and cherish when it is a response to holy things. We can let anger lead us to work for justice. We can honor our grief at injustice but work to not let it paralyze us. We can love worldly things or eternal things. Again, I don't want to moralize emotion, but rather honor it as a part of the human experience and use it to serve God.

You're afraid because you don't fear God—this comes out of a desire to be a "good Christian," to cultivate in yourself what is holy. Ironically, your fear is leading you to God, the kind of fear you were afraid you didn't have. Now if fear of being a horrible Christian traps you, if it causes you not to care for yourself, if it keeps you from experiencing the joy of Christianity, we know it isn't serving you. But it can, and it may be doing so right now, pushing you to think further about this.

To see fear as a virtue, though, we have to look beyond uncontrollable emotional responses. We have to see it in Scripture in all its many facets. You have identified two completely different verses on fear—showing us that fear can be can be the enemy of perfect love, and also a logical response to a God that has ultimate power. Fear can prevent us from reaching out (being afraid), or it can be an awareness of our own lack of power, our dependence on God, and result in surrender. Anxiety is a shutting in; reverence is a reaching out.

I cheated and used the Wikipedia page to find this, but Pope Francis said that

The fear of the Lord, the gift of the Holy Spirit, doesn’t mean being afraid of God, since we know that God is our Father that always loves and forgives us,...[It] is no servile fear, but rather a joyful awareness of God’s grandeur and a grateful realization that only in him do our hearts find true peace.

We don't fear God because we don't trust him—we fear offending God because we love God, we fear losing God because we are completely dependent on God, we fear forgetting God's love because that's the only meaning in the universe.

I've really valued C.S. Lewis's perspectives on fear—I don't have The Problem of Pain with me right now, but the Wikipedia page for "numinous" helpfully quotes it:

Suppose you were told there was a tiger in the next room: you would know that you were in danger and would probably feel fear. But if you were told "There is a ghost in the next room," and believed it, you would feel, indeed, what is often called fear, but of a different kind. It would not be based on the knowledge of danger, for no one is primarily afraid of what a ghost may do to him, but of the mere fact that it is a ghost. It is "uncanny" rather than dangerous, and the special kind of fear it excites may be called Dread. With the Uncanny one has reached the fringes of the Numinous. Now suppose that you were told simply "There is a mighty spirit in the room," and believed it. Your feelings would then be even less like the mere fear of danger: but the disturbance would be profound. You would feel wonder and a certain shrinking—a sense of inadequacy to cope with such a visitant and of prostration before it—an emotion which might be expressed in Shakespeare's words "Under it my genius is rebuked." This feeling may be described as awe, and the object which excites it as the Numinous.

Proverbs states multiple times that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom—not guilt, not an eternal state of being afraid, not self-hatred, not doom. When it is an understanding of our dependence on God, our recognizing how small we are and how much power God has, when we realize that everything real to us is a pitiful reflection of what is in store, that is where we find wisdom in this life.

Proverbs also tells us that to fear the Lord is to hate evil (8:13). 16:6 says that evil is avoided through the fear of the Lord. Job 28:28 tells us that the fear of the Lord is wisdom, and to shun evil is understanding. We see here fear of God leading us to good works and obedience—if it's not leading us anywhere, it's stagnation. (The same with guilt.)

Another place fear of God leads us is life and rest (Proverbs 14:27; 19:23). Fully understanding and submitting ourselves to God, knowing how afraid we would and should be without that rock, we can rest knowing that we have God, the fountain of life.

Another interesting thing besides evil that fear of God is set against is arrogance/pride. Romans 11:20 says, "Do not be arrogant, but tremble." Proverbs 22:4: "Humility is the fear of the Lord." When we set ourselves as the center of the universe, when we think we're in control, when we cling to earthly things, we are not in that state of reverence.

Fear of God is holy—but over and over, God tells us to not be afraid. So what's the difference between these fears? Fear of earthly things (the emotion) is a logical response to the very real dangers we experience. But when we make that a state of being, when we don't move anywhere, we're not trusting God. Fear of God, on the other hand, is that ultimate trust and awareness. "Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is kept safe" (Proverbs 29:25).

Fear keeping us safe seems an oxymoron if we define it as an emotion, which is an earthly experience. We have to look further. We have to understand that the logical response to an all-powerful God is being afraid, but the first thing an angel meeting us would say is, "Be not afraid." Fear the one who has the authority to throw you into hell, yes, but worship the one whose love drives out that fear.

You may have skipped the first step—your love of God is admirable. But leave some room for awe, for the strangeness of religion, for the reality of your lack of power. If fear comes up, let it lead you to Life. Don't try to control your emotional responses, but cultivate a spirit of reverence. And keep thinking. Keep finding seemingly conflicting Bible verses. You're not a horrible Christian—you're just a Christian. Not to be a Lutheran, but you cannot by your own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ or come to him—but the Holy Spirit has called you, and will not meet you in the middle, but rather make all the steps and land where you are. And the only response that I have ever found is to surrender.

<3 Johanna

#asks

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carionto · 2 years ago

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Alone with ourselves

(elaborating on the last sentence from here)

When we slipped away, or Vanished as the rest of the galaxy called it, most of Humanity didn't know what we were in for. Very few people knew of exactly what the plan was, most were told some BS about kicking the aliens' dumb "barrier" out, creating a force field, teleporting them away, whatever was most convincing to whoever happened to be in charge in each country and union.

Of course, one of the better ways to keep what we were actually doing was letting the truth spread among the lies, because really? Interdimensional travel? Most of the scientists working on actually making it happen didn't believe their own numbers and successful test results, but it worked.

Chaos.

What happens in places where a lot truly believe in a Hell, or Afterlife, or whatever else, and then the stars, the Moon, and the Sun just... disappear.

Utter, bloody, indescribable madness is what happens. And when the sky is still blue, you still feel the rays of sun hitting your skin, and the glow of moonlight still shines your way at night, well, that kind of lack of sense is enough to turn a lot of sensible people to the scriptures.

Truth don't matter at such a time. In fact, the truth tells everyone we lied to everyone.

We were hoping to get Humanity sorted and ready to take the stage against the aliens, maybe alongside if they would acknowledge as and show some respect, in just over a century.

It took that long to restore some degree of a civilization that can actually do real science. We overestimated ourselves, but we got back on track and then some.

Now, we could finally start to understand what it meant, in practical terms, to isolate Earth from the rest of the Universe. True nothingness beyond what we brought with us. We always pondered whether we were alone in the Universe, hoping we weren't, dreading we were.

Now there was nothing but us, nowhere to point our wandering gaze, no destination to set, no unknowns to discover. All we could do was look at each other, and we all know how that tends to go. Suffice to say, that 12.3 billion we slipped back in with should've been thrice that, but we can't help ourselves.

In a way, I guess that's good. Our nature meant we always had someone to one-up, and even when most of us managed to be buddy-buddy for a while, our imagination of what awaited us back kept things... well, progress demands sacrifice.

On one hand, learning how to make miniature suns, but not how to turn one off properly, did solve that whole rising sea levels problem. On the other, creating a 200km crater in the Pacific Ocean made for some... interesting weather.

However, all that now very exposed and partly-processed ore from the mantle made for some very good space ship building material. Just had to survive a few hundred super volcanoes and, you know, everyone suddenly being an environmentalist. Plus another collapse of civilization, but we went over that already.

To cut it short, Humanity always perseveres. We're like cockroaches, except with guns and opinions.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #carionto #story

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insidemyrottenbrain · 4 months ago

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Peripeteia - TSH

TW: sensitive topics, explicit content I have two things to specify about Peripeteia: it is written from Henry's point of view and it was inspired by "the master" lines from Vita Nova by Louise Glück. On another note, I feel this is an opportunate time to share my TikTok account: @ aionter. I do post, rarely, but whose to say my fate cannot be altered? My reposts, however, are prominent and mostly informative with a few slip ups. Enjoy indulging in my writing.

Does peripeteia, that cruel rapture discontinuing and altering the string of fate, strike in one clear, definite moment, in a flash of divine, or does it seep into the fabric of time altering it with unforeseen fingers? If such a moment does exist, tell me, can I crawl my way back to the life before it, like the pitiful, pitiful man that I am? If I am truthful, my wish to return to the life before, or rather, more accurately, the perturbation of the current one, is what constitutes the reason for my continuous insomnia, migraines and above all my inability to function. Nothing that has worked as a cure before, or at least an amelioration, has succeeded in aiding me this time. I have tried every familiar remedy but to no avail. This unexpected and unfortunate failure left me with one dangerous, possible solution, one that requires me to put myself under a metaphysical scythe: a histoire, an accurate, mostly truthful, final attempt at understanding the basis of my condition, and respectively of them, the anomalous cause and singular symptom of it all.

Few people know what it means to be embarrassed by your flesh and blood, and even fewer acknowledge the genuineness of this unorthodox sentiment. It is often met with a certain disregard by people who believe it to be the depraved product of an unmeasurable arrogance, instead of the quiet, sombre and perhaps paralysing knowledge that it actually is: a phantom limb of a false connection. It is an unfortunate thing to be acquainted with alienation from a young age. It dissolves any security or sense of belonging and, as compensation, teaches yearning. However, humans, no matter how small, are adaptable beings and they can learn to deal with this longing, as well as with the half self-imposed isolation that inevitably follows. After all, when one is forced to live in exile, one grows fond of one’s cage.

I do not believe in luck, but I do believe I must have done something in another life or must have been born under the wrong star to find myself in this unfortunate category of people. My refuges are two: dead tongues and books (my first read was a children’s copy of Greek mythology procured from the school’s library which sits on my shelf to this day because I couldn’t make myself return it). The former was something which caught my attention later in my adolescence, at around thirteen if neither my memory nor my grey cells are playing tricks on me. This combination of passion and comfort, naturally, turned me towards the classics, and they, without much effort, became my obsession and defined my place in the universe. This mania turned me into somewhat of a monk, a fanatic not of saints but of mad philosophers, not of one inscrutable deity but of a pantheon of dead gods, not of scripture but of the eccentrics of ancient languages.

Perhaps because of my childhood circumstances, existence still eludes me. It is something I endure rather than inhabit, tolerated like a prolonged fever dream, or the distant, teasing echo of a reality never meant for me. The exception is, of course, what keeps my world spinning, my mania, because everything else is boring and depraved of any sublime.

Throughout my childhood, I’ve often heard the phrase “everything in moderation” repeated by my excuse of a father every time he would catch my nose buried between dust-coated pages until the very words became a mechanical reflex on his lips. Soon followed my books falling all around me on the floor, sometimes even losing their track and deviating towards the open window. I imagine his actions came from his wish that one day I might take over his company, and his firm belief that reading was not something his son should be doing in order to prepare for the task. Nevertheless, that did not stop me from gathering the wet, torn or bent books, and nursing them back to health, only for them to be destroyed once again and for me to mend them until the paper gave out. I never once considered that the phrase he kept muttering might have a seed of truth in it until my devotion towards my studies started to abate. The routine, which to avoid being dramatic was my whole life, had transformed itself into something mundane, devoid of meaning. I knew it was only a matter of time before my knowledge would start to seem too garish until the absolute classics started diminishing.

The Bacchanal should have stayed what it was meant to be: a precautionary measure designed to halt the growing dullness. Instead, it mutated into a beast far beyond my grasp, an uncontrollable surge of madness that I could neither restrain nor surrender. Alas, I could not let the sublime fade, that was simply out of the discussion. What exactly happened during the ritual I’m afraid I cannot tell with the highest of accuracies, not because I don’t want to, but rather because the numerous places in which the action unfolds have mixed together into a blur of motion without a definite start or end. The sequence of that night had long ago dissolved into a fevered, disjointed nightmare. What I do know is that I followed the guidelines left by Romans: become a vessel of ecstatic torment, feast as if the gods themselves demanded it, and indulge in carnal debauchery until the line between pleasure and agony vanished.

Anything else that had happened that night did so under the influence of divine madness and at the will of Bacchus. I was not the sole host of my mind when I was running through the woods in the form of a wolf, or at least something similar. I was not myself anymore but rather the most primal version of me, intelligence but without the shackles of civilization. The trees were nothing but a blur of fading lines slowly losing themselves in my peripheral vision. I felt nothing of the twigs and branches that clawed at my limbs, or the penetrating cold that should have stung the cells of my bare skin. I knew I had been blessed.

That is when I first saw her, one half of them. She was surreal, I remember my instincts telling me, with a glowing aura amplified by her long blonde, almost white hair that taunted me through the darkness of the woods, like blinking stars in an otherwise black desert of void. How could I not follow, when she begged me and my animal self roared in abandon? My vision was focused on her, for she seemed to shine brighter than the moon as if she had eaten it and its luminesce. I chased her for what else should I have done, when she with her skin, an eerie hue of bruised violet and spectral white dress, too short to cover her vulnerable knees, was the only clear thing in my sight? I do not remember the exact amount of time until she slowly found her way inside a lake, each careful step a silent dare, a provocation aimed at me as she succumbed to the darkness.

The forest was without life, but she, oh, she at that moment in the breathing lake she promised to fill my yearning. I had to follow, didn’t I? I wanted to keep her, to ingest her very essence. Into the lake she melted, a liquid tomb swallowing her whole, and I dove. I searched the cold depths with my hands for her like a madman clung to sanity. Then, in the faint serpentine streaks of moonlight that slithered into the water, I saw my limbs darkening towards decay. I reached, curious, unaware with one purple-blue finger towards my other hand only to watch the flesh disintegrate into nothingness, unveiling the smooth, indifferent bone beneath without a single drop of blood. I was rotting. When I opened my mouth to scream, he, the other half of the strange duality, interrupted me. He shoved me down with brutal insistence, my head colliding against the jagged bottom. I remember his white hands, far paler than hers, tightening around my neck and squeezing as if deriving pleasure from my humanless state. His face remained a statue as I struggled, my hands desperately attempting to remove his, to escape his grip but above all his dead, dark eyes.

I did not care much for drowning at that moment, in fact, I did not care for anything but the delirious rage that made me want to rip out his vision, to shatter his illusion of dominance. I reached out and drove my thumbs into his eyes. With every centimetre I pushed deeper, his eyes gushed out liquid punctuated by a crackling pop.

I do not know the moment when I returned to reality. The only logical theory is that I gradually regained my senses and my consciousness, but nevertheless, I found it strange to see that I am alive and unrotten.

I have a bad habit of avoiding anything that scares me. And so naturally, when they started reappearing at first as quivering, indistinct shapes and then as unmistakable figures standing in the distance, I decided to convince myself that I was not seeing anything, that it was nothing but a post-traumatic hallucination. Despite my deep-rooted fear, my interest in them grew when I realised they work together towards a common goal. She is the siren, and he the restless weapon, both meant to end me. And perversely, as time passes I find my yearning for her intensifying and a strange curiosity forming for him. Even now, as he is standing twenty meters from my window, watching me, unmoving in the blizzard, I can make out his pure black eyes which along with her blinding blonde crown have etched themselves into my memory for an indefinite amount of time.

Having put the events onto paper as truthfully as I could, I now come to realise that there is one way to reverse my peripeteia: to severe myself with my own hand. Judge me if you will but obsession, no matter how identically raw and consuming it may feel settling inside us, is never truly the same as another’s. It is a rational, simple, final move in their deranged game. The most devoted souls are indeed the ones devoured by their own madness.

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arachnomorphic · 5 months ago

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An oc i made that’s inspired off of AM from “I Have No Mouth But I Must Scream”

lore below

He’s an artificial angel created by humanity in order to speak with god. After finding a crypt thousands of miles below the crust of the earth with strange scripture on the interior walls, humanity discovered it was filled with a special, deadly kind of salt. The salt had no biological or mechanical origin, and was completely alien to any elements discovered prior. It was also toxic, and any exposed without proper protection fell deeply ill and suffered a painful death.

After sifting through the salt, they found a white glowing “essence.” Unsure of what to make of this, humanity contained the essence in a special capsule used to contain specifically that. After bringing ancient language translators onto the site, they discovered the language carved into the walls was ennochian, and described a final resting site for angels.

Humanity, stunned by the idea that a God- or God himself was real, immediately went to work into finding a way to communicate with God, to find answers about the truth of life, of humanity- of it all. Correctly discovering the essence they found was the soul of an angel, or the life force of an angel they injected this into a homunculus, creating an artificial angel.

Though angels were nothing like what they thought. The angel, angry and depressed by its nature and the life given to it, a human body but no human soul, no capacity to experience the love and feelings humanity can feel. lashed out on the lab assistance soon after its awakening, killing everyone, and beginning to lay siege on humanity.

It killed every last human in its endless rage. But kept its sole creator alive- A scientist named Nicholas, who he sought to torment for end times. Though Nicholas built a machine that would allow him to traverse realities in secrecy, allowing him to escape to other worlds across the multiverse, in search of a safe place to call home.. Though, the angel will never stop hunting him across realities.. inevitably finding him every time, and tormenting him. dragging him back home every time. In a way, the angel enjoys his efforts to escape, and finds them humorous. he allows his escape every time, he bathes in the man’s false hope for survival.

Though, regardless, he will never let him go. He is forever a prisoner, as the angel is in his own body.

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evilminji · 2 years ago

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(Ironically) Oh My God... ( o.o)

Do... okay, so there are many, MANY religions... JUST here on earth. Right?

Not all of them think there is "an afterlife". Some think there is a NEXT life. Potentially MANY lives. Some also believe in JOURNEYS you must take, to reach THE Afterlife. Or perhaps periods of judgment. Evaluations of WORTH. So forth and so on.

What I am saying is?

There? Are Ghosts who probably just straight up REJECT the premise that they are dead. Oh sure, YOU might be. Or BELIEVE you are. But they KNOW they aren't.

Because The Gods Said So.

Some, are also, AWARE they are Dead. But reject that? All this? This is it. No, no. This is the MIDDLE. They are supposed to GO somewhere. They haven't FOUND it. But when they DO. They will, as a community, make a map for those who follow and head on in! It'll be great!

There are FAITHS in the Zone.

Beliefs that were compatible enough, that they Did Not Die.

And they'd probably like to tell you about it.

Why WOULDN'T they? It was a VERY important part of their daily life, originally. And NOW? Is frankly a Highly Topical Subject, don't you think? The discussion of "is there a God?" Is KINDA important to have, when you're stand outside the gates to SOMEWHERE, and none of who can agree on WHAT is on the other side.

Is it better to stay here? Were we abandoned? Is this a punishment or a blessing? An accident? Freak occurrence? Are there Gods HERE? And if so, does that mean WE can become one? What does that MEAN, if we can?

All HIGHLY important topics to discuss.

But! It's made all the more pressing because? There's all these OTHERS! Who have never even HEARD of your gods teachings. And therefore? Don't know where they are.

They, innocent people, have been TRAPPED HERE, for centuries if not longer. May be condemned to be trapped FOREVER. Anyone with even a scrap of empathy would be HORRIFIED.

The problem is that THEY are horrified too. Think YOU are trapped. And of course, your first impulse is to tell them they are Wrong... but?

Are they?

What if NEITHER of you are Wrong? Elder Beings keep insisting this place is INFINITE. It is therefore ENTIRELY possible, this is a place to simply? Store the place before afterlifes. Like a busy road.

After all, your Gods certainly never mention these new people. And THEIR God (singular, correct? Right.) never mentioned YOUR people. Surely they WOULD have, if it was important!

And such concensus starts to build. Because everyone is trying to move on, pray, ascend, or otherwise do as their holy scriptures told them too. They are ALL rather lost and confused. And UNLIKE those Fight-y violent sorts? THESE fine religious folks are pleasant and sensible.

Even if no one can quite agree. Meh. SOMEONE is right here and I shall live assuming it's me until proven otherwise, respectfully and as the gods preached.

And it's quite literally like religious Fandoms, to make light of things a bit. There is bickering. And "stop that infernal CHANTING, I can't here my self pray!" *chanting grows louder in protest* "ARGH!". And trying to make new, confused ghosts welcome.

It's one of the ZONES within the Zone. Like slowly gravitating towards like, until the Zone itself started to just naturally shuffle them all together in clumps. Like with the academics.

Now why? Do I even bring this up?

Because! I think it would be HILARIOUS if everyone wanted to convert the Newly Crowned Ghost King to THEIR religion, under the belief that he could? As some sort of Holy Divine King, ask GOD(tm) : "Bruh. Wtf are we supposed to be doing? We are SO LOST. Can we have a hint?"

And yeah, half of them are like "just for fiiiive minutes! We can totally kick you out of the Temple afterwords if you don't like it! You totally WILL, obviously, because it's AWESOME. But, like, if you WANT too! Five minutes! Pleeeeeease???"

While the others are just shooting Informative Pamphlets out of alien potato cannons in FULL religious regalia. As Danny flees at full speed. Getting pelted.

Maybe some real weird Space Monk is just ( o-o) *is under Danny's Bed. Makes eye contact when he leans down to look for his shoes* "one of us? One of us?" "How did you even get passed the ghost sheilds?" "The Gods have many paths." "Not helpful! And terrifying! Get out from under my bed." *awkward scurry* 👉👈 "one of us?" "No. Back to the Zone, you know better." *sad mantis-otter Space Monk noises*

Just? As a writer, I am a bastard. And I think Danny should get harrased by Court Officials wanted him to Govern more. It's funny. He is a teenager and doesn't know shit. It's like watching an Esteemed Academic Conference being lead by someone's toddler. They don't know what's going on! But they Sure Are Giving Answers! :D

@hypewinter @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation @hdgnj @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

#dp #dp lore #dp religion #religion in the ghost Zone #religion in the afterlife #how DO you reconcile?#convert the king campaign au #playing telephone with god #using the ghost king #might as well #nothing ELSE worked

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theconstitutionisgayculture · 6 days ago

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How can you not believe in a higher power? Do you think if you were religious you would be Christian or maybe follow more of a pagan religion?

I believe that there could be something out there that fits someone's definition of a god. I'm absolutely sure that we don't have the whole universe figured out and it's supreme arrogance and ignorance to insist otherwise. I just find it very unlikely that one religion of thousands on one planet in one solar system in one galaxy in one section of the vast infinite universe has gotten it 100% correct. The odds are not in favor of that at all. But I've always said if the aliens finally show up and the first thing they say is "Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?" I'll reevaluate that belief, lol

I think, out of all the religions that have gods, or a God, Christianity is the one that has the most historical evidence in its favor. We know Jesus existed. We know he died. There are witnesses that claim to have seen him alive after his death and those testimonies are documented in scripture that can be dated to around the time Jesus lived and within a century after. So I would probably be some flavor of Christian. Possibly Catholic, since that's how I was raised.

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sunkissedliterarylightofchrist · 5 months ago

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what do you think about using people’s preferred pronouns?

Here's what Scripture says.

There are two genders, man and woman. Period. You cannot change your sexuality. You weren’t born the wrong way. God created you exactly as He intended you to be. Rejecting that is rejecting Him. Saying He was wrong. And that’s a sin- pride. But then that pride leads to more sin of the sexual kind, which in turn leads to your entire lifestyle being sinful.

Sidenote: This kind of sin is literally no better or worse than other sin, to be clear. I really think it’s distasteful how so much of ‘Christian’ culture just slam dunks on LGBTQIA more so than other sin. Is it bad and should be called out? 100%! But that doesn’t make it worse than other sin. Having an idol is just as sinful. Being an addict to a substance is just as sinful. Having uncontrollable wrath is just as sinful. Having straight lust is just as sinful. I could go on. Basically what I’m saying here is that being queer shouldn’t be put into a separate box that gets extra hate from Christians because it’s ‘other’. Because THAT is ALSO sin. Christians who use the queer community as a punching bag and going after them with the Bible as an excuse are sinning just as much and are just as wrong about this.

So. That is all 100% Scripture. Up to this point, all Christians who believe in Gods Word should agree with this. But this next part is more of a gray area, and is now my personal conviction when it comes to this.

Whenever I'm talking to someone who identifies as queer and wants to be refered to pronouns that are not their biological ones casually, I try to use their name as much as possible. If I'm talking to someone who believes that they are a woman when they are in fact a man, if I say what they're doing is okay by calling them a girl, I think that is Not Great. Using a name feels different to me. So when talking to people as strangers or acquaintances, who I don't know very well, or at all, I'll use whatever name they call themself.

I think that some pronouns are utterly ridiculous to be blunt. I’m not going to refer to someone as an animal or fairy or other neo pronouns that are ridiculous. That is just TOTALLY wild to want to be referred to as not even human and I won’t refer to someone like that. That's where I draw the line. But also to be fair, I do not believe I have ever interacted with someone IRL who wants to be treated in that manner, so I am not as clear on that.

BUT- here's where I think some Christians might get upset with me.

At the end of the day I think it is better to use these pronouns, even if they are wrong, than to alienate these people.

Hear me out.

I know a handful of people who identify under the LGBTQIA banner- acquaintances who I interact with regularly, or even actual good personal friends who I love and respect for who they are and who love and respect me for who I am. Some are gay. Some are trans. Some are non-binary. Etc. All of them are very aware of my faith. And I am very aware of their beliefs. And in conversation with them or about them, I do sometimes refer to them by the prounouns they prefer. And because I have done this, it has directly impacted our relationship to where they respect me and like me for who I am, and because of that get to see the light of Christ in my life, rather than just looking at my faith, thinking 'She belongs to this group of people that openly that hates me and people like me' (whether or not that's true, that's what society believes about Christians unfortunately) and then not engaging with me.

Because the way they see it, their queerness is their identity. And if you directly (from their POV) hurt and disrespect and attack that by refusing to call them a 'they' rather than a 'her', then they won't listen to anything you have to say.

See, the thing about spreading the Gospel and preaching to the nations, from my experience, is that you first have to connect with someone on a personal level before you show them why they connected with you and what is different about you- Jesus. Yeah, there is street evangelism, but in my experience that only ever works if God has been working on their hearts already before someone stops them on the street to chat about Christ. It truly and utterly working to give someone a real and total conversion experience that sticks right in the moment is kinda rare. I certianly don't believe all the videos Christian influencers make on it. Otherwise its an emotional hit deal. Or it just alienates them further from Christians being so forceful on them. And so I think that if I can take the steps to connect with someone who is queer as a person first, by treating them in the way that they believe respect works, then its going to be a lot easier and nautral for me to introduce the subject of Jesus' death on the cross for our sins. They like me and respect me, so they'll listen to what I have to say when they see that it is important to me. Because that's how friendship works.

OR, this has 100% happened before multiple times, THEY have brought up the topic of sexuality and pronouns FIRST, before we've talked about anything beyond our favorite ship or the coffee we both order each time we go to this one special place. MULTIPLE TIMES, they've broached the topic of "Every Christian I have ever talked to before in my entire life has treated me with disrespect and refused to call me the way I want to be called. You are the first kind and respectful Christian to queer people I have ever met. Even though I know you disagree with what my sex is. You're still nice. Why?" And then from there I get to talk about what the Bible actually teaches and what God's rescue plan for us actually is and what it all means.

See what I'm going for here? On the one hand, affirming gender identity isn't ideal, but on the other, it is what can allow you to show them what the Gospel actually is. And that a lot of 'Christians' aren't Christian. And they are totally right that some people use it as an excuse to be hateful. 'Christian' parents who reject their gay children and cut them out of their lives are 100% wrong and sinning and WILL be condemmed for it. They are right about that. So by doing what I do, by refering to them in the way they see as respectful in certain cases, I've made connections, and planted seeds, and gotten them to understand why I believe what I believe. I've done what Christ has called me to do- preached the Gospel. Now it's up to Him and the person in question to do with that information what they will.

Now could I be wrong about this? 100%. I don’t know everything. But I have arrived at this conclusion not because it sounds good or is the easiest option, but through close examination of the Word, and through where I truly do believe that the Spirit has lead me in prayer. If someone who is spiritually mature with good moral standing who I respect wants to correct me, then by all means do so and I will listen and think about it, just like I would and have before with any other issue. But until then, this is my conviction.

#sunkissedliterarylightofchrist #asks #anon #christian #christianity #queer #pronouns #gospel #evangalizing #jesus #jesus christ #gender #sexuality

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arnesia · 1 month ago

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sermon 32 analysis

so to get a little context for sermon 32, we need to look at the last paragraph of sermon 31. (click on that link for a bit more explanation here.)

Find me in the blackened paper, unarmored, in final scenery. Truth is like my husband: instructed to smash, filled with procedure and noise, hammering, weighty, heaviness made schematic, lessons learned only by a mace. Let those that hear me then be buffeted, and let some die in the ash from the striking. Let those that find him find him murdered by illumination, pummeled like a traitorous house, because, if an hour is golden, then immortal I am a secret code. I am the partaker of the Doom Drum, chosen of all those that dwell in the middle world to wear this crown, which reverberates with truth, and I am the mangling messiah.

so, to be fair, i don’t think it’s so much “context” as “aesthetic” that this paragraph provides for a sermon 32 reader. it establishes the “aesthetic” of the mace, as something that can both 1) destroy instead of cleave and 2) refine by way of “pummeling” (“lessons learned only by a mace”).

so let’s look at sermon 31 proper.

The Scripture of the Mace, First:

'The pleasure of annihilation is the pleasure of disappearing into the unreal. All those that would challenge the sleeping world will seek membership in this movement. I denounce the alienation of the Cloven Duality with a hammer.'

i think the first part is pretty self-explanatory? being annihilated is the same as “disappearing into the unreal.” the “sleeping world” is the world of the gods, who seem to sleep in their inaction. if you want to challenge the gods, you must in some way unmake yourself.

the last line here is actually a reference to sermon 23, which is kind of a sister sermon to this one (even the numbers are reflections of one another). whereas the 23rd sermon pertains to the second walking way, the 32nd purports to pertain to the fourth. we’ll see about that later, if we can at all.

the second walking way is that of the psijic endeavor, exemplified here:

I give you an ancient road tempered by the second walking way. Your hands must be huge to wield any sword the size of an ancient road, and yet he who is of right stature may irritate the sun with only a stick.

the psijic endeavor, in effect, is doing something so important that the entire world itself can’t help but recognize you yourself as important, as important as a god. this is the path of veloth, although he became a saint, not a god, so idk how that works out.

a big part of the scripture of the sword (lesson 23) is that the sword is dual-natured and -purposed. on one hand, it destroys by severing. on the other hand, it cuts things down into better shapes. this is the “cloven duality” that the earlier quote from lesson 32 mentions.

in lesson 32, vivec “denounce[s] the alienation of the cloven duality with a hammer.” the sword is “treated as a delicate meal,” meaning that it is something used very intentionally to a specific effect. the mace, on the other hand, is used carelessly, regardless of whether its effect is beneficial or malicious. it can destroy by smashing, and it can refine by hammering against an anvil, but it doesn’t care which. the mace simply swings at whatever comes near.

Second:

'Take from me the lessons as a punishment for being mortal. To be made of dirt is to be treated as such by your jailers. This is the key and the lock of the Daedra. Why do you think they escaped the compromise?'

the “lessons” here mentioned could either be the “lessons learned only by a mace” referenced in the previous sermon, or could be a reference to the 36 lessons as a whole. “the punishment for being mortal” is a “punishment” for not being perfect. “learning” from your mistakes and the mistakes of others is here seen as a punishment for your very nature as fallible. gods, evidently, don’t have to learn from their mistakes.

mortals are “made of dirt,” made up of the world they live in. the gods treat them like “dirt” as a result, as inconvenient (although sometimes actually convenient) byproducts of creation.

the “key and lock” of the daedra is the means by which they enforce their whims upon mortals, which occurs by the very nature of mortalkind, of being “dirt,” here meaning profane, not-divine.

the “compromise” is convention, where the aedra sacrificed parts of themselves to stabilize the crumbling world of nirn. the daedra “escaped the compromise” by not partaking in convention. they did this so that they could retain their powers over lesser spirits, such as mortals.

Third:

'Velothi, your skin has become the pregnant darkness. My brooding has brought this on. Remember that Boethiah asked you to become the color of bruise. How else to show yourselves people of the exodus into the vital: pain?'

now, we know that the reason the “skin” of the velothi has “become the pregnant darkness” is because azura cursed the chimer for the folly of the tribunal, breaking nerevar’s oath. but this line, tying back to something nerevar says in sermon 31, claims that the reason, perhaps the reason more officially accepted by the temple faith, is that vivec’s grief over the pomegranate banquet caused this change. vivec here not only accepts fault for this change, but claims it was necessary: boethiah asked them to “become the color of bruise,” after all.

the “exodus into the vital” is of course a reference to the velothi exodus which brought the original chimer to morrowind. an exodus is almost always a painful experience, and so by representing bruises in their skin, the dunmer represent their old exodus.

Fourth:

'The sage who is not an anvil: a conventional sentence and nothing more. By which I mean dead, the fourth walking way.'

remember how i mentioned earlier that the mace can either smash or “refine by hammering against an anvil”? if you are strong enough, the mace will hit you and bounce off, not destroying something too brittle to exist but instead bending you into a stronger shape. the sage, the teacher, must be the anvil that props up their people, preventing them from shattering and instead giving them the support they need to bend instead. a sage who doesn’t thus support their people is just a mouthpiece for aphorisms (“a conventional sentence”)

notice the phrase “by which i mean the dead.” a similar phrase has been used before in the lessons! refer to sermon six, the first of the “hidden in the words that came next to the Hortator” series.

For by the word I mean the dead.

this refers to the later scripture of the word, wherein vivec claims that the “word,” a.k.a. the word without action, is a “dead” medium, meaning that words are useless without actions to back them up. the reference to this sermon here in sermon 32 makes sense, given the preceding line about the “conventional sentence” being less valuable than a sage who is an anvil.

now...the last part. i’m not one hundred percent sure why people think the fourth walking way is mantling! this is the only sermon that refers to that walking way and i can’t really tell how it relates to mantling at all. i think kirkbride might have written this here just because it was the fourth verse of the scripture. if you think you can tie the concept of mantling to this sermon, be my guest and show me how! but i’m not sure it’s convincingly possible.

Fifth:

'A proper comprehension of the virtues: stage-managed and to be murdered.'

according to vivec, the “virtues,” often exemplified by the aedra and their teachings, aren’t actually real - they’re “stage-managed,” theatrical. vivec aims to “murder” them to find something actually true and real. whether this is a new morality or something beyond simple morality is not expounded upon.

Sixth:

'In the end, rejoice as a hostage released from drumming torment but that savors his wound. The drum breaks and you find it to be a nest of hornets, which is to say: your sleep is over.'

the “hostage released from drumming torment” has been the victim of the Mace, that which hammers into new, stronger shapes. but the “hostage” knows that the new shape is stronger, so he “savors his wound.” it’s also worth noting lorkhan’s role as “the doom drum”. “the drum” (lorkhan) “breaks and you find it to be a nest of hornets”: this is the second and final time vivec refers to “hornets,” which is apparently an important symbol to vivec - likely due to mainland morrowind having giant hornets (or wasps) that people ride around on, called “parraptons” (these are only mentioned/seen in an unofficial comic).

but of course, there’s also the common saying of “stirring up a hornet’s nest,” which is to cause a lot of trouble. the “drum,” or lorkhan, “breaks” and it turns out to have just been a lot of trouble after all. “which is to say: your sleep” - the amnesia of dream, the belief in mundane unreality over the truer divine reality - “is over.”

Seventh:

'The suspicious is spectacle and the lie is only a theoretical inspiration.'

“the suspicious” here meaning “that which is difficult to believe” is “spectacle,” here meaning “the fantastical and untrue.” it’s hard to believe because you shouldn’t believe it. “the lie” - in this case the lie of the aedra, that being mundus - “is only a theoretical inspiration” - that which the lie the aedra push only inspires the suspicious, the fantastically untrue. any disbelief in the fantastic proves the lie within the fantastic, and that lie is a distraction from true, divine reality. (this is a bit difficult to fully explain. feel free to ask for clarification if you need help.)

Eighth:

'But then why, you ask, do the Daedra wish to meddle with the Aurbis? It is because they are the radical critique, essential as all martyrs. That some are more evil than others in [sic] not an illusion. Or rather, it is a necessary illusion.'

vivec says here that the daedra are “the radical critique” - they meddle with the aurbis to show its shortcomings, its faults. “that some are more evil than others [is] not an illusion,” meaning that yes, some, such as molag bal, are clearly more evil than others, such as azura. but this is true only in a practical, everyday, mundane sense. in a more real, more divine sense, no daedra is more “evil” than any other, because mundane mortal morality does not apply to the et’ada; “it is a necessary illusion” for the “lie” of the aedra who wish to impose their self-serving morality upon mortals.

and as always,

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.

#tes #tesblr #teslore #morrowind #vivec #36 lessons of vivec

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mulders-too-large-shirt · 10 months ago

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my favorite mulder moments from s3

when he’s dead in episode 1, in the afterlife being urged to return to his body, and it is only only hearing that his sister isn’t there which convinces him to come back to life (we can analyze this for years and we should!)

after their narrow escape from the disease center in episode 2, skinner asks what mulder could possibly hope to find in his wildest dreams. his answer: “why they killed my father. and what happened to my sister. and what they did to agent scully” which pretty much proved that she is part of his family to him <3 and he just wants to protect his family and keep everybody safe... i'll cry

and despite how badly he wanted the truth and was willing to risk it all, he agreed to turn the tape they had nearly died over so they could come out of hiding, so scully could see if her sister was okay (AUGHHH putting his life's ambition on hold for her...)

(this is more to do with behind the scenes stuff, but there’s a little moment in episode 7 where his hair is all messed up, and then in the very next shot it’s all fixed again, and i thought it was so funny to see, because you could tell he got retouched between takes)

in that same episode there’s also a moment where he keeps replaying a mysterious noise over and over again. scully asks if he has found anything, and he replies “no, but i’m really beginning to like the tape” with a big goofy smile <3

in episode 9, he has his office set up like a movie theater, with his feet tossed up on on the desk. he is SO excited to show scully the alien autopsy video he ordered from a magazine for $29.95!!!

then he comments that “it’s widely held that aliens don’t have blood, scully” with great seriousness which had me LOSING it. yes of course, mulder, she CLEARLY should have known!

(later in that episode, skinner comes down to scold them, and asks why they’re even in pennsylvania, to which he says that they’re here on a “video piracy case” <- LMAOOOO least convincing lie ever told)

also in episode 9: his line “you think believing is easy?” followed by letting that sit for a bit, exploring the tensions and implications- how hard it is for mulder to keep the faith that there are answers in this world, and perhaps even justice to go along with them. how it doesn’t come as naturally to him as you may think, it’s about hope and protecting your loved ones and doing whatever it takes, killing or dying, to learn the Truth, because the Truth is hope

(at this point in taking notes, i proceeded to ramble on for like a paragraph with Intense Emotions, and even talking about this episode again is making me want to go on a lecture tour about how fantastic it was)

in episode 10, a passenger on the train with her child sees the dead body of a doctor and screams. mulder pivots, tells the woman that the doctor is just sick, smiles, and ruffles the kid’s hair

(he ruffles another kid’s hair in episode 23… don’t think i didn’t notice)

angrily quoting scripture in episode 11

(and he also says he considers the bible to be poetry rather than a literal history in this one, which i think is fascinating)

sitting in his car, watching the night sky in episode 12, when he asks over the phone: “look scully, i know it’s not your inclination, but did you ever look up into the night sky and feel certain that not only was something up there, but it was looking down at you at the exact same moment, and was just as curious about you as you are about it?” goshhh what a wonderful way to see the world... a universe of mutual curiosity with answers that can be found if only you are dedicated enough to hunt for them

dr. ivanov’s little bug robot liking mulder and following him around <3 someone pls get him a cat!!

AND that episode wrapup: “the development of our cerebral cortex has been the greatest achievement of the evolutionary processes. big deal.” <- it had me absolutely giggling… as a profiler and student of the human brain, it really IS a big deal!! he knows that!! but he was so angry about how it all went down his bitterness won that day lmaooo

(BUT ALSO: he wakes up in his JEANS in this episode??? what kind of dude SLEEPS in his JEANS... we need to launch a full federal investigation)

when he tries to call to the kitty in episode 14 <3

and then he goes to the library to read up on gargoyles, but he was pulling so many all-nighters that he just straight up fell asleep on the table, and it was So Cute

in episode 15, he knows that "ronin" is the term for a samurai without a master, which made me laugh (and he claims he knows it from watching samurai movies… nerd!)

when he hops into an empty grave in episode 19 and starts digging with his hands while someone yells “what the hell is he doing!” and scully watches, knowing that is the sort of behavior he is just hardwired to do

mulder (possibly) eating an entire sweet potato pie in episode 20. narrative-wise we shall never know the truth.

how intensely attached he is to skinner being revealed in episode 21; how he believes whole-heartedly that he is innocent even when all of the evidence is against him. how when skinner dismisses his case as none of their business mulder counters with "of course it is", as if there was no other option. how he listens to skinner’s stories of terror in vietnam. how he is disappointed skinner won’t tell him what really happened that night. if you want to cry, go watch that scene where he leaves skinner's office realizing he won't talk about it. it made me emotional.

(he also pulls a giant book off his shelf in that episode and flips to the page talking about succubi, which makes me wonder what other kinds of literature he keeps in his office, pls let me come browse)

((there is also a moment where he gets really angry and pushes his jacket back with his hands on his hips and i swear my heart nearly stopped))

episode 22’s “i know the difference between expectation and hope. seek and you shall find, scully” it's just SO good and so Him

when he visits her motel room in episode 23 and gets all cozied up on her couch to talk case theories... i was giggling!!!

how he tries so hard to be brave and hold it together when she is missing in that one, too- calling her mother to check where she is, apologizing for disturbing mrs. scully because he knows how intense this must be for her after everything her daughter has gone through, bouncing his basketball in his apartment to keep himself moving, how he tells the lone gunmen with an even voice that she isn’t okay when he needs to go ID a body, and how he kicks the door of the man who got them involved with this case, forgoing answers for her. ripping my hair out from all my emotions btw.

mulder being convinced that he could talk scully back into her senses even after she shot at him (!!!) and refusing to accept her mother’s answers that she wasn’t at her home

when he visits scully in the hospital after her wavelength-induced psychosis, he enters the room with his hands up, jokingly surrendering after she had held him at gunpoint. because he cannot be serious ever, and he Needs to make a joke and lighten the mood, to try and make her feel comfortable.

AND how he turns the TV off when he enters, knowing what the TV did to get her there. and how he leaves after a while, whispering “why don’t you try and get some rest?” on the way out, so scared to have seen her like that, wanting to give her all the time she needs to recover <3

in the finale he sits by his mom in her hospital bed; he holds her hand, notices she is cold and covers her with a blanket (gosh that one made me inconsolable- scully was talking to him and he couldn't even respond, because his mom was cold, and he needed to fix that, to make her comfortable)

he touches her hair and whispers “mom”, and smiles at her when she opens her eyes, saying everything is going to be okay; then later, he’s crying as he holds her hand to his cheek, and i’m crying too

and when they go to meet up with “jeremiah smith” later, he makes scully get behind him, holding the only weapon that could kill jeremiah in his hands and standing in front of her to keep her safe

#i love that he is willing to kill for those he loves and for the Truth and has hope despite it all #i love that he has his fierce and terrible need to Protect everyone even if it gets smothering at points #i love how he loves the people in his life so deeply #what a guy. just what an absolute guy.#i want to put him in my pocket and also kiss him and also make him kiss scully and also sometimes slap him.#sighs deeply.#i think he wants a real family of his own someday terribly which also makes me super emo #and he's so smart and he's such a nerd and he has no life but that one is actually just sad #because he devotes every inch of himself to finding answers that there is only a little time left #and i guess he uses it to watch samurai movies?#and how he SLEEPS on his STUPID COUCH #mulder........#the x files #txf #fox mulder

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